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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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What do you think the greatest brotrayal of all time would be?

What?

Somewhat of a challenge, not sure I pulled it off, but I hope you enjoy it anyway :D

Thanks to @janetm74 @scribbles97 @vegetacide and @tsarinatorment for various read throughs and cheerleading :D

Sorry, Scott :D

-o-o-o-

Scott glared at his brothers.

Virgil, John and Gordon stood in a line on the comms room hardwood floor all looking straight ahead as if they were in a military inspection. Which was particularly odd since only one of them had ever been in said military.

Hell, even his grandmother was ramrod straight beside them.

Scott was absolutely beside himself. Still dressed in his uniform, complete with its coating of mud, he had no doubt that his appearance was anything but reassuring to the brothers standing in front of him.

Not that he cared. This was beyond it all.

This was so ludicrous that it was hard to even suspect Gordon as the culprit.

Though he was still the most likely despite his arm being in a sling.

Scott eyed his fish brother. He had a scratch above one eyebrow that hadn’t been there when Scott left this morning.

But then a lot was different on Tracy Island since he left this morning.

The most obvious difference was the Thunderbird stuck at an angle where the pool was supposed to be.

His ‘bird was shining in the late afternoon light, her silver hull gleaming as she sat at a sixty-degree angle just beyond the balcony, her wings gouged into the concrete of the patio.

Virgil shifted where he stood on his crutches and Scott felt the briefest flash of guilt at making him stand there. His engineer brother had been grounded for the last week with a broken ankle, along with Gordon and his broken arm. Which is why Scott had been in Two today with the currently guilt free Alan.

His youngest brother stood off to one side, apparently caught between shock and relief that he wasn’t to blame.

“I’m waiting for an explanation.” For several things.

The room still reeked of burnt furnishings. Whatever had happened in the kitchen had left it black and under a haze of smoke that had infiltrated the villa.

As if to comment, John sneezed suddenly. His space brother sniffed and screwed up his face before he realised Scott was eyeing him. He, too, was standing on crutches, something he wasn’t doing this morning.

And still no-one said anything.

Not even Grandma, and honestly that was a kicker.

“Gordon-“

“What are you looking at me for?”

Scott shot him a flat stare. “History.”

“Hey, the last time I borrowed One, I brought her back in one piece.”

“Complete with Eau de Polecat!”

“That does not automatically put me at fault. Besides this was an emergency.”

Scott blinked. A little progress. “And?”

But Gordon clammed up and went back to staring at the portraits on the far side of the room, every bit the WASP Lieutenant Tracy he actually was.

Scott turned to John, his ever-faithful source of relevant information.

“J-“

“I’m sitting down.” John turned and crutched his way past Scott and into the sunken lounge without another word.

Scott stared after him.

“Honey, are you feeling okay?” His grandmother followed his space brother and began fussing over him and his leg, both completely ignoring Scott.

What the-? “How. Did. This. Happen?!” Okay, so he might be yelling just a little, but the cause was sufficient. He turned to his trusted first. His best friend. His brother. His Virgil.

Said brother was looking rather pale. “Virgil?”

Sad, dark eyes looked up at him. “I wanted to make you popcorn.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil was frustrated. Virgil was always frustrated when he was grounded and today sported no reason to change that attitude.

Worse, he had had to watch Scott take his ‘bird out to a mudslide. His big brother was not a fan of flying Two, but since Virgil had a busted ankle and Gordon an equally busted arm, that was the deal today.

To top it all off, mudslides sucked big time and Scott and Alan would likely come home exhausted, especially since two of their brothers were currently unavailable to assist.

So, to help just that little bit he had spent the last couple of hours hobbling around the kitchen slapping together something that could be considered a relaxing meal for that evening, vetoing any chance of Grandma getting into the kitchen and destroying stomach linings.

It helped that Grandma was in Wellington with Kayo.

To top it off, Virgil had put together an apple pie, Scott’s favourite. He had also made sure there was a bucket of triple chocolate ice cream in the freezer for Alan – one that he had stashed away for emergencies just like this.

The last thing on his list was to make some candy popcorn for the squirt and put some kernels aside ready for popping later so they would be nice and warm for the movie.

He was in the process of heating the oil when Gordon burst into the room as if out of nowhere.

Virgil to dropped a spoon.

Damn sandshoes were silent.

“Hubert’s dying!”

“What?” His back creaked as he picked up the piece of cutlery.

“Hubert, the albatross that collided with the window and broke his wing.”

“What albatross?” The oil began to smoke a little so he turned the heat off. His Gordon radar was at full alert – this would likely take a while.

“Yesterday? Upstairs? How did you not hear that?” A blink. “Okay, it was five am. You don’t exist before ten, I’m sorry.” The sarcasm was dripping and a little caustic. “Regardless, Hubert has gone limp and I think he’s dying, Virg. Help me please.” The accompanying clasped hands reminiscent of either prayers or vigorous begging, complete with a sling that wasn’t doing what it was supposed to, were a little over the top.

“Okay. Fine. Show me the patient.” He reached over and nudged the broken arm back into its sling while Gordon glared him.

“Hurry up.”

Virgil grabbed his crutches and followed Gordon to the stairs before darting sideways and thumbing the elevator doors open.

“Okay, fine, hop-a-long.” Gordon jumped down the last few steps and hurried into the elevator with Virgil.

He bounced on his heels the entire way to the infirmary level.

Virgil watched his agitation and realised that whatever was wrong with this bird, Gordon had invested himself in it, much like every other injured animal he had dragged home since he had learnt to walk.

Gordon ushered Virgil into the infirmary and to his horror, he found the limp sea bird strapped secure in one of the beds. “Gordon, have you heard of hygiene?”

“It’s fine. The sheets are clean. He’s safe.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

But Gordon’s whine drew him into examining the bird, which, considering it was avian, did not comply with the human knowledge Virgil possessed.

“I don’t really know, Gords.” Virgil stabbed at the infirmary’s computer interface, interrogating the net for baseline vitals for an albatross. Hell, he didn’t even know which species.

“It’s a Gibson’s Albatross.” Gordon was stroking the unconscious bird gently with his fingers.

This was not the first time, nor was it likely to be the last time Virgil found himself in this situation, though the species did vary. As always, his answer was. “I’m sorry, Gordon. You need a qualified vet.”

“But I set his wing. He should be getting better.” Gordon’s age regressed around animals and tended to break Virgil’s heart in the process.

“I’m sorry, Gordon.”

“For goodness sake, we’re International Rescue!” The plea in his brother’s eyes stabbed right where it hurt.

But then those eyes widened and a light bulb went off above Gordon’s head.

Or it could have been a pre-emptive precursor for the migraine Virgil suddenly knew he was going to end up with.

“No, Gordon.”

“But he’s dying!” Gordon grabbed Virgil by the arm. “It’s our job to save lives.”

“How exactly are we going to get him to the mainland? Neither of us can fly.” Virgil wasn’t going to admit it, but the bird didn’t look like it was going to last long enough for another family member to make it home. “I’m sorry, Gordon.” He was already calculating how to cheer up his little brother.

“No!”

He sighed. It wasn’t as if he wanted the bird to die. Hell, if he was hail and healthy, he would have already put it on Tracy Two and be halfway to Auckland by now. But there was no way he was risking himself or his brother in a plane with a broken limb. Maybe Kayo might get back in time?

But then the inevitable happened. He should have seen it coming.

“We can take Thunderbird One!”

Virgil blinked. “What? No!” God, no, Scott would kill him.

“This is a life, Virgil! What makes a bird’s any less important than a human’s? It’s his life, our house has endangered it, and now we aren’t doing anything to help save it? How is that fair?” Gordon’s fists were now clenched at his sides, the sling yet again ignored. Fiery carnelian glared at Virgil. “I can’t do it with my arm, but Thunderbird One doesn’t require feet to operate.” A flicker of his eyelids. “This is on you.”

Virgil stared at his little brother.

A glance at the limp bird on the bed.

Back to Gordon, ever so fiery and passionate.

Virgil reached down, unfolded Gordon’s fist and pulled the sling back into place.

Ten minutes later he found himself doing what he did every time this kind of situation happened.

Thunderbird One launched with Virgil at the helm and Gordon clutching a desperately ill albatross in the back seat.

-o-o-o-

Scott stared at his second eldest brother, the man with whom he trusted so much. Virgil had literally held Scott’s life in his hands on several occasions.

“You borrowed One to take an injured bird to the vet.”

Virgil shifted where he stood. “It was to save a life.”

Scott turned to the lounge and glared at John. “And you let him fly with a broken ankle?”

John returned the glare with equal strength. “Are you kidding me? This is Virgil we’re talking about. I thought One was safer in his hands than yours.”

“What?!”

“It’s not like he’s going to do anything stupid with your ‘bird, is he?”

There were no words, so Scott just gestured in the direction of the pool.

With both hands.

“Yeah, well, probabilities can’t predict everything.”

The flippant, non-answer went straight to Scott’s head and rattled around in there for a moment or two before he chose to file it for later or risk implosion. John was rubbing at his foot and Scott latched onto it to save his sanity. “How did you hurt yourself?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the kitchen caught fire. Kayo had already been called out again and I was worried about Grandma.”

“And?”

“I tripped.”

“Over what?”

“My own feet! It’s not every day you see Thunderbird One get stuck in the pool!” John glared at Scott. “Cahelium on concrete is very loud.”

Scott stared at him, not willing to face the image those words inflicted on him.

“Why was the kitchen on fire?”

But then something Virgil had said popped into his mind. He couldn’t help it, he rubbed his face with his hand. “Grandma, why didn’t you wait for Virgil to get home?”

“He left the popcorn on the counter, dear, I was trying to help.” Grandma wasn’t looking at him. John’s leg appeared to need a good rub right at this very moment.

John was wincing.

But with that explained, Scott had no choice but to turn back to Virgil, who was still standing clinging to his crutches.

Why hadn’t he sat down? He was ever so very sorry looking and Scott’s heart melted at the edges.

“Virgil, what happened?”

Brown eyes slowly peered up at him.

God, did he really have to deploy that little brother expression. Thunderbird One was down for the count, stuck in the damned pool and the brother responsible wasn’t even letting him stay angry. Goddamnit! How does a thirty-year-old man regress to six-year-old like that? Those eyes were the same eyes Virgil deployed that time he crashed Scott’s bicycle.

As if in answer, something whacked Scott’s thigh.

Ow! “What the hell?”

Looking down he found an extremely large seagull with a bandaged wing glaring up at him. Their eyes met and it squawked.

Very loudly.

“Hubert! What are you doing down here?” And suddenly, there was a race on around the comms room, Gordon chasing the waddling bird as it methodically thumped everyone with its wings, took out a pot plant and to Scott’s horror, one of Dad’s souvenirs. Both toppled with a crash as Gordon continued to chase Hubert around the room.

Alan joined him a moment later.

Part of Scott wanted to yell the building down, but most of him just wanted to know how the hell his ‘bird had ended up stuck halfway into her launch bay.

So, he turned back to Virgil and asked again, perhaps a little louder over the ruckus as the stupid bird scrambled over John in its eagerness to torture everyone.

He approached his brother carefully and placed a hand on each arm. “Virg, What happened?”

“It was an accident. I’m sorry, Scott.”

“That much is obvious. What malfunctioned?”

Brown eyes were suddenly not looking at him.

“Virgil?”

His brother straightened a little. “You have too many damned levers.”

“What?”

He seemed to be saying that a lot today.

“I pushed the wrong lever, okay? It’s on the left on Two and One has it on the right and I yanked on it to slow and the wings deployed. Wrong lever, sorry, okay?”

Scott stared at Virgil, his jaw slowly dropping as his hands lost their grip on his brother and just hovered mid-air beside him. “You used the wrong lever?”

“Yeah, sorry, my bad.” Virgil was looking at his feet. “Can I sit down now?”

Scott’s mouth was still open and he had to force himself to close it. “Sure.” So his voice was a little bit higher than normal…

Virgil didn’t hesitate, clutching his crutches and hurriedly tapping his way over to the lounge.

Behind Scott there was a sudden crash and the sound of breaking glass as both Alan and a bird squawked at the same time.

Scott didn’t turn to look. He just stood staring at his ‘bird, still gleaming in the late afternoon sun, still sticking out of the pool.

His jaw may have dropped just a little again.

But nothing more was said.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #Grandma Tracy #Sally Tracy #flyboytracy's fault

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

weak (violet/trixie/katya) 5/? - kitty

A/N: smut! feelings! hedgehogs! also i now have a writing blog @kittydoux if you want to yell at me. as always, much love to polly

summary:

“Tell us what you want,” Violet says quietly, hates saying the words because they like to know, not ask.

Katya is silent for a few moments.

“Tell us what you need.“

Violet wakes up with a crick in their neck and Trixie Mattel drooling inelegantly on their shoulder. They’re pressed up against the arm of the couch. A red five blinks insolently at them from the digital clock on Trixie’s table. It’s early, too fucking early, thanks, but Violet knows they’re not going to be able to fall back asleep. They ease themselves out from underneath Trixie, who slumps further against the arm of the sofa. Katya is burrowed into him, arms slung loosely around his waist and mouth open on his chest. Violet takes a moment to look at them like this, open and vulnerable. They’ve seen Katya asleep, god, how many times? Napping on the tour bus, passed out on airport sofas. Once, in their hotel bed after a long gig where Alaska had accidentally taken Katya’s room key and was currently getting ploughed by a bar tender. Katya had looked at Violet sheepishly, put on her raspy voice (that reminded Violet secretly of a deranged farmer they had once known) and shrugged, saying “Sorry, mama. Guess you’re stuck with me”. This was in the middle, Violet remembers, of tour. It was after they’d started fucking (which had happened, really, as a joke once about Violet riding a pensioner, and had ended in this – both of them curled up in Trixie at 5am). That time, that time with the bed, they hadn’t had sex. Katya kissed them on the forehead (“This stops the goblins from harassing you while you sleep”), then once on each cheek. Violet remembers how they looked perfectly, as though they were an external observer. They see themselves cross-legged on a hotel room bed as Katya holds their face, kisses their closed eyes, and says good night. They see themselves watching Katya as she sleeps, tracing a finger down her shoulder.

This is the first time since then that Violet has seen Katya in this state, whole and surrendered and peaceful. This feels secret and safe, like they have to take in all of these details now for fear they’ll never see it again. It’s the veins in Katya’s arms, specifically, blue and spindly, contrasting with Trixie’s warm gold skin. Trixie tans naturally, in a way that makes Violet think of long summer nights, of abandoned highways, of the desert and the way it makes the sky look when it’s hot and nothing feels real, even less the stars. Preservation, is what Violet thinks, and shakes their head slightly at their own ridiculousness. The sun is rising slowly. Trixie’s curtains aren’t fully shut, and a few fingers of orange light press against them. Violet wanders around, feeling slightly like a kid, up too early on Christmas morning and trying to figure what the presents are. Trixie has a rack of vinyls, including his own album (Violet listens to it sometimes on tour. They’ve never liked country music, but there’s something oddly comforting about his voice, singing about things that no one except a traveller could ever really understand). There’s some fanart on the walls, some ugly cushions (that Violet just knows Katya picked out, gets a pang when they imagine Trixie and Katya going furniture shopping together). Trixie’s bedroom is simple, he has a pink bedspread and a guitar against the walls. Violet rifles through his wardrobe until they find a pair of light grey sweats and an inoffensive white tank, rolling their eyes at Trixie’s frankly terrible fashion sense.

They shower quickly, making sure to inspect all of Trixie’s assorted shower gels, finally deciding on one that smells like plastic apples. Katya is perched on a stool at the kitchen counter when Violet leaves the bathroom, Trixie’s sweatpants rolled down in an attempt to keep them on their skinny hips. She looks tired but lovely, as Katya so often does. She reminds Violet of a dancer from the seventies, all prominent cheekbones and big wondrous eyes, slightly emancipated in a way that makes Violet ache in a sad, small way.

“Good morning, Violet. Did the whispers of you inner demons wake you up early, or was that just me?” It’s a joke but not a joke, delivered with a wheeze and a sense of melancholy.

“Nah, mostly Mattel’s avalanche of drool.”

Katya bares her teeth at that, in a smile but not a smile. “He is truly the human embodiment of a curiously sticky waterfall.” Violet ignores her, and they both watch Trixie asleep on the couch, curled up now and covered in a blanket.

“Coffee?” Violet makes coffee, and Katya stretches in the corner, popping her shoulders and back in a fascinating yet disgusting way.

The smell of coffee rouses Trixie, who demands a mug in their hands before his eyes are even open. He and Violet sip in tandem as Katya moves into a downward dog, lean and lovely, framed in the light shining through a window that Violet had opened. It’s hot already, a sticky cloying.

“Nice sweatpants,” Trixie observes mildly, eyes unfocussed in the general vicinity of Violet’s chest.

“They were the only half decent things in your wardrobe.”

Trixie hums non-committaly. “I might have some jean shorts that would fit you.” Neither of them makes a move to retrieve them. Katya pads over, takes a swig of coffee from Violet’s mug. “I’ll make eggs” she offers, but it comes out as a question. “You’ll burn my apartment-” “condo,” Violet corrects unhelpfully. Trixie shoots them a look. “You’ll burn my living zone down. I’ll help.”

Violet doesn’t offer to help, and takes their coffee outside. They sits on the red box they’ve come to think of as theirs, sweat pooling underneath their thighs. They know that most people find sweat distasteful - gross, even, but Violet finds a weird sort of pleasure in feeling the beads roll down their back and arms and legs. They like the feeling that the sun is focussing all it’s attention on them, reducing them to a puddle. It’s whatever. The door to the kitchen is open, and Violet can hear Trixie and Katya talking. They wonder if one of them will mention last night, or the weird state of limbo the three of them are currently wafting through. They don’t do any of those things. Well, not really.

“You never mentioned Violet’s cephalopod tendencies.” Trixie’s voice sounds casual, in a way that wholly indicates he doesn’t feel casual at all.

“Why, has she been squirting ink in your shower? That’s a new feature”

Violet hears Trixie shriek, the familiar sound of skin slapping skin.

"No, you absolute monster. She’s so cuddly. It’s like sleeping with the world’s meanest scarf.“ Violet strains, listening for Katya’s laugh. There isn’t one. Her voice comes out slightly warbled when she replies.

“We never really did that.”

There’s silence for a few beats, Violet’s heart thumping in their neck and wrists and toes. Sweat clings to them almost unbearably now.

“Why not?” Trixie sounds so soft that Violet thinks they love him a little. Who knew that the answer to the Violet and Katya mess of feelings and fucking would be Trixie, right? They can practically hear Katya shrug, are very tuned in to the minute shifts of her bones and muscles. “Because I…I don’t know, I assumed they didn’t want to? Vi’s more of a sea urchin than an octopus”. Violet hears the tremble in her voice, uses it to mask the stab of pain they feel at the words. Trixie’s voice screams of raised eyebrows and disbelief. “Bitch, I know that that’s not true after three days. You’re seriously telling me, after how many months of fucking, that you didn’t know she’s a massive softie?” Another pause. Violet’s not sure they’re even breathing any more.

“Violet’s like. Violet’s like…you know, like porcupines? Well, in England they had hedgehogs-”

“Katya, I went to college. I know what a hedgehog is”

“Alright, okay, I mean you did do a degree in musical theatre in Wisconsin”

“Oh my god, I hate you. It was Wisconsin, not Siberia!"

"I think they have hedgehogs in Siberia?”

“What were we talking about again? Oh yeah, Violet. Continue with your analogy.”

“Violet’s like a hedgehog because she’s prickly."

"Poignant.”

“Fuck off. And like, hedgehogs roll into little balls when they’re scared, right? So they’re cute and then BAM! Like a tiny ball of cactus-like pain.”

"Okay, but like. I take your simile, and raise you a metaphor. What if you’re the hedgehog? What if Violet’s been, I don’t know, exposing her soft metaphorical stomach to you the whole time, and you’ve been the one in a spiky ball?“ There’s silence again.

Violet is attempting to take in the fact that Katya thought a hedgehog was the most fitting animal to describe them.

"That is disturbingly profound, Tracy.”

“I have my moments."

Silence descends. Violet’s sure that at least Trixie knows they’ve been listening. After a few moments, a freckled wrist shoves a plate of eggs in front of them. Trixie grins at them tiredly, and sits down on the adjacent red box. Katya joins them. They eat in silence.

“This is messy, isn’t it.” It’s an observation that needs to be stated, clearly, and Violet’s always been one for pushing that line. Kat and Trixie – they’re too close to ever say what they’re feeling really, to ever push that tension into romance. This is Violet’s civic duty, and they feel very much like the good and noble citizen they try so hard not to be.

Trixie shifts almost imperceptibly next to them. Violet hears him sigh.

“You’re right. This is messy.”

They wait expectantly for Katya’s input on the messiness. It doesn’t come, per se.

“In my educated opinion, I think we need to fuck again. To ascertain just what level of messiness we’ve reached. Can we just…postpone the other conversations?”

“Wow. Sexy.” Trixie mutters, and Violet huffs a laugh as they see his hand reach for Katya’s knee.

Violet elbows Trixie. “She’s an old woman, her idea of dirty talk is probably sending a carrier pigeon.” It’s weak, Violet knows, but Trixie laughs anyway and the golden line of his throat suddenly transfixes Violet. They want to bite it, so they do.

“Children,” Katya hums, before standing up and grabbing both of their hands. They follow her into Trixie’s bedroom. Like before, Katya is so effortlessly and undeniably in control of this physical relationship, regardless of her internal tumult. Her hands are connecting the three of them, and Violet has a sudden, absurd desire to grab Trixie’s hand as well and form a circle, like they’re about to form a ritual. Please, god of polyamory, let this work out. They feel Trixie’s eyes on them, and give in to the urge to look at him. His eyes are pretty. It seems such a stupid, trivial thing to think. And Violet’s not used to sex meaning this much. They don’t know if they like it. But still, they trace Trixie’s flushed cheek with a finger. They wonder if Katya’s enjoying the contrast in their skin tones as they press a soft kiss to his lips. Violet’s taller than both of them, uses it to their advantage as they press Trixie against the bed, other hand still clinging to Katya. They break the kiss and Trixie smiles sweetly, softly, privately. He’s let go of Katya’s hand at some point, and Violet uses the opportunity to grab Katya’s face in both of their hands.

“Close your eyes,” they whisper. Katya does, and Violet kisses her gently on both eyelids and then on her mouth. Because this is what Violet’s good at, they’re good at taking control and calling the shots. Violet knows what people want, and sometimes they give it to them. They can tell that Katya wants this, more than she’s ever wanted Violet on their own. The thought should sting a little, but it doesn’t. Trixie’s sat on the bed, watching, and Violet feels Katya reach down blindly to grab his hand. This feels important, jarringly so.

Let us take care of you, let us hold you, let us be soft with you.

Violet breaks away from Katya, whose eyes are still closed. They make an odd picture, Trixie sat on the bed holding Katya’s hand, Violet looming over her.

“Tell us what you want,” Violet says quietly, hates saying the words because they like to know, not ask.

Katya is silent for a few moments.

“Tell us what you need.” Trixie’s voice is gravelly and rough, and fuck it’s turning Violet on. They’re hard, aware of the fact that there’s more than likely a significant damp patch on Trixie’s borrowed pants.

“I want…Vi, baby, I wanna see you ride Trixie.”

Violet smirks. “I can do that.”

“Ugh, topping,” Trixie rolls his eyes. Violet relinquishes Katya, approaches Trixie steadily and sits on his lap. “You’ll like it, promise.”

Trixie kisses them then, all vestiges of softness gone. His teeth scrape their tongue, and this is it, this is Violet’s fucking game. They grind slowly on his lap, feeling him harden, and then climb off him. Trixie whines through his teeth, desperate.

“You’re such a brat, Tracy,” Violet grins. “Get on the bed.”

Trixe pushes himself back as Violet crawls over to him. Teasingly, they run their hands down his chest, down his still clothed dick, barely touching. Violet’s always loved irritating Trixie, and now they know it comes with the delightful image of him writhing and sweaty and needy, and oh man is Violet going to use that against him.

“Play nice, Vi,” Katya’s voice comes from the edge of the bed. She’s still stood there, watching.

“Take off your clothes, Kat. I think Trixie needs some help.” Katya obeys, makes light work of her clothes and clambers up the bed. She pauses for a second before leaning down and kissing Trixie. Violet sits back on their heels to watch Katya deepen the kiss as Trixie’s hands come to grip her shoulders. They think Katya might be crying, but it could just be the light. Violet usually saves their emotional and sexual trysts for late at night. Morning sunshine is still streaming in through the crack in Trixie’s curtains. Trixie and Katya are so clearly absorbed in each other, in this wanting that’s plagued them for how many years. Violet watches them with a touch of jealousy and a pang of desire. Katya’s got her hands down Trixie’s pants now, tugging him gently. Trixie breaks away, and Violet thinks he might be crying, too. But it could just be the light.

“Stop, Kat, stop,” he says softly, and Violet might just leave now, might just walk away and not come back because all of a sudden this feels like too much. Katya pauses.

“Violet, I want to – just, come here.” Violet loves him again in that split second. “Kiss Katya.”

Katya’s eyes are bright when she looks up, but there’s a certain steel in her gaze and she kisses Violet, knees still on either side of Trixie’s torso. This is familiar territory, Katya’s lips are an old friend and Violet grips her hip, kisses her deeper. Katya’s softly grinding down on Trixie’s stomach, and he’s whining.

Violet breaks away, pushes Katya off Trixie gently, and gets to work undressing him. Katya is tugging at their tank and Violet pulls off their sweatpants. Trixie’s hard, and Violet can’t resist taking him into their mouth, revels in that fucking whine, in Trixie’s hands in their hair, in the fact that Trixie is kind of a little bitch. Violet smirks around his cock. They’re a little bitch, too. They pull off him to see Katya stroking herself slowly, condoms and lube by her knee.

“Wait, wait,” Trixie keens. Violet pauses, about to slide the condom onto him. He leans over, grabs Katya’s hand from where it’s resting on her dick. Slowly, he takes two of her fingers and sucks them gently. Katya’s eyes are wide as she watches him. He releases her, and grins snarkily up at Violet. “Kat, can you get Violet ready?” Violet loves this, falls to their hands and knees as Katya presses up behind them, circles their hole with one finger before pushing in slowly. Katya’s fucking her slowly. “More,” Violet demands, and Katya obliges with another finger. Violet presses back eagerly, and feels the vibrations of her laugh.

“I think you’re good,” Katya says, withdrawing her hand. Violet keens at the loss, leans over to put the condom on Trixie. Slowly, they clamber onto him, sinking down. It’s Trixie’s eyes on theirs, his mouth forming a delightful little ‘o’. It’s Katya’s heavy breaths next to him, the sound of skin on skin. It’s Katya’s hand on them. It’s all of it, overwhelming and so fucking right that tips Violet over the edge, spilling onto Trixie’s chest and Katya’s hand. Trixie follows a few seconds later, strung out and flushed. Katya is still jerking herself, harder tugs now, Trixie and Violet watching her hungrily. She pauses, and looks up at them both with a desperation Violet recognises.

“Touch me.” It’s a command more than a question, but there’s a please in there somewhere. Violet slides off Trixie with a hiss and flicks Katya’s hand away from herself. Trixie joins her seconds later, jerking in tandem.

“I want to hear you, baby,” Trixie says quietly, mirroring Katya’s own words back to her, and she comes with a strangled groan. The three of them sit heavily on the bed, sticky, chests heaving. A car horn beeps loudly outside as the sounds of the city filter in. In Trixie’s bedroom, however, there’s still a tangible silence, heavy and cloying like overripe peaches. Violet rubs an arm over their eyes, hands still sticky.

“Shower?”

Trixie nods and runs his thumb over Katya’s bottom lip. She’s smiling softly, eyes far away, as if she’s so focussed on this moment that she’s lost it somehow. They climb off the bed and Violet turns on the shower, watching Katya and Trixie squeeze in afterwards. It’s cramped, clearly, but Trixie and Katya are both so fucking hot and Violet wants to die, slightly, wants to touch them both and be touched in return. Once they’re clean (mostly, Violet isn’t sure packing three adults into an average sized shower is particularly cohesive to cleanliness), Trixie throws them both towels. Violet dries themself off quickly, and wanders out of the room naked. They know Trixie and Katya are both watching, and settles cross legged on the sofa. Katya and Trixie both emerge in boxers, and Violet rolls their eyes at the middle aged dad-ness of it all.

“So, this is where we talk.”

Katya lets out a suffering groan and collapses on the couch, head on Violet’s naked thigh. Trixie settles down on the floor, a mirror image to Violet on the couch.

He sighs, lets out a whistle through his teeth.

“I’ll go first.”

#trixie mattel #violet chachki #katya zamolodchikova #kitty #weak #smut #hurt/comfort #rpdr fanfiction #submission #poly #canon compliant #katya x trixie x violet

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