catching the train

 A man glances at his watch. He skips a few steps in his haste, clearly late for his train.

He puts one hand on his hat in an effort to save it from a stiff breeze generated by the rush of passing traffic. The wind threatens to steal said hat from it’s home of chestnut hair.

The man drops his briefcase in the effort and is rewarded with scuffed leather and a few empathetic glances from passers by.

He rolls his eyes, but perseveres. Once the wind is gone and he’s sure the hat is safe, he stoops to retrieve the case, and breaks into a run.

He makes it to the platform as the doors are about to close, and in a move used by delayed businessmen everywhere; he thrusts the hard case between the soft rubber seal of the closing doors that could crush a man. The doors open and invite him in.

The man removes his hat and places it on his knee. His hair free, it springs to life and is helped in this endeavor by long fingers, the nails bitten to the quick, but still sufficiently adept at scratching scalps and mussing hair.

A self-satisfied smile and eyebrows relaxed in relief grace his face, but a glance at his watch indicates he’s not safe at home, yet.

A platinum ring seems to suggest he’s headed to someone special, someone who might worry if he’s late.

The train fills with passengers as each stop takes it away from the head of the line. The man doesn’t pull out a smart-phone and check stocks, texts or email. Instead, he keeps a vigil on the roll-sign showing each stop.

He puts his hat back on his head and rises at the main stop for the university; an odd place for a businessman to leave the train, only he doesn’t. He stands in wait.

Passengers crowd in: several young women giggling over an actor in a magazine, professors discussing sports and beer, and a few lonely boys, who can manage school, only as long as they share rent in cheap apartments long train-rides away from this part of town.

In ones and twos and threes, they file and bunch in together and disperse. The man looks at every passenger, searching their faces for a familiar one. He hovers carefully over his own seat, lest anyone try to take it.

He looks down at his briefcase. Is he saving the seat for someone? Perhaps his briefcase, which has caught many a closing door, deserves some special seat-having status.

Forced to stand like several other riders, another man, with a face so boyishly handsome that it belies his age, looks down at the briefcase and then to the standing man as he reaches out to grip the pole before the train lurches forward.

The boy smirks at the him and the man, finally noticing the boy, smiles back and nods, taking his seat again. There is an understanding between them that seems to go beyond a personified attaché.

The boy pulls a knitted tuque from his head and shakes a mop of dark curly hair. He stretches his neck and back, a colorful tattoo with mensural notation fashioned in the shape of a heart edging out of the stretched neck of his t-shirt.

He speaks as the man puts his hat back on his knee, “Who carries a case like that anymore, huh? Why don’t you get a messenger bag?” He gestures to a fine example hanging from his strong body, and resting casually against his hip.

“It wouldn’t go with my three-piece tweed suit, fedora and Burberry trench coat.”

“Yes, because having an unmatching accessory would be a crime,” the boy muses.

The man cocks his head to the side and dryly says, “It would.”

They stare at each other for several moments, neither willing to look away entirely. They visually absorb the whole of the other person, instead.

The man takes his time memorizing each stitch of a worn-out band tee and unbuttoned dress shirt covering the boy’s chest and arms. His gazing lingers with longing at a tiny hole in the crotch of the boy’s gently faded jeans. A lower lip pulled between teeth and a glance up to laughing ocean blue eyes seems to speak to the nature of his feelings.

The boy himself looks as though he’s already undressed the man in his mind, his jeans subtly bulging out from his body. He unabashedly stares into impenetrable dark brown eyes.

“Where are you headed?” the man asks leaning back in his seat, one black socked ankle perching on one tweeded knee. The smooth leather of his shoe barely brushes the inside of the boy’s thigh. His demeanor suggests he has the confidence of one who’s rarely denied anything.

“Home,” the boy responds, his eyes roving to the long legs draped over the edge of the dirty train seat.

“Me, too,” the man says.

“Long ride?” the boy asks, with little interest.

“Not long enough, sometimes.”

The boy makes eye contact again and laughs a little.

“Do you like music?” he asks.

“Probably not the kind you listen to,” the man says.

“I study piano performance. Grad,” the boy says straightening up to his full height.

The man nods. “Chopin?”

“My favorite,” the boy responds without a hint of feigned sincerity.

The man appraises the boy’s hands, as if he can suss the truth out of digits that suddenly grasp the long shoulder strap, tugging it to a more comfortable position. He uses the cover of the bag to adjust the bulge in his pants.

The man seems to lose himself in some licentious thought, but is pulled out of it by a woman who has just entered the train.

She’s a vision in business casual: red ballet flats and high-waisted pinstripe skirt. A canvas grocery bag held like old-school paper almost completely hides her torso.

“Is this seat taken?” she asks the man, pointing to the brazen briefcase.

“It is now,” the man says, smiling widely and picking up the case, setting it on the floor between himself and the boy, who’s now diverted his attention to the leggy ginger worthy of the prized last seat.

She doesn’t look at either man, but busies herself with something on her phone.

It is clear that their eyes are penetrating every part of her they can reach, and imagining penetrating everywhere else. They appear to not have noticed each other’s lewd looks, and the woman continues to be likewise unaware.

Finally, she looks up and says, “It’s going to be wet all day tomorrow.”

The man raises an eyebrow and looks to the boy, who discreetly shifts himself again while appearing to be engrossed in reading a PSA on venereal disease.

“Is that so? Well, thanks for the heads up,” the man says.

“No problem,” she says, smiling.

She puts the phone in her small purse and shifts the grocery bag so it’s resting evenly across her naked knees. She takes out a folder from the bag and uses a red pen to make notes on several pages in the stack. When not in her hands, the pen is plunged into her mouth. Her teeth lightly scrape the end as it goes in and out.

The boy has been watching both knees carefully, possibly waiting for one of them to move away from the other. It’s clearly not going to happen, as the skirt hugs her legs too tightly. The bag covers the rest of her, but both men are now able to discern a white top revealing soft clavicles and bare arms covered in goose-flesh.

The weather is too cold to be without stockings or a coat.

“Are you cold?” the boy asks, digging into his bag and pulling out a worn black hoodie with gray racing stripes on the arms.

“Frozen! I forgot to check the weather yesterday, and left in such a rush this morning, I didn’t have time to go back for my coat.” She puts the folder and pen away, and smiles up at the boy’s offering.

She drapes it over her hunched shoulders, then carefully places her nose near the hood, taking a subtle sniff.

Not to be outdone, the man removes his coat, and offers it to cover her legs. She accepts it, too, with a smile. Her lips twitch, as the man tucks the coat well under her thighs.

The man looks up and winks at the boy, who is clearly less than thrilled that a chance glimpse of naked inner thighs has been thwarted.

Smug smile appearing with his successful attempt at chivalry, the man turns his attention to the items poking out of the top of the grocery bag and asks, “Special dinner planned?”

“Hm?” the woman asks.

“Well, I see a bottle of Bordeaux, a package of chanterelles and a container of heirloom tomatoes peeking out at me.”

“Hm. Yes, well, it is Friday,” she says, noncommittally.

“Mushrooms are my favorite,” the boy says.

The woman looks up at him with a half-smile on pale pink lips and says, “Me, too.”

“I’ve been eating out of a vending machine all day,” he adds pathetically.

Her face turns sympathetic. She eyes the man to her left briefly before responding, “Was there no one to pack you a lunch this morning?”

“No. My girlfriend was gone before I woke.”

“Perhaps she had important business to attend to and thought you could take care of yourself for once,” the man observes.

“Meh, I’m just disappointed she didn’t even wake me for a kiss,” the boy says. “I was naked and hard just the way she likes me.”

“Perhaps you were sleeping too soundly,” the woman suggests shifting on the seat.

“I was pretty worn out from studying most of the night,” he says while scratching the light stubble on his chin.

“Will she be at home waiting for you?” the woman asks with concern.

“No.”

“Well, would you care to join me for dinner, then?”

The boy looks like he’s talked an Eskimo into buying ice. “I’d love to.”

The man, looking a bit rebuffed that he didn’t swoop in with his own clever story to earn a home-cooked meal, buoys himself enough to make an effort.

“I can’t cook,” he says.

“Lame,” the woman says, smirking.

“I wasn’t finished.”

Both watch as the man picks up his briefcase, setting it on his lap and flicking the brass locks open. The lid seems to lift on its own, and when it does, the smell of coffee and cocoa swirls out into the train.

The woman leans in to look and moans. “Is that?”

“It is,” the man says.

“I can’t compete with that,” the boy says, peering over the top.

“Can you wash dishes?” the woman asks, eyes hooded.

“I can do wonders with slippery soap.”

They stare at each other, still as stones.

The man watches, but doesn’t break their illicit bubble.

Finally, the woman manages to respond. “Then it’s settled. I’ll cook for you both.” She grins at them, her eyes shining like melted chocolate.

The boy and the man look at each other, the man speaking for both of them, “That sounds like a marvelous idea.”

The three finally exit the train, the woman’s grocery bag carried by the boy, his hand reaching out to keep hers warm against the chill.

The man’s trench coat is about her shoulders, as the man himself pulls her in close to his side.

They walk the streets in deep conversation about anything and nothing.

The boy finds some buried confidence and slides his hand up the inside of her arm and across her back and grips her waist, feeling the warmth of the man against his arm as they travel the last block to an unassuming brownstone with a green door.

The man sets his briefcase down and pulls keys out of his trouser pocket and opens it.

The three of them walk in: first the woman, then the boy and finally the man, looking out into the evening sky, and nodding to Gemini before closing the door.

º Π

Light filters through the kitchen window into the dark outside. There are no candles there, no pretense of romance, but there is a warmth and brightness that radiates and touches the wet leaves and shiny lacquered lampposts.

Inside, the man helps chop vegetables with careful precision. His sleeves are rolled up, his tie has disappeared and his feet are bare, revealing long toes attached to large feet with high arches.

The boy plays a Chopin prelude dressed only in his tee and jeans. His bare arms are covered in colorful ink, every one related to music and art. A piano keyboard winds it’s way up his right arm, ending in a swirl at his elbow. His large hands stretch to play thick chords and long arpeggios.

The woman has added an apron to her outfit; it’s long and black and has an impromptu knot tied at the neck strap so she won’t trip over the low hanging fabric. She sways to the soft music as she dips a spoon into a heated pot to have a taste of her concoction.

Her hair is pulled up from her face and neck, and the man glances over at her several times, as though he’s checking on the progress of the cooking. His eyes, however, never stray from her body: her neck, her shoulders and her curved, cloth-encased ass.

He licks his lips and almost cuts his thumb in his distraction.

The boy returns to the kitchen and pops up on the counter next to the man, casually brushing his trousers with naked toes.

The man looks over at the boy and glances at his crotch before asking for a bowl.

The boy searches until he finds just the right one.

The man and woman watch him as he bends over and reaches up, no one offering to help, gawking at his lithe body openly.

He finds the bowl and places it on the counter. He watches with fascination as the man tips the cutting board and scrapes everything in without losing a single piece.

The man washes his hands and whispers to the woman before walking over to the boy and offering him a glass of wine.
The woman turns and they toast.

After the last dish is washed and put away, the man turns to the woman and the boy and says, “Will you join me upstairs?”

Both nod, and take his offered hands. He leads them to the stairs and lets go just long enough to switch on a light.

A large black four-poster bed, covered in soft-looking green and gold sheets, large fluffy pillows, but no duvet, waits for them.

The man unrolls his sleeves and pulls the dress shirt over his head, revealing a toned chest and abs covered by a taut, but chaste v-neck tee. He tosses it aside.

“Come here,” he says to the boy.

The woman pulls her top free of the tight skirt and peels it from her shoulders. Her transparent nude bra shows dark pink nipples hardening under the lace.

The boy goes to the man, removing his own shirt. The woman puts her hands on his back, dragging her nails along the edges of the massive crest covering the large flesh canvas. The lyre at the center is emblazoned in gold.

The man unbuttons the boy’s jeans. Then, using a single finger, brushes lightly down a hardening cock as he pulls the zipper down. He slides the pants and boxers down tenderly over the boy’s hips.

The man is on his knees when he says, “I love you, Thomas.”

He looks up with reverence as his hands glide back up the boy’s bare legs.

“William,” the boy whispers.

His hands meet the woman’s at the boy’s hips. He traces the edge of her platinum ring and looks up at her in awe. “I love you, too, Samantha.”

William leans in and kisses the flesh covered in soft hair on Thomas’s pelvis.

Samantha and the boy murmur their own I love yous as skin meets lips and hands.

William stands and Thomas works at the button on the older man’s trousers, while Samantha strips the pinstripe skirt from naked thighs.

“Is your cock hard for me?” the young man asks, even though said cock is so hard, he must carefully ease William’s clothing around it.

“Fuck,” She says, rejoining the boy’s hands with her own.

“Unnnnf!” William responds as four hands stroke him, hands everywhere, legs, cock, balls, thighs.

Then, Thomas pulls the undershirt over the other man’s head and leans in for a kiss.

Samantha steps away, and climbs onto the bed, looking over her shoulder at Thomas, as he kisses William and thrusts his hips toward the man, their twin cocks sliding against each other.

William, pulls away from the kiss, seeming to understand that he’s missing something. He turns to see his lover’s naked ass, framing a wet, pink pussy.

He swallows loudly.

Then, he takes Thomas by the wrist, pulling him into the bed, and rolls Samantha onto her back.

The boy kisses her feet, while William greedily kisses her mouth, moving down to nuzzle and kiss her breasts, while Thomas works his way up her legs.

When he reaches her knees, he clears his throat to get William’s attention, winking at him as he slides his hands between her legs, pulling them apart roughly at the knees.

“Nnnnnng!” Samantha says.

William rolls his eyes. “Touché.”

“You like that, Sam?” he asks, rubbing his victory in.

“Mmmmm!” she nods, and grasps William’s hand pulling him up for a kiss and running her hands down his side.

“Tom,” William says, as he kisses his girlfriend’s neck and face, “make room for me.”

Tom slides Samantha’s feet up and apart, making room for two between her thighs.

“I’m so glad you signed up for yoga, last year,” William says.

“Me, too,” she says. “I love having both of you together down there.”

William kisses back down her side, joining Thomas at her knees and both make their way to the center, working in tandem with their teasing kisses and touches.

“Ahhh!” Samantha calls out when twin tongues finally meet on either side of her clit. William’s begins to circle slowly but deliberately, while Tom thrusts his tongue inside, flattening it as he pulls out, before going back in for more.

William rests one open palm on his boyfriend’s back, caressing the younger man’s smooth skin, his other hand holding Samantha’s leg up and out at the knee.

William moans against her skin.

“Please!” she calls, one hand pulling at her hair, while the other pinches a nipple.

William sucks harder on her clit and squeezes Tom’s shoulder.

The other man adds more pressure with his tongue and slips a mouth-moistened finger in her ass.

“Jesus! Fuck!” she calls, and William laughs against her, causing her to shiver.

“You don’t have to use our stage names in the bedroom, my dear. Tom and William will suffice,” he says, then, returns his attention to her clit.

The younger man pulls up from her pussy and joins his lover, both men taking a stolen moment to kiss each other as they push her to the edge.

She arches her back and flushes red, and both men hold fast to her and each other as she comes.

Tom is the first to pull away, but William watches her lovingly as he continues to gently suck her clit.

“You are so beautiful when you come,” Tom says, brushing his hand up her side while lying along her body, his cock bobbing at her thigh. He kisses her lips, and she pulls him up closer, holding him tightly at his shoulders.

William kisses her stomach, then lays across one of her legs, as he puts his tongue on Tom’s cock taking it all the way in his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s nice,”  Tom says resting a hand on William’s shoulder and sliding it up into his boyfriend’s messy hair. William hums in contentment when the metal of Tom’s platinum ring rubs his head.

Sam leans over to kiss Tom once more before sliding down the bed to put William’s cock in her mouth.

Tom ends up on his back with William poised over him, licking and sucking Tom’s balls as he gently fucks Samantha’s mouth, while she lies beneath him, stroking his perineum, slowly making her way to his ass.

William hisses with pleasure as she presses in against his tight hole. He takes his mouth away and begs: “Tom, please fuck me! Please!”

Samantha pulls away, “Will you fuck me at the same time?”

“Yes, of course,” William says, rolling over on his back, catching his breath. “Come here.”

She snuggles next to him and they kiss, while she wraps a leg around one of his, rubbing her wet pussy on his hip wantonly.

Meanwhile, Tom opens a nightstand drawer, and pulls out a condom and lube, getting himself ready.

William rolls her over, kissing her eyes and nose and mouth.

He keeps heading back to her breasts and murmurs his love against the soft skin that curves upward against gravity.

“Ahhhhh!” he cries against a hard and reaching nipple when Tom eases a lubed finger into his ass.

Samantha runs her hands over his back and up his neck, burying her hands in his soft brown hair, pulling him closer.

Tom works more digits into William’s ass, stretching, putting his entire body into the thrusting motion of his hand, but holding back the length of them, tortuously teasing against the man’s desperate grinding.

“More!” he shouts, as he begins to rub just the tip of his cock against Samantha’s pussy, not wanting to penetrate her until Tom has readied his ass.

Tom, now up to three, pulls out long enough to coat his cock with lube, resting a hand on William’s hip, their effective silent communication the result of so many nights spent together.

Sam lifts her hips in her own silent communication of need, moaning his name, and William complies with three hard thrusts, fully seating himself in her before stilling and lifting their entwined hips, so he can offer himself to Tom.

“I love watching you fuck her,” he says, kissing William’s ear tenderly, and reaching out for Samantha’s hand to give it a squeeze. “You are beautiful together.”

Then, he lines himself up, and pushes forward, stilling with only the head in, as William grips the sheets to stay still, and Samantha reaches out with her hands, clinging to Tom’s thighs. Her legs are already curled around William’s.

Taking a breath, Tom pulls out slightly before slowly sliding in until his hips smack against William’s ass. “Fuck!” William cries out, and holds still as Samantha and Tom control the pace.

Samantha’s hands grip Tom’s hips and pull the three of them together.

They become entangled in a hot mess of limbs, moving as one, years of practice making this an act of love, an act of caring for needs.

Years of holding hands and learning bodies and minds culminating in knowing what feels right and good, of knowing what will satisfy all.

Tom holds onto William like a man drowning, and the other man leans back to offer his lips.

His lover kisses him roughly, and groans as he pushes harder and faster.

“Ahhhhhh, Fuuuuuuck!” William screams as he starts bucking his hips, unable to stay still as he comes.

Then, Samantha and Tom come simultaneously against William’s body, crying out together.

Tom reaches for her’s hand and kisses her palm and wrist, telling her how he loves her. Then, he falls to the side, taking William with him, and pulls out of his lover’s ass carefully.

William rolls over to Samantha, noises of pleasure and sleepiness rumbling in his chest, and they smother each other in kisses and shared declarations.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he says.

“Mmmm? What for? I didn’t do much,” she says.

“You did, you woke up three hours early this morning, and left work early and then went to the grocery store, all so you could meet us on the train like you used to.”

“Do you really miss me riding with the two of you that much?”

“Yes. I miss it terribly,” William says holding her tightly, his head buried in her breasts.

“Hey, I’ve missed you, too,” Tom says, depositing the washcloth he just used to clean William in the hamper and sliding in behind Samantha.
“I had no idea. I thought you liked having that time together.”

“We do!” Tom says. “It’s just, we miss you. Can’t you join us sometimes?”

“I could probably do that.”

“I remember that first day,” Tom says. “I thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

“Yoga pants,” William says.

“I was so afraid to speak to you,” she says kissing William’s head. “You looked so serious, but the two of you? Fuck. I was beyond intimidated.”

“You managed to steal a seat, though,” Tom says.

“You never asked!” William says.

“What can I say, I was intimidated, too.”

“But, why?” William asks.

“Tweed,” Samantha says while Tom simultaneously says “Fedora.”

“Ung, clothes,” William says, his eye roll easily inferred, if not seen.

“I wasn’t even sure you would like me. The way you looked at her, William…I…part of me was jealous.”

“You’re still jealous,” William laughed.

“No he’s not,” Samantha said. “You’re just such an easy mark. There is nothing I find more entertaining than watching Tom turn you into a petty mess.

She and Tom giggle together, and William groans, snuggling in closer to Samantha’s breasts, his eyes barely open.

“That first time, when you invited us back to your place, I’d never been more nervous,” Tom says.

“Yeah, but nothing happened, for, like, months,” Samantha says.

“Remember the first time I played for William, and he joined me for a duet?”

“I came in my skinny jeans just watching you two.”

“Fuck, that’s hot, Sam,” he says with longing, “but it’s late and…hey William?” he asks, rubbing his lover’s shoulder lightly.

“Mmmn,” William says, his eyes closed, a set of lashes resting against Samantha’s nipple.

“I think you wore him out,” Samantha whispers to Tom.

“Me?” he hisses incredulously, while wrapping his leg around the other two. “I wasn’t the one fighting gravity to grind against his hips. I’m surprised his back didn’t give out!”

“Not old!” William protests, obviously more awake than he appears. “I’m barely thirty!”

William’s hands sneak around and grab two fists full of Tom’s ass.

“I’m fucking your ass tomorrow, buddy. See if you can hold her up any better.”

“Oh, I can. It’s so on!” Tom says, and leans over to give William a kiss on his forehead.

“Hey, wait. Are you two saying I’m fat?” Samantha asks.

“NO!” William and Tom say together.

“You are lovely, Sam,” William says, and reaches up to kiss her. “And I love you.”

“I like a little junk, so I have no complaints, but that position is seriously advanced,” Tom adds, “You know, I think we’ve gotten way better at it.”
“Mmmn,” William agrees.

“So…good night?” Samantha asks.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” William says squeezing his eyes shut, still trying to keep up the semblance of sleep, “I haven’t come so hard in…months at least.”

“So good,” Tom says. “You know, William has the tightest man-ass, ever!”

Samantha giggles and the man releases one of Tom’s cheeks long enough to smack it.

“OK, I’m turning out the light,” Tom says.

“Finally,” William says.

“Happy Anniversary,” Samantha whispers when the lights are out, and Tom is back in bed.

“Happy Anniversary,” her boys chant back.

the end

this story was originally submitted as Twilight fanfiction, where it won “Best All Human” and “Poly I’d Love to Join” in Perv Pack Smut Shack’s “Share the Love Contest.” The story was edited by FFFan1664 and pre-read by Kikki7.

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