Braided

by Michael, Sean

Paul chuckled, the sound breathless. "Must be losing the hot water. Peter hates cold water. Either that or he's decided it's time to eat. He's very sure about eating."

  He pet Paul's hand and shifted, pulling them apart. Perhaps that was what it was. He didn't pretend to know the twins though and would not assume.

  He kissed Paul softly. "Thank you -- it was wonderful."

  Then he followed Peter out of the shower. "Peter?"

  "Hmm?" Peter had found a thick robe in the chaos and was toweling his hair, music now being piped into the room.

  "Is everything all right?" He found himself a towel and began to dry off.

  Peter gave him surprised little look, hair wild and tousled, hands reaching to help him dry himself.

  "You took off so fast -- I don't even know if you took your own pleasure when your brother and I came." He had a feeling it would be very easy to overlook this one, despite the bright plumage, and he would not do so.

  "I told you -- he doesn't like the water when it cools. Hells, Bowie, he came twice this morning and he usually waits until lunchtime." Paul hopped out and grabbed a towel. "Petey -- we need more hair stiffy stuff and I think we're going to have to change our feathers, we clash. Ick. Is it my turn to make breakfast?"

  Peter's eyes were laughing. "Yes."

  "Damn. Do you wanna..."

  "N...n...no."

  Bowie chuckled and then turned to pop Paul in the butt. "When I ask your brother a question, I expect to hear an answer from him, not you."

  "Hey! My answers are better!" Paul scooted across the floor. "It's not like I'm lying."

  "Do you have to work today?" he asked Paul.

  "Nope. Today and tomorrow are our days off. Shop's closed. Yay!" Paul gave him a grin. "How about you?"

  "No, I have to work. Yesterday was my first day, remember? I will arrange my schedule from here on in so that I have the third and fourth days of each cycle off as well. But that wasn't why I was asking. I wanted to know whether or not you had to deal with customers, as you do not, then I may do as I wish in response to your cheekiness."

  "Cheeky? I wasn't cheeky. I was..." Paul gave him a wicked look. "Honest. Yeah. Honest."

  Peter was watching closely, eyes sliding between them both.

  He chuckled. Paul was a brat. A very fun and sexy brat, but a brat nonetheless. He did enjoy taming brats. He was somewhat of an expert at it, actually.

  He laid a towel down on the bench near the shower and sat on it. "Come here, please, Paul."

  Paul's eyes went wide. "I'm all clean. I have to make breakfast. It's my turn."

  "I have something for you before you do." He kept his face impassive, one eyebrow rising as he waited.

  "What?" Paul took a step forward. "I wasn't trying to piss you off."

  "You were however being cheeky. I'd like you to lie on your stomach across my legs, please. This won't take long."

  Both brothers stared at him, but neither safeworded, although Peter looked completely stunned. Paul's cock filled slowly, and Paul's skin flushed, those eyes fastened onto his.

  "Now, please. I have to work and I'd like breakfast before I go." He kept his own cock from filling with supreme effort of will.

  "I...I...I'll make b...b...b...b..." Peter blinked and shook his head. "I'll do it."

  "No. Paul can make it. This won't take long."

  "You'll upset him. He's never seen me do anything like this." Paul draped over his legs, cock hot on his thigh.

  He held out his hand to Peter. "Come sit next to me. We can talk once Paul is off making us breakfast."

  Peter's hand slid into his, even as Paul snorted. "He's not a talker, Bowie. Honest."

  He rolled his eyes and gave Peter a soft kiss as he brought the twin down to sit next to him. "I don't want to hear a sound out of you until you can't hold your cry in anymore -- I don't want to push you to safewording, but I am going to wallop your ass until you can't sit without wincing, do you understand?"

  Paul nodded, settling more firmly on his thighs, almost teasing him with that pretty ass.

  He squeezed Peter's hand gently, leaned in to whisper into one purple ear. "He loves this, Peter. His cock is so hard, so hot."

  Then he raised his hand. "No coming," he warned and let his hand land hard on Paul's ass.

  Paul gasped, ass almost pushing towards the blow, the flesh going a sweet, deep rose in the shape of his hand. Lovely. And Paul would feel it all day. Would remember his words every time the twin's pants brushed across the sensitized flesh.

  He continued to spank Paul, alternating where the blows landed for better coverage, speaking as they landed.

  "When I ask Peter a question I do not want to hear an answer from you. You are not to answer for him. He has a voice and a mind of his own. When I ask him a question, I expect him to answer me. I will not tolerate you answering for him."

  Paul nodded, hips rubbing against his thigh, short, sharp little cries sounding.

  His hand stung by the time he stopped, Paul's ass and the top of his thighs a lovely, dark red.

  "What happens when I ask Peter a question, Paul?"

  "P...p...peter answers it."

  "Mmm... yes, exactly." He rubbed Paul's ass, making the man hiss. "I'd like you to wear a kilt today. One made of wool." Yes, that would do nicely. It would slide against Paul's skin at odd intervals, be scratchy when he sat on it. "No underwear. No cream for your ass unless it's getting infected -- which it shouldn't as I haven't broken the skin. And every time it twinges I want you to remember that when I ask Peter a question, Peter, not you, answers it."

  He helped Paul to his feet and took a kiss. "You can go make our breakfast now."

  Paul stroked his cheek, nuzzling him gently. "Yes, sir."

  Peter just sat, still and silent, watching.

  "Very good." He turned his face and kissed Paul's palm. "You've made me very happy."

  Paul purred, fingers stroking him once more, before disappearing, crimson ass swaying.

  He watched until Paul was gone and then turned to Peter, stroking the purple cheek gently with his burning hand. "Are you all right, Peter?"

  Peter nodded, then swallowed hard. "I'm s...s...sorry."

  "Why are you apologizing? Paul was the one who was being a jerk."

  "I take for...forever. Pauly knows that. It's b...b...boring."

  He took Peter's face in his hands, stroking. "Paul's just impatient. I want to hear your needs and wants from you, Peter. I don't mind waiting. I don't care if you have to think to find the words or if you stutter over them."

  Peter blushed dark, eyes closing as the soft cheeks nuzzled into his hands. "P...p...pauly's n...n...not mean."

  "Oh, sweet Peter, I didn't say I thought he was mean. He's impatient. And he knows you very well. And he's... selfish and not a little mouthy." They weren't necessarily bad qualities, but with a third party, it would be very easy for Peter's needs to become lost. Well, he thought perhaps Peter's needs were often subsumed even without the third party.

  But Paul wasn't mean. He didn't believe that.

  Peter chuckled softly, those expressive eyes dancing. "M...maybe a little mouthy."

  Bowie laughed. "Just a little."

  Leaning in he kissed Peter, tongue sliding in. Peter smiled, relaxing against him, the kiss sweet and long and easy, warm.

  He purred softly, hands stroking Peter's cheeks, his hair. "Do you need anything before we eat and I have to go, Peter?"

  "O...one more kiss?"

  "Anything," he murmured, bringing their mouths together again.

  Peter licked and nibbled and kissed, taking a long, close cuddle before leaning back. "Good."

  "Very good indeed."

  He smiled. So different these two, such different needs. Now that Peter and Paul knew that he would listen to them both he hoped that he could find balance for them and with them, so that they all got what they needed and what they wanted.

  He had a feeling it would be a constant challenge.

  He
was a very lucky man.

  ***

  Bowie ate and left and then they were alone, together, Paul all red-assed and quiet and him feeling....

  Confused.

  Horny.

  Itchy.

  Unsettled.

  "P...P...Pauly?"

  His twin looked over, face and motions surprisingly relaxed. "It's okay, Peter. It...it's good. I didn't safeword."

  He nodded. "I know. W...what now?"

  Paul shrugged. "What now? Honest? We fuck around, we play. Maybe he'll stay, probably he won't." His twin moved across the floor, hands sliding through his hair. "If he stays, I don't know. He's different. If he doesn't, you've got me and I've got you and life is fine, yeah?"

  He nodded, pushing into Paul's hands. They'd spent years apart and finally found each other; they weren't separating again. Paul could hear him, knew what he needed, had known from the moment they ran together.

  "Now?"

  Paul grinned. "Now you get some ice and cool off my ass and then we'll play with dyes and then, if we have time, we'll be nice and talk to Kestrel about giving Bowie the room next door."

  "B...b...but...." Bowie'd said no....

  "Bowie said no cream. No cream in ice." Paul grinned. "And, can you imagine? Bowie next door? We can send the lizards through the vents, play music, he'd be close."

  He chuckled, relaxing, meeting Paul's grin. "I l...like him."

  Paul nodded. "Me, too. He likes us, too."

  "Thinks you're a b...brat."

  Paul snorted. "Thinks you're a doormat."

  He stuck out his tongue. "Am not."

  "Are, too." Paul giggled. "Doormat. I should tattoo that on your ass."

  He shook his head. "No way."

  "Gonna shave you again, though. Dye your hair black and bleach your skin. Maybe we'll pierce your other nipple. Then I'll go white hair and black skin. Oooh, do we have white contacts, still?"

  He nodded, pointing to the stack of contact boxes.

  Paul bounced. "Cool. Get the ice. Man's got amazing hands."

  ***

  By the time they were finished with redecorating themselves and finding a kilt and having a bit of a water fight in the hallway and contacting Kestrel about the rooms it was dark, past latemeal and Peter?

  Looked fucking scary.

  "Let me put the black lenses in your eyes."

  Peter shook his head.

  "Please?"

  Peter shook his head.

  "Come on!"

  Peter shook his head.

  Paul stood up, slamming his hand on the counter. "Don't be a bitch."

  "'M not."

  "Are too!"

  "Not!"

  "Bitch."

  "Not!"

  Man, Peter could scream.

  There was a loud knock on the door. Like a shot. A single knock.

  "See? Now it's too late. Kestrel got a complaint about your mouth again" He stormed over to the door, opening it. "I'm going to have him muzzled, Kes, I promise.”

  Bowie stood there, one eyebrow raised. "Perhaps I shall have you both muzzled."

  Fuck.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.

  "We were having a discussion. How was your day at work? Massage much? Hungry? Peter's turn to do that. Watch for the water in the hall, it's not dry yet, but the bathroom's clean, so cool, huh?" Better to baffle them with loads of information than to stand there silent.

  Bowie came in and closed the door quietly behind him. "I see you've redecorated."

  He nodded, twirling. "We're polar opposites."

  Or they would be, if Peter would just play along.

  Asshole.

  Bowie smacked his ass as he twirled.

  "Ow!" He turned, frowned. "What was that for?"

  "What did you put on it?"

  "Black dye."

  Fuck. Dye wasn't creamy, was it?

  "Is that all, Paul? You barely noticed my swat."

  "What do you mean? I said ow." He rubbed his ass, jonesing on the sting.

  "Just answer the question, Paul. Or should I ask, Peter?"

  Peter and his scary-assed self was heading for the kitchen, hiding under the blue-black hair.

  "I didn't put any cream on it. None. I promise."

  "Paul...." There was a warning in that tone, pure steel.

  "I'm going to get you, you deserter!" He stuck his tongue out at Peter, then turned back to Bowie. "Peter put ice on it. It was red."

  "I told you not to put anything on it."

  "You said no cream, no underwear. I did what you said."

  He had obeyed the letter of the law. He had.

  "I'm disappointed in you." Bowie walked past him, into the kitchen. "Good evening, Peter. You look like death."

  "He looks stupid because he won't wear the contacts." Paul slammed through their rooms and into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him and throwing whatever he could find across the room.

  "Bad enough that you won't play, but you argue and make my idea look stupid! And you wonder why I won't ink you! Because you won't play. You argue. You look dumb. You let me get into trouble. And then you yell and make Bowie mad and he's mad at me!"

  Oh, it felt good to just lose it.

  The door opened. "Are you done yet?"

  Stunned at the calm question, he took a deep breath, brushed the tears off his cheeks.

  "Yeah." For now.

  "Come on, Peter's made supper." Bowie turned to go and stopped for a moment, looking back at him. "I'm not mad at you, Paul -- I'm disappointed. And it isn't Peter's fault. It's your own."

  He took a deep breath, started to argue but the smell of something good hit his nose and he followed Bowie out to the eating area. Peter stayed completely silent, staring at the plates and putting them on the table without a single sound.

  Bowie sat, silent and calm, waiting until they were all at the table, ready to eat. "Is this how you spend all your spare time? Arguing and fucking and shouting?"

  Peter didn't say a word, just stared at the empty plate, looking pale and scary.

  "No. We decorate. We swim. We sleep." So there. They did stuff.

  "Whatever you want to do, Paul? And if Peter doesn't want to do it, there's an argument, hmm?" Bowie shook his head. "I have become very...attached to the two of you in an unbelievably short time. I am worried I will regret it."

  Paul saw Peter swallow, saw the pale hands shake. "S...s...s....s...sorry."

  Oh, fuck. Poor Pete. He wasn't good at these games. "You need some juice, Petey? Something light?"

  Bowie sighed. "You alone should not have to apologize, Peter. In fact, I was expecting the lion's share of the apology to come from your brother. He prefers deflection."

  Bowie reached out, caressed both their faces, fingers soft. "I have not yet even seen my rooms and feel the need to correct this now. I wish you both goodnight."

  Paul blinked over. "Red light. You don't know him. You don't know me. He's going to be sick, things got out of hand. I'll give you my apologies, but only after he's calmed down." This was all going too far, too fast, with all sorts of lines blurring.

  One tear slid down Peter's cheek.

  "There's no need to safeword, Paul -- I'm not playing a game -- I can see how upset he is. Why do you think I'm going?" Bowie was pale himself, looking more agitated than they'd yet seen.

  "Fine. Go away. Leave us alone. I love him. I'll take care of him. We're nothing to you. Come on, Petey. Shower, huh? Shower and juice and then bed and tomorrow we'll go out and put things back to normal. Go buy some stuff for the shop and some skin in a bottle, 'cause man, we bleached you too much. No wonder we're yelling and cranky -- we probably poisoned ourselves with everything, yeah? Trying to be pretty?" He helped Peter stand, wrapping around his twin and holding tight, and if he was weeping, well fine.

  Bowie closed his eyes. "Paul. If you were nothing to me, I wouldn't have come home with you in the first place. I wouldn't have played with you this morning, this first morning." The green
eyes opened suddenly, Bowie's head coming back up, looking straight at him. "Ask me to stay and I will. And we will sleep together and in the morning, before anyone comes, before anyone starts to play or argue or tease, we will talk. About more than just safewords."