Three Want It

The downtown gym always smelled like rubber and cheap citrus after ten, when the day crowd was gone and the fluorescents buzzed over empty racks. Andre was twenty-two, a college senior with a swimmer's back and a mouth that ran hot, and he was racking the last dumbbells when Wesley came out of the office with the keys. Wesley was twenty-four, the night fitness trainer, thick through the chest, quiet until he decided not to be. Bianca was already stripping the rower, twenty-five, a personal trainer who finished his last client at nine and stayed to work himself mean. Three athletic men, same late hours, same downtown floor, and for weeks the flirting had stopped pretending it was nothing.

Andre had said it out loud two Tuesdays back, sweat in the waistband of his shorts. "I want both of you. I'm not joking." Wesley had looked at Bianca. Bianca had laughed once, low in his throat, and said he wanted them back, had wanted them since the first time Andre bent over the bench and Wesley's eyes stayed there. They had all admitted it after that, plain as the clock on the wall, and the admission had only made the air thicker. Every set was a look that landed like a hand.

Tonight the front clock hit closing and the last member waved through the glass. Wesley killed the music. The building went down to the HVAC and their breathing.

"Doors," Bianca said.

Wesley walked the lobby, turned the deadbolt, flipped the closed sign, and checked the side exit the way he always did after closing. When he came back they were alone, and all three of them knew the lock was the only thing left between the wanting and the doing.

Andre's pulse sat in his throat. "Still want it?"

"Still," Wesley said.

"Lock's on," Bianca said. His voice was rough from the rower. "Nobody's coming in. I want you both. Right now. Say it if you don't."

"I want it," Andre said.

"I want it," Wesley said.

They stood in the weight room under the hard light, towels at their necks, shorts damp against their thighs. Andre could see the shape of Wesley's cock through the thin fabric. Bianca's was already half up, thick and rude against the gray cotton. Andre's own had been aching since the second set, and he didn't bother hiding the way he shifted his stance to give it room.

The gym was empty and the doors were locked, and the three of them just looked.

Wesley dropped his towel first. It hit the mat with a soft slap. Bianca's followed, then Andre's, three damp piles between the benches. Nobody reached for a shirt. Wesley hooked his thumbs in his waistband and shoved the shorts down, and his cock swung out heavy, flushed dark at the head, already wet at the slit. Bianca stripped next, slower, peeling the cotton off a thick cock that curved up against a trail of dark hair, balls drawn tight from the workout and the want. Andre kicked his shorts off and stood there naked from the waist down, lean and cut, his dick jutting straight out and leaking onto the rubber floor.

They didn't close the distance yet. They stroked.

Andre wrapped a fist around himself and dragged it slow, eyes on Wesley's hand working that thick shaft, then on Bianca's thumb smearing precome over the head. Wesley watched Andre's mouth. Bianca watched both of them, stroking with a trainer's steady rhythm, chest rising, abs jumping every time his grip tightened.

"Look at you," Bianca said. "Both of you hard for this. Weeks of it."

"Come here," Wesley said, but he didn't move. He just pumped himself and let them see how bad he wanted it, cock shiny, veins standing.

Andre's knees went before his pride did. He crossed the mat, dropped, and the rubber was cool under his shins. Wesley stepped in without being asked again, one hand in Andre's hair, the other still on his own base, and fed him the head. Andre opened and took it, salty and hot, tongue flattening under the ridge while Wesley groaned and pushed deeper. Andre's throat fluttered and he breathed through his nose and sucked, cheeks hollowing, spit already slicking Wesley's shaft.

Bianca came up behind him. Big hands on Andre's hips, then one sliding around to wrap Andre's cock and stroke him in time with the bob of his head. Andre moaned around Wesley and the sound went straight up Wesley's spine. Bianca pressed in close, cock riding the cleft of Andre's ass, not pushing in yet, just grinding, smearing precome while his fist worked Andre rough and wet.

"That's it," Bianca said against Andre's ear. "Suck him. Let me feel you shake."

Wesley fucked Andre's mouth in short thrusts, careful at first, then less careful when Andre grabbed his thighs and pulled him in. Spit ran down Andre's chin. Bianca's hand was relentless, twisting at the head, and Andre's hips jerked into it. The point of no return wasn't a thought anymore. It was the locked doors, the three of them naked under the fluorescents, Wesley's cock hitting the back of Andre's throat, Bianca's dick hot against his hole, and nobody stepping back.

"Locker room," Wesley said, voice wrecked. "I want him on his knees proper. I want both of you."

They didn't dress. They walked the short hall naked, cocks out, hands on each other, and the locker room lights flickered on over benches and open stalls and the long mirror that would show all of it.

Andre went to his hands and knees on the bench without being told, back arched, ass up, mouth open. Wesley stood at his face and Bianca moved in behind, and for a second they just looked at him like that, college senior spread and shaking, waiting to be used by both of them.

"Bare," Andre said. "I want you bare. Both of you. I want it."

"You're getting it," Bianca said. He spit in his palm, slicked his cock, spit again on Andre's hole and worked two fingers in until Andre pushed back and swore. Wesley tapped his cock on Andre's tongue. Andre licked the head, then opened wide.

They took him together.

Wesley slid into his throat in one long push, hands locked in Andre's hair, and held him there while Bianca lined up and sank in bare, inch by thick inch, until his hips met Andre's ass. Andre's eyes watered. His throat clenched around Wesley and his hole clenched around Bianca, and both men groaned at the same time. Bianca pulled back and drove in again, a deep pound that shoved Andre forward onto Wesley's cock. Wesley met it, fucking his face in the same rhythm, spit-roasting him between them while the bench creaked and the mirror showed the whole filthy line of it: Wesley's abs flexing, Andre's throat bulging, Bianca's cock disappearing into him over and over, bare and wet.

"Take it," Wesley said. "Take my cock down your throat. Look at me."

Andre looked up, tears on his lashes, and sucked harder. Bianca gripped his hips and hammered him, balls slapping, the sound filthy in the tile room. Every thrust from behind drove Andre's nose into Wesley's groin. Every pull back let him gasp and then Wesley filled him again. They pinned him there, Wesley's hands in his hair, Bianca's hands bruising his waist, and used him until Andre was drooling, moaning, cock dripping untouched onto the bench.

Bianca came first, buried deep, grinding and spilling hot inside Andre's ass with a rough shout. He stayed in, pulsing, then pulled out slow so Wesley could see the come start to leak. Wesley yanked free of Andre's mouth, stroked twice, and shot across Andre's tongue and lips, thick stripes that Andre swallowed and chased with his tongue.

"Rotate," Bianca said, breathless, still hard, still wanting. "I want a turn in the middle. I want both of you in me."

They moved fast. Bianca dropped to the bench on all fours, ass up, cock hanging heavy and still dripping. Andre, shaky and full, got behind him and pushed two fingers into Bianca's hole, then his cock, sliding in bare on spit and the mess already on him. Wesley stepped to Bianca's face. Bianca opened and took him deep, greedy, throat working, and they spit-roasted him the same way: Andre pounding his ass, Wesley fucking his mouth, both of them holding him down while he moaned around the cock in his throat and pushed back for more.

Andre fucked him hard, chasing the tightness, come from Bianca's load smearing his shaft and making every stroke wetter. Wesley face-fucked Bianca rough, hips snapping, one hand on the back of his neck, the other braced on the locker. Bianca took it, eyes shut, spit stringing from his chin, and when Andre shifted the angle Bianca's whole body jerked and he came again without a hand on himself, spilling onto the bench in long pulses while Andre kept drilling him.

"Don't stop," Bianca gasped when Wesley let him breathe. "Finish in me. I want it."

Andre slammed in and came, flooding Bianca's ass, hips stuttering, a broken sound in his throat. He pulled out and Wesley was already moving, hard again from the sight of it, slicking himself in the mess and pushing into Bianca bare while Andre took Wesley's place at Bianca's mouth. They swapped without a pause. Andre fed Bianca his cock, still sensitive, and Bianca sucked him sloppy and deep while Wesley pounded his hole and added another load, groaning, balls tight, emptying inside him until it leaked around his shaft.

Wesley wasn't done wanting the middle.

He got on the bench next, chest down, ass up, and looked back over his shoulder. "Both of you. Now. I want to be the one you use."

Bianca, cock wet with come and spit, pushed into him first, slow until Wesley opened, then hard. Andre stood at his face and Wesley swallowed him to the root, throat trained from years of wanting this and finally having it. They pinned him, Bianca's hands spreading him, Andre's hands in his hair, and spit-roasted the trainer until the locker doors rattled. Bianca fucked him bare and deep, chasing his own third edge, and Andre fucked his throat in long strokes that made Wesley gag and moan and take it anyway, eager, pulling them closer.

They rotated the ends without letting him up. Andre pulled out of his mouth, moved behind, and slid into Wesley's ass while it was still full of Bianca's come, the slide obscene and easy. Bianca took Andre's place at Wesley's face and Wesley sucked him clean, tasting himself and Andre and the night, while Andre hammered him and came again, smaller and sharper, painting Wesley's insides. Bianca finished on Wesley's tongue, holding his head, pulsing, and Wesley swallowed, then opened to show them before he licked his lips.

They weren't finished swapping.

Back on the mat between the benches they knelt in a rough triangle and jerked each other, mouths on cocks, trading places until every hole and every throat had been used again. Andre got spit-roasted a second time on the floor, Wesley in his ass this round, Bianca in his throat, both of them coming in him while he shook and shot onto the tile. Bianca took them both again, on his back with his legs up, Wesley fucking his hole and Andre fucking his mouth until they swapped and Andre buried a last aching load in him. Wesley ended on his knees between them, sucking Andre while Bianca fucked him from behind, and when Bianca came inside him Wesley pulled off and stroked Andre until Andre striped his face, then turned and let Bianca wipe the mess into his mouth with two fingers.

Come was on their stomachs, in their asses, down their thighs, across Wesley's cheek and Andre's chin and Bianca's chest. They were spent and still half hard, breathing like they'd just finished a brutal set, grinning like men who had finally gotten exactly what they had been asking for.

The showers were already warm when they stumbled in. Three heads under one stream, hands soaping chests and cocks and the tender used places, mouths finding mouths between the spray. They kissed slow and filthy, tasting come and soap, washing each other clean and not quite managing to stop grabbing. Andre's fingers slid soapy between Bianca's cheeks. Wesley mouthed at Andre's neck and palmed both of them until they were twitching again, oversensitive and laughing under the water.

"After close," Wesley said. "Doors locked. Same as this."

"Every night we're all here," Bianca said. "I want it regular."

"Then it's regular," Andre said. "I want your cocks in me after every close. Both of you. Bare."

They rinsed, shut the water, and dressed in the quiet locker room with the evidence of it still in the way they walked. Shorts on, shirts on, keys in Wesley's hand. At the front door he killed the last lights and they stepped into the alley, the deadbolt thrown behind them.

Andre glanced back at the dark glass, then at the two men beside him, and his voice came out low and filthy. "Next time I want both your loads leaking out of me while I walk to my car."