Beautiful Losers - Part Seventeen

Jean told Sebastian. Sitting on the carpet in front of a roaring fire Sebastian had built while Jean and I had been busy having our tête-à-tête. I suggested it might be better if they had their discussion in private, but Jean staunchly refused to say what he had to say without my presence. If I had to be honest, I'd have preferred not to hear the details. They were grim - very grim.

For a time, the three of us sat simply watching the flames dance. It took a while for Sebastian to get up the courage to touch Jean. I understood his hesitation but I also knew isolation was the very last thing Jean needed to feel.

"You're not him," I said to Sebastian, referring to Jean's sick fuck of a teacher, the one who'd abused a little boy's trust with such total disregard for the years of misery he'd initiated. "You're someone else, and Jean knows that."

When he wrapped his arms around Jean, and pulled him into his chest, I heard Jean sigh, and took that as my cue to make another, less dramatic exit.

Jean's hand shot out and grabbed my ankle as I got to my feet. "Where are you going?"

"Well, I thought I'd go home. I've got laundry to do and, if I turn up at work tomorrow in the same clothes I wore today - you know - people are going to start to talk," I joked.

"Don't go. Please," said Jean. "You can wear some of mine. I've got lots in Sebastian's closet."

We were about the same size, but Jean was a good four inches taller than me. "I think everything you've got is a little long for me, Jean."

It was Sebastian who looked up, still holding Jean in his arms. "Shirakins, don't be difficult. It's the wrong time to be worried about what you'll wear tomorrow."

This was rich, coming from someone who wouldn't be caught dead in the same outfit twice in one month. Still, I got the sense that both of them were frightened that, a wound that had been hemorrhaging only an hour before and had only just started to clot, would break open and start bleeding again if I did anything to change the precarious balance that had been established with all this talk. I relented.

"Okay. But can I have permission to pee?"

Jean loosened his grip and snuggled back into Sebastian's chest. "Only if you promise not to be too long, and bring a bottle of something on your way back."

* * *

I used the downstairs washroom and spent some time trying to clean up my face. What I would have really preferred was a shower; my earlier adventures with Sebastian had left a dirty, sticky feeling that still lingered on my. But I figured if I took too long, someone would come hunting for me. I did the best I could with a sink and a guest towel, and grabbed a bottle of vodka on my way back to the living room.

There hadn't been any reason to worry. I got back to find Sebastian had laid Jean down in front of the fire and was kissing him with an intensity that made it clear I could have bathed for hours and no one would have noticed.

Cracking the bottle, I took a swig and curled up on the couch, hands tucked between my knees, contemplating their lovely silhouettes moving against firelight. It made me think of those Indonesian shadow puppets I'd seen a film about. All the characters were princes and kings and Hindu Gods, each with a thousand years of mythology behind them. And what, after all, was mythology if not baggage and history dressed up for public consumption?

There were my two shadow puppet princes, each with his own mythologies, kissing and undressing and caressing each other, casting the dark and distorted versions of themselves on the living room wall, casting out the demons.

Sebastian was very gentle with Jean - not his usual boisterous self at all - and Jean wasn't giggling or joking. When they'd discarded their clothes and lay skin to skin, there was nothing but the sounds soft breathing and wet kisses.

I had another sip of vodka, feeling drowsy and wrung out from the emotional drama. With half-closed eyes, I saw Sebastian enfold Jean in his arms, lifting his chest to his mouth to suckle Jeans nipples; first one and then the other. He coaxed soft raspy moans from his lover's throat. Jean lay back, his arms flung out like a man in the act of surrendering.

They moved together, slowly, sinuously, their breaths becoming more urgent as they mouthed and licked each other's skin. Jean slid his hands over Sebastian's ass and squeezed, forcing a groan and a thrust from Sebastian.

Uncurling myself from my nest on the couch, I got up as quietly as I could and went upstairs to grab the box of condoms and the lube, since I was pretty sure Jean didn't carry any around with him, and Sebastian had only been wearing those cotton things. In the drawer of his bedside table, I found stuff I couldn't even guess the function of. The condoms were easy, but there were about fifteen different kinds of lube. Did they want something that heated up, or tingled, water-based? Or - nah, not the sparkly shit or the one that smelled like cinnamon - that wasn't even lube. I found a black bottle of something called Eros and unscrewed the cap. It didn't smell of anything, and I thought it would do. I also took the opportunity to take off my boots, again, so I didn't have to go clomping back into the living room.

But when I got back downstairs, I just left the stuff on the coffee table, because they obviously didn't need it.

Stretched out side by side, head to toe, they were nuzzling, and licking and slurping at each other's cocks like...well, I really didn't have a frame of reference for it. It was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen. My feelings were split down the middle between 'oh, that's so cute' and 'fuck that's so hot'.

Lazily, Jean and Sebastian took turns engulfing each other's erections. Jean lay almost still, sucking while Sebastian moved his hips easily, sliding in and out of Jean's mouth. Then they switched, and Sebastian would lie still and Jean would move. It went on that way, each of them trading off, for what seemed like an hour.

Finally, after all the sighs and moans and wet sucking sounds grew more and more urgent, Sebastian pushed Jean over onto his back and finished him as Jean whimpered and thrashed. Then they sat up, kissing deeply, passionately, and Jean curled his fingers around Sebastian's cock and brought him with his hand.

I stifled a moan and rolled over to face the back of the sofa. All it took was the momentary pressure of my clasped hands between my legs, and I came shuddering, silently. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at the brocade upholstery wondering if I had come for myself or for them. I felt like a parasite, having fed my own pleasure on the poignancy of theirs.

"Oh, my God!" said Jean. "Look what she brought us!"

Turning back to face them, feeling sort of dazed and embarrassed, I gave them as nonchalant a smile as I could manage. "I thought you might need it."

Sebastian was on his knees, wiping the cum off his stomach with his pants. "Seems not." He grinned.

Jean came over and sat on the sofa beside me, his pale body looked almost fragile. He bent down and kissed me. It wasn't like any kiss he'd given me before. Raw and messy, driven and deep, it wasn't the studied, precise, deliberate way he usually kissed me. It was as if he'd been kissing Sebastian so long, he'd forgotten to switch to Shira mode. I wondered if he noticed.

"Come on Shirakins, let's all have a shower and go to bed."

I struggled into an upright position on the sofa. "I really need to get home. You're fine, you two. And I really need to get clothes for tomorrow."

"Nonsense, " huffed Jean, pulling me to my feet. "I told you, you can wear something of mine. Or just wear the same skirt and borrow a shirt."

As he dragged me by the hand up the stairs, I decided not to mention that the front of my skirt was soaked in my own juices. I just let that one pass.

Coming up the stairs behind us, Sebastian said, "Anyway, you should bring some of your stuff here. I've got a shitload of closet space. In fact, you could just move it all over."

I had no intention of giving up my very cozy independence with Lizzie. But still, it struck me as a very odd way to ask someone to move in with you. I stopped outside the door to Sebastian's room, but Jean - buck naked and adorable from the rear - just continued down the hallway.

"We can't all shower in Sebastian's bathroom. It's too small. Come on, his parents ensuite is huge!"

I turned back to Sebastian, puzzled. "Yeah, huge!" he echoed.

Following them to the end of the corridor, Jean opened a door I hadn't peeked into during my illicit weekend exploration. The room was straight out of Vogue Casa: all dark blues and pale greens. The bed was a gigantic four-poster thing, like something from a medieval castle, but the paintings on the walls were all in the impressionist style. To the left of the bed, hung a portrait of a very beautiful older woman. From the bones, and the complexion, and even the eyes, I knew it was Sebastian's mother.

"Why in the hell don't you sleep in here?" I muttered, turning almost full circle to see a beautiful, gilded and marble dressing room table. The room even had its own fireplace.

Jean had already gone into the bathroom, but Sebastian stood beside me and shrugged. "I was never allowed in here when they were alive. I spent most of my time in my nanny's room. I thought, fuck it, I'll be damned if I'm going to spend time in here now they're dead."

I slipped a hand into his. "You make it sound like they didn't like you."

"They didn't," he said, and pulling me towards the bathroom. "They were selfish assholes who loved no one but themselves."

It was the sort of statement that makes you want to say, 'Oh, I'm sure that's not the case,' in a comforting yet vaguely patronizing way, but then I hadn't met his parents and, from what little I'd learned about Sebastian, I had to wonder if it wasn't true.

There was more than enough room for us to shower together in his parent's bathroom - us and another ten people. Lined in pale gray slate, it had one of those glassed-in shower areas you usually see at expensive gyms, with spigots on three walls. Jean had them all running and the room began to billow up with steam.

Pulling my clothes off, still dumbstruck that someone could live in a house with rooms like this and not want to use them, I realized that Sebastian had simply decided on what territory was his and, for the most part, left the rest to the ghosts. It was a disturbing thought, and I quickly joined them under the sprays of hot water.

There was much squealing and whooping and squirting of shampoo bottles, but I felt somehow apart from it all. Standing in the water spray with these two beautiful men, I felt so female and out of place. Perhaps it was just a hangover from watching them in front of the fireplace; perhaps it was Jean's admission in the kitchen, that I was there as a proxy. Whatever the reason, I felt alien and wrong.

Jean, however, was almost in a state of euphoria. I could see that something had changed, like some part of him had been set free. Sebastian was just being Sebastian, only nicer and gentler with Jean.

It still felt good to crawl into Sebastian's bed, the three of us cuddling like kittens. It still sounded lovely to listen in the dark to the people you cared about breathing softly in their sleep. I knew they liked me, cared for me, loved me, even. But I couldn't get past the feeling that I'd arrived at this privileged place as a substitute, second-rate orifice.

The next morning, I woke up early, slipped out of bed without waking them, and went home.

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