Braided

by Michael, Sean

  Paul reached out for Peter's shirt buttons as Peter grabbed his shirt and tugged it from his pants, their arms and hands getting tangled up as they laughed. Bowie's chuckles were warm, the solid hands sliding over their skin as it was revealed. He got Peter undressed first, then started nuzzling and kissing, teasing Peter playfully, enjoying the pleasure and happiness between them all.

  "Don't get too distracted," Bowie murmured softly, hands still warm and firm -- it wasn’t a censure.

  He hummed, turning to unfasten Bowie's soft shirt, nuzzling Bowie's throat as Peter slid his pants away.

  "Mmm, so pretty." Bowie's fingers turned his chin up, lips closed over his, warm, soft.

  Oh. Good.

  He moaned, opening wide and diving into the kiss, fingers pushing Bowie's shirt open. Bowie moaned, hands sliding down his back and finding his ass, squeezing. He pushed right into the touch, hips rocking like a slut's.

  Bowie chuckled, hands sliding away. "Somebody's eager."

  "Me? No..." He grinned and blushed, leaning in to lick at Bowie's ear. "'S been a long time. I thought I was going to have to be bad."

  Bowie chuckled again, but the sound was husky and there was heat in Bowie's eyes. "Assume the position, Paul. Cock between my legs and you may come if you want -- but Peter is still going to fuck you when I'm done."

  "Oh..." Peter slid away, giving him room to stretch over Bowie's thighs, cock moving to rest between them.

  Bowie’s hand slid along his ass, solid, warm, sure, a promise. "Beautiful, is he not, Peter?"

  "Y...yes. O...oh, yes." Peter's touch was lighter, gentle. "I..is he h...hard?"

  Bowie groaned. "Oh, yes. Like steel fire between my legs. He's ready."

  He moaned, shifting a little, rubbing. Yes. Ready. So ready.

  He could hear Bowie and Peter kissing over his body and then Bowie's hand came down on his ass, hard. Paul took a deep breath, lips parting as heat spread through his ass. Yes. More. Love.

  Bowie continued to spank him, not holding back at all. Bowie talked to him as well. Usually a lecture, tonight Bowie told him how good he was being, how much Bowie appreciated it, how he was seen. He was moaning, rocking and sliding between Bowie's thighs, burning and flying and so proud.

  "So good and so beautiful. My Pretty. One half of my heart." Bowie's hand hit his ass, the top of his thighs.

  "Oh! Oh, Bowie! Love!" His cries rang, echoed.

  "I love you, Paul. My Pretty. With the beautiful skin." The next blow nudged the ring behind his balls and he cried out, coming hard.

  A last blow landed on his ass and then Bowie's hot-as-blazes hand rubbed his ass, Bowie purring. "So beautiful. My Pretty."

  "Yours. Bowie. Oh, oh, so hot." He was burning alive, panting, shaking.

  "You are very hot." Bowie placed a kiss in the small of his back. "Now how can we arrange you so I can still hold you while Peter fucks you, hmm?"

  He heard Peter's low moan. "W...will it h...hurt him?"

  Bowie reached around and grabbed his ass, squeezing. "It's going to hurt so good, isn't it, Paul?"

  His head shot up, thighs parting, cock trying to firm again. "Oh!"

  Bowie’s hands gentled. "You see? He's going to love it. Every time your hips hit his ass, he's going to cry out, his cock is going to throb."

  He relaxed against Bowie's legs, thighs parting, hips tilting and begging for it.

  Peter moaned, one slender finger circling his hole.

  Bowie's hands held him open, one palm hotter than the other against his ass.

  "Oh. Oh, please. Don't tease, Petey. Don't. I need." He rocked against Bowie's hands, needing and that finger just kept touching.

  "He's been so good, Peter. Let him feel you."

  The finger disappeared only to be replaced by Peter's cock -- hard and hot and deep and... "Yes!"

  Bowie purred. "Yes, my Pretties. Lovely."

  Peter's thighs pressed against his ass, his skin burning, flaming. One of Bowie's hands slid around past him to grab Peter, the other wrapped around his prick, tugging it insistently back to life.

  "Oh. Oh. Oh. Bowie. Bowie. Peter. Oh." He was babbling and he could hear Peter's chuckle, Peter's moan.

  "So pretty, both of you." Bowie growled, so sexy, voice thick.

  Peter pushed hard, fucking him hard and furious, making him fly.

  "That's it. Yes. My beautiful boys." Bowie found Peter's rhythm and pulled at his cock in time.

  He was calling out over and over, shuddering, so close, the burn and pleasure more than he could bear.

  "Come, Paul, let it happen." Bowie's whisper was sweet, soft, needy.

  He came, entire body convulsing, Peter's heat filling him as the world went grey.

  It was Bowie's hands that brought him back, solid and sure over his body. Paul moaned, cuddling. "Love you."

  Bowie kissed him and pulled him up, Peter sitting on the other side. "I like this chair, my Pretties. I like this whole room."

  Peter smiled, hand brushing over his ass. "I...it's u...u...us. A...all of us."

  "Yes. It is indeed."

  Bowie settled deeper into the seat, bringing them in for slow, lazy kisses. They cuddled in, his fingers twined with Peter's, both of them just holding on. Loving.

  The perfect beginning to the evening.

  Chapter Eleven

  Peter glared at the shop door.

  The locked shop door.

  It had been Peep that had commed him, quiet and careful in the middle of the night. Peep had asked Paul to go down into the city with him to buy a present for Mouse and Paul had slipped out without telling anyone. Then, something had happened -- some kind of fight or something -- and Paul had sent Peep home and followed a little later and then?

  Paul'd locked himself in the shop -- said he was okay, just a little tired and scared and wanting to be alone and not explain -- hello?

  Alone?

  Paul?

  Right.

  Just because he stuttered didn't mean he was stupid. "I...i...i...i'm gonna g...g...get B...b...b...bowie."

  No answer. Damn it. "I...i'm s...serious!"

  Peter commed Peep. "P...p...peep? Wh...wh...what happened out th...there?"

  "I don't know, Peter, I swear." Peep sniffed, obviously crying. "This guy grabbed my bag and Paul chased him and got my bag back and that's when the others showed up..." Peep's voice faded and another sniff sounded.

  "A...a...are you o...okay?" Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Paul would be livid if he involved Bowie and caused troubles. Paul hadn't done anything wrong.

  Really.

  Mostly.

  But.

  But what if Paulie was hurt?

  Sick?

  Scared?

  What if Paulie was dying?

  "Paul told me to run. He told me to, Peter. I swear. I didn't want to go, but he said I had to. That he knew these guys, knew how to handle them."

  Peep sniffed again. "And then he came back, so I knew he was okay, right? I gotta go, Mouse is upset."

  "Oh. Oh. K...kay. I...i...i... have P...paul c...com l...l...l...l...l...l..." Before the last words were out, Peep was gone.

  Peter turned and banged on the door. "L...let me in!"

  Paulie didn't answer, didn't open and Peter yelled again. "Paulie!"

  The lift doors wafted open, seeming loud in the quiet hall. "Peter? Where's Paul? I wake and you've both disappeared." Bowie was wearing nothing but his robe, a worried frown on his face.

  "I...i...in there. L...locked in. H...he w...won't answer. Th...there w...was a f...f...f...fight, P...p...p...p...p...peep said." He pushed into Bowie's arms, replaying Peep's comms so he wouldn't have to explain again.

  Bowie's arms were warm and comforting, one big hand stroking his back. "All right, let’s find out what happened to our pretty Pet."

  Bowie knocked firmly on the door. "Enough hiding. Let us in, Paul."

  Nothing. Again. He turned worried eyes to Bowie. "I...i...is h...he okay? H...h...he w...w...w...w...won
't answer."

  "You aren't in trouble, Paul -- Peep explained what happened, that you were just trying to help him. But we don't know what happened after. Come on, now, you're worrying Peter."

  Peter was about to holler again when the door slid open, a pale, naked, wet shaking Paul swaying there, one eye black and a deep cut over his eyebrow. "S...sorry. Was in the shower. Just heard you."

  Bowie growled, the sound pure animal and grabbed Paul, pulling his twin into the big arms next to him. "What happened? Who did this to you? Where else are you hurt?"

  Paul blinked at Bowie, swallowing hard before snuggling in. "Tried to hurt l'il Peep. I couldn't let them. Peep's little. Just little."

  Bowie growled again. "Yes and I'm sure Mouse would like to pay them back as well. He and I should go prowling tomorrow evening..." Paul was given a soft kiss. "Where else were you hurt, beautiful Pet? What did they do to you?"

  "My head is bleeding in the back and my wrist hurts where I fell." Paul shivered, dazed eyes meeting his. "I took a shower and some locodin for the pain. I want to go home now."

  "Yes, home. We'll get the doctor to make a housecall." Bowie rumbled and got them turned around and headed for the lift. "Next time you come home first."

  "I couldn't. I was bleeding and bleeding. We just got the new carpets."

  Peter stopped short, staring at Paul. Carpets.

  Carpets.

  Carpets?

  "They're so pretty, Petey."

  Bowie growled again, hustling them onto the lift and pressing the floor for one up. "We're going straight to the doctor's, I'm worried about the hit you took to the back of your head -- you're not rational."

  "Huh?" Paul swayed a little, blinked slowly. "I don't know what you mean. I don't."

  Bowie's frown deepened and he practically dragged them to Doc's quarters, banging on the door with one solid fist.

  Little Ghost opened the door almost immediately, mussed and ruffled, eyes wide. "I heard you. You're angry. Very angry. You can't come in if you're angry at Trip, you're bigger than him."

  Peter blinked. That was the most... real he'd ever seen Ghost.

  Bowie shook his head. "I'm not angry. Well. Not at Doc. Someone hurt my Paul. Doc needs to look at him; he was hit in the head, lots of blood and he's taking nonsense." Bowie looked like he wanted to just push in past Ghost and Peter could feel the tension in the arms around him.

  "Oh. Okay. Okay. Come in." Ghost pulled them in, hands curling around Paul's. "Oh. Oh, don't worry. Don't be scared. Trip will fix you."

  Paul shook his head. "I want to go home."

  "A...after the d...doc looks. Th...then we'll g...go sn...sn...snuggle."

  "Peter's right, Paul. Let Doc check you out."

  The man himself met them in the sitting room, hand stroking gently over Ghost's back as he joined them around Paul. "What's the matter?"

  "Paul's been hurt. Hit on the back of the head. He said there was a lot of blood."

  "Well let's have a look, then." Doc's hands reached for Paul's head, thumb gentle over the bruised eye.

  Paul whimpered softly, wincing as Doc's fingers moved to the back of Pauly's head. "Ah, there's a good-sized lump and a cut. Head wounds bleed a lot. He's going to have a wicked headache in the morning."

  "H...his wr...r...rist?"

  Doc picked up Paul's wrist and manipulated it gently, fingers feeling for the bones.

  Paul groaned, pushing back towards Bowie, shaking his head. Poor Pauly. Poor love. Peter moved closer, petting the sweet, brave face. "Y...you're n...not a b...b...b...big man, P...pauly. Y...you shouldn't f...fight."

  "Bigger than Peep."

  Doc shook his head. "You boys need to learn to stay away from the streets. Everything you need is here at the club, where it's safe. I'd need an x-ray to be sure, but I think this is broken. Is there anything else?"

  Bowie looked pointedly at Paul. "All of it, Pretty. All of it."

  Paul whimpered and Peter leaned over, looking, hand sliding down the flat belly, feeling the little wince, the odd heat around Paul's navel. "H...h...here."

  "It's sore. They kicked me. It's okay."

  "I'll be the judge of that." Doc glanced over at Ghost. "Is that the extent of it?" he asked as he started to poke and prod around the sore area.

  Ghost tilted his head, eyes curious. "How can it be yes and no all at the same time?"

  Paul gave Ghost a wide-eyed look. "What?"

  "He can feel your emotions," Doc said calmly, as it if were the most natural thing in the world. "It's a wonderful aid in examinations. Especially with a reluctant patient."

  Bowie's arm tightened around him, free hand going to stroke Paul's cheek. "You'd better tell us what's wrong so the Doc can fix it."

  "My wrist hurts and my head. My belly only hurts when you touch it." Paul nuzzled into Bowie's touch, eyes closing. Ghost leaned over and whispered into the doctor's ear, white hair messy and fluffy.

  He gave Bowie a questioning look. What was all this? Why couldn't they all go home?

  Bowie's hand slid along his spine and he got a kiss on his forehead, the green eyes returning to Paul, worry and care and so much love in them.

  "You've had a belly injury before, Paul?" Doc asked.

  "Uh... Sort of. Inside. I got hurt inside once, but it's all better." Paul didn't look at the doctor.

  Or at Bowie.

  Or him.

  When? When had Paul been hurt?

  "Who treated you?" Doc asked in the same even, calm voice as if it were perfectly normal.

  Bowie had grown stiff beside him, angry and worried about their Paulie.

  "Uh.... I... A friend gave me stuff 'til it stopped hurting and bleeding."

  Peter blinked. "A f...f...f...f...f...f...f..."

  Doc frowned. "I think I should do an ultrasound as well as an x-ray for this wrist -- you can't go around ignoring the pain your body is in, Paul. If you've hurt yourself you have to be treated. I don't understand why you didn't come to me."

  Ghost shook his head. "He couldn't. He wasn't here. He was somewhere... hungry."

  Oh.

  Oh, his Paulie.

  Bowie sighed. "Paul, was this while you were... away?"

  "I want to go home, Bowie." Paul cuddled in. "I'm sleepy."

  "Can you give him something for the pain, Doc? I'll bring him in for the tests in the morning, if that's safe." Bowie didn't look happy at all.

  Doc nodded. "As long as you're just going home to sleep, I'll give him a light pain-killer. I want your word, though, that if he's still hurting or starts hurting again before morning, you'll come banging on my door again."

  "You have it," growled Bowie.

  Peter watched Ghost walk up to Bowie, look at their lover with icy blue eyes. "He's scared and so are you. You shouldn't be. You love each other and Peter. I'm going to bed, Trip."

  "I'll be there in a minute, Ghost." Doc pet Paul's arm gently. "I'll just get you something for the pain, Ghost is right, you'll be all right."

  Paul nodded. "I'm okay. Just sore. Just sore."

  Doc injected Paul with a small needle. "Tomorrow. Nine a.m., Bowie. Or I'll have all your heads."

  "We'll be there," growled Bowie.

  Paul cuddled close and Peter nodded. "I...I...I set th...the alarm."

  Mouse commed them on the way back to their rooms, wanting to know if Paul was okay, assuring them Peep was as well and thanking Paul for taking care of the little thing. Peep could get in trouble without even trying, something he had in common with Paul, except that Peep made Paul look like an amateur.

  Paul leaned against him, talking randomly, stumbling over his own feet. "B...b...bowie?"

  "No. No, Petey. I'm Paul."

  "I think he was talking to me, Pretty. Yes, Peter?" Bowie palmed the door lock and ushered them in.

  "H...he's b...b...b...b..."

  "I am not!"

  "Uh-huh!" Weird! Paul was being weird!

  "No!"

  Bowie growled. "Shut up for a moment,
Paul -- you aren't supposed to interrupt your brother. Go ahead, Peter."

  "H...he's b...b...b...b...being w...w...weird."