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raeschaeTitle: Trifecta (A Disclaimer Verse OneShot)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raeschae
Pairing: Chris/Danneel/Steve
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2230
Summary: It's not something they talk about. It just seems to keep happening. A follow-up to a brief mention at the end of Unrequited?.
Part of the Disclaimer Verse
A/N: Awhile ago,yasmine32068 started podficcing the Disclaimer Verse for me. Around the same time, ldyghstwhisprer created two kick-ass soundtracks for the guys. I was blown away, floored, and completely over-whelmed by the time that goes into something like that, and their eagerness to help me out. So I offered to write anything they wanted as a 'thank you.' They requested a Chris/Danneel/Steve threesome - awesome, except I don't write het anymore, and I've never written a threesome - so I've been dragging my feet and waiting for the muses to strike. They did, and this is the result. I hope they like it, and I hope the rest of you do, too. Enjoy!
Also, this is the last porny, semi-PWP thing on my list. So if you're tired of reading sex, have no fear. There's other stuff on the horizon. ;)
The door stays open. Always open. There's nothing to hide here, so they don't bother trying.
“You are one hell of a tease, baby doll,” Chris growls, hands reaching out to grip tightly at Danneel's hips.
She shakes her head and tips her half-empty beer bottle, the eighth or ninth of the night, to her lips, swallowing before she giggles and leans into Chris's chest. “We all gotta be good at somethin',” she winks and takes another swig.
His chuckle grumbles low in his throat and he pops the button on her jeans while she continues to move to the rhythm of some song only she can hear. He works the denim over her hips, fumbles a little bit but manages to push them to the floor. Alcohol and skin-tight fabric don't really mix, it seems.
Danneel is a lot of things, but first and foremost a complete enigma. To the random, passing stranger, she's a near-Gothic skater chick, with charcoal-dyed hair and dark-lined eyes and lips painted so dark red, it looks like she maybe drank blood on her way in to work. She wears skinny jeans and mini skirts with torn-up tee shirts and hoodies and more bracelets than Chris has ever seen on one person. Her left ear is pierced all the way up, and there are five holes in the right. She has a small diamond piercing the right side of her nose, and a hoop like Jensen's in her left eyebrow.
She's also got the crudest sense of humor, the highest alcohol tolerance, and the biggest heart Chris has ever seen in a woman. Beneath her black jeans, she wears white satin panties, dotted with little red hearts, and when he looks up at her with a quirked eyebrow from his place on the bed, she just shrugs and giggles before taking another swig of the beer in her hand.
He and Steve fuck a lot of women when they're out on the road, and sometimes they just fuck a lot of each other, but all the girls in all the countries they've visited pale in comparison to her. He got over wondering why that is awhile ago. Just accepts it for what it is, and comes home to his happy place whenever he gets the chance.
“You,” Danneel's voice pitches low and husky when she twists at her waist to set her bottle down on the dresser, “have been a very bad boy all night, Mr. Kane.”
“Have I?” He can almost feel his eyes dancing with amusement as she lays her palms flat against his cheeks and trails her thumbs over the stubble.
“Oh yeah,” she nods, lifting one leg and then the other until she's straddling his thighs on the end of the bed. Chris scoots back, doesn't bother tearing his eyes from her face as her hands start working the fly of his jeans. “Gonna blow our cover one of these days if you don't stop giving me those looks across the room.”
“We were in the backyard,” he points out, but his mouth barely moves as she rolls her eyes and grasps the hem of his tee shirt. “That's outside. Not,” he gives her his best lazy, sarcastic grin, “not a room. He lifts his arms, letting her tear the shirt off and toss it to the floor, and then rests his hands on her bare hips.
Danneel dips her head and nips at the skin behind his ear, her face buried in his hair, when she growls, “You know what I mean, smartass,” against his skin.
He does. They've never officially agreed to keep their relationship under wraps, but being as it never seems to come up in conversation, they haven't exactly bothered to expose it, either. They would understand, every last one of their friends would get exactly what's going on, but Chris is kind of private. Doesn't need to practically hump Danneel's leg behind the counter at Ollie like Jensen does to Jared, or stuff his tongue down her throat like Mike does to Tom. God knows Danneel's never been overcome with the desire to wrap her legs around his waist and ride him like a cowboy at Slinging Ink the way Sophia does to Chad, either.
Whatever this is, it's theirs. Only theirs. And it's enough.
“Come on,” Danneel smacks his hip and rolls off of him. “Take 'em off.” Chris wiggles out of his jeans and his boxers while she rids herself of her tiny bikini top and panties, and then he stretches out on the bed again, arms holding his weight behind him as he waits for her next move.
Sometimes he throws her down and takes what he wants, but when she's blissfully buzzed and looking like an angel from the Underworld in the moonlight streaming through the window, like she is tonight? It's all he can do to remember his own name, let alone take control.
She grips the back of his neck and seals her mouth over his, tongue rolling in and out of his mouth while she moans and slides her naked chest against his arm. Her hand clenches his thigh, purple fingernails digging into his flesh and hurting in the perfect way that lets him know there'll be bruised reminders of this when he wakes up tomorrow and she's already gone.
They don't stop kissing until he feels her hair lifting from it's place over his shoulder and down his back. Eyes drifting over the top of Danneel's head, he smiles lazily and receives the same grin in response.
This is why they leave the door open.
Sometimes Steve joins them. Sometimes he opts out. Either way, they're not complaining.
Steve holds Danneel's hair in one hand and leans forward to press kisses against her neck and the length of her back. She echoes the motion with her own tongue and teeth against Chris's chest, and he's not going to last much longer if he's the only one forced to watch.
“Wait,” he mutters, and it's not loud, but it's understood and obeyed immediately. “Come here, Sweetheart.” Steadying himself, he braces his hands on Danneel's shoulders and rolls her, smiling when her thighs fall open to cradle him automatically. “That's my girl,” he grins at the beautiful picture she makes, reaching for the pillow over her head and spreading herself out on the California king-sized bed he shares with his “roommate.”
When she's situated just the way he wants her, Chris turns his head to find Steve's hand in his hair and his mouth ready and waiting. With one of his hands on Danneel's thigh, he feels her squirm and hears her moan while she watches the show they're putting on for her. Oh, they kiss sometimes when she's not around, but there's always more tongue when she's watching. She has a thing for seeing this.
When he tears himself away, draws a ragged breath, and looks back over, she's rolling her hips into the air and massaging her breasts with both hands, fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, turning his attention fully back to her. He never tells her how pretty she is, or calls her beautiful or anything. She rolls her eyes when he does. But it doesn't make the fact any less true. Goddamn.
With a quirk of her eyebrow, she licks her lips and looks from Chris, over his shoulder, and then back again. “Come on,” she rolls her hips again, “Don't make me do this shit myself.” One hand drifts over her stomach, her fingernails dragging lightly down her torso, and she's not playing around. She'll do it while they watch if somebody doesn't get this party started.
Chris pushes his hands against her thighs and crawls further up on the bed, mouth hot and wet against her smooth belly. He feels Steve's lips at the base of his spine, and everything clicks like being home again. The first few times were awkward, trying to figure out who went where and did what, but it's pretty fluid now. Like dusting off an old song they haven't done for awhile. They know the notes, the words, and the rhythm, and by the time the intro's through, it's like they just rehearsed it yesterday.
His fingers stroke the insides of Danneel's silky thighs, and Steve runs his hands over the insides of Chris's. He dips his head to lick a stripe, tentative and gentle, along Danneel's slit, and Steve mimicks the motion along Chris's ass. After that, he's not sure which of them is setting the pace, and who's following along, but each thrust of his tongue into Danneel is puncuated with the stab of Steve's tongue into him. Each withdrawl and lazy lick of her clit accompanies Steve drawing languid circles around the surface of his hole.
“Fuck,” Danneel cries out and her thighs flex at the sides of his head. He lifts his eyes and her chest is flushed, moist with a sheen of sweat. “Fuck me,” she grits out, meeting his eye. “Just, I don't care,” her head thrashes once from side to side, “I don't care which one of you. Just somebody fuck me, please.”
Before they have a chance to debate it, Chris feels Steve's hand low on his back. “Take care of her, man,” he encourages with a nod.
He's so blindingly hard that he couldn't be the good guy and return the offer if he tried. Figures it's probably a good thing Steve doesn't expect him to. He loves women, but not nearly as much as Chris does. He's learned over the years that Steve has a bigger kink for watching Chris fuck a girl than he does for actually fucking them himself.
Pulling up to his knees, he slides his hands under Danneel's ass and hitches her hips up off the bed. Her legs hang loose at it sides as he pushes in and watches her throw her head back and growl, “Christ, I fuckin' missed your cock.” He can't say he disagrees. His cock missed her, too. “Come here, Stevie,” she motions with an arm, her eyes never leaving Chris's face.
He kneels on the bed at her side and Danneel strokes him slow, in sync with the pace Chris is rocking his hips against her. He doesn't say anything, Steve never does when they're like this, but he's taking it all in. His silence always says more than his words do anyway.
Chris looks from the woman on the bed to the man at his side and can't help shaking his head in amazement. If anyone would've told him that he'd be here, naked with another dude, back when he first moved from Texas to California, he would laughed. That was always Jensen's thing, not Chris's. Most of the time, it still is. Some attraction just transcends parts and pieces.
Of course, if anybody told his ass, back when he walked into Jensen's shop on Danneel's first day of work, that he was going to be balls deep in this punk rock prom queen with the shoulder tattoo and the pierced fucking tongue? He probably wouldn't have believed that, either. Wasn't his type. Turns out, he woulda been dead wrong.
“Fuckin' hell, Chris,” Danneel calls out, her thin fingers joined with Steve's as he guides her at the pace he wants and her legs circle Chris's waist and ankles locked behind his back.
“That's it,” he nods, tongue trapped between his teeth as he moves faster, moves her hips with both hands and fucks into her harder, faster, deeper.
Steve comes first, splashes over her chest, and the sight of it jerks Chris's hips erratically. Danneel's keening, voice unleashed, hands gripping for anything that will keep her from falling over the edge. When Chris lifts one hand and smacks it back down against her hip, she cries out, back bowed and body trembling.
A string of filth that would make any of the guys she works with flows over her lips as she clenches and releases around him. “Christ, Dani,” Chris grunts, but that's all he can manage before he has to pull out. Steve wraps a fist around his cock and he's gone, coming hard while the room whites around the edges and his heart possibly stops beating for a minute.
He falls to Danneel's side, Steve on her other, and he chuckles a little at the sound of uneven, ripped ragged breathing filling the air. Tonight, they threw a typical Kane party to celebrate coming home from a three month tour of the East Coast and Midwest. But this is the homecoming he's been waiting for. “It is good to be home, son!” he says loudly, raising a fist to bump against Steve's over Danneel's gracefully stretching form.
“I'll drink to that,” Steve nods, rolling over to grab his beer bottle, Danneel's, and one he apparently brought for Chris.
They all three struggle to sit, clink the necks of their bottles in a silent toast, and tilt their heads back. They don't have to say anything else. Between the three of them, everything is understood, accepted, and appreciated for exactly what it is.
Author:
raeschaePairing: Chris/Danneel/Steve
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2230
Summary: It's not something they talk about. It just seems to keep happening. A follow-up to a brief mention at the end of Unrequited?.
Part of the Disclaimer Verse
A/N: Awhile ago,
yasmine32068 started podficcing the Disclaimer Verse for me. Around the same time, ldyghstwhisprer created two kick-ass soundtracks for the guys. I was blown away, floored, and completely over-whelmed by the time that goes into something like that, and their eagerness to help me out. So I offered to write anything they wanted as a 'thank you.' They requested a Chris/Danneel/Steve threesome - awesome, except I don't write het anymore, and I've never written a threesome - so I've been dragging my feet and waiting for the muses to strike. They did, and this is the result. I hope they like it, and I hope the rest of you do, too. Enjoy!Also, this is the last porny, semi-PWP thing on my list. So if you're tired of reading sex, have no fear. There's other stuff on the horizon. ;)
The door stays open. Always open. There's nothing to hide here, so they don't bother trying.
“You are one hell of a tease, baby doll,” Chris growls, hands reaching out to grip tightly at Danneel's hips.
She shakes her head and tips her half-empty beer bottle, the eighth or ninth of the night, to her lips, swallowing before she giggles and leans into Chris's chest. “We all gotta be good at somethin',” she winks and takes another swig.
His chuckle grumbles low in his throat and he pops the button on her jeans while she continues to move to the rhythm of some song only she can hear. He works the denim over her hips, fumbles a little bit but manages to push them to the floor. Alcohol and skin-tight fabric don't really mix, it seems.
Danneel is a lot of things, but first and foremost a complete enigma. To the random, passing stranger, she's a near-Gothic skater chick, with charcoal-dyed hair and dark-lined eyes and lips painted so dark red, it looks like she maybe drank blood on her way in to work. She wears skinny jeans and mini skirts with torn-up tee shirts and hoodies and more bracelets than Chris has ever seen on one person. Her left ear is pierced all the way up, and there are five holes in the right. She has a small diamond piercing the right side of her nose, and a hoop like Jensen's in her left eyebrow.
She's also got the crudest sense of humor, the highest alcohol tolerance, and the biggest heart Chris has ever seen in a woman. Beneath her black jeans, she wears white satin panties, dotted with little red hearts, and when he looks up at her with a quirked eyebrow from his place on the bed, she just shrugs and giggles before taking another swig of the beer in her hand.
He and Steve fuck a lot of women when they're out on the road, and sometimes they just fuck a lot of each other, but all the girls in all the countries they've visited pale in comparison to her. He got over wondering why that is awhile ago. Just accepts it for what it is, and comes home to his happy place whenever he gets the chance.
“You,” Danneel's voice pitches low and husky when she twists at her waist to set her bottle down on the dresser, “have been a very bad boy all night, Mr. Kane.”
“Have I?” He can almost feel his eyes dancing with amusement as she lays her palms flat against his cheeks and trails her thumbs over the stubble.
“Oh yeah,” she nods, lifting one leg and then the other until she's straddling his thighs on the end of the bed. Chris scoots back, doesn't bother tearing his eyes from her face as her hands start working the fly of his jeans. “Gonna blow our cover one of these days if you don't stop giving me those looks across the room.”
“We were in the backyard,” he points out, but his mouth barely moves as she rolls her eyes and grasps the hem of his tee shirt. “That's outside. Not,” he gives her his best lazy, sarcastic grin, “not a room. He lifts his arms, letting her tear the shirt off and toss it to the floor, and then rests his hands on her bare hips.
Danneel dips her head and nips at the skin behind his ear, her face buried in his hair, when she growls, “You know what I mean, smartass,” against his skin.
He does. They've never officially agreed to keep their relationship under wraps, but being as it never seems to come up in conversation, they haven't exactly bothered to expose it, either. They would understand, every last one of their friends would get exactly what's going on, but Chris is kind of private. Doesn't need to practically hump Danneel's leg behind the counter at Ollie like Jensen does to Jared, or stuff his tongue down her throat like Mike does to Tom. God knows Danneel's never been overcome with the desire to wrap her legs around his waist and ride him like a cowboy at Slinging Ink the way Sophia does to Chad, either.
Whatever this is, it's theirs. Only theirs. And it's enough.
“Come on,” Danneel smacks his hip and rolls off of him. “Take 'em off.” Chris wiggles out of his jeans and his boxers while she rids herself of her tiny bikini top and panties, and then he stretches out on the bed again, arms holding his weight behind him as he waits for her next move.
Sometimes he throws her down and takes what he wants, but when she's blissfully buzzed and looking like an angel from the Underworld in the moonlight streaming through the window, like she is tonight? It's all he can do to remember his own name, let alone take control.
She grips the back of his neck and seals her mouth over his, tongue rolling in and out of his mouth while she moans and slides her naked chest against his arm. Her hand clenches his thigh, purple fingernails digging into his flesh and hurting in the perfect way that lets him know there'll be bruised reminders of this when he wakes up tomorrow and she's already gone.
They don't stop kissing until he feels her hair lifting from it's place over his shoulder and down his back. Eyes drifting over the top of Danneel's head, he smiles lazily and receives the same grin in response.
This is why they leave the door open.
Sometimes Steve joins them. Sometimes he opts out. Either way, they're not complaining.
Steve holds Danneel's hair in one hand and leans forward to press kisses against her neck and the length of her back. She echoes the motion with her own tongue and teeth against Chris's chest, and he's not going to last much longer if he's the only one forced to watch.
“Wait,” he mutters, and it's not loud, but it's understood and obeyed immediately. “Come here, Sweetheart.” Steadying himself, he braces his hands on Danneel's shoulders and rolls her, smiling when her thighs fall open to cradle him automatically. “That's my girl,” he grins at the beautiful picture she makes, reaching for the pillow over her head and spreading herself out on the California king-sized bed he shares with his “roommate.”
When she's situated just the way he wants her, Chris turns his head to find Steve's hand in his hair and his mouth ready and waiting. With one of his hands on Danneel's thigh, he feels her squirm and hears her moan while she watches the show they're putting on for her. Oh, they kiss sometimes when she's not around, but there's always more tongue when she's watching. She has a thing for seeing this.
When he tears himself away, draws a ragged breath, and looks back over, she's rolling her hips into the air and massaging her breasts with both hands, fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, turning his attention fully back to her. He never tells her how pretty she is, or calls her beautiful or anything. She rolls her eyes when he does. But it doesn't make the fact any less true. Goddamn.
With a quirk of her eyebrow, she licks her lips and looks from Chris, over his shoulder, and then back again. “Come on,” she rolls her hips again, “Don't make me do this shit myself.” One hand drifts over her stomach, her fingernails dragging lightly down her torso, and she's not playing around. She'll do it while they watch if somebody doesn't get this party started.
Chris pushes his hands against her thighs and crawls further up on the bed, mouth hot and wet against her smooth belly. He feels Steve's lips at the base of his spine, and everything clicks like being home again. The first few times were awkward, trying to figure out who went where and did what, but it's pretty fluid now. Like dusting off an old song they haven't done for awhile. They know the notes, the words, and the rhythm, and by the time the intro's through, it's like they just rehearsed it yesterday.
His fingers stroke the insides of Danneel's silky thighs, and Steve runs his hands over the insides of Chris's. He dips his head to lick a stripe, tentative and gentle, along Danneel's slit, and Steve mimicks the motion along Chris's ass. After that, he's not sure which of them is setting the pace, and who's following along, but each thrust of his tongue into Danneel is puncuated with the stab of Steve's tongue into him. Each withdrawl and lazy lick of her clit accompanies Steve drawing languid circles around the surface of his hole.
“Fuck,” Danneel cries out and her thighs flex at the sides of his head. He lifts his eyes and her chest is flushed, moist with a sheen of sweat. “Fuck me,” she grits out, meeting his eye. “Just, I don't care,” her head thrashes once from side to side, “I don't care which one of you. Just somebody fuck me, please.”
Before they have a chance to debate it, Chris feels Steve's hand low on his back. “Take care of her, man,” he encourages with a nod.
He's so blindingly hard that he couldn't be the good guy and return the offer if he tried. Figures it's probably a good thing Steve doesn't expect him to. He loves women, but not nearly as much as Chris does. He's learned over the years that Steve has a bigger kink for watching Chris fuck a girl than he does for actually fucking them himself.
Pulling up to his knees, he slides his hands under Danneel's ass and hitches her hips up off the bed. Her legs hang loose at it sides as he pushes in and watches her throw her head back and growl, “Christ, I fuckin' missed your cock.” He can't say he disagrees. His cock missed her, too. “Come here, Stevie,” she motions with an arm, her eyes never leaving Chris's face.
He kneels on the bed at her side and Danneel strokes him slow, in sync with the pace Chris is rocking his hips against her. He doesn't say anything, Steve never does when they're like this, but he's taking it all in. His silence always says more than his words do anyway.
Chris looks from the woman on the bed to the man at his side and can't help shaking his head in amazement. If anyone would've told him that he'd be here, naked with another dude, back when he first moved from Texas to California, he would laughed. That was always Jensen's thing, not Chris's. Most of the time, it still is. Some attraction just transcends parts and pieces.
Of course, if anybody told his ass, back when he walked into Jensen's shop on Danneel's first day of work, that he was going to be balls deep in this punk rock prom queen with the shoulder tattoo and the pierced fucking tongue? He probably wouldn't have believed that, either. Wasn't his type. Turns out, he woulda been dead wrong.
“Fuckin' hell, Chris,” Danneel calls out, her thin fingers joined with Steve's as he guides her at the pace he wants and her legs circle Chris's waist and ankles locked behind his back.
“That's it,” he nods, tongue trapped between his teeth as he moves faster, moves her hips with both hands and fucks into her harder, faster, deeper.
Steve comes first, splashes over her chest, and the sight of it jerks Chris's hips erratically. Danneel's keening, voice unleashed, hands gripping for anything that will keep her from falling over the edge. When Chris lifts one hand and smacks it back down against her hip, she cries out, back bowed and body trembling.
A string of filth that would make any of the guys she works with flows over her lips as she clenches and releases around him. “Christ, Dani,” Chris grunts, but that's all he can manage before he has to pull out. Steve wraps a fist around his cock and he's gone, coming hard while the room whites around the edges and his heart possibly stops beating for a minute.
He falls to Danneel's side, Steve on her other, and he chuckles a little at the sound of uneven, ripped ragged breathing filling the air. Tonight, they threw a typical Kane party to celebrate coming home from a three month tour of the East Coast and Midwest. But this is the homecoming he's been waiting for. “It is good to be home, son!” he says loudly, raising a fist to bump against Steve's over Danneel's gracefully stretching form.
“I'll drink to that,” Steve nods, rolling over to grab his beer bottle, Danneel's, and one he apparently brought for Chris.
They all three struggle to sit, clink the necks of their bottles in a silent toast, and tilt their heads back. They don't have to say anything else. Between the three of them, everything is understood, accepted, and appreciated for exactly what it is.
