Baccano!, Claire/Firo/Luck, strip poker
(vaugue spoilers)
Really, he thought later, he shouldn't have been so cheeky as to take off his hat the first time he lost.
He'd known the moment that he'd grinned and set it on the table and two sets of eyes, one crimson, one gold, had widened and then narrowed in exactly the same way, that he was going to pay for that. What he hadn't expected when he finally sighed and took off his underwear (the both of them still half clothed), admitting defeat, was the other look that passed between them, secret and hot.
"We share everything," was Luck's only explanation as he bent Firo over the table, crushing the cards but narrowly avoiding the offending hat. For a moment, he struggled without meaning to, a sudden memory of someone's, he didn't know who, surfacing hazily with no more explanation than don'tlethimhavetogetawaygetaway,, but then it was just Luck's hands holding him down, fingers stretching him and filling him up, and if there was a protest in him at Claire's too-bright eyes watching the whole thing, he couldn't find the air to voice it.
Luck was just how he always was, bruisingly gentle at first, until Firo could almost have tried to kill him for it, and then only not fucking Firo right across the table by virtue of a good strong grip on his hips. Claire, however, was a new addition, and one Firo didn't understand, and couldn't find the presence of mind to ask about. His presence was a touch here, low on his back, the pressure of fingers against his lips, in his mouth, a mouth at the top, or the base, of his spine, leaving marks that faded almost as soon as he made them, so he just made them again. And again. And again.
Firo hazily could see Claire standing near the door a few minutes later, coat on, the slight stain of blood at his mouth from one of the places he'd bitten more deeply going completely unnoticed.
"Next time," he drawled out lazily, like a cat, "I want to have some real fun with you guys," and what kind of strange, sick sort of freak was he, now, that even though he'd talked about the train once with Czeslaw, that it was still only half the sensation of being fucked raw by Luck that made him cum.
"I think he likes the idea," he dimly heard Luck say from somewhere above him, hand running up his unblemished spine, and maybe he should have been afraid of that tone from Luck, too, but when Claire's laughter curled around them both, he at least knew that if he was sick for wanting something like that, then he was in good company, when Luck lost it to the tune of,