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Three

Peter is drunk, and he's horny, and it's the full moon.

These three things taken separately, while bothersome, can be ignored. Combined, with the added bonus of an evening out with his longtime best friend and crush, Jackson-- "anything but good" and "ticking time bomb" are nice words for it.

Jackson and Peter stumble into Peter's apartment, laughing in that trying-to-be-hushed-but-failing-miserably-coming-home-from-the-bar sort of way.

They are kissing, Peter and Jax, the roughness of Peter's two-a.m.-shadow leaving a bright red burn on Jackson's chin. Jax shaved before they went out, and is still relatively smooth. He tastes like whiskey, and pretzels. Peter forgets completely that Lucius is there and is dragging Jax towards the bedroom by the loop of his tie. Jax almost trips in the doorway: "Didn't you say someone's living with you now?"

Only it's slurred and sounds more like: "Dinntchu say sumwunslivinng withew now?"

Both of them descend into hysterical laughter when Jax does trip, and lands on top of Peter.

"You smell..." Peter drawls, but he doesn't finish.

"I smell?" Jax comically takes a sniff under his armpits. "Showered, I swear! Dunno 'bout you tho'..."

Peter moans as Jax makes a show of sniffing Peter's neck. A wet tongue follows, teeth nipping a line up to his ear.

"God," Jax says, "I wanna fuck." He's never subtle about these things; Peter likes that. To emphasize his point he thrusts hard against Peter's own arousal. "Wanna fuck?"

"Yeah," Peter answers. "Yeah, please?"

They did this a lot before Lucius came. Jax calls them fuck buddies. They're best friends, so Jax never lied to him about it, just two horny guys helping each other get off. Peter sometimes hoped for something more, but Jax never let him believe anything that wasn't true. Jax had, after all, slept with anyone at work who was willing and interested. Which was nearly everyone. The "gay gladiators," Jax sometimes called them. "Who else can type 100 wpm AND kick your ass from here to Cincinnati?"

Peter's only slept with Jackson, though, from work. When he was younger it used to break his heart, to see Jax with all the other guys. He wanted Jax to be his. All his. Nobody else's.

Jax isn't anyone's, though, and now Lucius is Peter's.

Lucius.

At some point Jax coaxed Peter's pants around his ankles and he's got his mouth working all the right places. Peter tries to keep it quiet but he can't, so he just grabs Jax's head and pushes, groaning. "Fuck me, fuck me..."

There's a jingle of metal, and then blankets rustle and bedsprings creak. For a moment he wonders how they got to the bed before he realizes they're still on the floor.

"Peter....?"

Jax freezes, his mouth halfway down Peter's cock, and Peter says, "Oh, shit... Lucius."

If there is such a thing as a hateful silence, it fills the room.

"At least unlock me so I don't have to listen to your disgusting noises."

Jackson has sat up; the light from the hallway falls eerily on the sharp line of his jaw. Peter sees him arch an eyebrow at the word "unlock."

"Didn't think you were into that stuff," he murmurs, mischief playing on his straight mouth as he eyes Peter as if seeing him in a new light. Peter groans; he remembers now. He locked Lucius to the bed because he didn't want him going outside and causing havoc under the full moon. He only meant to go out for a couple of drinks with Jackson... (A couple of drinks turned into a bottle turned into a shots contest while others hooted them on) Jackson who lives across the hall. Jackson his best friend. Jackson his crush. Jackson who has all the discriminating taste in sexual partners of an oversexed dog in heat.

Peter pulls up his pants and stands up, shaking his head. He flips on the light. "Jackson, Lucius. Lucius, Jackson," he says, by way of introductions.

The handcuffs are silver plated. Lucius has rubbed his wrists raw, and there are claw marks in the headboard. He's naked, having kicked the thick flannel comforter onto the floor. Lucius's bare body looks half-starved on the best of days. It looks bad.

But Jackson doesn't say anything. Peter supposes, sleeping with the other guys from work, he's used to strange circumstances and kinks. And Peter has caught Jackson in the boss's office wearing nothing but a schoolgirl's skirt....

Jackson goes into what the other guys call 'Walker mode. He ogles Lucius openly, as if he doesn't notice the prominence of the ribs and the bruises and the old, half-healed scratches. "Aw, Peter, you shouldn't have."

Lucius's eyebrows jerk up as Jackson falls into the bed next to him. "Peter," he says angrily.

But Peter doesn't stop Jackson. There's something compelling-- arousing-- about these two beautiful men laid out next to each other. Well, Lucius isn't beautiful in the way that Jackson is, but he's Peter's, and that makes him beautiful. When Jax leans in, only slightly drunkenly, and draws a hand up and down Lucius's body from groin to cheek, Peter goes harder than he's been all night.

"Touch him." Peter sounds breathless, even to himself.

"Anything you want," Jax purrs. Jackson draws his fingertips over Lucius's sex first, then wraps him in one long fingered hand and strokes him, until Lucius is just as breathless, until his body looks as hard as Peter's.

"Don't touch me," he finally manages, but by now, he barely sounds like he means it. Lucius's hips are halfway off the bed, his pale cheeks flushed with color. They're almost as red as his cock.

"This your idea'uv 'living together'?" Jax slowly squeezes Lucius from groin to tip, Lucius shuddering and straining underneath his hand. "You're sucha perv, Peter. I never suspected!"

Judging from Jackson's smile, he has no problems with this type of perversion. Peter blushes all the same. "It's not as bad as it looks," he stumbles, but the words choke off as Jax leans over and lets his mouth slide over Lucius's. Gasping only gives Jax deeper access; before long Lucius moans and Peter is momentarily afraid he'll choke on Jax's tongue.

He's undoing his pants again; they're around his ankles before he realizes and he kicks them out of the way.

Jackson breaks the kiss. He's a master at what he does, straddled over Lucius, his dark hair nearly hiding his smirk but not quite. Lucius is panting, nostrils flaring, the very tips of his pointed ears bright red. "Like what you see?" Jackson murmurs. He's pushing his jacket off, tilting his head back, running his palms over the writhing black dragon on his chest. The ripple of his muscles underneath it makes it seem alive. As the jacket falls away, he strokes over his flat stomach, down into the top of his pants. The very soft moan he makes is just enough to elicit a more dramatic reaction from Lucius. Eyes slitted, the dark werewolf whines and licks his lips.

"Wish you could... touch me." Jackson makes up for Lucius's bound hands by touching himself, pushing his slacks down to his thighs, forcing himself up onto his knees. Peter wants to touch, but he's enraptured by the sight of them, long white limbs tangled in the sheets, dark hair clinging to sweaty skin, Peter's best friend and Peter's (lover bitch beta mate) Lucius.

Jackson's fingers are like the rest of him, long and slender, nearly delicate. They play over his body the way Peter imagines they would play the piano: naturally, gracefully, all art and power. Wetness flows over them, and Peter wants to taste it, salt slick over firm, callused skin. Jax pulls hard on his flesh now, his hips aiding, his lip in his teeth as if trying to hold back the inevitable. Peter fixes the image in his mind, the muscles in Jackson's arm standing out, his long white throat arched, his mouth voicing a soundless cry as he splashes liquid heat all over Lucius's pale skin.

When Jax stops shaking, he bends over, smearing his cooling come into that smooth chest, following his fingers with an eager tongue.

Lucius's hands chafe in the handcuffs. "Fuck," he gasps, body jerking, "Fuck!"

Peter wants to fuck. Peter wants to fuck, right now.

He climbs onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress, shifting the weight. Jax grins and rolls beside Lucius, who's obviously trying not to beg. His lip is bloody, his hands pulling at the silver-coated steel around his wrists.

Jackson takes Lucius's chin in his hands, turns his face so they can kiss. Peter sees the flash of tongue, of teeth; Jackson cleans the blood off and more.

Peter slides himself between Lucius's legs, kisses the sunken belly, the trail of rough black hair starting just under his belly button. Just to the left of his tongue Lucius weeps salt-sweet precome, dripping into the crease of thigh and groin. Peter follows it, hears Lucius groan into Jackson's mouth, rattling of the handcuffs.

He hooks his arms around Lucius's knees and sucks, swallows hard, twitching flesh.

Lucius would beg, but Jackson's currently got his mouth occupied. Peter has to content himself with pleading throaty noises. Lucius doesn't last long anyways; the taste of him is bitter and smoky as he fills Peter's mouth with a violent growl.

"Peter."

He looks up at the sound of his name. Suddenly Jackson is kissing him, their tongues pressing together, slipping, mouths giving and fighting and opening. Jackson chases the taste of Lucius over Peter's tongue, deeper, nearly down his throat. Just as quickly, he's let go, Jax curling his fingers in rust-brown hair. "Can I?"

He hears Lucius still gasping on the bed. "Me or him?" he asks, tilting his head.

Jax looks like he hadn't thought of the possibility of doing his best friend's lover. "He want to?"

Over Jackson's shoulder Peter sees Lucius shake his head. Peter, though, Peter can't get that image out of his thoughts. Lucius reduced to a writhing, begging creature under Jackson's talented hands, impaled on Jackson's long, slender cock.

Fuck doesn't begin to cover how that makes him feel.

Still, in good conscience, he says, "I guess I dunno if he's comfortable with that."

Really, he wants to watch Lucius's eyes, watch as another man fucks what's his, watch Lucius know who owns who here. Wants to hear Lucius beg for it to stop, beg for Peter, twist and fight the other man. Wants to smell some other man's scent all over Lucius, inside Lucius, hear him groan when he pushes inside to obliterate all other scents, override, overpower, consume...

Peter only stops because Jax is looking at him impatiently. So he says: "Lucius?"

"I fucking hate you," Lucius replies.

"Maybe we better..."

"Do what you want," Lucius spits. He's all venom and teeth. Jackson looks hesitant; he's used to thawing reluctant customers, but not ones that blatantly don't want him.

"Can I... untie him?"

Peter finds the handcuff keys in one pocket. He almost tosses them to Jackson, but suddenly changes his mind. On his knees, he moves across the bed and unlocks each wrist. He sees the blistering on the soft skin just below the palms; Lucius is more allergic to silver than he is.

Lucius sits up, clutching his hands against his chest. His eyes are threatening as he looks at Peter and Jackson; his eyes are also slightly afraid. Peter feels a tingle of arousal pass through him again.

Jackson moves like a cat over the bed, stalking, crawling. Lucius watches him warily, still rubbing his wrists, a trickle of blood running down his arm from a burst blister. "Your poor wrists," Jax croons, taking up Lucius's hand, kissing the raw flesh gently. "Are you sure? Is it alright?" he asks again, and Peter opens his mouth to answer, but Jax is not looking at him.

"Whatever," Lucius says, and he is looking at Peter.

Peter feels guilty as Lucius turns his fierce yellow eyes on Jax, looks him up and down. "I'm not fragile," he says, "Peter can't hurt me, and neither can you. So stop asking."

Jackson grins. "Shit. Alright."

Lucius lets Jackson bend him over, in a way that vaguely disturbs Peter, makes him think he's done this before in a way that Peter's never done with him.

Lucius likes it, he thinks, and it strikes him as funny that he never thought of that before, never thought of Lucius wanting or not wanting, only thought of Lucius-his, his own, making his own, protecting, pleasuring, giving, taking. Never thought of Lucius wanting it, needing it, asking for it, courting it, opening himself up and letting hot flesh penetrate him deeply to penetrate it, demanding. Fuck, Peter thinks, has Lucius ever said "Fuck me" in the voice that he's saying it now, growling, bucking, fingers caught up in too many layers of sheets and blankets and flannels?

Jackson reeks, Jackson smells so strongly, spice and cologne like flowers and musk and Jackson invades his property in a way he shouldn't.

Peter thought it would be hot but that's an understatement. Peter wants to rape, rend, tear. Jackson kisses the back of Lucius's neck and under Lucius's sunken belly, his hand works in a frenzy of motion. Peter is so hard it's painful. He crawls onto the bed, the scent of Lucius like the lingering aftertaste of him on his tongue.

"Peter," he realizes Lucius is saying, "Fuck me..."

Jackson pounds Lucius into the mattress, the bed shaking, the headboard pounding the wall. "Anything you want, baby," he purrs. "I love you baby, you feel so tight, I want to fuck your pussy until you can't take it any more..."

Peter thinks he sounds like a bad porno, but all the same it's hot, powerful, dirty.

Lucius is crying Peter's name, the way he never does, and it's the sweetest thing Peter has ever heard. "I love you," Jackson says, even though he doesn't mean it, means it like he did back in his 'Walker days when saying it might get you a regular customer or at least an extra bit of cash.

Peter gets on his knees and shoves his cock down Lucius's throat, fills Jackson's mouth with his own tongue. He doesn't want to hear it any more, none of it. Lucius is his. His. He likes Jackson a lot, maybe even enough to share, but Lucius is his.

Peter and Jackson kiss while they fuck Lucius from both ends, hard, and Peter feels Jackson fighting to hold back the inevitable, not wanting to finish first, fingers pinching into Lucius's hips...

Peter shoves hard in response, hungry at the thought, wanting to see Jax break down. It's not enough, what he's getting. He demands more.

Lucius chokes on Peter's length, his body spasming. Locked in a deep kiss, Jackson still groans half in surrender, half-appreciatively at the sudden tightening around his sex. He shudders, coming hard, his teeth clamping down on Peter's lip.

"God," he gasps, when Peter lets him go, "Goddamn."

Peter thrusts himself a few more times in Lucius's mouth, but that's not where he wants to be. Jackson clutches at Lucius's hips, nearly collapses against his back, but eventually he pulls out, slides away. Wet spills down Lucius's leg, and Peter can smell the taint of Jackson all the way inside of him.

Wordlessly he pushes Lucius onto his back, spreads his legs. He doesn't give any of them pause, pushes himself into Lucius using only what slickness Jax provided before. He feels like an animal, driven to rut, hips working almost automatically.

"Beg," he's saying. Lucius begs, and Peter pushes his legs open wider, bending to kiss the inside of his knee.

"Peter, please," Lucius begs, and Peter says, "Alpha."

"Alpha!" Lucius is bucking up to meet him, groaning, clawing, coming all over his own belly and chest.

Peter drags Jackson by his short dark hair, pulls him up into a kiss. Peter licks every trace of Lucius off of Jackson's mouth, and then he pulls Jackson up so that he can lick away the smell and taste of Lucius there, too, between Jackson's legs, tantalizing; Jax gives a sharp cry, surprised, over-sensitive, but Peter holds him as he tries to jerk away. He sucks and cleans and licks and bites, until Jax is jerking in his arms, until he only smells himself, his own spit, his scent, on Jax too. He fucks and he licks and he takes what's his, takes it all back into him, jams it deep inside of Lucius, slamming, until suddenly behind his eyes sparks are going off and he's yelling out some name he can't understand and he's coming, spilling himself, marking...

Jackson rolls away as soon as Peter lets him; Peter collapses on top of Lucius, who sucks on his wrist to keep from gasping.

They lay in a tangle, exhausted heap of bodies until Jackson finally picks himself up, pries himself away, folding Peter's arm and tucking in Lucius's leg.

He crosses the room silently; Peter lifts his head to watch him.

"See you at work tomorrow," Jax says, putting on his shirt. "Thanks for a good time." He grins. "Alpha," he teases, and Peter knows he doesn't really know what it means (he'd never stand for it!) but it sounds good to hear it, all the same.

As he watches Jax leave, he's a bit sorry that whole bit isn't true, about biting people and turning them into werewolves.