#gonna need to think on a ot3 custom tag

[dcndrohime]

Random Asks. (Girlfriends Day Edition). // Accepting.

@dutybcrne - It's National Girlfriend Day, so Kazuha is up and at 'em, fixing up a nice little meal of recipes he's learned while the Crux had docked at Port Ormos.

Several of the meals, Beidou in particular had, he'd of course taken into account. If not to be able to replicate them for his Captain and her penchant for such strong spiced flavors, than for Hina as well.

In addition to that, a specialized cryo-based transport container rests by the door, filled with various cuttings of plants he'd found and acquired from the other nations, preserved to be brought alive for her to appraise and keep, and a few other gifts from Beidou's most recent trip to Fontaine.

Her time spent today had been nothing but hectic, something she would rather have than idly watching a single day go by.

But really, in the end, there was not much that could compare to the feeling of heading back home after a long day wandering here & there, especially if it meant to be greeted by a plethora of gifts.

Stopping in her track by the doors, not only is she welcomed by presents left by Kazuha, it seems a certain someone else also gave enough thought to what day it is.

While Michihiko did refuse to even make one step on Inazuma, summoning something so simplistic as his signature Chazuke specialty dish, no matter the stretching distance, hardly require any real effort.

She shook her head, amused at display, that they would go this far when Hina has never seen it as mandatory.

Just being able to see them, talk to them, will always be more than enough.

Still, the food is not going to eat itself.

Reaching for a few things she can balance in her hands, the rest of things were carried afloat by Dendro energy.

Next time she may as well spoil them.

[marsmaywander]

pride month: ace fic recs!

i figure that i’m so happy to find asexual representation anywhere i can, i should put together a list of fanfics i’ve come across. warning that this is gonna be heavily marvel-skewed since that’s my biggest fandom at the moment. please take care to read all tags and warnings in the individual fics - there are some heavy topics in some of them. let me know if you enjoyed this list or have any other faves to share!

( ♥ ) indicates personal favorites of the bunch

MARVEL

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264345 Evening Star by alifetime (gen) summary: Tony comes to terms with Peter’s sexuality. supportive dad™

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1575290 The Question by fadewords (tony/pepper) summary: Tony Stark is a fucking sex god, and proud of it. But there's something indefinably different about his approach to sex--there always has been, he's just never noticed it before--and now that he has, he can't quite put his finger on it. (Or: An asexual Tony Stark goes through life without knowledge of asexuality, and does just fine--until he actually learns about asexuality. Then shit hits the fan.) notes: some wonderful self-questioning and sex-positive ace tony

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802476 i don't need anything (but you) by WritingThroughTheMess (tony/bucky) summary: Together, Bucky and Tony dismiss the need for bitten tongues and whispered apologies. There is no need for anything but them.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954036 ♥ take my hand, take my whole life too by FreyaS (tony/steve) summary: Tony stands in front of the mirror and nervously adjusts the cuffs of his bespoke suit. He fiddles with the cufflinks shaped like the atoms of the element he created (a present from Rhodey for his forty-something birthday) and tries to breathe in slowly and calm his nerves. This is his fifth and probably last date with Steve and he wants to commemorate the moment with his most polished look. The suit is his armor and it’ll carry him through to the bitter end.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129132 Flags by candycanedarcy (bucky/clint) summary: Bucky's been seein' a lot of rainbows around lately, and he's curious as to why. He doesn't know asking that question will give him the answer to a different question he didn't even know he had.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/924291 Walking like a man, hitting like a hammer by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel (gen) summary: "Darcy was convinced it was going to become part of SHIELD’s oral history forever, like that time everyone on this one op was doused with sex pollen and the only one who didn’t screw someone senseless was then not-yet-deputy director Agent Hill, and Robards said it was because she was a frigid lesbian and Hill told him that the term was asexual and if he was going to be a bigoted asshole about it he could at least get her orientation right. And then Coulson made him go through the hardcore diversity and sexual harassment training as punishment, because everyone knew Hill and Coulson were bros." Maria Hill is honestly pretty happy with her life. notes: a good confident maria gen fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6544546 As You Are by WinterSky101 (tony/pepper/bruce) summary: Tony and Pepper are very sexual people. Bruce isn’t. When he gets invited into their relationship, he’s not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102553 It's (Not That) Complicated by Reioka (tony/steve) summary: Steve is asexual. Tony's straight. They love each other anyway (even if other people don't understand it).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726187 Human Moment by usedupshiver (tony/bucky) summary: In the modern world, Bucky Barnes is something as rare as a full-blooded human. Sure, humanity used to think it was the ruling species, but now they are well aware that they share the world with angels and demons, elves and goblins, spirits and ghosts, and humans did what they have always done best – they adapted. For Bucky, that meant making a very comfortable living selling all the things only a human body can offer beings that aren't. Over the years he has nourished all sorts of creatures, and has never had an unsatisfied customer. Then Tony Stark shows up at his doorstep, and nothing seems to work out like it should.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/35347 ♥ Not alone by Arkada (series, OT6) summary: Clint's asexual, and he's always thought he'll end up alone. Then the Avengers happen, and he's living with all five of them. Then all five start sleeping together, and everything falls apart. notes: some great whump and self-hatred followed by discoveries and lovely comfort. one of the first marvel fics i ever read

https://archiveofourown.org/works/511492 Variations in Modern Dance by Pookaseraph (tony/steve) summary: There's only one thing in the world that Steve has decided the 21st century isn't alright with: not wanting to have sex. Sadly that seems to be the one thing the Serum couldn't fix, and it's playing hell with his ability to deal with his feelings for Tony. Thankfully Tony is a brilliant engineer, and he might be able to find a solution, or maybe he'll realize there's nothing there to fix.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/179492 ♥ Aces Trump Kings by Unadulterated (series, tony/pepper) summary: Tony doesn’t want what everyone else seems to want, and can’t make himself like what everyone else seems to love. So he keeps his mouth shut and his smile bright. It doesn’t occur to him that maybe his normal is not to be. notes: a bit stereotypical with a pride parade, but nevertheless a really great self-discovery series - one i keep coming back to

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363432 ♥ Eggplant Emoji by Reioka (bucky/natasha) summary: Natasha doesn't know why Bucky doesn't want to have sex with her. notes: NEW ADDITION TO THE LIST! hilarious bantering and great ace diversity

SHERLOCK (BBC)

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1028720 this could work by orphan_account (gen) summary: Later that night, long after she’d dried her tears and cleaned up the mascara which had smudged all the way down her cheeks, Molly found her answer. She also learned the definition of “asexual.” http://archiveofourown.org/works/778479 ♥ Black. Two sugars. by solrosan (gen) summary: Everyone seemed to assume that Molly was in love with Sherlock Holmes, and it was so much easier to go along with it than to correct people. notes: some really nice platonic molly & sherlock moments here https://archiveofourown.org/works/246997 the art of getting by (isn't really so artsy at all) by stupidmuse_hatesme (john/sherlock) summary: “He's treating things like they're normal! Things are not normal.” Sherlock drags his hands from his mussed up hair and covers his face. “You aren't helping much,” he mumbles into his palms. “I hope you know that. ”The skull only grins from his perch and says not a word. “Really, you're supposed to do more than just--sit there.” https://archiveofourown.org/works/383984 Random Numbers - songlin (john/sherlock) summary: Just because they're not having sex doesn't mean they aren't intimate. A collection of moments in the relationship of asexual!Sherlock and straight!John.

LEVERAGE

http://archiveofourown.org/works/85681 The Not Your Teaching Tool Job by BlackEyedGirl (OT3) summary: Parker doesn't understand why it has to be more complicated than: "I want to be with you, I just don't want to sleep with you." It's everyone else who has the problem. (Parker as a biromantic asexual)

WTNV

https://archiveofourown.org/works/934124 ♥ ♥ ♥ run, run, fast as you-- by orphan_account (cecil/carlos) summary: The night that his research partner (and sort-of ex) shows up at his apartment with a gun, Carlos decides to take a mysterious but exceptionally well funded two-year research posting in a town called Night Vale. A story in which Night Vale is there for the people who need it, Cecil's propensity to wear his innocent heart on his sleeve is perceived as a threat (until it isn't) and no one is allowed to hurt the Scientist. No one. notes: this is my most favorite ever ace fic. it’s like 100k+ words long and amazing. having trouble not rereading the whole thing right now.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 4

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

To see the version with art by Dara, check it out on Ao3.

Tag for all parts up so far.

A/N: Even more art in this chapter 'cause Dara is a gift.

***

“Oh, there you are. Did you absolutely have to sing in the shower?”

“I did not--”

“I could swear I heard a grito. Or were you just shrieking?”

“Well, if a certain someone hadn’t finished all the hot water…” Ernesto grumbles, causing Imelda - who personally turned off hot water the moment she and Héctor were out of the shower - to smirk.

“Serves you right for getting up last. And to think Héctor and I shower together to save water,” she says, causing Héctor to snicker over his breakfast.

“We’re very environmentally conscious,” he mutters through a mouthful, causing Ernesto to roll his eyes. “But the shower is pretty big. Maybe next time we can all save water and--”

“Absolutely not,” Imelda and Ernesto snap exactly at the same time, causing Héctor to recoil and lift his hands in surrender. Not that it stops either of them from speaking again.

“As much as I’d love to see her melt when water touches her--”

“It’s a miracle he even fits in it on his own, with that ego in the way,” Imelda cuts him off, and he glares at her. She supposes he means to be intimidating; he only comes across as the overgrown pouting child he is. She smirks, and pushes a plate towards him, a couple of tacos mañaneros in it. “Eat. You look like you need the energy to keep up.”

Several things happen in quick succession: Ernesto opens his mouth to retort only for his stomach to grumble loudly before he can utter a single word, Imelda’s smirk widens, and Héctor tries to disguise his laugh with a very unconvincing coughing fit. Ernesto scowls at both of them, but eventually he sits down and starts eating. Within minutes he’s talking about music through mouthfuls, about a producer they absolutely need to meet - he knows people who know him, he can get them in touch - and entirely ignoring Imelda… who, on the other hand, is ignoring him as well and checking her emails for new orders on her phone.

Héctor dutifully nods along with what Ernesto says, and promises he’ll be available whenever this Armando Abascal can meet them, but truth be told he’s only half-listening. What he’s really wondering, as his gaze moves back and forth between his wife and his best friend, is how much time should he let pass before he suggests another night together.

He’s not an idiot; he can tell that as much as they butt heads over everything, the central focus of it all - the thing that keeps Ernesto coming and Imelda letting it happen, the rope they’re both clutching while trying to win an unspoken tug war, the one person who binds them - is him.

They keep trying to outdo each other and, really, that works to Héctor’s advantage given everything that he gets out of it… but now he’s starting to wonder if that is actually the entire story. Maybe it is most of it, yes, but Héctor’s mind keeps going back to how relatively easy Imelda was to convince to invite Ernesto over again, and how quickly Ernesto had been to bend down on their bed again despite all his complaints.

As much as she rolls her eyes and as much as he protests, Héctor can tell they are enjoying the fuck out of this, pun intended. Or at least, they’re enjoying it far more than either is willing to admit. Héctor wonders, for the first time, what it may take to get them to say as much.

A lot, very likely: they are both stubborn and prideful, as much as they like to deny having anything in common. Making them admit something as simple as the fact they’re enjoying the challenge, or at the very least the sex, isn’t gonna be easy. But then again, if you want your life to be easy, you do not pick Ernesto as your best friend, and you do not marry Imelda. Héctor has done both, and regrets neither.

It’s time to up the game.

***

I bought a pair of boots last month, and it was my best purchase in years! They were custom-made to my measurements, fit perfectly form the first day and didn’t give me a single blister  as I trekked up a mountain. I cannot recommend these enough!

The review is followed by a smiley as well as a full five-star rating, and Imelda finds herself smiling back at it. Almost all the reviews are like that - the only exception are a few whining about late delivery caused by postage issues she had no control over, as she always mentions in the reply - but she’s always happy to see a new one, giving her credit for a job well done.

When the first glowing reviews began coming in, as well as the beginning of a steady flow of income, it took all of her willpower not to take screenshots and send everything to her parents, writing nothing but I told you so. She held back because she’s not that childish but oh, was she tempted. Told you so has always been one of her parents’ favorite sentences to utter.

Don’t take chances. Don’t attempt anything new. Follow our advice. Stay in your lane. Oh, you tried and failed? Well, we told you so.

Sometimes it was warranted - Óscar and Felipe’s attempt to build a homemade pressure cooker when they were eight was one such occasion - but a lot of the time it was unnecessarily smug and grated her nerves like nothing else. Getting to make things work despite their misgiving was always very, very satisfying.

Moving to Mexico City for a course in business management? They had supported her in the end, but not without a lot of stubborn silences, thinly veiled jabs and grumbling. But she stood her ground, and excelled; Imelda knows they’re proud… but she also knows that they are somehow disappointed for having been proven wrong, for never getting to tell her that they told her it was a bad idea.

Starting her own business, and online? It would never work, they told her, to many people already did the same. And making shoes the old way, to order? Who even does that anymore? Who would pay money for that when you can buy much cheaper shoes elsewhere?

But it did work; she's found herself a niche in the market and her business has grown to the point she now estimates that, in about a year’s time, she might very well think of looking into renting proper premises and employing a few people. Again, the told you so mantra failed to leave their lips, and they were proud of her. They usually are, despite everything.

And then she decided to marry Héctor which, of course caused friction. That too, according to them, was a bad idea. They didn’t dislike Héctor, whom they had seen from time to time when they played together as children; they knew that, while a troublemaker - that was usually Ernesto’s fault, but he had a way to evade all the blame somehow - he was a good kid who had grown into a good man.

When Héctor’s parents had died when he wasn’t yet seventeen - a gas leak, a spark, and they were both gone while their son was a couple of towns over for a gig - hers went to the funeral with her, after donating some money to help pay for it. Imelda has hazy memories of that bleak day, of Héctor standing alone before the coffins until Ernesto reached him and passed an arm around his shoulders. She remembers walking up to them, and squeezing Héctor’s hand, but she cannot recall what she told him.

The following year, both Ernesto and Héctor packed up quite suddenly and left for Mexico city to turn their passion for music into a proper career. Her parents had talked about it over the dinner table, expressed their sympathy for Héctor and wished him luck, and that was the last they'd said of him. Until their daughter moved to Mexico City, met him again, and began dating him. Until she had announced they were going to marry.

A musician, and with no steady job and no family behind him? They hadn’t liked that at all, questioning how he’d even be able to provide for her and pretending to have forgotten how her business was beginning to take off well enough to support them both in bad times if need be.

Óscar and Felipe supported her quite vocally - they always liked Héctor, who was a very willing guinea pig for some of their experimenting back when they were just children - and in the end, while grudgingly, her parents stopped arguing. They came to the wedding, were perfectly polite, but Imelda knew that they were waiting for the day that told you so would be warranted.

So far, it never was: Héctor always finds work. As much as Imelda doesn’t like to admit it, she knows that Ernesto - his used-car-salesman charm, his shameless self-advertising and the fooling around he calls networking - is the main reason why. Héctor has so much talent and plenty of charm of his own, but lacks the ambition and drive Ernesto has; that pendejo is the one who gets them most of the paid work and, for that, Imelda can tolerate him. Grudgingly.

Oh yes, Third Wheel Ernesto. What would your parents think of that development?

The thought makes her laugh aloud - oh God, they would flip if they knew  - and she doesn’t realize how loud she was until Héctor’s head peeks into the workshop. “Found another singing cat video, mi amor?”

Imelda rolls her eyes - it was one time she laughed to tears, just one time, can he stop bringing it up? - and turns from her laptop to glance at him. “I was thinking about Ernesto.”

Héctor raises his eyebrows. “What a coincidence. So was I.”

“Not that way.”

“I was thinking we could have him over next Friday.”

“No. I need at least another two weeks without seeing or hearing of that--”

“I have an idea,” Héctor cuts her off, and he’s grinning so widely she can’t help but be intrigued. When that expression appears on his face, she knows he’s thinking something really interesting. She leans back, folds her hands, and crosses one leg over the other.

“... You have two minutes to convince me.”

One minute later, Héctor is already sending out a text message.

***

“Do you really have to go already?”

Sitting on the bed with only the sheets around her, Luciana - or Lucia? He doesn’t remember and just refers to her with pet names to avoid trouble - is pouting. Ernesto kisses that pout.

“I have a meeting. I’d love to stay,” he lies, and follows it up with another lie. “I’ll call you.”

Another number to block, of course. She’s getting attached, he suspects, and Ernesto doesn’t like that, no señor. Best for both of them if he ends this here. Most of all, best for him. He’s a free man, no strings but those of his guitar, and he’d rather keep it that way.

Plus, last night wasn’t even fun. It usually is, with Lucia - or Luciana? - but this time it was… underwhelming. Not that he can pinpoint the reason; she did or said nothing out of the ordinary, and there was nothing wrong with the sex itself. It hasn’t exactly left him unsatisfied, but something was lacking and that gnaws at him in a way he cannot explain.

A few more reassurances, just enough time to throw his clothes back on, and Ernesto leaves the apartment, heaving out a long sigh of relief. He glances at a cab passing by, and digs into his pockets to pull out some change. Not nearly enough for a fare. He shrugs and gets walking towards the bus stop, putting the change back in his pocket - and feels his phone vibrating against his hand. A text from Héctor.

Come Friday at nine. You don’t want to miss this one.

***

"Red or white?"

"Black. You look good in black."

"All right, let me see..." Héctor lets out a hum and rummages in the closet, finally pulling back with some black lingerie in his hands. He unfolds it, glancing at the transparent skirt, and holds it up. "Is this mine or yours?"

"Yours. I'd need to walk in stilts to wear that one without tripping over the skirt."

"Or very high heels," Héctor mutters, glancing at Imelda. She's standing in front of her section of the closet, tapping her chin with a finger. She tilts her head towards him, and the braid falls from her shoulder down her back; Héctor has to ignore a sudden urge to undo it, and run his fingers through her hair.

"Is that a suggestion?" she asks, and Héctor grins.

"You look wonderful in heels."

"Aw, what a charmer."

"Plus, it's nice not having to bend over too much to kiss you."

"Aaaand you ruined it."

Héctor gives her his tried and tested Can't Be Mad At Me smile. It always works. "I'll make sure to kiss you plenty to make up for it. You still love me, right?"

Imelda laughs. "Against my better judgment," she says, and reaches in the closet to pull out some lingerie of her own - the red lacy one that never fails to drive Héctor loco. "This, with the red boots?"

"Sounds perfect."

"I get the feeling you'd say that no matter what I put on."

"You could just stay naked. You're perfect when you're naked."

Imelda's smile turns into a smirk. "Ah, but isn't it better when you get to unwrap me?"

That, of course, is a logic Héctor cannot possibly argue against. Trying to think of something else - anything that will keep him from thinking of the moment he'll get to unwrap her, because this isn't the right moment to get hard - Héctor turns away from her and begins putting on the lacy black lingerie... which, truth be told, was a nightmare to find his size. Maybe he is ridiculously tall, which is why he has so little lingerie of his own and mostly borrows from Imelda, when they feel like it.

Sometimes Héctor still has trouble believing what an amazing woman he had somehow managed to marry. Back when they had been dating just for a few weeks and were learning to know each other in ways they definitely hadn’t as kids, there were very few things about himself Héctor was afraid to talk about... his taste for crossdressing being one of them.

He knew plenty of people would find it ridiculous at best, and break up with him as soon as the confession was past his lips; the thought Imelda could do that - ridicule him and turn away - scared him more than words could say... but when he finally brought it up, his face hot as fire, there was no rejection nor mockery. Imelda had seemed intrigued, and - for the first time - she had told him about her taste for strap-ons, adding that she’d wondered if the mention of it would send him running for the hills. It had been his turn to be intrigued and soon enough they both ended up laughing, their faces bright red but relieved beyond belief, clasping each other's hand.

When they had met at her place the following week, Imelda surprised him with lingerie for them both. It was one very, very interesting evening; Héctor was delighted to find out that Imelda was as aroused as him. Crossdressing soon became normal - not something that happened every time, but often enough. It was exciting, and fun, and if made for some really nice pictures that they took great care to keep in a very, very safe place.  

Not long afterwards, they’d tried the strap on together for the first time and it had been more enjoyable than Héctor had dreamed it could be - so much so that he’d lasted… forty seconds, maybe. Likely something closer to thirty.

But practice makes perfect, and they had a lot of practice since.

“When is he going to show up?” Imelda speaks interrupting the reminiscence. She sounds suddenly annoyed, and Ernesto isn’t even there yet. It’s kind of a new record, but Héctor hopes they might begin to get along better, in time. It’s a project he’s actively working on.

Héctor glances at the clock on the wall, slipping on the lingerie and lacing it up. “I told him to come in about half a-” he starts, only to trail off when the doorbell rings. “... Well, there he is.”

“And there he stays.”

“Imelda.”

“He’s got to learn to take you seriously when you give him a set time,” she points out, frowning. Héctor wonders if she even realizes how beautiful she is like this, scantily dressed in red silk and laces as she puts on her boots, the braid falling over her shoulder. “He can’t come and go as he plea--”

Clack.

Imelda freezes. So does Héctor. She turns. He smiles innocently. “I, uh--”

“You gave him the spare key?”

“I figured it would be a good idea, in case one of us got locked out. I mean, he lives downstairs, and we have his spare key.”

Imelda scoffs, lacing up her boots. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says, but Héctor knows she’s conceding the point. “And you go make it clear to him that he’s not supposed to use that key when he damn well pleases.”

“All right.”

“Use those exact words, or I will. Loudly.”

“Fine, fine,” he promises. Of course he doesn’t use those exact words, even even if he did, they would be wasted. The moment Héctor shows up in the living room, Ernesto’s jaw very nearly drops - and so does the bottle of wine in his hands, really, but he manages to catch himself just on time before it slips from his fingers and crashes on the floor.

That would definitely put Imelda in a bad mood.

“You’re early, amigo. How much cologne did you put on?” Héctor asks, tilting his head on one side in the most nonchalant way possible - like he’s fully clothed and they’re having a chat over a drink.

“I… a dash,” Ernesto mutters, gaze running across him, and he swallows.

Héctor raises an eyebrow in doubt.

“All right, maybe two. I… I brought… I… are those earrings?”

“Clip-on ones, no worries. No one had to be subjected to the sight of yours truly crying before a needle. Unlike that poor tattoo artist in Oaxaca who saw you jumping five feet in the air the second the needle touched your skin,” he adds. That is a little story that never fails to make Ernesto defensive, and it doesn’t fail now either.

“I just… I changed my mind, all right? I realized that defacing my skin was a stupid idea.”

“Of course. Was that why you were also holding my hand?”

“I was not--” Ernesto starts, but suddenly there is the clicking of high heels on hardwood floor, and his gaze goes past Héctor, to the door. He doesn’t turn to look, but he can tell the exact moment Imelda stands in the doorway from the way Ernesto’s eyes go wide, and his jaw slack. His brain seems to have crashed and, really, Héctor cannot blame him.

“Oh, there you are,” Imelda says, and walks up to Héctor. She leans on him, and taps her lower lip with a finger as she glances at Ernesto. “You’re awfully overdressed.”

That causes him to recoil, as though snapped out of a trance. The look on his face goes from the personification of a blue screen of death to sudden, clear awkwardness.

“I, er…” he starts, and swallows, his gaze moving back and forth between them. His skin is flushed, and he tugs at the collar of his white shirt. “I thought we. Dinner. First,” he manages.

Ernesto.exe is not working. Please restart.

The thought almost makes Héctor laugh, but he manages to hold back, allowing himself just the smallest quirk of his lips as Imelda shrugs and walks up to Ernesto - who almost, almost steps back… but does not. He just stays still, transfixed, as Imelda reaches to toy with the upper button of his shirt.  

“Later. First, let’s get this off you,” she says, her voice soft, and tilts up his head to look at him in the eye, a hand reaching to cup his cheek. Normally, Héctor would expect his best friend to smell the trap from a mile away. Now, however, he's not at all surprised when stares at her and, slowly, he smirks. Look at him, Héctor muses, thinking he knows what’s ahead.

Ay, mi amigo, you won’t see this coming.

He somehow manages to stay serious as Imelda pulls her hand away from Ernesto’s face. Ernesto lifts his own free hand as though to catch it, but he stops himself just on time; Imelda doesn’t seem to notice, and takes the bottle of wine from Ernesto’s limp fingers.

“A good choice,” she practically purrs. “I’ll get the glasses. Héctor, would you be so kind to get him ready?”

Héctor smiles and holds out his hand, gesturing for Ernesto to follow, and he does.

Oh, he's definitely getting the wrong idea of where this is going.

***

Ernesto is very much enjoying the way things are going.

It’s not something he’s ever going to admit aloud, of course, but the fact stays that this is finally taking the direction he wanted - with Héctor and Imelda entirely focused on what mattered. Namely, on him. Oh yes, Ernesto can get used to this.

He was slightly disappointed when Héctor slapped his hands away on the way to the bedroom, but very much willing to let himself be undressed down to his underwear. He was already getting hard and he expected Héctor to get rid of his boxers, too, but he had not. Instead he'd pushed him on the bed, straddled him, and kissed him deeply.

On the mouth.

That caused his mind to go blank for a moment, because despite everything that has happened - the kisses Héctor had dropped on his shoulder and neck and face, the fact Ernesto gave him, all humbleness aside, the best blowjob a man could ask for - a kiss on the mouth was something that had just never happened before between them.

Taken aback, he found himself letting Héctor lead; it was slow and thorough, and entirely too brief. All too soon, Héctor pulled back and grinned down at him. Ernesto opened his mouth to protest, or demand more, but he placed two fingers on his lips and gave him a look that made words die in his throat. His eyes roamed across on his body, on the silk and laces on him and, in that moment, he could have let him do anything.

Which includes, apparently, tying his arms to the bedpost with silk scarves.

“Try to break free,” Héctor tells him. He does, and he can’t. To be fair, it's not like he tried with all his might; he's a pretty strong guy, so of course he could break free if he really wanted to... but for now, he'll play along.

"Good knots," he says, and tries to catch Héctor’s mouth again, only to miss when he pulls back to turn to the door.

Ernesto follows his gaze and there’s Imelda, carrying two long-stemmed glasses of red wine in one hand and a third in the other. She looks down at him, tilting her head on one side, and Ernesto has to make a conscious effort not to squirm when her gaze pauses on his groin.

He’s painfully hard and, he knows, his boxer shorts are doing absolutely nothing to hide it. Suddenly very much aware of how helpless he is, he braces himself for the calm expression to turn into a mocking smirk… but it doesn’t. She just hands two of the glasses to Héctor, and smiles.

“He might need help to drink,” she says, and looks back down at him, calmly sipping her wine.

What game is she playing?

The thought makes it briefly to Ernesto’s mind, but he chases it away before it can fully form - because thinking that would mean that deep down he knew something was up, and that would open up the very annoying possibility that he’d willed himself to ignore it to go along with... whatever Imelda is planning.

If she’s planning something, of course. Which she isn’t, or else like hell he’d have handed over control like that. Ernesto wills himself to believe as much, and turns his attention on Héctor - who has put down one glass and is holding the other in one hand, the other on the back of his head to support it.

“Salud,” Héctor says with a grin, and brings the glass to Ernesto’s mouth. Impatient as he is to get things going, he drinks in slow gulps. It’s good wine, if he says so himself - and he does say so; he picked it, after all - so there is no reason to make it go to waste. Once the glass is empty, Héctor pulls it away. A few drops fall on Ernesto’s collarbone, and before he can even protest Héctor lowers is head and suckles at his skin where the drops fell, causing Ernesto - who now he feels pleasantly warm as well as desperately aroused - to shiver.

He tosses back his head, and his gaze finds Imelda, who’s almost finished his own wine and is staring at him, her expression unreadable.

“Good choice,” Héctor chuckles, and takes the glass he left by the table - guzzling it down way too fast, but Ernesto really doesn’t give a damn whether he properly tastes it; there is one thing he wants Héctor to taste now, and it’s not the damn wine.

The empty glass is placed back, and Héctor is grinning more widely. The next moment he’s back on the bed, crawling towards him, and then he’s reaching to brush back Ernesto’s hair, humming. “Looking good,” he mumbles, and something seems to leap in Ernesto’s chest. Héctor is smiling, Imelda is towering over him, and he has a few moments to savor, once again, their full attention… until they turn to glance at each other, smirk, and are suddenly a few steps away from the bed, in each other’s arms. What the…?

“Hey!” Ernesto calls out in protest, or at least he tries to; all that leaves his mouth is a choked-out noise. He tugs at his bounds, but the knots don’t give in at all - Imelda’s fault, surely, who else may have taught him to tie knots? With a snarl, Ernesto glares furiously at them as they lock lips, hands all over each other. “Seriously? Untie me!”

“Oh, we could do that,” Imelda says, turning to glance at him. She’s leaning her head against Héctor’s chest, and traces abstract patterns over it as she speaks again. Her voice is silk-covered steel. “We could untie you, and you can go home. Or you can stay put, and if you behave you get a reward later. Your choice.”

Ernesto opens his mouth to snap at her to go ahead and untie him, but then Héctor moves to kiss her neck, and words die in his throat. For several moments he can only watch them with wide eyes because oh, they are a sight to behold, heat is pooling in his groin and his cock is so hard it hurts.

“I…” is all he manages in the end, and nothing more. Imelda smirks.

“A rare good choice from you,” she says, and Ernesto wants to hit her, wants to scream, wants to fuck her, and he can do none of those things. He scoffs, and turns away. Fine, so they can tie him up, but they can’t make him watch, and so he won’t. He won’t play along, won’t even steal a glance. He shuts his eyes, and keeps them shut.

For two whole minutes.

***

By the time the last bit fabric hits the ground - once they’ve done unwrapping each other like you do with a gift, as Imelda would put it - Héctor is desperately hard, Imelda is soaking wet… and, unsurprisingly, Ernesto is beyond frustrated.

“Are you always this slow? I think I’m about to fall asleep.”

The moan leaving Imelda as Héctor nips at her breasts turns into a scoff halfway through. She turns to glance at Ernesto, an eyebrow raised. “Are you? There seems to be a small part of you that is still very much awake.”

Ernesto glares at her, and bends his knees to try hiding the very obvious bulge in his underwear. Not that he can hide his flushed skin, or the marks on his wrists from pulling so hard at his restraints. He shifts his gaze on Héctor and his expression turns mocking. “You know, if it were me in your place, your wife would already have forgotten how to talk at this point.”

That annoys Imelda enough to pull away from Héctor. “Another sound from you, and I’ll stick a gag in that stupid mouth,” she warns, crossing her arms over her heaving chest.

Ernesto sputters. “You wouldn’t!”

“One more word, and I will,” she hisses. She is beautiful like this, hair undone and eyes flashing, and her tone makes it clear that she means every word.  Ernesto can see that, too, and he goes quiet for a moment… then there is a flash of something in his eyes that Héctor cannot quite pinpoint, there one moment and gone the next, a bolt of lighting against Imelda’s steady fire.

Then, Ernesto sneers. “You wouldn’t,” he repeats, and that’s it. Next thing Héctor knows, Imelda is at the dresser and the ball gag is in her hand. Ernesto has just enough time to sputter again before said ball gag is shoved in his mouth, the strap fastened behind his head. That causes him to give a noise like that of an angry ox, and to shake his head furiously, but of course it isn’t enough to dislodge it.

Imelda grasps his hair, and forces his head back so that he’ll look at her face; he stares at her with wide eyes before he catches himself and glares. She responds with a smile. "I like you best with your mouth busy,” she says, and her free hand reaches down to palm him through the boxer shorts. The glare immediately fades, and buckles into her touch one moment before she pulls her hand away, causing him to whine in the back of his throat. The grip on his hair slackens, and she ruffles it.

“Behave, and Héctor will take care of that,” she says, giving his erection one last pat before she stands and, without another word, she’s in Héctor’s arms again.

They fuck against the wall, with Imelda clinging to him, scratching his back and biting bruises on his neck and shoulder. Even in the midst of it all - skin on skin, his wife’s body so welcoming and warm, the scent of her hair in his nostrils and oh God he’s not going to last much longer - Héctor knows, with utmost certainty, that Imelda is looking straight at Ernesto over his shoulder... and that he’s glaring back.

He loves them both but ay, sometimes they can be so predictable.

***

[Back to Part 3]

[On to Part 5]