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The King’s Council was summoned by the Jung family of the Twilight Kingdom. 

Counterproductive arguments with nearby kingdoms wrought with pride and greed over governance of townships and strategic territories stretched three days. While Wooyoung was in no position to make demands or negotiate, as a Prince he was invited to sit at the table to offer counsel. He spoke on behalf of the youth of the Twilight Kingdom and the future that would forever be marred by war. 

Old men, however, cared not for the concerns of the youth. They prioritized wealth and glory. War promised both to the victor. Welfare and continuity of bloodlines, though relied on heavily as a royal value, ultimately bore little importance. To Wooyoung, the verdict of the council not only impacted the people of his kingdom and his future, but the lives of his lovers. 

How effortless it was for old men to squabble at a table with goblets of mead while San and Jongho would sacrifice blood and bone for the kingdom they served. For the men in the council. For Wooyoung.

It was stressful and frustrating, immensely taxing just to listen to it, and though Wooyoung’s determination hadn’t been thwarted, his spirit had been. Jongho and San, his personal bodyguards, stood watch just inside the council doors. They heard everything. With their own ears, they heard the lack of empathy with which the old men spoke of soldiers' lives. 

Wooyoung’s frustration reached a peak during the second intermission of the day. The council filed out in hobbling, crooked steps on old bones weak from a life lounging on plush, velvet thrones. As they left, so did their respective bodyguards. Wooyoung remained seated, therefore Jongho and San too.

After a beat of heavy silence, Wooyoung stared at Jongho. “Come here.”

Jongho faltered. The tone of Wooyoung’s voice was something unnatural, scratching against his ears. Their Prince, usually displaying a mischievous smirk or a caring, loving gaze, was now visibly upset, his mouth in a straight line. It would be right and wrong both to say it was fear that Jongho felt as he would never fear their Prince, but he did fear the world in which they were brought in—one where lives were disposable, and the pawns moved first on the orders of the King. 

A King who was as unmoved by Wooyoung’s passionate address as the other old men in attendance, for whom the promises of gold and glory mattered more than the lives of their people. Jongho and San reigned back their visible frustration throughout, but now, looking at each other in the moment before Jongho took a step forward, all of that was reflected in their mutual gaze.

But Jongho came nonetheless, approaching the Prince with a courtesy bow, one he took simply because they were in the council chambers and he did have to show the appropriate respect. 

“Lift your head,” Wooyoung ordered curtly, however, and Jongho obeyed once again. Their eyes met, Wooyoung’s steely and Jongho’s careful.

“How may I serve you, my Prince?”

Wooyoung slowly rose and stood in proper posture—straight-backed and upright with his hands behind his back. Jongho stared at the motion, analyzing its meaning. The Prince rarely followed customs and especially cared little for petty things like posture. Glancing briefly at San, Wooyoung pointed to the very chair he had sat in. “Sit.” 

Jongho knew it was a command to him. 

He sat without delay, posture stiff and proper as it had been since approaching the Prince. His palms rested atop his thighs in waiting. He sat patiently and quietly for a respectful amount of time for Wooyoung to speak. When he didn’t, Jongho asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, my Prince?”

“Take out your cock and get hard.” 

Wooyoung unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his tucked shirt, freeing his stomach. It was covered in bites and bruises from the last time they made love. He slid his trousers and undergarments down to mid-calf, immediately delving a finger between his soaked folds and moaning at the sticky string of slick that stretched from his fingertip to his clit when he pulled it away. “Open your mouth.”

Jongho did so without question. His reaction to the first prompt demand was delayed by the sheer surprise at seeing their Prince like this—it was rare that he took control of an intimate situation with such decisiveness, usually happy to be treated however by him and San. Speaking of the latter, Jongho was sure that if it was him in this position, he’d already be hard. But perhaps Wooyoung had chosen Jongho just for that reason.

Slowly, he unbuttoned his pants and pulled his briefs under his soft cock, tugging at it perfunctorily as his eyes fixed on Wooyoung and the treasure between his legs. His pussy was already wet, and Jongho couldn’t help but wonder if he had sat in those meetings enraged and thinking about how he’d get to take it out on his lovers, which led to their current predicament. And San, the traitor, didn’t say anything. 

San just watched, back pressed to the door as a physical barrier lest someone decide to enter the council room prematurely. His ear was half to the door, half to the wet sounds Wooyoung made when he slid his finger through his pussy just to hold it to Jongho’s mouth—and almost moaned when Jongho took it in without preamble, round lips slotting nicely around the single, long digit. 

Wooyoung’s nectar tasted heavenly, and Jongho decided to chance his luck and grasp onto Wooyoung’s thigh with the hand not stroking at his growing hardness, to pull Wooyoung closer and into his body. He came with a yelp, the pull unexpected. 

Just like the tongue that was suddenly teasing over his pussy, over the hair at the top and between the soft folds, as far as it could get. Wooyoung startled, immediately throwing a hand into Jongho’s hair to pull him away. 

“I didn’t say you could touch me.”

“You told me to get hard,” Jongho replied, expression still neutral as he stared up at Wooyoung.

“You’re getting hard just fine.” Wooyoung flicked the hardening head of Jongho’s cock lightly, just to get a flinch out of him. He grinned at the not-so-subtle inhale and exhale Jongho took to stay himself. He was trying so hard to remain respectful and subservient to his Prince.

San, on the other hand, fumed from his post by the door. His bulge was obvious across the room. Known for his intense, yearning stare, he did not disappoint as he watched his lovers play without him. Really, though, there was no time for play. Intermission would be over shortly. While neither he nor Jongho were in the position to defy their Prince in the council room, perhaps it was in everyone’s interest to pause and resume in a more flexible window of time.

“My Prince, intermission will end soon,” announced San, sounding more like a petulant child who wanted to go first.

Guiding Jongho’s semi-hard cock to his sopping pussy, Wooyoung stuffed the first half in as he sank slowly onto Jongho’s lap. “This won’t take long,” he moaned out, eyes closed and head lolled back at the satisfaction of his lover hardening faster inside his walls. 

Jongho’s breathing quickened and the will to remain compliant weakened with every sultry roll of Wooyoung’s hips on his lap. He gripped the Prince’s hips tightly, encouraging him to move while fighting with himself to stop now before the King found out. “My Prince, we can’t—”

Wooyoung clapped a hand on Jongho’s mouth as he bounced faster, using his lover’s cock to fuck the anger and frustration from three days of useless arguments out of his conscience. Jongho’s hands tightened unconsciously on Wooyoung’s waist, the pace on his still half-hard cock unforgiving as it coaxed him into a painful pleasure. Wooyoung completely disregarded that, the look in his eyes saying clearly that what Jongho or San wanted didn’t matter right now.

It was, frankly, maddening. San was unhappy to watch as Jongho was used and he had to stay watch—especially when barely a minute or so later, he heard footsteps approaching the hall and knew he wouldn’t get his turn. 

“There’s… someone is coming,” he choked out, worried, putting more of his weight on the door. 

But Wooyoung couldn’t have cared less. “Then turn them away,” he scoffed, turning to San as he bounced steadily in Jongho’s lap. Now that Jongho was hard, Wooyoung could fuck himself faster, angle himself so that Jongho reached the spot in him that made shivers pass down his spine and his thighs tremble. It wouldn’t take long indeed—Wooyoung’s pleasure was like a quickly building wave, gathering speed and close to crashing on the shore.

Thankfully, the footsteps then faded into another corridor, and San could breathe easier. That didn’t mean, however, that his jealousy lessened.

“Fuck, Jjongie, you feel so good inside me. You got hard for me, I knew you would. You’re such a good boy… you do anything I say, don’t you, baby?” Wooyoung fucked himself harder on Jongho’s lap, stabilizing himself on Jongho’s armored shoulders as the wooden chair creaked loudly. At Jongho’s muffled reply, Wooyoung removed his hand and licked a fat stripe up Jongho’s lips in its place. 

Jongho’s lips parted in wanting. He wanted a proper kiss. He wanted a proper fuck. He wanted so many things to be different than how they were because he knew deep inside the Prince was hurting. The tight, wet heat repeatedly swallowing him whole, however, turned his brain to mush. The primal need for Wooyoung to come on his cock became the only thing he wanted—and the only solution to the Prince’s immediate needs. 

“C’mon baby, come. I’m so hard for you.” It wasn’t in his character to beg in scenarios like this, but Jongho always prioritized his Prince’s needs above his own. Always.

Truthfully, the last few days of meetings had allowed them little time for respite or anything else. Hence, Wooyoung’s pleasure built rapidly inside him, a purely physical release rather than the slow, truly overwhelming pleasure they usually felt. What he needed was quick satisfaction—a cheap attempt at endorphins. He was losing the battle for peace and he was going to lose his lovers in the process. He didn’t want to think of them like that. 

He wanted warmth, love, and pleasure. 

Grasping the back of Jongho’s neck, Wooyoung rolled his hips sharply several times, savoring the tension in Jongho’s thighs as he restricted himself to be what his Prince needed. Jongho, sweet Jongho, what a generous, compassionate lover he was. What a perfect, fat cock that speared into Wooyoung’s heat and stretched it full. The swollen head bumping into his cervix pushed him over the edge. 

“Fuck, so good—” Wooyoung cried out as his pussy swallowed Jongho whole and pulsed with a fast, intense orgasm around the girth. He slumped onto Jongho’s armored chest and draped his arms over his shoulders, sighing into Jongho’s neck contentedly. He peppered kisses here and there, lingering his lips over the throb of his carotid, and whispered words of affirmation until Jongho gently coaxed Wooyoung to look at him. 

“Feel better, my Prince?” asked Jongho with a small smile. 

At the door, San’s jaw clenched in jealousy. 

And reasons to be jealous he had. This time, the steps didn’t falter, accompanied by loud, throbbing voices that made San’s ears perk—and his voice cut off Wooyoung’s answer.

“My Prince— Jongho—” he warned, alarmed, as he turned the heavy wooden plank to hold the door locked, a cheap attempt at thwarting entrance. “They’re here.” 

“Gods.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, the rare moment of blissful peace ruined by the reality of going back to whatever they were experiencing. A once-in-a-lifetime gathering of utter imbeciles, wealthy patrons whose only concern was fattening their pockets. Fuck, if Wooyoung hadn’t gotten to come, a head may have rolled this afternoon. 

But alas, he did. Regretfully, he unlatched himself from Jongho’s neck, pulled off with a wet, loud noise and a river of slick running down his pussy to Jongho’s still hard cock. Putting back his soaked underwear was a strange sensation, but the feeling of Jongho’s hardness pulsing in him remained, leveling his mind. 

Jongho rushed to stuff his erection back in his own undergarments, left painfully empty and cold by the loss of Wooyoung. It was rare that he got to fuck him like this and not breed him until he was full and dripping, but he ultimately respected Wooyoung’s needs and recognized when the act was less about its reality and more about its meaning. 

“Let them in,” Wooyoung ordered, back in his seat with his two bodyguards standing at the door, matching bulges barely covered by their long tunics. 

Men poured in, oblivious to anything other than themselves and the interests of their respective kingdoms. They took their seats and unfurled scrolls of parchment. Scribes readied their inkwells and feathered pens. The third portion of the meeting commenced with as much blithering selfishness and droll as the previous two-thirds. While dissent soaked Wooyoung’s bones, the tingle of orgasm and the lingering feel of Jongho’s hot cock inside him abated his sharp tongue. 

Late afternoon winds were strong in the Twilight Kingdom. In the past two days, the garden of flags outside the window beat too loudly for the speaker to continue, and thus the meeting was adjourned. Thankfully, the pointless meeting saw the same demise. No official verdict had been reached and they’d all be summoned for another meeting tomorrow, but the writing was on the wall—war was nigh. 

Mitigating his stress and boredom of the last few hours was also nigh. It was San’s turn to satisfy his Prince so that he may be in an acceptable frame of mind for dinner. 

As Jongho saw the last nobleman out, Wooyoung strolled to San with a mischievous smile. San, remembering Jongho’s fun earlier, matched the smile. When Wooyoung was only halfway to him, San untied his pants and pulled out his cock. It was hard, eager, and dripping.

“For you, my Prince.”

Wooyoung smirked. Nothing like one of his lovers’ aching cocks to dissolve any thought that may have lingered from the meeting—sometimes, ignorance was truly bliss. Or, as far as Wooyoung could make it so. 

He simply refused to think of how many times they would have left to do this. Because he was determined to fight, fight until the bitter end to have them safe in the castle, as protected as they had him; and so, he didn’t think of any of that as he simply indulged in the comfort, and slid his soaking pussy over San’s hardness. He meant to tease, simply take it between his folds and maybe make himself come like that… but San wasn’t Jongho. 

Reckless, San grabbed him by the hips and took Wooyoung’s knee in an elbow, lifting it up to slide his cock into his still-dripping pussy, into the hilt, and making Wooyoung keel in pleasure. “Sannie—” he warned, but San took him, eager to slide home. “Be good.” 

The warning tone did little to deter him. Wooyoung gripped at his uncovered biceps, digging nails into his skin as he was fucked, shivers of pleasure running down his back. And that did even less —as soon enough, he found himself picked up, back pressed on the wooden table, legs around San’s waist as he was taken once again. 

Wooyoung gripped the edge of the table on instinct. San had a habit of manhandling him into, onto, and all around walls and furniture. He was the more eager, untethered of the two bodyguards. He was more honest, too, with his feelings and his thoughts. There was a time and place for such things, however, and that wasn’t now. Wooyoung wanted to use him and experience a sense of control that had been stripped from him the last few days. 

“Slow down! San, no—” moaned Wooyoung, the no stripped of authority. San fucked him good, deep, too fast for his preference at the moment but with long strokes that tingled the walls of his pussy enough to placate his irritation with San. 

Jongho’s presence registered with the wooden slide of his fingertip on the table. He traced a border along the edge as he rounded the table to stand behind San. “San. You received an order from your Prince. Slow down. Be good.” He grabbed San’s hip, the flex of his hand silently indicating how harsh the grip was. 

San slowed. He snarled at Jongho and said something Wooyoung couldn’t hear. Jongho’s laughter answered whatever San said. Then, amazingly, San slowed to a halt with his hips jutting forward for Wooyoung to use as he pleased. 

And that he did as he sat up and spread his thighs apart, the cloth of his attire slipping down his sides. His hips rolled like ocean waves with wet squelches to San’s base. San thumbed the constricting muscle of Wooyoung’s inner thigh affectionately as he and Jongho watched hungrily at Wooyoung’s pussy drooling slick on San’s length. 

It was something else to witness, their Prince so irritated that the things which made him once mewl and tremble were now too much. The change wasn’t unwelcome as much as the reasons for it, but it was still a maddening sight to witness Wooyoung desperately fucking himself on San’s cock while Jongho’s throbbed in his own pants; he held back, not pressing himself on San lest he get carried away and take this much further than their Prince wanted to. 

San, surprisingly, listened. He stood still and obeyed, even as his cock throbbed to press quicker, faster, set a punishing pace matching the feelings they surely all had. Constricted as he was by the position, Wooyoung could do nothing more but grind slowly on San’s cock, something that felt incredible to him, but less for San. 

This was all about Wooyoung, however—and despite his recklessness, San understood. 

For Wooyoung, the position worked wonders. San’s cock pressed deep inside him, raw and primal, coaxing him open and holding him so, and he chased the feeling without thinking. His nerves were on edge, threads thin and threatening to snap, and the heat building in his stomach was a cannon ready to be lit.

The pretty sounds Wooyoung made provoked Jongho to involve himself, even if it was San’s turn to be used. From behind San, he stroked up Wooyoung’s inner thigh to the juncture of his hip, thumbing appreciatively at the crease before pressing his palm on Wooyoung’s lower stomach. San groaned and hung his head back, struggling to stay still and let the Prince lead their pleasure. Pressure from Jongho’s palm, though, lit the cannon. 

Wooyoung’s nails cut into the table as his hips writhed—he was on the edge. 

“San-ah, say something nice to your Prince,” whispered Jongho, raising hairs on San’s neck. “Aren’t you grateful?” 

San’s jaw was tight. He was always grateful for every intimate moment. It was when he had to hold back and remember his place as a guard beneath the Prince that drove him wild. He was never made to feel less than by Wooyoung, but the Prince was a bit of a brat when he wanted to be. Where Jongho showed him grace, San was impatient. 

But he’d never go against his Prince.

Even if the clench of his pussy, hot and wet from coming on Jongho’s cock already, was more difficult to endure than a sword slash. 

“Fuck yes, so grateful,” San groaned, biting his lip and gripping onto Wooyoung’s thigh possessively. 

Jongho smirked. “Good boy,” he whispered, intentionally vague about whom the remark was addressed to. Even if it was San, however, Wooyoung couldn’t ignore the shiver that passed down his back at the praise, adding to the physical from the maddening press of Jongho’s hand and the stretch of San’s cock. Before he could control it, his fingers gripped tight at San’s forearms, leaving nail marks on hard muscles as he came around the cock sliding deep inside. His hips writhed on the wooden table, milking the last ounce of pleasure he could from his lover, Wooyoung’s eyes staring right into his beautiful brown ones and watching Jongho’s head on San’s shoulder as he helped.

“San—ah—” his moans peaked, echoing around the grandiose hall as he twitched on the table and felt San’s cock pause inside of him, still as Wooyoung decided to stop. The obedience was welcome, especially as Wooyoung now could lift his hips off the table and let San’s cock slide out. 

Composure was necessary. Wooyoung lifted up and looked right into San’s eyes as he slid his undergarments right back over his soaked pussy and hopped off the table. A pleasant smile hiding a smirk stretched his lips as he wrapped the cloth tie around his waist and rearranged his haphazard clothing. 

“Thank you for your help,” he quipped, not needing words to understand the befuddled expressions on San and Jongho’s faces. “I believe my attendance is requested at dinner. As it is a private affair, you will not be needed. You can enjoy your afternoons.” 

They balked at Wooyoung as he bowed respectfully and left the council room. So casual, so indifferent to deriving pleasure from them without reciprocating a satisfactory finish. San was mad with frustration, his cock still dripping with the Prince’s slick. It was growing cold in the open air with nothing warm to clamp around it. And Jongho, he laughed.   

“I’m glad you can find humor in this.” San wiped himself with a piece of cloth and stuffed himself inside his trousers. 

“It’s funnier when it’s you and not me.”

Arching an eyebrow, San looked Jongho over. “Looks like it’s both of us.”

Jongho didn’t hide it. He’d been hard since the moment the Prince commanded it so. “Wooyoung is too beautiful,” he said, shrugging like it was a fact of life. 

“I think you’re too nice to him.” San stepped to Jongho, who didn’t flinch or move away. They were so close their bulges grazed. “I want to come. Don’t you?” 

Jongho stared at San’s lips and reveled in the heat of his hardness against his own. Tension stretched the distance between them. They didn’t need Wooyoung to come; Jongho could bend San over again and make him come like that. The matter of fairness, though, was to be addressed. 

“Return to your post, guard. I will see you in Prince Wooyoung’s bed chambers in the eve.” 

San grinned. 

~ 

Wooyoung’s belly was full of roasted boar and root vegetables. Foreign dignitaries brought gifts of exotic fruits and spices, some of which were used to mull hot wine for the after-party. Wooyoung himself enjoyed several cupfuls so that his body could relax and his mind could wander to pleasant, distant places that weren’t in the uninspired minds of simple men. 

What were his guards doing after being given leave for the evening? 

Were they finishing what the three of them started out by the stables, handling each other and kissing with raspy moans and calloused hands against the wood with only the horses and cattle to bear witness? Oh, how Wooyoung longed on occasion to be a fly on the wall. They were so affectionate to him, as doting as they were to their beloved battle horses. Did they grant themselves the same attention? 

“Forgive me, Prince. You said you ride horses?” 

“Oh,” Wooyoung sighed, not realizing he’d slipped into a fantasy of his own. He sipped the last of his third wine. The heavily-bearded man in General’s uniform grinned, the crow’s feet of his middle-aged eyes creasing. “On occasion, yes. When I endeavor to hunt with the cavalry.”

Like a hunter’s arrow, the remark was sharp. Council discussions revolved around impending war. If the cavalry was hunting, war was invoked. A General ought to know that. 

The General wasted his evening and wine-loose tongue on seducing Wooyoung after harping on unity among Kingdoms and implicating himself as the Prince’s suitor. Wooyoung was not interested. He made that known.

“Forgive me, General. It is late and I have had a long day. I must pardon myself and make leave for my bed chambers alone. Please, enjoy your night and all the pleasantries our Kingdom can provide you.” 

The General was displeased and rigid upon rejection. 

Wooyoung, however, couldn’t care the slightest as his heeled boots clacked upon the marble flooring of their castle. His duty was fulfilled, as councilor and as host, and he wanted to make it clear that was all he was ever going to be. Suitors beat down on the castle’s doors day and night for a chance at Wooyoung’s hand—thankfully, the threat of impending unrest made it easy for Wooyoung to reject the advances, citing other priorities.

Other priorities being the two men who had better be in his room when Wooyoung stepped into it, locking the massive outer wooden doors himself. The sanctity of his chambers as a space unmarred by the poison of the outside always gave Wooyoung peace, the freedom to be himself. 

It helped that usually, Jongho and San were there to welcome him. Tonight, their downturned faces made Wooyoung smirk. 

“At ease, guards,” he ordered, and San and Jongho’s posture immediately relaxed. It was the Prince’s way to switch their relationship, from loyal guard dogs to true lovers. As he did, San and Jongho put their swords down and snapped out of the lighter armor of the castle guards. 

It was San who reached Wooyoung first, picking him up by the thighs and slamming him against the door with a kiss whose urgency Wooyoung felt in the bites to his lip almost drawing blood. Yelping, he reciprocated, wrapping his legs tight around San’s waist. San couldn’t help but moan as the Prince’s stomach rubbed against his still-sensitive bulge teased to a perpetual excitement. 

“My Prince,” he spoke, digging a mark low on Wooyoung’s neck. “You’ve been something else today, did you know that?”

“You haven’t stopped thinking about me?” the Prince cooed, cupping San and catching himself off guard by the hard, hot want of his lover. “Were you like this through dinner?” 

Behind them, Jongho laughed. Wooyoung wasn’t able to ponder the connotation of it because San was swift to answer physically. He laced his fingers in Wooyoung’s and invited the Prince under his trousers to palm his throbbing cock. San groaned as if pained. The furrow of his brows, always so expressive, indicated he was. 

When Wooyoung held him, San pinned him firmer to the door and kissed him harder. And they kissed until they were both breathless. No man of any station in life was capable of rationality when low on fortitude. So San, with a grunt, carried his Prince to his bed, allowing no distance to come between them unless to rip, tear, and peel clothing off Wooyoung’s incredible body. 

Wooyoung wasn’t entirely naked when San’s patience ran out. The heat of his pussy was wet against San’s skin, so San rutted into the wetness to alleviate the agonizing pressure on his cock. Body sweat and slick were sticky between their bodies, and the heat of the small fireplace in the corner of Wooyoung’s room that Jongho had apparently ignited warmed the stone room. 

Lips attached to Wooyoung’s neck, sucking his pulse point the color of mulberries, San nudged the head of his cock in Wooyoung’s folds. “You came twice and you’re still wet, my Prince? Are we not enough for you?” 

He didn’t ruminate over his lover’s wetness being caused by suitors from the dinner. He and Jongho shared too many sleepless nights in the barracks speculating when Wooyoung would be married off. Someday it could happen. Someday was not today. San was jealous all the same.

So he rushed to shove down his trousers to properly pull himself out and properly push into Wooyoung’s still-wet pussy. He didn’t move; he merely warmed himself. Wooyoung cried out and enveloped San’s head in his arms, hugging his face to his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat calmed San, reassuring him that the rhythm was for him and Jongho—not some old bastard at the after-party. 

“Sannie!” Wooyoung hugged San hard to his chest, stilling him. He always disliked the chafe of armor to his bare skin. San knew that but forgot in his zealousness. Jongho knew, though, and read it in his Prince’s body language. 

The degree to which he was willing to indulge his preferences, however, differed from occasion to occasion. Not that Jongho did it on purpose, or to hurt their Prince—but well-known dynamics meant their Prince liked when acting up came with its deserved consequence. He welcomed it—it was freedom and equality in a world that put him on a pedestal and yet kept him constrained. 

“San,” Jongho warned as well, unmoving as he was leaning against the wall. His own erection was almost ripping the seams of his pants, but unlike his counterpart, he had patience.

“I know, I know,” San replied, flicking his tongue over Wooyoung’s nipple. Not what we agreed on, his tone indicated—but Wooyoung was so warm and so welcoming, the heat of his pussy so inviting, that he nearly threw their plans to the window to rut into it. He was so close that hell, it wouldn’t take more than a few thrusts. 

Even San, however, knew when there was potential for more. Thus, with great hesitation, his cock slipped out of Wooyoung with a wet sound, strings of slick connecting them, and a long whine from Wooyoung indicating his displeasure. He would’ve taken it, armor and all, if it meant the closeness that the dinner had denied him. 

San and Jongho had other plans, it seemed. They didn’t make a show of stripping their armor and laying their swords on the desk, although everything was a show for Wooyoung. The reveal of the battle scars they’d gained for him, the taut muscles from their training, and the heft of their wide, strong bodies. He couldn’t help but reach down, run his fingers through the wetness between his folds as he admired—that until Jongho’s large hand enveloped his wrist and pulled it away. 

“No more of this. From now on, you obey what we do.” 

Wooyoung gulped and huffed, torn between eagerness and anticipation, willingness to follow and reluctance to just fall in. When Jongho slipped under him on the bed, Wooyoung angled himself to tantalizingly rub his pussy on his hard cock, inviting him in.

The look Jongho leveled San with was straightforward. My turn. The way Wooyoung swiveled his hips to grind on Jongho’s thickness, it was as if he too declared it Jongho’s turn as well. So San pulled a chair over and sat in it, legs spread as he stroked himself through the light kisses and unintelligible flirtations Jongho whispered into the Prince’s ear that made him giggle. 

Sitting belly to back, Jongho behind Wooyoung, Jongho ran his hands up and down Wooyoung’s inner thighs as he parted them obscenely wide and locked them in place with the notch of his ankles. San’s breath hitched as he shamelessly stared at Wooyoung’s pussy, pink and wet and still slightly open from San’s cock. 

Jongho’s cock slid between Wooyoung’s cheeks as the Prince reclined onto his guard, relaxed and horny and safe. The tip emerged between his folds, pulling a groan from San. And gods, Wooyoung moaned too, something filthy on his tongue unspoken when Jongho pinched him by the chin and silenced him with his lips. 

Jongho kissed slower and deeper than San did. He drank in flavors and sounds as if judging wines for purity. Wooyoung squirmed when a calloused palm rubbed over his pubic hair and over the hood of his clit, not stopping to tease on the journey to his furled rim. 

“Jong—”

Smack.

“Wait, Jong—”

Smack.

Any protest from Wooyoung was punished with a slap to his pussy. There was no tolerance for what he wanted—he made his choices earlier that day.

In Wooyoung’s ear, Jongho whispered, “It’s my turn to use you how I want to, my Prince. I don’t want your pussy.” A finger coated in slick pushed into the first knuckle. 

“Jongho!” Wooyoung finished his name in a high-pitched exclamation, holes clenching and hand fisting in Jongho’s hair. San’s jealousy had no match for Jongho’s unnerving patience, drawing out the moment in rising tension for a toe-curling crescendo—and they’d barely even started. Wooyoung’s pussy stung from the harsh slaps, and even the one finger breaching his rim had him stretching open, whining. 

“Relax,” Jongho instructed, tugging at Wooyoung’s ear as his finger slid in and out, slow, pulling his rim to the side to take a second despite having just started. “I know you can take me. You’ve taken me in your ass with less,” he whispered the last part right in Wooyoung’s ear, chuckling. 

The tip of his cock pressing against Wooyoung’s entrance, demanding and hard right next to his fingers, was just the perfect reminder of it—that Wooyoung was such a slut for them he’d take them however. Prepared, unprepared, with the luxury of oils or rushed, spit against his hole and precome easing the way. 

“Please—” he choked, lips desperately pressing against Jongho’s jaw as he was pulled open, mercilessly opening up on his guard’s thick fingers. 

San, recognizing that the teasing meant Jongho would likely make good on his words and take their Prince however, let go of his cock to rise from his chair and search in the bedside table for the lavender oil specially prepared for such instances. His erection bobbed as he walked, so close to Wooyoung’s mouth when he lifted the cap and tipped oil into his palm, but no—they had a task. Jongho would kill him if he derailed. 

“Say thanks,” he winked to Jongho as his slickened hand gripped his length, coating it with an abundance of oil.

“Thank you, Sannie…” Wooyoung blinked up at San, at his cock, and leaned over to kiss it. San flinched and rolled his hips, two seconds away from grasping Wooyoung by the hollow of his cheeks and fucking into the heart shape of his smooshed lips. 

Jongho laughed. “Not you, baby. But you’re very cute.” Pressing a kiss to Wooyoung’s temple, he stared at San, eyes reiterating his claim —my turn; back off. If he hadn’t already had his cock inside the Prince before Jongho, San would’ve pushed it. They had plans, however, and he’d waited throughout dinner to enact them. He acquiesced. 

Not before thumbing Wooyoung’s clit and stroking down Jongho’s cock to his balls. No one except San knew how much Jongho liked his balls massaged when he was pent up and teetering the edge. The heft of them in his palm quirked a smirk on his lips and a momentary lapse of composure in Jongho. 

Jongho’s hold on Wooyoung’s hips faltered, causing the Prince to slip and his rim to catch on Jongho’s cockhead. They both moaned at the slow suction of Wooyoung’s hole as gravity pulled it over Jongho’s tapered cock. “Godsdamn—” Jongho swore, affixing his large hands on Wooyoung’s hips and helping gravity stretch him open on his aching cock. 

Wooyoung was near tears. Jongho prepared him with two fingers but he needed at least three to take his lover comfortably. Impaled partway down, he was helpless to oblige Jongho’s girth millimeter by millimeter until his thighs quivered and tears streaked his cheeks.  

“Jongho-ya, he’s crying,” San remarked, a shared tease on his face as he sat back in the armchair. 

“He is?” Jongho cooed, a fake sense of sympathy leading him to kiss Wooyoung’s cheek. He stopped halfway, acquiescing to a pause. “You can take me, my Prince, can’t you?” The question was rhetorical, and not quite—if Wooyoung said to stop and meant it, Jongho would, no question. 

But he wouldn’t—of that he was sure.

“I—” Wooyoung cried out, the knowledge that Jongho was only halfway now revealed by the fact he stopped. Why did he stop? Wooyoung wanted it. “Put it all in, Jjongie, please…”

“Your wish is my command,” Jongho nodded, pressing Wooyoung down by his grip on his waist until the fat of his cheeks met the top of Jongho’s thighs, and he was enveloped in the tightest heat he’d ever experienced. His breaths got heavier, harder as it was to hold back and take it as slow and teasing as he wanted to. 

His movements were slow, but each millimeter of movement drew a sharp whine from Wooyoung; his hole relaxed and tightened like making way for the intrusion, figuring out a way to fit it in, pushing its limits until the pain drew to pleasure. For San, the view of Wooyoung’s pussy rhythmically clenching, shivering, and the stretch of his rim on Jongho’s cock was probably the hottest sight he’d ever been deigned to see in this room. His nails dug into the wood of the armrests to not touch himself, bear patience until it was his turn. 

When the pain of adjustment tipped to frustratedly pursuing pleasure, Wooyoung steadied himself on Jongho’s strong thighs and bounced. Jongho huffed a heavy, burdened breath that gave away the depth of his horny suffering. He’d been painfully erect since Wooyoung first commanded he get hard in the counsel room. He endured Wooyoung’s orgasm fluttering around him. He witnessed Wooyoung use San for the same purpose. 

He was tired of suffering yet, with the spirit of a warrior, he endured. 

But Wooyoung bouncing on his cock was excruciating. The Prince was a wicked combination of adorably charming and a devilish vixen with hips made for riding cock. He was clever too—he knew when Jongho’s grasp on self-control was slipping through his hands. The Prince was notoriously opportunistic and he spared not even the fate of his lovers. 

That was exactly the reason for San’s and Jongho’s plotted punishment. 

Like in battle, San read Jongho’s unspoken cues. The straight line of his lips and the ripple of forehead muscles was the face of a man losing a battle. 

“How’s he feel, my Prince?” San caressed Wooyoung’s sweaty temple and thumbed his cheekbone. It was as much a distraction tactic as it was a moment of tenderness and checking in. Wooyoung fell for it; he always did. 

“Amazing.” When Wooyoung sucked the tip of San’s thumb into his mouth and mewled, hips not ceasing for a moment on Jongho’s throbbing cock ready to burst any second, San pushed Jongho’s shoulder with two fingers. Lay back, be still, it’s my turn.  

Jongho understood, grateful for mercy. He laid back on Wooyoung’s plush bed and gently guided the Prince atop his stomach, ensuring his pretty thighs were nice and spread for San’s viewing pleasure. His cock slid deeper into Wooyoung’s heat, making him clench in fear of loss, and Jongho almost came from the relentless suckling. 

What— was the only coherent thought running through Wooyoung’s pleasured brain. Was San going to take him too? Was he going to slide back home and fill Wooyoung up like he craved, to be bursting to the brim with his lovers, taken and cherished and loved? 

The questions were futile. With his thighs open, Wooyoung didn’t feel, at first, the grasp of Jongho’s fingers on his hole spreading him open even more—buried deep, his hips rolled circles in Wooyoung and distracted him enough for his eyes to flutter shut in anticipation. 

When he felt the tip of San’s cock slide down his pussy and over his perineum, however, Wooyoung’s eyes shot open. “San—!”

It was too late. The slick head of San’s cock pushed into the nonexistent space next to Jongho’s, forcing itself in solely due to the slick of oil. The throaty shout he let out, the way he grasped at San’s hips—Wooyoung lost track of it all, blinded to the world. The overwhelm was incomparable. 

“Gods, my Prince, you’re so—” San groaned, matched in a perfect crescendo by Jongho’s moan of surprise as their slick cocks pressed against each other. Relentless, San was, fitting himself alongside the length of Jongho and taking the Prince to new heights. It was a punishment, of course, a lesson, but it was also something new that they were trusted with, a new limit to breach. 

All Wooyoung could do was take it and cry, blank sobs and teary eyes staring right into San’s as his thighs were held open and he was impaled on their thick girths. San’s hands touched his face, gently cupping his cheek as an apology for what they were putting him through, while they had planned this for hours.

“Too much,” he weakly cried, but didn’t beg them to stop. He was still here—his body wasn’t giving out, no matter how he felt stretched to the brim. “Want…” 

San groaned as he hooked Wooyoung’s legs around his hips. “Want what, baby? You already got what you wanted.” He kissed the tears off Wooyoung’s cheeks as gentle as late summer rain. 

“No,” the Prince whined, only to be swallowed by San’s placating kisses. Kisses that promised love over mercy. 

The bulge of his ass was cupped in Jongho’s stable hands, keeping Wooyoung in place as he adjusted to both of them inside him. The process was slow and torturous, it seemed, but eventually, Wooyoung’s cries were reduced to sniffles against San’s lips. 

Jongho had to close his eyes and think of other things that weren’t the vise of Wooyoung’s tight little hole squeezing him and San. Even the throb of San’s cock flush to his own was maddening. Jongho was the rock of the relationship capable of withstanding the most gruesome challenges. It was not lost on him that he was the one on the bottom supporting his two lovers and practicing the mindfulness of pre-battle so he wouldn’t ruin their fun before it was had.

The smack of San’s and Wooyoung’s kiss stopped with a whisper of please off Wooyoung’s lips. San hummed, and Jongho knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Slow like melting ice in springtime, San moved his hips, and, much like the melted ice dripping off cliffs and hills, Wooyoung’s tears dripped off his cheeks onto Jongho below. What he wouldn’t give to admire Wooyoung’s fucked out face as he took both of them. San’s expression of raw, unbridled love and lust was like looking through a mirror, so Jongho focused on him as Wooyoung’s tears wet him with every thrust. 

And then, Wooyoung reached behind and grabbed Jongho’s thigh as if to say, I know you’re here too; I love you too.  

“Our greedy Prince is taking us well, hm? He’s so fucking tight. Won’t have to use his pussy anymore, can just use his tight little hole until he cries. Fuck, Jongho-ya, wish you could see him right now. He’s a mess.”

“Fuck—” Jongho groaned. “Shut—shut up.” He didn’t have to know—didn’t have to see the image just as well as he felt it, as he heard it from San’s filthy little mouth. Wooyoung taking them like this, a pliant, willing lover who was willing to give them what they wanted was already a maddening enough thought. But feeling it—the torturously slow glide, the catch of skin even in the slick mess of oil, the fullness and the press…

San shut up—but only because his lips were on Wooyoung’s, taking everything else he had to offer in moans and breaths. He was so full, split between them that the tendrils of conscience left him one by one. He was nothing but a body—all he was was what he could offer to his lovers. 

It was everything he ever wanted. 

“I’m…” he moaned in San’s mouth as they separated, unable to finish his sentence as San gripped his thighs and pressed them up, nearly by his head. It drew him much deeper, widened Wooyoung’s little hole, dripping slick from his pussy to his ass. Behind him, Jongho croaked out a tortured sound. 

“Fuck, San, don’t do that.” 

All San heard was keep going. Kneeling on the bed with one leg, he grasped Wooyoung’s hips and began thrusting in earnest, small thrusts as deep as he could. The change was immediate—Wooyoung’s silent cries turned to high-pitched tiny screams. Behind him, Jongho’s face scrunched up, thrown back in obvious pleasure. 

“Oh no, my Prince. Looks like one of your guards is failing you,” San chuckled, so breathless he barely finished the taunt. Jongho was hot and his otherwise armored composure was crumbling before San’s very eyes—San would be remiss if he didn’t savor and prolong the inevitable.

“I—Sannie, stop—” 

San and Jongho alike knew stop didn’t mean stop to Wooyoung. Stop meant he was close and he needed a little more to get him there. Stop meant stop teasing, but that wasn’t up to him. 

“This pussy is so messy without something inside it, hm?” growled San, hips sharper as they drove the pace with Jongho’s belabored groans spurring him on. Wooyoung was hot and so was Jongho, and San had full control of both of them for the first time in a long time. He didn’t have Jongho’s patience, but he’d enjoy the journey while it lasted. So he licked a tear off Wooyoung’s cheek and said, “Guess it’s messy with something inside it, too.” 

Wooyoung whimpered and clenched. It was over for Jongho. 

With a low, rumbling moan that sent shivers down Wooyoung’s spine, Jongho white-knuckled the Prince’s hips and stilled the tiny circles they made. Another groan had him staying San’s hips too, forcing him deep alongside Jongho as he came in thick spurts that seemed to never stop. Wooyoung squirmed at the hot release inside him—something of a preference to feel it elsewhere and be denied it. 

Wooyoung whined. “Jjongie, enough—” 

Jongho growled and bit Wooyoung’s neck to silence him as the completion of his orgasm had yet to be reached. The climb was steady as if frozen in the pinnacle of pleasure, and hours of neglect left his body spilling every last drop of what it had to offer to the source of his suffering. Wooyoung went limp like a kitten scruffed by its mother, helpless only to take what was given.

San moved before Jongho was finished. Wooyoung’s hole squelched with Jongho’s release and was impossibly hotter inside. San was only a man. 

A man who now chased his pleasure like an unhinged predator. He didn’t allow Jongho to move one inch—not even when he protested with a pained moan, hips twitching when taken beyond his release. He was going to use every little last bit of composure from his lovers, wreck them and leave them as drained as they usually left San in moments like these.

His sharp thrusts made a mess of Wooyoung’s rim, pushing Jongho’s come out in the gap between their cocks. Looking down made curses slip out of San’s mouth, pure amazement in his voice as he watched the impossible stretch, the mess of oil and come and slick, Wooyoung’s pussy clenching around nothing. “Look at you two. I thought we were punishing our Prince, Jongho-ya, but seems like I’m the only one who’s understood the agenda.” Flicking his thumb over Wooyoung’s swollen, soaking clit, he chuckled. “One’s come barely a few seconds after we started and the other one is enjoying having two cocks in him so much that he’s wetter than he’s ever been.” 

Matching groans of protest met him—Wooyoung’s sharper, needier as his clit was toyed with. Barely a few minutes ago, he never would’ve thought that he could come; but now, the feeling of Jongho’s come pushed deeper and deeper inside him and the satisfaction of his lovers felt in the way they were twitching inside him had forgone every inch of pain. 

It was… it was so much closer than he thought. So, so much closer, a cliff to which he was racing at breakneck speed. “Sannie—Sannie, please, keep going.” At least give me that, he begged, teary eyes meeting his lover’s. 

But as soon as he had, the thumb moved. 

“Oh no. Oh no, my Prince. We have quite some more to do. Don’t we, Jjongie?’ 

Jongho responded with nothing but a groan. Humming, San slipped out. 

The sound echoing around the room, a mix of relief and mindless pleasure, nearly made San slip in and keep going right then and there. However, he slipped Jongho’s cock out of Wooyoung and paused just for a second to watch that puffy stretched hole, and the thick cum barely falling out of it. No one fought as San manhandled Wooyoung around, his thighs over Jongho’s, not even when San slipped Jongho’s still rock-hard cock back inside Wooyoung’s stretched hole. 

San wanted something more—he wanted them to watch each other. Wanted them to look into each other’s eyes as San slipped back in and their mouths opened in overwhelmed breaths; as the three of them felt each other like never before, as San continued to give them pleasure like they’d never been deigned to feel. 

Wooyoung fell weakly onto Jongho’s form, elbows doing nothing to hold him up. Jongho’s arms reached out around him to hold him close, and their lips connected in a barely-there, open-mouthed kiss.  

The way San thrusted in him, into them, rocked Wooyoung’s body. Angled just so, Wooyoung’s pussy rubbed the base of Jongho’s cock, pubic hair on slick pubic hair, making him writhe. He was a glutton who wasn’t satisfied by one lover—his heart had room for two, and so too did his ass. The Prince endured so much that overstimulation was normal. 

Spreading Wooyoung with two hands, San watched his cock disappear into the tightness. With this new view, the bulge of Jongho’s thighs and the bounce of his balls as Wooyoung ground his pussy over him nearly stole the rest of San’s breath. 

But San was crazed with the desire to outlast the both of them. The high of forcing Jongho over the edge inflated his ego plenty, but the sight of Wooyoung’s release leaking into Jongho’s pubic hair made him insane. He’d make a mess of them both. 

Give the two of them something to think about every time they teased him for being too needy. 

Wooyoung was a gifted empath. Whether he sensed San’s turbulent thoughts or merely felt the urgent pulse of his cock, he knew just when to reach out and comfort his lover. Placing a hand on San’s, he thumbed over his promise ring. 

He’d purchased them for considerable coin at the largest marketplace of exotic imports in the hemisphere. All three rings matched—solid gold with a tri-cut ruby. They were a promise.

A promise was forever.

And godsdamn, San was a romantic at heart. 

With a ragged breath, he laced his fingers in Wooyoung’s and snapped his hips with harsh finality. He wasn’t going to last after all. 

Every breath, every thrust, just pushed him closer and closer to a finality that he craved, but almost didn’t want to reach. Put aside the mess they’d made of each other and the delicious, filthy sin of pushing Wooyoung past his limits in the feign of punishment, it was… closeness. Something that San needed, and no matter his usually composed, straight-faced domineering, so did Jongho—not even to mention Wooyoung, who gave up everything every day for them.

But pleasure mixed with love was a dangerous, unforgiving path. San pressed into Wooyoung’s heat with boundless pressure, deep, pressing his hips in long, small thrusts. His lips attached to the back of Wooyoung’s neck made Wooyoung reach back and hold desperately onto his sweaty hair to keep them there. He and Jongho both, with Jongho’s own mouth lifted from the pillow to press mindlessly to the hollow of his neck, encouraging him with small little kisses. 

The thrusts were maddening, but this… when he felt San’s desperation driving him deep, the touches, the sweaty skin, Wooyoung barely needed a few more grinds of his pussy on Jongho’s stomach, his hair, to tense up and feel the pleasure building up in every corner of his body. It was there— so close, so… but the tears kept falling, and Wooyoung’s cries begged and pleaded.

All it took was the first feeling of San’s cock erupting into him and a deep groan rumbling against his nape for the pleasure to finally tip over the edge and slam into his body whole. He shivered and trembled almost out of their arms, molten hot come spilling inside him and adding to the mess already there a confirmation that he had satisfied his lovers just as they satisfied him. It was enough—it was too much, it wasn’t anything close—Wooyoung shook and moaned, clenching around the heavy girth of his lovers, begging for more, even as San buried himself impossibly deep to come. 

“Not enough?” San groaned heavy, voice raspy in Wooyoung’s neck as he reveled in his own unending high. The feeling of being in Wooyoung alongside Jongho, filled up with come as he was? Nothing he’d felt before could even hold the candle. The aftershocks of his orgasm had him tightening and loosening his hands on Wooyoung’s hips.

“You know it’s never enough for him,” Jongho added, out of breath himself when watching his two lovers fall together in ecstasy. 

“It is.” It sounded more like a petulant whine rather than a statement of fact. Jongho and San were more than enough for Wooyoung. 

Everything he did, he did for them. If that meant rotting in a council room for hours on end, day after day, hearing old men droll on about affairs they’d never see the consequences of, he’d do it. If he wanted to use them in the breaks between meetings, he would. They loved it as much as he did. Their alleged punishment, intense as it was for Wooyoung, was for him as much as it was for them. 

Because they cared for each other. 

San cared so much, in fact, that he didn’t want to see his lover go to sleep without spoiling him.

As Wooyoung and Jongho kissed lazily, San slowly pulled out and wiped his come-soaked cock on Jongho’s thigh, smirking at the grunt it earned him. He earned another by gently pulling Jongho out as well, amusing himself by slapping it on Wooyoung’s puffy hole for a second before stuffing the half-hardness into Wooyoung’s drooling pussy.

“—uck!” Wooyoung moaned, word clipped by Jongho’s lips. He instinctively swiveled his hips to nestle Jongho in the rest of the way and kissed his lover again as his swollen, wet walls cushioned around him. “Jjongie…” 

“Feels good?” Jongho sighed, settling into Wooyoung’s pussy the same way he settled into his cot after a long, hard day of horse riding. “You’re so beautiful, my Prince.” He kissed his face and licked the tracks of his dried tears. Peering over Wooyoung to San, he hummed at the deviousness he found. 

San situated himself between his lovers’ legs and spread Wooyoung nice and wide, peppering his sweaty skin with kisses that trailed to the swollen, ruined hole he yearned to taste. 

After the deliriousness of the day and the intensity of the evening, San was overtaken with need. Jongho and Wooyoung both knew that whatever insanity rose in his head, he wouldn’t hesitate to do—and in moments like these, where he’d gotten them both pliant and exhausted, he had free reign.

When his tongue pressed to the openness of Wooyoung’s hole, Wooyoung almost didn’t flinch in surprise. “Sannie…” he complained, almost petulant, instinctively clenching at the wet feeling on his sensitive hole and around Jongho in turn. But he could feel himself—could feel that no matter how he tightened, he wouldn’t close all the way. 

Seeing that, San almost went insane. The tip of his tongue pressed into Wooyoung’s hole with a needy moan, sliding in too easily to lap up at his come-covered walls. The mess got everywhere—on his chin, on his lips, sliding up his cheeks as it dripped down over his perineum, into the slick. San traced it with his tongue, down, down, flicking it over where Jongho was snug in Wooyoung. 

“Ya, San-ah,” Jongho complained in turn, too sensitive to put up with San’s freakish curiosity. But even if he tried, he couldn’t reach San’s head—not until he had one of Jongho’s balls in his mouth anyway, sucking at it enough for the high-pitched moan that came out of Jongho to be slightly undignified. 

“Sorry,” San chuckled, not sorry at all—and traced his way back to Wooyoung’s rim, sucking on the sensitive skin and flicking his tongue in and out of Wooyoung’s sensitive body until he got his fill. Literally and figuratively. 

As he pulled up, leaning over Wooyoung’s shoulder and sliding his soft cock inside where he’d just kissed, his mouth met Jongho’s with a loud humph. It could’ve been a protest, but San didn’t care—for all that Jongho pretended to be holier than thou, he opened his mouth without hesitation, receiving the trickle of come and slick, the taste of their conjoined pleasure that San offered him. See what we did? See what we taste like together? His lips seemed to say, smiling in their kiss with the satisfaction of the cat who got the cream. 

“Gods—” Jongho clasped the back of San’s head and kept them kissing, the pent-up frustration of San stealing control from him transferring by way of lips and come on their tongues. It was a kiss that said good job and it’ll be your turn to cry next time. He didn’t let go until the last drop of come was swallowed.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung melted onto Jongho and tuned into San’s heartbeat. There was no safer place on Earth than between his lovers. Whatever competition they were always in, it had nothing to do with Wooyoung. He enjoyed their dynamic as well as his own with them. 

With them, he knew peace. 

With them inside him, warming them both, he closed his eyes and let sleep befall him. 

And San, when Jongho eased his grasp, smiled against Jongho’s lips, whispering, “I love you.”

Perhaps someday, Jongho could muster the courage to say it back.