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WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is

sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and

violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial

sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered

offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be

accessed by minors.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the

product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference

may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is

entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Mallory Path

Communion © April 2010 Mallory Path

cessica publishing

"Look at him," Vincent breathes into Justin's ear, his own eyes never leaving the

young man kneeling before the two of them. Tig's eyes flick up to Justin's face and hold;

the lock of that gaze tells Vincent that Justin is obeying him. "Do what you want with

him, Justin. He's yours. That's what he wants. What do you want to do to him?"

"I don't want to hurt him." Justin's voice is barely above a whisper.

Vincent keeps his voice low as well. "Then don't. You don't have to break him.

Just bend him, as far as he'll go." And then, he adds silently, bend him just a little more.

At last Vincent takes his eyes off Tig to look at Patrick. There is no sign of

fractiousness: Patrick is perfectly still between Colin's legs, his hands curled to rest on

his own knees as Colin finger-combs his hair with deceptive idleness while they watch.

That being the case, Vincent catches Colin's eyes and, wordlessly, lets him know what

is wanted of him.

As Colin's hands slide away obediently, Vincent shifts his attention to capture

Patrick. Receiving the silent direction, Patrick goes on hands and knees to Tig. Kneeling

up, he winds his fingers into Tig's hair and pulls. Tig goes with the pull, right with the

pull—not faster or slower, but yielding exactly with it, as if he has been born for this.

When the back of his head touches his feet, perfectly and impossibly arched, Vincent

feels Justin swallow with his entire body.

A fine trembling begins in Tig's limbs. Vincent knows it isn't the physical strain; he

has seen Tig hold much more difficult poses for much longer. The trembling suffuses

Tig's torso, his eyelids, his cock. With each tremble, he seems to shimmer. His luster is

natural. Patrick had thought to oil him, but Tig wanted to come to Justin like this, his skin

naked, himself naked inside it.

So they had bathed him, helped him cleanse himself inside and out. "Purging

your sins," Patrick had joked as he prepared the first enema.

Tig had looked at him. "I'm not purging you," he'd said, his eyes moving to

include each of them, all of them.

Tig's eyes are closed now.

Vincent unwraps himself from Justin, palm sliding across Justin's back as he

moves around to take Justin's hand. Justin goes to his knees before Tig on his own and

Vincent guides him the rest of the way, threading their fingers through Tig's hair until

they meet Patrick. Their fingertips all entwine in the moment before Vincent takes

himself and Patrick away.

Tig opens his eyes as Justin brings him out of the arch. The two of them stay

kneeling, Tig holding his own hands at the small of his back, Justin's fallen from him.

"It's all right if you don't want this," Tig says softly.

"Tig."

They look at each other.

When Tig drops his eyes and turns his face to the side, Justin lets him, and Tig's

heart sinks with his gaze.

Then Justin's hand is on him, knuckles brushing his cheek, fingers uncurling to

cradle his face, splayed along and under his jawline. The hand doesn't lift him.

"I want you."

With a deep sigh, Tig closes his eyes, inclines into the hand, rubs along it as he

turns his face to Justin's again.

"Tig." When Tig opens his eyes, Justin continues, "I want to give you this." The

fingers of his other hand kiss the hollow of Tig's throat, the pulse there; caress down his

body; follow the curve of Tig's cock to kiss with fingertips the pulse at the head. "I want

to give you everything you want."

Tig doesn't think Justin is even blinking, unless Justin is blinking in perfect

synchronicity with him.

Justin holds Tig's face with both hands now. "Everything." He comes closer. So

close his breath kisses Tig's lips, his words kiss Tig's mouth: "I want to give you the

world, Tig, and everything in it. All for you.

"And in return, I only want you to give me yourself. All of yourself."

Tig vibrates in his own veins; the blood running through his heart orgasms.

"Yes?" Justin smiles softly.

Tig can't speak. He nods.

"Tell me," Justin murmurs.

Tig still can't speak. It's all he can do to breathe. Then a deeper breath finds

words: "Yes," he breathes into Justin, "Yours."

Vincent watches them in their kiss. He can feel his boys watching, too. He turns

and bestows a kiss on Colin, a kiss on Patrick; slipping an arm around each of their

waists, he encourages them to kiss each other.

Justin and Tig are speaking again, too softly to be heard beyond themselves.

Vincent doesn't need to hear them, though, because he can see their faces. With a

smile, he whispers to each of his boys that they can leave these two alone now. He

feels the drag of reluctance in them as they turn, the longing and loss that tugs them to

stay for one more gaze, one more touch that won't come; Vincent lets them look and

promises with silent touches to make it up to them when they're home.

"Don't go," Justin's voice calls out behind them before they reach the door. They

turn to see him standing now, one hand curled around the back of Tig's neck as Tig

remains kneeling. "Stay," Justin says, "please."

Eyes locked with Justin's, Vincent feels Patrick and Colin look to him for how he

will answer this. Patrick is transmitting his own "please" in the twitches of his fingertips

at the small of Vincent's back; Colin downturns his eyes to hold in his plea.

"Stay and share this," Justin says quietly.

"Are you giving him to us?" Vincent asks.

"No." Justin smiles. "I'm giving you to him." He meets Vincent's level gaze evenly.

After a moment, Vincent nods, the corners of his mouth curving up just slightly.

Turning from them, Justin bends to kiss Tig again. He brings Tig to his feet and

Tig begins undressing him. Patrick and Colin work together to disrobe Vincent before

stripping off each other.

Tig moves with such slow luxury that the others are done first. Kneeling again,

Tig extends a hand up to escort Justin out of his fallen trousers; and now they're all

naked. Appreciative gazes are exchanged. Colin and Patrick go to their knees, flanking

Vincent.

Still on his knees before Justin, Tig says. "I brought something for you."

He moves to rise, but Patrick is already up. "I'll get it for you, Tig." Patrick doesn't

have to rummage deep in Tig's bag before he pulls out a small box, which he carries to

them.

Coaxing Tig to his feet, Justin turns himself to wrap Tig around him from behind.

He accepts the box from Patrick and opens the lid: "Oh," Justin breathes. His fingertips

feather over one of the cockrings nestled in the box. "Oh, Tig," he looks back over his

shoulder, "they're beautiful." Tig's lips part slightly when Justin smiles, but he neither

smiles in return nor speaks. Justin curves his arm back to touch Tig's neck, twists a little

more to kiss his open mouth.

He leans back in Tig's arms when the kiss ends and returns his attention to the

box Patrick is still holding for them. "Which one is yours?" Justin's hand hovers without

touching either one.

Tig's head is bent. His lips don't move.

"Shall I choose for you?" Justin suggests.

Though Vincent can't hear it, Tig's lips unmistakably shape the word please.

Leaving them in the box, Justin examines both cockrings with one hand, the

other holding Tig's hand at his waist. When he takes out the one with a complication of

undone straps, Justin smiles at Tig's invisible, inaudible response and kisses him again.

"Will you do these for us?" Justin's gaze sweeps over from Patrick to include

Colin in the request, before flicking up to rest on Vincent.

Vincent breaks eye contact just to glance at Tig. At his sheen, his shimmer.

Returning to Justin, Vincent touches Colin's shoulder, urging him to his feet.

Justin steps out of Tig's embrace as Colin comes to them. He hands Tig's

cockring to Patrick, then gives the one for himself to Colin. When Justin moves to stand

directly in front of Tig, Vincent shifts his own position to be able to see them both, to see

them all, Justin and Tig facing each other, Patrick and Colin kneeling to fit and fasten

the rings.

Though Patrick is nimble, it takes longer to do up the rows of straps that start at

the base and go the length of Tig's cock, the top one snugged just under his head.

Finished doing Justin's simpler ring, Colin sits back on his heels, hands in the small of

his back, eyes following Patrick's fingers up Tig's cock.

Justin runs his fingertips all over the leather on Tig when Patrick is done,

caressing each encircling strap, exploring his own restraints with his other hand. Only

when he's kissing Tig again does he move to touch skin.

With a smile, Justin asks if Tig brought a special lubricant for tonight, and Tig

nods. Again, Patrick offers to get it. "He also brought kneepads," Patrick adds before

Justin can think of it—or fail to.

Justin thanks Patrick when he returns. He lets Tig put on the kneepads himself,

watching closely. When Tig straightens, Justin holds out his hand and asks for Tig's.

Turning it palm up and cupping Tig's hand from beneath, he squeezes a generous

dollop out of the tube. Tig rubs his hands together, and as he begins to stroke Justin

slick, Justin kisses him again.

Now Vincent beckons his boys back to him. Colin stays down, coming back to

Vincent on hands and knees; Patrick comes back on his feet. Before he can kneel by

Vincent's side, Vincent whispers for him alone, "Do you want me to punish you?"

Patrick, his face slightly downcast, meets Vincent's eyes through his lashes. He

starts to shake his head, then whispers, "No."

"Good," Vincent completes the threat his tone has promised: "Then I won't. This

night is for Tig," he says, as if Patrick needs reminding.

"Yes." Patrick raises his face to Vincent now, meets his eyes evenly, daringly

pointed

"It is."

They regard each other silently, until Patrick can't hold the gaze any longer. He

remains standing as his eyes drop. "All right," Vincent says softly, cupping Patrick's chin

but not forcing him up. He kisses Patrick lightly on the lips. His hand and mouth are

gentle, his voice soft, but there is no mistaking the warning as he adds, "No more

helping, though, unless you're given permission."

Patrick nods his understanding and Vincent lets him sink to his knees as he looks

at the boy of the evening. At both of them.

Tig's eyes are closed, his mouth open; his legs open, spread for Justin to kneel

between them; his fingers are splayed and digging into the carpet as he rocks himself

back and forth on Justin's fingers, encouraged by Justin's other hand stroking along his

spine. The curve of his spine deepens as Justin brushes against his prostate; as

Justin's fingertips press and massage, Tig's knees skate out wider, and he lowers

himself to his elbows in needful supplication.

Withdrawing his fingers, Justin reaches between Tig's legs, traces the narrow

strap pressed between Tig's balls with his middle finger, and then drags the pad of his

finger back over Tig's perineum, back and up, brushing over the flicker and pucker, then

grazing back down, barely touching. He replaces his fingers with his cockhead, teases

along Tig's cleft. Tig's responsive whimpers come soft from the shallow recesses of his

mouth. Justin thrills to them; he

wants to thrill deeper.

He says Tig's name, request and command and warning and prayer.

"Yes," Tig breathes; yes.

Justin pushes in with luxurious, excruciating slowness, until he's deep, fully

seated inside Tig. He holds there, enveloped in Tig's heat, vibrating to the flickers and

tremors as Tig adjusts, fits to him tight and hot and perfect. Pleasure centered where

they're joined, themselves centered in pleasure, Justin shifts the center of perfection.

Anchoring his hands on Tig's hips, Justin slides back, slow, sweet friction, drag and

caress of nerve endings and sensitized flesh leaving a quivering emptiness in his wake.

Then he fills that space again: the space that Tig holds Justin-shaped.

Immersed in Tig again, Justin's heart swells; his cock swells and throbs, pulses in

time with his heart; he is exquisitely aware of the band he wears.

Sliding one hand around front between Tig's cock and belly, Justin causes them

both to shiver when the back of his hand brushes against Tig's cock. He coaxes Tig

upright, seats Tig in his lap facing outward, arms encircling Tig to hold him close. He

keeps one hand on Tig's belly as the other moves up over skin softened with

perspiration, up to Tig's chest, seeking out his heartbeat, palm flush to feel it. Pulling Tig

closer, he presses his own heartbeat to Tig's back.

He says Tig's name softly, and softly, Tig responds, "Yours."

Justin twists his wrist, hand still covering Tig's heart, fingertips now resting at the

hollow of Tig's throat, touching his pulsepoint. Fast and even. He palms the head of

Tig's cock, feeling the throb in Tig's throat, feeling the guttural whimper before he hears

it. Trailing in its wake, he traces up Tig's throat, tilts Tig's head back as he goes under

his chin, then up to his lips. And then inside.

Tenderly, Tig fellates Justin's fingers as he begins to ride Justin's cock, pushing

back to meet the controlled thrusts of Justin's hips and thighs.

When the tenderness becomes too much and not enough, Justin pushes Tig

forward onto his hands and knees again and begins to fuck him, not roughly, but with

abandon. Justin opens his eyes, doesn't remember having shut them. He looks down to

watch his cock slide in and out and into Tig. He watches Tig move with each thrust,

move to it; he watches Tig moving to him. For him. All for him.

Entirely with Tig, Justin is able to glance beyond to the others now.

Vincent watches Justin fuck Tig. His boys are watching, too, wrapped around

each of his legs as they kneel. He likes the way they feel, the pleasant weight of their

heads against his thighs. He strokes their hair as he watches Tig and Justin some more.

When Justin surrenders himself and Tig to the fucking, Vincent takes himself out

and starts stroking languidly. Colin twists to kiss his cock, and then Patrick kisses as

well; they want more, their tongues vibrate with the desire to give him more, but he

won't let them suck. Not yet, he tells them. He lets them kiss his cock again, and they

kiss each other around it.

Vincent watches Justin fucking Tig. Watches Justin watching him.

As he continues to fuck Tig, Justin watches Patrick and Colin with Vincent,

kissing Vincent's cock and each other; he knows Tig is watching as well. Tig is

breathing so hard, he's almost choking on his own breath. Justin leans forward and

whispers, "You want a cock in your mouth, too?"

Yes, Tig responds with silent vibrations, and "please, oh please..." Justin stops

fucking him and Tig accepts the loss with a swallowed moan as Justin comes around to

stand in front of him. Patrick starts to rise at this, hand on the soft cloth he has at the

ready—but Justin raises a hand to stop him.

With slow and loving deliberation, Justin traces Tig's lips with his cockhead. Dips

inside, gives Tig the head, just the head; just a little taste before he pulls back and

kneels down, and asks Tig softly which one of the boys he wants first.

Justin watches Tig's eyes slide to them. He knows the answer even before Tig

closes his eyes, turns his face back to Justin, and silently mouths the name.

Hand on Tig's head, Justin stands and strokes Tig's hair with gentle reassurance

as he turns to the others.

"Colin," he commands quietly, "come here."

Colin rubs his cheek against Vincent's thigh, keeping contact as he looks up. As

he encourages Colin to stand, Vincent lets his fingers slide from Colin's hair. He kisses

Colin lightly, tongue barely entering him before withdrawing, and Colin makes to follow

into Vincent's mouth—but Vincent has moved back too far to kiss. Far enough to look.

Vincent looks deep into his eyes, goes deeper and Colin stays open as Vincent's gaze

slides in, filling all the space between his tremblings, pushing all the trembles up against

each other until his body is humming with vibration.

When Colin is full and open, Vincent smiles: "Go."

Justin receives Colin with a kiss. They're standing close enough that their cocks

touch incidentally, and Colin shivers as his molecules rearrange and vibrate anew. He

raises his eyes from the kiss to glance back to Vincent; Vincent smiles at him, strokes

the length of his own cock, fist closing over the head as he completes the stroke, and

Colin flushes warm as he gives himself into Justin's kiss; sinks down in it

until his knees

touch the floor. Kneeling too, Justin smiles at him, smiles at Tig, a hand on each of their

faces as he bestows a kiss on Tig's lips, another on Colin's; and then Justin bestows

Colin's lips on Tig's. Justin's tongue slides over their joined lips, from one to the other,

and they open to him, all three of them kissing, bound together in the kiss.

Justin slips out of the kiss to retrieve the lube. As he prepares Colin, he kisses

them into kissing each other again. When he has Colin slicked up, he asks if Colin can

do it himself.

It takes a moment and Justin's hand on his face again for meaning to penetrate.

"Yes," Colin says and is rewarded by Justin's smile, by Vincent's beyond it, by the one

he feels in Tig beside him, silently echoing yes, reverberations shivering over Colin and

warming as his skin absorbs them.

As Justin rises before them, Colin moves to kneel behind Tig. Justin offers his

cock for Tig's kiss and Colin enters Tig, driving the kiss into a swallow. Tig begins to

suck, wet, needful sounds leaking out from the corners of his mouth as he does.

When Colin starts fucking Tig, Vincent takes a seat and brings Patrick up to his

lap, kissing his neck and shoulders as they watch. As Justin, Tig, and Colin fall into

rhythm, Vincent feels a different rhythm on his cock, Patrick's fingers unaware of the

rhythm of the others. Patrick isn't watching them; he's watching Vincent. And when

Vincent looks at him in return, Patrick says, "You're helping, too."

"Someone has to stay in control," Vincent says simply. But it's not simple, this, all

of this... It's a complexity of complications, and someone has to stay clear-headed, to

make sure they all come through tonight okay.

"Oh," Patrick teases, "so that means you?"

Vincent meets his eyes and says, calmly, "Yes."

After a moment, Patrick drops the gaze and Vincent just holds him.

He looks at them again: Tig rocking as their cocks slide into his mouth and ass,

deep and shallow but always inside; Colin on his knees, his hands tight on Tig's hips;

both of them looking at Justin, bound up in Justin's gaze. And Justin—

Justin's eyes are clear. By the time his gaze is on Vincent, Vincent is clear as

well. He had only a moment to remind himself that this is Justin, and that Justin will

challenge him, but not like this; not for this. For Tig, maybe; yes, certainly, for Tig—for

Tig, Justin would do anything. But he would not take Colin and Patrick from Vincent. It

was an honest mistake, born of ignorance, and Vincent thinks too late that these are not

ideal circumstances for teaching. It just happened this way, fast, so fast, too fast to slow

or stop now; Tig and Colin are both too deep in already, Patrick is waiting for just one

touch to let go, and Justin—Justin is clear-eyed. Open.

Justin does not know he has made a mistake in not asking Vincent's permission

for Colin, because he thinks he has asked already: "I'm giving you to him."

Vincent should have stopped then, to be explicit about his responding nod, to

clarify that approval does not equal consent and submission—but he was caught up in

the beauty and virtue of Justin's words, in the sentiment deeper than words, and he

wasn't thinking. He wasn't in control. Right there, he lost control. He chastises himself

inwardly: the mistake was his.

He's still learning, himself. That's what a mistake is. Yes. The important thing,

now, is to guide by his own example: Vincent has given control to Justin

and he will

honor that surrender with strength.

Vincent lets time catch up to him as he clears himself, and looks into Justin's

eyes anew.

Justin's mouth, open to breathe and command and encourage, turns up at the

corners as their eyes meet.

Then Justin's eyes go back to Colin as Colin says, "I'm going to come,"

obediently pulling out all the way in anticipation of the command to do so.

"Yeah," Justin smiles. He leans down to take Colin's face with one hand, the

other buried in Tig's hair as deeply as his cock is buried in Tig's throat. "Come inside

him."

Oh; and Colin does.

Justin withdraws when Colin does. He bends down again to brush his mouth to

Colin's; then a kiss for Tig. Sitting Tig back on his heels, Justin gives him another kiss,

massages Tig's jaw, wipes up the saliva drooling from the corners, caring for Tig even

as he dominates him. Vincent smiles.

Then Justin turns to them. "Patrick."

Patrick looks to Vincent and Vincent nods. As Patrick and Colin pass each other,

the backs of their hands graze together.

Colin comes back to Vincent bright-eyed—a little too much, that brightness a

gloss of desire. Vincent knows how much Colin would like to be in Tig's place right now.

He strokes Colin's face, feels the taut trembling in his body even though Colin has just

come. Vincent arranges Colin across his lap so he can watch the others. He watches

Justin kiss Patrick, watches Justin's cockhead kiss Tig's lips, watches them push into

Tig and watches Tig accept them. Colin watches, and Vincent watches with him,

fingerfucking Colin as they watch, matching Patrick's rhythm in Tig. When a whimper

escapes Colin, Vincent gives Colin's open mouth his other fingers to suck.

When Patrick comes back, Vincent gives the fingering of Colin over to him. Then

Vincent goes to Tig and Justin himself; his turn to fuck Tig, his turn to receive

permissive absolution in the kiss from Justin.

As Justin takes off his own cockring, Vincent looks at Patrick and Colin reuniting,

Patrick wrapping around Colin from behind without entering him, his cock curving up

between Colin's thighs, their fingers entwining to hold themselves together, Patrick's

softness to Colin's ache. Vincent used to want to come just from watching them.

He still does.

His eyes flick back when Justin murmurs his name. They kiss, both open-eyed.

Then Justin kneels and draws Tig's mouth down to his cock. He closes his eyes at the

first breath against his cockhead; as Tig begins to suckle, Justin looks up at Vincent.

And now Vincent kneels, not to them but with them.

It's not long before Justin arches hard and pulls out to come on Tig's face. He

coaxes Tig up, touches his face, kisses him. Looks into his eyes, holds Tig kneeling and

shaking hot as Vincent keeps fucking him.

"Are you close?" Justin asks Vincent.

"I can be," Vincent says; a smile passes between them as Vincent offers his self-

control to Justin. To them.

When Vincent has come; when they all have except Tig, Justin takes the

cockring off Tig. He kisses the corner of Tig's mouth, traces Tig's upper lip with his

tongue, slips inside, licks as Tig opens up, sighs and moans. Justin moves behind him,

kisses and licks Tig's hole, and Tig opens up, helpless and wanton. Justin lifts his head

for the others to come to them and they do, kissing and caressing Tig as he jerks

himself off, as Justin licks and sucks their come from Tig's body and swallows them

down.

They are not still after, breath and lashes and pulses fluttering, steadying. They

aren't still, but they don't move until Justin gets to his feet. He waves the others down

when they shift to rise, too. After a moment, he returns with cloths, both damp and dry.

He cleans and cares for each of them, lingering on and with Tig; ritual and reverence, a

completeness of the claiming.

Vincent approves.

When Justin first asked them to stay, he said "please"—but it was not a request;

it was politeness, civility. When he says "stay" now, though the word itself is a

command, his tone and expression make it a request this time. He looks first to Vincent.

Vincent smiles.

Justin's bed is large enough to fit them all. Vincent mocked him for the custom-

made extravagance when Justin first commissioned it, but he's grateful for Justin's

overindulgent nature now. As they settle themselves, Tig thanks them, gentle kisses

and quiet "love you"s exchanged with each and all of them.

Justin feels Tig reach across him for something, and then feels one of the cock

rings being pressed into his hand. "Do you want to wear it again?"

"You," Tig says. "I want you to wear it so I can sleep with you inside me."

Justin studies Tig as he strokes his face. Then he moves to lie between Tig's

legs.

"Please." Tig tightens around Justin, coaxing him closer. "Please."

"You want to feel me inside you again?" Justin asks and Tig nods again, their

gazes locked together. Justin pushes himself to his knees. "Up," he murmurs. "Can you

kneel up for me?"

As Tig starts to shift, Justin turns his head the slightest bit and asks the others to

help him. Tig starts to turn around for Justin, but Justin stops him. Keeping Tig facing

him, Justin reaches down to align their cocks tip-to-tip and begins gently to tug Tig's

foreskin, stretching it open to receive his own cockhead. Tig's sigh blossoms into a

moan as Justin slowly envelops himself in Tig's skin; inarticulate breaths, and then, "I

love you."

"Love you too, Tig," Justin whispers against his lips, a slide of words and breath

and tongue. Hot moist slide of skin, cockheads kissing inside it; kissing until they come

inside, spill out, still connected.

They kiss. Hands help them lie down together.

"How long have you wanted this?"

Tig looks at Justin, back across time and memory to the day they met at the

chess tournament; back now, looking at Justin here and now: "I surrendered to you at

the match," hint of a smile in his eyes, hint of a shrug in his smile.

"Tig." Justin searches deeper than the hints, deeper than the shrug and smile,

going as deep into Tig's gaze as he can. He murmurs Tig's name again. Shifting

between Tig's spread legs, Justin covers him, Tig cradling Justin's hips with his thighs.

Justin arranges their cocks flush together, lying the lengths of their bodies together, too.

His eyes seek Tig's in the light from the night sky coming in through the windows. "I love

you. So much. I want this, as much as you do." Tig arches beneath him and Justin

meets him. "Do you know what it means, how much it means to me that you gave me

this?" he says, quiet intensity in his words, in their movements. "That you've given me

yourself, that you've let me take so much of you, so entirely and completely..."

"More," Tig whispers. He arches again, spreads his legs wider. "Please, Justin,

give me more; take me again."

Justin runs his hand along Tig's thigh to the knee, curls under and tucks Tig's leg

against him again as he shakes his head. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs. "It's

the one thing I won't do."

"I'm hurting now," Tig says. "I'm aching for you. Empty without you. Please.

Please..." Tig is so supersaturated that desire is glazing his eyes, his body, dripping off

his very words and breath.

As he begs, Tig fingers himself open without entering himself, and Justin slides

down to soothe with his tongue now, without words, kissing and licking Tig's skin, his

fingers, just inside him. Close to abandon, Tig pleads with soft guttural moans for Justin

to take him, to fuck him, again and more.

And finally, Justin does. He starts fucking Tig again, slow and thorough, pulling

out nearly all the way, long slow slide back in, and Tig can't take it—and he needs to

take it, he needs this. He begs Justin to stay inside him, to fill him, oh please... So Justin

holds still, deeply and completely inside Tig. When he starts moving again, it's just his

hips, the smallest movements inside Tig, shifts of the fullness.

Inside Tig, Justin reaffirms his promise to give Tig everything, the world; and in

return, he only wants Tig to give Justin himself. All of himself. To give himself over

entirely. "Tell me what you want."

"I want to be close to you."

"You're more than close. You're inside me, deeper than fingers or cock or tongue

can reach; I can feel you. You're all the way inside me. Open yourself: can you feel it,

Tig, how deep inside me you are?"

Light comes on, low and soft, just enough for Justin to see Tig's face fully, for

them to see each other. Justin glances over and thanks Vincent with a smile before

returning his gaze to Tig. "Look, Tig," Justin breathes. "Can you see? Can you feel it?"

"Make love to me," Tig responds; "please make love to me," a mantra, a rhythm

of intimacy and desire.

"Make love to me," Tig supplicates; and Colin murmurs, counterpoint and

support, "please yes, please." Vincent drapes Colin over him, rubbing their bodies

together. Then he sits Colin up and settles Colin on his cock, thrusting up to establish

the rhythm, matched to Tig's words, for Colin to ride. Patrick lies between both

couplings, touching himself everywhere but his cock: touching his body, his face,

rubbing his thumb across his own lips and licking at it.

When Vincent says his name, Patrick focuses on him. Vincent touches his face

touches Colin's, too. Then he moves his hands to Colin's hips, to still him and hold him.

Vincent's torso contracts and curves as he sits up. He shifts them back to support

himself against the headboard, starts moving Colin on his cock again

and when Colin

has the rhythm himself, Vincent cups his face with one hand and kisses him.

He turns again to Patrick: "Come here." He kisses Patrick, kneels him up and

then curves and stretches Colin down. Both hands on Colin, Vincent cradles his jaw and

the back of his head, strokes his thumb along Colin's jawline

and Colin opens his

mouth to accept Patrick's cock. Vincent's fingers splay to support Colin, caressing and

holding him still as Patrick mouthfucks him, Colin still riding Vincent's cock.

Patrick's head arches back

and Vincent realizes it's the tug of Tig's hand fisting

in the ends of his hair. Tig is anchoring himself. He can't anchor to Justin because he's

soaring with Justin, he's gone with Justin... Justin joins his hand to Tig's

and Patrick

turns to kiss their entangled fingers. He wants this. They all do.

They all need it. With words and with his body, Tig keeps begging Justin to make

love to him even as Justin, with his words and his own body, does. The intimacy is

almost unbearable.

And then Vincent understands that it would be unbearable, if it were just the two

of them; too much intimacy, the weight of the intimacy too heavy for just the two of

them. Justin and Tig need the others here, to share, to help bear the intimacy.

Witnessing and sanctifying it, and more:

Justin and Tig are in danger of going supernova in their lovemaking and

confessions of love, in danger of losing themselves in each other. Vincent thinks Justin

knows it, too, and that's why Justin wanted the others to stay. Where Tig and Justin are

joined is the singularity; their gaze is the event horizon; touch is gravitation—the touch

of the others can balance them, pull them back from the brink before they become

consumed by their own selves and love.

"Come when you're ready," Justin says to Tig.

Tig is moaning and whimpering continuously, but he doesn't come. It's too much

for Patrick: "Justin." Patrick groans as he pulls himself away from Colin, twists and turns

to face Justin and Tig. "He can't." Patrick presses back as Colin tries to come with him.

Snugs himself back, guiding Colin's hand between his legs to continue the stroking his

mouth had begun. Reconnected to Colin, Patrick leans forward and dares to stroke Tig's

hair, sweat-slick strands clinging to Patrick's fingers. "Tig," Patrick murmurs, and Tig

turns glazed eyes on him; shuts them with Justin's next thrust. "He can't." Patrick stops,

then starts again, looking at Justin. "He can't—you have to tell him to."

Justin's eyes go from Patrick's to Vincent's. Lips fastened to Colin's, Vincent

meets Justin's eyes. He continues to ravish Colin's mouth.

Tig opens his eyes when Justin calls his name. "Do you want to kiss Patrick?"

Justin asks. Tig turns to look at Patrick, who is still gazing down at him, stroking his hair

with one hand as his other strokes Colin's hand on his cock with the same rhythm. "Tig,"

Justin says softly, still fucking him, "kiss Patrick."

Tig tilts, arches, opens his mouth

flash of his tongue, already seeking to kiss

before Patrick's mouth reaches him; and then their lips find each other, their sighs and

tongues commingling.

Justin joins the kiss

then leaves it, only to invite Colin and Vincent, too: all of

them together, kissing each other. "Come," Justin murmurs. "Come now, Tig. Come for

me," and Tig is already coming as Justin finishes, "come for us."

Justin puts his arms around Tig as they spoon up and asks if it's enough to sleep

together like this.

"No such thing as enough," Patrick says, with a smile that Tig returns.

Vincent watches Patrick and Tig murmuring to each other; he recognizes the

caresses of praise as Patrick strokes Tig's hair. Tig's fingers entwine with Colin's,

resting on Patrick's hip. He joins his own hand to theirs. Murmurs slow into simple

breathing, touch quiets as they start to drift...

"How long have you been planning this?" Vincent says quietly, clearly.

"I've wanted you all for awhile now," Justin says, just as softly. "But I didn't plan

anything. I've just been waiting for all of you to know what you wanted, too."

"This." It's Tig who speaks soft and true, who says it for all of them: "Just want

this."

The End

ABOUT MALLORY PATH

A dedicated daydreamer born in Manhattan, Mallory Path now lives across the
bay from San Francisco. Mal used to rage against classification by pronouns, but
has come to terms with that failure of language and now answers to “he” or
“she”-or, under the right conditions with the right persons-”it.” She prefers hope
to happiness, which is often reflected in her fiction. When not writing gay love
stories, Mal enjoys cuddling her hamsters, napping, and planning fantasy
vacations that she will never be able to afford. Visitors to her website, A Lyrical
Bent (http://mallorypath.com), are most welcome.

If you enjoyed COMMUNION, you might also enjoy:

HANDLE WITH CARE

By Mallory Path

Pretty-boy Lucas has caught everyone’s eye at local hangout The Station,
including that of rough-and-tumble grad student Mick. When it’s finally Mick’s
turn to take Lucas home, he teaches Lucas that you can’t judge a book by its
cover (or a body by its tattoos)-and that there’s much more to erotic intimacy
than sex.

Warnings: This title contains graphic language and little or no sex.

Excerpt From HANDLE WITH CARE:

“Did you just moon me as a seduction technique?”

“Did it work?” Lucas’ eyebrows arch hopefully.

“Not really,” Mick says, throwing in a shrug for good measure. He wonders if

Lucas notices how he has shifted his stance to stick his balled fists in his pockets.

They stand looking at each other for so long that the hint of a pout creeps onto

Lucas’ face, and Mick isn’t sure whether Lucas is doing it with purpose or not. He can’t

help but grin, and the pout blossoms in response.

“Hey.” Vexation colors Lucas’ words. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Cocking his head, Mick looks Lucas in the eye and really thinks about it. “I

might,” he finally allows. “But look, Lucas, if I do-and I’m only saying ‘if,’ you

understand?” Lucas nods and Mick resumes, “If I do, I’m not going to do any of those

things you were just whispering in my ear.”

“Why not, though? Didn’t we just establish that I’m not going to break?”

“Yeah,” Mick replies, “but I’m not into that sort of thing.”

Lucas’ lashes flick as he looks at Mick; his lips part, but not enough for words

before they close again. Finally, he says, “You’re not?” Mick shakes his head to affirm it.

“But,” Lucas gestures at him, open palm sweeping from Mick’s steel-toed boots to his

shaven head, encompassing all the tattoos, piercings, and resistance-trained muscles in

between, “look at you!”

“Look at you,” Mick counters, using only his gaze to indicate Lucas’ lithe frame,

unmarred skin and shampoo-commercial-worthy cascade of shoulder-length blond hair.

“And as we’ve just established, you aren’t fragile and you’re not breakable.”

Lucas’ brow knits as he ponders this, the corner of his lower lip drawn between

his teeth, and he looks so damned adorable it’s all Mick can do not to take those few

steps forward and rub his thumb along the faint lines of tension to ease them.

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