Prompt Post #1

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[FILL] An Understanding

[(Anonymous)]

Wesley is tense.

Wesley is, of course, impeccably controlled at all times, just as cool and professional and competent as ever, but Vanessa has made a career of looking at people and knowing what it is they'd like to look at for the rest of their lives. It's not difficult to see how he stands so straight, how the ironing on his suits is even sharper than usual, and most damningly, how she can sometimes see his attention waver.

She doesn't ask Wesley. They have an understanding, the two of them, the kind of understanding that can only come from two people who love the same man without jealousy for the space they take up in his life, but while Wesley would tell her in an instant if Wilson was unhappy, he won't do the same for himself.

She asks Wilson instead, one night when everything is quiet and warm.

Wilson looks away when she asks if anything is the matter, if there's anything they can do to help Wesley, and she's even a little surprised. There's guilt there, more than there is worry. “I should tell you,” he says, so halting and worried. It seems every week there's something new he thinks will make her leave him.

“Tell me.”

Wilson does, and Vanessa listens. She knows Wilson and Wesley too well to be upset, or even surprised. She finds herself a little sad, though, for the two of them and for Wesley, who ceded his place without a word when there was no need for it.

“Well,” she says when he finishes, and puts her hand on his face to remind him that she isn't sending him away, “we'll just have to fix it, won't we?”

*

Wilson is the one to speak to Wesley, but Wesley comes to her alone, his face pinched, his hands clasped before him.

“It was my idea,” she says before he can speak, standing to greet him. “Did you think I didn't know the two of you love each other? I'll stay in the room. I'll help him.” She straightens his lapel, though it doesn't need straightening. “I'll help you.”

Wesley catches her hand, and for a moment she thinks he'll push it away. He draws it up instead, and presses a light kiss to her fingertips. “Wilson said you understand. He loves you.”

“I know he does. And he loves you. There's no conflict here, Wesley.”

“What is there, then?”

Vanessa touches his neck, just lightly. Wesley shivers. “I believe we'll find out. Friday night, perhaps?”

Wesley nods. He looks steadier, even from that. “I'll clear our schedule.”

*

Wilson is the one to tie Wesley to the bed.

Vanessa watches from the chair in the corner, and it's like a dance, two men who know each other's bodies better than anything else in the world. Wesley undoes the buttons at his shirt cuffs, and Wilson the ones down his front. Wesley steps out of his trousers and Wilson steadies him. Wesley knows just how to hold his wrists so Wilson can tie them. Wilson doesn't ask to see if the bonds are too tight or too loose, because he knows.

And watching Wesley when he's laid out and ready, watching his face when he knows he can't get away, that they have him where they want him and they're going to keep him there, is beautiful. It's the best kind of art, the ephemeral kind Vanessa will never be able to sell because it's most precious like this, fleeting and private.

“Well,” she says, standing up, and both of them look at her. Neither of them forgot she was there, there's no hint of surprise in their expressions. They're attentive. Waiting. They didn't put on a show, but they knew she was getting one. “James,” she says, very deliberately, and watches Wesley shiver. It doesn't feel like his name, but it feels like an intimacy, and that's useful. “You're comfortable?”

“Yes.”

Vanessa strolls to the bed, taking her time, and takes Wilson's arm when he offers it, the two of them standing there like they might before a painting at a gallery. Wesley looks up at them, and he looks so young with his glasses off, folded up at the side of the bed. So vulnerable. Wilson said he needs this and she believes him. “Then we'll begin.”

*

[FILL] An Understanding (2/3)

[(Anonymous)]

Wesley cries beautifully.

All it takes is touch. It takes Wilson with his big rough hands and the solid weight of him keeping Wesley in one place, and Vanessa settling in on his other side, alternately soothing and scratching, kissing and biting. Wesley is a lovely canvas, and she paints him with marks. Wilson is more deliberate, slower. She wonders if he never kissed Wesley when they did this before, if he just slapped him, tied him up, fucked him with his fingers. Wesley seems used to all that but exhales shaky and sweet into her mouth when she kisses him.

“Do you fuck him?” Vanessa asks Wilson, curious. He didn't give her the details of this arrangement, not all of them. He told her only that Wesley needs to be controlled to be settled sometimes. He didn't even need to tell her that he was glad to help. Wilson always takes very good care of his favorite things.

“Sometimes,” he admits. He's so bashful, still, so shy even when he's three fingers deep in Wesley and Wesley's face is wet with tears from pure sensation.

“You could.” She doesn't tell him “should,” doesn't give him anything close to an order. She wants Wesley to follow her orders tonight, but not Wilson. It's enough that he'll take her suggestions. “James, tell him if you'd like him to.”

“You know I do,” says Wesley, to both of them.

Wilson looks at her again, and back at Wesley.

Vanessa hands him a condom. They may not use it, but it's still permission.

*

Vanessa knows how it feels to have Wilson between her thighs, the care and thought of every movement intended to bring pleasure. Where he's gentle and worshipful with Vanessa, though, he's rough and hard with Wesley.

She's sitting back for this part, hand resting on the ropes keeping Wesley tethered to the bed while Wilson fucks Wesley. Wesley is a beautiful arch, only rarely touching down on the bed, his legs thrown around Wilson's waist. Wilson is concentrating, only sometimes looking up at Vanessa instead of down at Wesley, and happy to do either.

They've been going for a long time now, the three of them. The air in the room is hot and close and Wesley is a masterpiece of bruises and scratches and red, wrecked face, not to mention red, leaking cock. Wilson is a masterpiece as well, a musician who knows how to coax the very sweetest notes from his instrument.

Vanessa is, perhaps, the painter. The conductor. She had expected to have difficulties joining them in the rhythm they clearly know so well, but it's opened easily for her.

“How long do you think it will take him to come?” she asks Wilson, as though it's dinner party conversation.

Wilson runs a hand over Wesley's thigh, and he looks down at him with a thoughtful frown and full knowledge of just how to do it, to push Wesley over that edge. “Not long.”

Wesley, during the day, would make some small movement, a little scoff, something understated that would make Wilson pretend he wasn't amused and make Vanessa smile and would communicate that he could outlast either of them. At night, it seems, there's none of that in him. All he does is make a desperate noise and writhe in his bonds.

She catches his face between her hands, holds on until he's looking at her, glassy-eyed but paying attention. “Are you done when you orgasm, James, or would you like to make me come too, once the two of you are finished?”

Wilson makes a sharp noise before Wesley can answer, and she looks up at him. They haven't discussed this, but from the heat in his eyes, he doesn't mind. They're his two very favorite things in the world, she and Wesley, after his all-encompassing love for the city. He'll like to watch them together. “I'd like it,” he says, still so mild, even as he fucks Wesley incoherent. “He'll do it.”

Because of course Wesley will. Even like this, he's still Wesley. He'll make them happy. He'll do the job at hand, for Wilson's sake, and from the way he strains up to kiss her, he'll like it.

“Then come.” She bends to whisper in his ear. “Enjoy it, James.”

She kisses away his scream.

*

[FILL] An Understanding (3/3)

[(Anonymous)]

Wilson holds her hips while she rides Wesley's face. She'd hoped to give him a little distance, perhaps let him sit in the chair where she started getting aroused earlier, where perhaps the upholstery holds a little of the smell of her, but he seems to want to be close, and Vanessa likes it, having him there to hold her so steady while Wesley eats her out with consummate skill.

She can feel him coming back to himself in how he grows more precise as time goes on. At the beginning, he was sloppy, mouthing at her, wet and uncoordinated and glorious. Now it's different, sharper, just as wonderful and all Wesley.

“You'll have to fuck me in the morning,” she tells Wilson over her shoulder. “I think he deserves a chance to watch, don't you?”

Her thighs are blocking his ears, so perhaps he doesn't hear, but she hopes he does, especially how warm and rich Wilson's voice gets when he says “Yes, I do.”

Vanessa comes with a gasp, and when she lets Wilson ease her away, Wesley is watching them both, as sharp and alert as Wesley ever is, only more settled in his skin.

He isn't the sort to want to be told he's a good boy, or how well he did. He already knows, after all.

And Wilson, of course, who knows Wesley inside out, knows precisely what to say, as he goes to untie Wesley's wrists. “Wesley,” he says, of course, giving him his name, in case he needs it to bring him back. “Thank you.”

*

Later, she watches from the bed as Wesley gets dressed, and he does it in the bedroom instead of somewhere private perhaps because he knows she likes to see the change in people as they put on the trappings of their daily selves. Wesley is just as elegant and sharp naked as he is in a suit, but she enjoys watching the bruises and scratches covered in cloth, the cuffs of his shirt buttoned over rope marks like his whole body is a secret.

Wilson is making breakfast, which Wesley will no doubt refuse. Vanessa estimates it will take at least three more of these nights before she can insist and have him not take it as an order. She looks forward to it.

In the meantime, she stands up in time to smooth his jacket over his shoulders. “Don't let it get so bad again. I won't have it, nor will he. You'll come to us, or to him. Do we have an understanding?”

And oh, it's beautiful, when Wesley meets her eyes and lets her have a look into the way his mind ticks away, decoding all the possible meanings of her words and plucking the right one out with no trouble. There's a soft noise of a clanging pan from the kitchen, and Wesley looks quickly at it and then back to her. “We do.”

Vanessa lets him go, but only because she knows he'll come back.

Re: [FILL] An Understanding (3/3)

[(Anonymous)]

These three are my ot3 and I get really happy whenever someone writes them especially this well, so thank you.

Re: [FILL] An Understanding (3/3)

[(Anonymous)]

Loved it. That was a superb take on this prompt.

[(Anonymous)]

I can now die happy, thank you.

Re: [FILL] An Understanding (3/3)

[(Anonymous)]

shit this is good! these three are fascinating.

Re: [FILL] An Understanding (3/3)

[(Anonymous)]

oh.my.gosh.

This was ridiculously hot and perfectly written. Thank you so much, filler!anon.

Re: [FILL] An Understanding (3/3)

[(Anonymous)]

YES perfect

"Vanessa has made a career of looking at people and knowing what it is they'd like to look at for the rest of their lives" <-- beautiful

Re: [FILL] An Understanding (3/3)

[(Anonymous)]

Yessss, what an excellent Vanessa-voice. My kingdom for more fic of these three, but hot damn if you haven't set the standard high.