carlyinrome

“Angel, we’ve been thinking.”

Angel had just started a new novel, which was, frankly, really stupid of him. It was hard enough finding the time to read with just one girlfriend, but with two? He was lucky if he had time to read the nutrition facts off a box of cereal. Not that he ate cereal, which brought his ingestion of the written word to more or less zero.

But he was determined not to let his brain atrophy, so his response to Cordelia’s request for his attention was, “Mm-hmm.”

Cordelia was not accustomed to being ignored. Honestly; what was more important than her? She tried clearing her throat loudly, and when that still wasn’t enough to wrest Angel’s full attention from his stupid book, she yanked the damn thing away from him.

Angel looked up lethargically. Five minutes. Five minutes of Angel Time would have been nice. It’s not like he was some needy metrosexual; it was just . . . well, a man got exhausted! Even if he wasn’t technically a man . . .

“Cordy . . .”

Her arms were crossed over her chest and her brow was up. Six inches behind her, Buffy was a tiny, golden mirror of the Seer. Angel sighed; he was in trouble.

“We’ve been thinking,” Cordelia said again, her voice stentorian and dripping with triumph.

Angel straightened in his chair. “And . . . what have we been thinking about?”

Buffy shouldered past Cordelia – earning herself a sharp glance from the brunette – and grabbed Angel’s hand. Yanked him to his feet.

“We’ve been thinking about things we should talk about in the bedroom,” she said.

Before he could protest, the girls had dragged him across the Hyperion’s lobby, up the stairs, and to their suite. Most of their clothing was lost in transit, despite Angel’s protests (Hey, you could use a hanger—that’s a silk shirt—Cordy, what if Gunn finds your underwear draped over a—hey! Easy with the zipper!).

“We’ve been thinking,” Cordelia said, more shoving than leading Angel to their bed, “that we really enjoy when you fuck us.”

Angel stared blankly first at Cordelia, then at Buffy. Neither of their faces offered any clue as to what turn this conversation was going to take. Neither did any of their . . . other parts . . .

“Um,” Angel said. “Well, you know, I do . . . I enjoy that . . . too . . .”

“But we’ve been thinking,” Buffy said, locking the door and skipping over to join Angel and Cordelia on the bed, “that it’s about time we fucked you.”

“It’s only polite,” Cordelia said, and slipped off the bed. Angel tried to see where she was going, but suddenly Buffy was on his lap, her tiny hands caressing his chest, stomach, thighs.

“Um,” Angel said. He was getting very nervous.

“We felt just terrible about denying you,” Buffy said, her bottom lip plumping into an attractive pout.

“And – obviously – ourselves,” Cordelia said, sauntering back to join her lovers. “I mean, come on: we’re not philanderers.”

“Philanthropists,” Angel corrected in a low exhalation. Cordelia was still gloriously nude except one notable addition: a strap-on cinched around her waist. She held an identical harness in her hand and tossed it, all leather and . . . wow, that was big . . . to Buffy, who caught it ably and with a smile.

“Right,” Cordelia said, and she smiled, too. “Philanthropists.”

“We like to get ours, too,” Buffy said, standing and allowing Cordelia to help her into the belt.

“Um,” Angel said again.

Cordelia smiled. “So, we’ve been thinking. It’s about time we gave you yours.”

Angel swallowed thickly. “Right, um . . . both of you?”

Cordelia grinned, and pulled Angel to his knees on the mattress. “You’re always telling us to share.”

“We wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” Buffy chimed in, giving Angel a little push; he braced his fall with his hands and then flinched, realizing he was now on his hands and knees before his two . . . apt . . . girlfriends.

It was going to be a long night. A really, really satisfying night, but long.

That tended to be how these things went.