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2302, and life in the Commonwealth had settled into a comfortable sort of chaos. The reformed Minutemen were busy as ever: the ghosts of the Institute had long-since been laid to rest, but raiders and ferals and supermutants remained a constant threat to the independent settlements scattered throughout the region. In 2298, Preston Garvey stepped on a landmine and lost his right leg below the knee. The injury forced him out of active duty and with some measure of reluctance, he retired to a little homestead northwest of Sanctuary with Sturges.
They'd been steady on and off for more than a decade: always very much in love, but sometimes separated by distance or circumstance or arguments brought on by Preston's bleak moods. Ten years together in one capacity or another; they agreed that it seemed "high time" to make their relationship official. They married in an intimate ceremony in Diamond City and honeymooned on Spectacle Island before returning to their farm as husband and husband, the misters Garvey.
Aided by a prosthetic of Sturges' own design, Preston got around just fine on one leg. They farmed their little patch of land, rotating razorgrain and tatoes and raising chickens and molerat. Preston cooked and Sturges cleaned, they were very happy together. Talked about starting a family, but ultimately decided that they'd rather enjoy their retirement and play uncle to Travis Miles' kids and to Cait and Piper's adopted brood.
Domestic bliss never came easy in the Wasteland: a rad-storm drowned half their crop in the summer of '00, chicken hawks and feral dogs were a daily threat to their livestock, raiders burned down two of their outbuildings on New Year's Day in 2301. Life went on and they had each other, and Sturges reckoned that was all they really needed. A good man and a thimblefull of bathtub gin, everything else was gravy.
They maintained correspondence with most of the old crew: Danse had traveled west and joined up with some Appalachian church in the Blue Ridge mountains, Cait and Piper settled down together in Diamond City, Hancock was still trailing after the General (who remained infuriatingly spry despite their advanced age), MacCready eventually remarried and returned to D.C. to raise his son.
Deacon wrote infrequently: flash fiction on the back of postcards, outrageous lies packaged as unvarnished truths. He variously claimed to have been abducted by Mormons or conscripted by the Midwest Brotherhood of Steel, claimed to have walked to the Divide and back and saw "nothing but dust" along the way. He came to stay with them once or twice. Each time, the three of them got very drunk off Sturges' excellent moonshine and fell into bed together.
It happened like this: Deacon dropped a line to say that he "might" be "in the neighborhood" in the next few months. Six weeks later, he'd show up on their doorstep, still wearing the same damned sunglasses all those years later. He'd let himself go a little, gained some weight and let his hair and beard come in red. He was older than Preston had realized, his fingers gnarled with arthritis even though his face remained unblemished and preternaturally smooth.
"I'm a vampire," he slurred, wet mouth inches from Preston's ear. "I've come to suck your...cock."
Preston laughed and kissed him, sucking alcohol from his lips and tongue. Deacon groaned against his mouth, trembling and feverishly warm against Preston's chest. Sturges, remarkably well-preserved for a man nearing middle age, sat on the other end of the sofa, his half-empty glass dangling from his fingers. "Love watchin' you two together," he murmured, voice low like thunder.
"Feel free to join in at any time," Deacon said, gasping as Preston ground the heel of his hand against his groin. "Christ, I've been wanting this for so long."
"Yeah?" said Preston. He scratched Deacon's back, fingernails blunt against the smaller man's shoulder blades. "Been thinking about us?"
"Thinking about your dicks," said Deacon, shifting his weight to lean on Preston more comfortably. "I been to Reno and back and nobody fucks like you two."
"Liar," said Sturges. He kissed Deacon again, slowly, more deliberately, rubbing his calloused thumb over Deacon's vertebrae. "You're just butterin' us up."
"It's true," Deacon insisted. He swung a leg across Preston's lap, moved to straddle the other man's hips. Sturges moved to occupy the space he'd left behind, burrowing into Preston's side, face pressed into the crook of his neck. "Well, there was this robot in Vegas, but nobody else came close. I fucked a mutant, and the whole time, I was wishing it was you."
Preston leaned over to kiss Sturges, then returned his attention to the redhead in his lap. "A mutant?"
"Yeah," said Deacon, breathless. "I was walking funny for days after, but I did it." A note of triumph crept into his voice, genuine pride in his accomplishments, such as they were.
"How'd you take him?" Sturges asked, one hand on the small of Deacon's back, the other teasing his shirt up to expose the trail of strawberry-red hair leading from his navel to his crotch. "He bend you over a desk or how?"
"Nah," said Deacon, gasping as Sturges caught a nipple between calloused fingers. "I was on top. He spent all afternoon loosening me up and then I rode him like a stolen pony."
Preston batted Sturges' hands away and tugged Deacon's shirt over his head. He raked his hands down the smaller man's bared chest, spilling kisses across his prominent collarbones. "Then what?"
"He came inside me," said Deacon. He moved to undo his belt buckle, but Sturges caught his wrists and pulled them away. Deacon grunted in frustration, but kept talking, his grey eyes screwed shut behind his sunglasses. "It was a fucking mess. I had his come dripping down my thighs all over the floor."
"Did you lick it up?" Preston asked, a devilish smile on his full lips.
"Well I never," said Deacon, feigning pearl-clutching surprise. "Why Mr. Garvey, I had no idea you had such a filthy mind."
"You're not the only one been wanting this," Preston murmured, and he pulled Deacon down for another sloppy kiss, fingernails digging into his hips.
"Break it up, boys," said Sturges, moving to separate them. "Why don't we take this to the bedroom, 'stead of ruttin' in the parlor like a buncha teenagers?"
"Sturges, my good man, you are both a gentleman and a scholar," said Deacon, breathlessly. "Bringing the good ideas to the table, as always."
Preston laughed, pushing Deacon off his lap. "Give me a hand, babe?" he said, eyes shining. His prosthetic was a fusion of parts salvaged from a Gen-2 synth and T-51b power armor, sturdy and fully articulated as his leg had been, but too uncomfortable for extended use and too bulky to wear inside the house. In the evenings and early mornings, Preston preferred to use a walking stick or lean on the walls or his husband for support.
"I'll do you one better," said Sturges, grinning. Without warning, he stooped and swept Preston into an effortless bridal carry. He squeaked in surprise, arms tightening around Sturges' neck, laughing and protesting feebly as his husband carried him over the threshold and into their small bedroom. He dropped Preston on the wide brass bed and collapsed on top of him, laughing against Preston's mouth as they kissed and pawed at one another's clothing. Their shirts hit the floor, followed by their pants, and they were naked, laughing and grappling with one another like much younger men.
Deacon crawled into bed, somehow insinuating himself between the two of them, insistent on making himself the meat in a "stud sandwich." He was already halfway naked, his skin flushed and fever-warm against Preston and Sturges as they worked at his belt buckle, sliding his pants and underwear down over his hips. Sturges' hand found his erect cock and Deacon groaned, eyes fluttering shut.
Preston plucked his sunglasses off, set them on the bedside table, and kissed him properly, one hand on his jaw, the other on his throat. He found Deacon's pulse point with his thumb, heartbeat fluttering wildly underneath his skin as Sturges jerked him slowly, twisting his wrist to smear pre over his shaft.
"Oh my god," said Deacon, mouth falling open. "Oh god, oh god, oh god."
"Talk to us," said Sturges as Preston kissed Deacon's jaw and throat. "Tell us what you want."
Deacon opened his mouth and shut it again, hips rolling forward against Sturges' ungentle hand. "I want you in me," he said finally, voice low and hoarse.
"Who?"
"Fuck. Both of you."
"Can you take it?" said Preston, lips hovering over Deacon's throat. "Don't wanna hurt you, beautiful."
Deacon whined low in his throat. "I wasn't fucking kidding about the supermutant," he said, back arching. "Do it, fuck me open."
"We'll go slow," Sturges promised, manhandling Deacon so he lay on his side, back pressed to Sturges' chest. "Tell us if we need more lube or if you need a break."
"Please," said Deacon, desperate in his impatience. "Fuck me, I need to feel both of you inside me." He lurched forward and pulled Preston in for another round of kisses, clumsy in his eagerness.
Preston extracted himself from Deacon's arms and rolled over, fumbling for the bottle of oil they kept on the nightstand. He squeezed a generous portion into his hand and passed it behind Deacon's back to Sturges. He wrapped one hand around Deacon's cock and squeezed gently, savoring the resultant twitch and moan, then slipped his fingers along Deacon's perineum. He drew a rough circle around Deacon's entrance then delved into him, drawing a groan from Deacon's kiss-swollen lips.
"Please," he said, arms slipping around Preston's neck. "Please."
Sturges kissed the back of his neck, his warm breath raising goosebumps. "Shhh," he murmured. "We got you, Deacon. We're gon' take good care of you, pretty thing."
"You're so good," Preston added, pressing another brief kiss to Deacon's parted lips. "Just be patient a little longer, okay?"
Deacon nodded, choking back a sob as Preston slipped another finger into him. Shuddering, already on the verge of orgasm, he forced himself to relax around Preston's fingers, willed himself to be ready for the other men's cocks. He could feel each of them, cocks pressing into his belly and buttocks, flushed and swollen and eager. He stifled a moan and buried his face in Preston's chest. "'m ready," he mumbled. "Just give it to me."
"You sure? I don't wanna rush you."
"God, yes!" said Deacon. "Hurry the fuck up before I die." He was halfway hysterical, eyes screwed shut. "Please."
A moment of fumbling, and Preston guided his slick cock to Deacon's entrance. He pushed into him slowly, inch by unresisting inch, until he was buried halfway in Deacon's pulsing heat. "God," he said, voice breaking. "He feels so good, Sturges."
Preston felt the head of Sturges' cock bump against his shaft. A breathless laugh which broke into a protracted moan as Sturges pushed into the tight ring of muscle. Deacon moaned, clenching around their cocks, shivering as he struggled to accommodate them. "Fuck," he breathed.
"Talk to me, darlin'," said Sturges, kissing along Deacon's jaw. "How are you doing?"
"Good," said Deacon, voice shaking. "It's--I'm so full. I can feel both of you in my throat. I--" he swallowed, shifting his hips in a way that let each of them slip another half-inch deeper, all three men gasped in unison. "--Maybe start moving? Slowly!"
"You got it," Preston said, kissing his nose.
He wriggled his hips and Sturges did the same; Deacon moaned, his voice high and fluttering and feminine. "Touch my cock," he gasped. "Fuck, someone touch my cock, I need to come right now."
Fumbling, eager, Sturges and Preston moved at the same time, bumping hands. A brief struggle, and Sturges emerged triumphant, wrapping his hand around Deacon's dick and squeezing gently as the tip welled with pre-come. His hand slipped up and down Deacon's shaft once, twice, and he came with a shudder and a moan, semen dripping down over Sturges' fist. He clenched and squeezed their cocks, and Preston cried out, burying his face in Deacon's neck. They came almost simultaneously, chasing one another over the edge like a pair of jackrabbits while Sturges whispered praise against their sweat-slick skin.
He pulled out with a grunt and spilled onto his hand; Preston watched over Deacon's shoulder as his husband's come ran down his fingers and mingled with Deacon's. "Hand me the towel, will you?"
Deacon lay between them, shivering, chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes were still screwed shut; Preston realized with a sickening lurch that he was crying.
"Deacon?" he said, brushing the other man's hair back off his sweaty forehead. "Deacon, talk to me."
"Is he alright?" asked Sturges, voice rising in alarm.
"I'm fine," Deacon sobbed. He covered his face with his hands, hiding himself from view. "I just. Fuck. That was really overwhelming."
"Are you hurt?" said Preston. "Babe, go get a Stim out of the medicine cabinet--" Sturges rolled to the edge of the bed, but Deacon reached out and caught his wrist.
"No," he said, his voice small. "Stay with me, both of you." He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the dim room, and offered them a watery smile. "I'm fine, I just...hold me, please?"
Without hesitation, Preston wrapped his arms around Deacon and pulled him close, kissing his temple. "Got you," he murmured. "Safe here."
Deacon pillowed his head on Preston's chest while Sturges scratched his back, eyes soft with concern. "You doing alright, Deacon?"
"Fine." He cracked one eye. "Now shut up, I'm trying to listen to Preston's heartbeat." Sturges chuckled while Preston yawned broadly and kissed the top of Deacon's head.
"Never could decide whether you were an ornery devil or a sentimental fool," Sturges said fondly. "'s what I like about you, Deacon."
Deacon grunted. "Don't tell anyone," he said, his voice muffled by Preston's chest. "I have to maintain my image."
"Both of you, shhh," said Preston. "'M trying to sleep. Hard with all the talking."
"Hush up yourself," said Sturges fondly. "Deacon and I are havin' a heart-to-heart."
"We'll do feelings in the morning," said Preston sleepily. "Now we rest."
"That's good with me," Deacon said. "If I can get a good-night kiss."
"Now, if he gets a kiss, I want one too," said Sturges. "Don't go playin' favorites, Preston Garvey."
Chuckling, Preston indulged them both. Utterly contented, he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep, Deacon enveloped in his arms and Sturges pressed up against his side.