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Story Notes:
There is a reference to Something about Jane but considering that there’s no plot whatsoever here... you really don’t need to read that one before. Slightly AU as it assumes that at some point, Jane joined in S4 team. (S4 is not over yet BTW so it still can happen. No? Really?)

This is a birthday fic domfangirl/americanoutlaw who had the foolish idea to poke a couple of times for something with ‘Lincoln and two ladies’. Many thanks to happywriter06 for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Like so many things in his life, it hit him hard, took him by surprise and left him in a mess.

Lincoln can’t decide whether it was the universe’s way of reminding him what an absolute moron he is or to make up for all the crap he’s had to put up with. Could’ve been both. Some sort of package deal.

He won’t pretend it was anything more than lust and physical attraction. He won’t pretend he’s not a jerk. He won’t pretend that Michael won’t deserve to beat the shit out of him if he ever finds out about it.

And he won’t pretend that their diving into self-indulgence and wanton decadence didn’t feel so fucking good.

* *

They got carried away.

Ultimately, this is the only explanation he can come up with. At least, the three of them share responsibility; for once, Linc wasn’t the one who screwed up everything. One moment they were talking and joking on the couch. The next, they were sighing and panting across the bed, a mess of tangled limbs and hair. He’d always liked long hair and there was just something about seeing long blond hair mingled with long red hair right on his chest and stomach.

Between Jane mischievously spilling out “Sara finds you attractive,” Sara laughing and admitting matter-of-factly “Well, you are and you probably know it,” and the first kiss that landed on his lips, things escalated and kind of span out of his control. Their control. He did think of Michael when the kiss with Sara became more than merely one mouth grazing another and he clenched his hands around her waist. But she mumbled “Don’t go there,” while Jane was opening her shirt, licking her neck, cupping her breasts, and he complied. Any coherent thought, any last objection disappeared at the feel of two pairs of lips and hands sliding on his skin, under his belt, at the spectacle of the two women undressing each other, undressing him, and making out in front of him so casually that it felt like a provocation.

So, it probably made him a jerk, but a red-blooded one and, instead of trying to talk them out of it, he just grumbled urgently, “Bed!”

* *

They made him watch. He played along, dutifully, until he couldn’t keep from joining in.

Sprawled out on the bed, almost but not quite touching him, they kissed wetly, hands roaming freely on each other, sliding over pulpy curves until Jane shoved Sara on her back with a predatory grin. It was playful, affectionate. Sara cooperatively lay back, leaning on her elbows and tipping her head back to let Jane grope, fondle and pinch, a rosy blush spreading over her skin. He was definitely not the passive, look-and-enjoy kind, but it was a nice sight and for a few minutes, he enjoyed it fully – the sight, and the picture of things to come.

Every now and then they glanced at him to gauge his reaction as Jane licked and stroked her way down and Sara clamped at the other woman’s shoulders. They didn’t make a show of their ministrations, though, didn’t try to make it pretty or arousing. It only served to render the whole thing more exciting, more intimate; the rawness of their caresses, the bluntness of their moans, the way Sara shamelessly shifted beneath Jane. It got to him even more forcefully than he would’ve imagined. When Sara extended an arm and reached out for him, it kicked him into gear. He helpfully obliged and leant in to mouth the smooth expanse of her throat and breasts, flicking his tongue against her nipples, inhaling her taste and scent mixed with Jane’s.

It wasn’t the first time he’d watched them. He walked in on the two of them once, in the warehouse bathroom – walked in and walked out before they could see him. He never thought about telling Mike. In his book, two girls fooling with each other in the showers wasn’t quite like cheating and, as a matter of fact, it didn’t looked like cheating back then. It looked like comfort and complicity. And it was a fucking hot image that, he had to admit, fed a few fantasies.

It led him to wonder whether it was the same tonight, comfort and complicity, and whether he was a mere instrument or an actual participant in whatever it was. Not that it made any vital difference when Jane said stuff like, “Open her for me.”

Her voice, low and sultry, cut into his thoughts. She had her face between Sara’s thighs and her eyes trained on his. Her request didn’t suffer any contestation – he didn’t feel like challenging her right now anyway – and he indulged her, dipping his hand into wet warmth. He blurted out a curse when her tongue snaked between his fingers, deliberately coating them with saliva, and slipped into Sara. Her eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Sara arched up slightly and pushed herself against the rough pad of his fingertips. So slick and hot and fragrant, the flesh under his hand... he had to struggle not to remove it and suck on his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he buried his free hand into her long strands of hair and hold onto them, massaging the nape of her neck in sympathy as Jane brought her to the edge and purposely left her hanging here.

* *

They played with him. They played him. In harmony.

He took in the sight for a few seconds as they rested across the bed, flushed and out of breath, hair spilled over the messy sheets and musky scents filling his nostrils. He noticed, maybe for the first time, how different they were. Both of them lean and tall and strong, but while Jane’s strength was on display, Sara’s was hidden under deceptively frail grace. He didn’t have to worry about breaking them – others had tried and failed. Breathing hard, trying to reign in his impatience and hunger, he ran his hands all the way down, from their faces to the hot hollow behind their knees, following almost deferentially succulent curves and long muscles drenched in sweat.

It was, apparently, not the kind of attention Jane had in mind because she provocatively asked him if he was waiting for some sort of engraved invitation. Right before he started to indulge, he admitted it was a damn good question – and no thanks, he didn’t need no damn engraved invitation. He knew what he wanted and how he wanted it. He needed to touch them and hear them like it. He couldn’t help it anymore at this point.

At first he just went for the basics – boobs and hips and buttocks and the patch of curly, damp hair – because he felt like a kid in candy store: too many temptations, too many tasty delicacies to make up his mind. He pushed his head between Jane’s thighs and lewdly lapped her, sucked her, swallowing salty juices and gaining in the process a throaty, “That’s more like it...” It sparked a feast of touches and kisses, a debauchery on fingering and tonguing. Looming over them, he wallowed in the silk and tang of their flesh, in the marks his nails made, teeth and stubble left in his path, in the way they writhed and pleaded and threatened.

“Let us take care of you,” Sara suggested eventually. He blinked at the proposition, not willing to give up control, to let go of his easy access to any parts of their bodies he felt like taking pleasure in and having. “You’re going to enjoy it,” she assured him and, because Jane, in a totally unfair move, was palming his erection, promising but not quite giving yet, he nodded his agreement.

“For the record, I’ve been enjoying myself so far,” he pointed out nonetheless.

All the complicity, all the taunting touches and kisses were suddenly aimed at him. It started with Sara rubbing against him, hoping and sighing for her denied release, and kept going on at an increasing pace, an increasing scale. He found himself trapped between them, round breasts pressed against him, moist thighs wrapped around him, mouths and hands moving in perfect synch. It wasn’t the kind of trap he wanted to escape, even less when they kissed leisurely, noisily above his belly, before their mouths parted and descended on him. He lurched under the assault, causing them to push him down on the mattress. Despite himself, his hands flew and dropped onto their necks to try and drag their faces impossibly closer. A string of obscenities escaped him as they licked and kissed up and down, lavishing him and searching each other’s lips around him.

“Don’t pretend,” Sara teased between two luscious swipes of tongue, “that someone like you has never done this before. “

He’d rather not think about what someone like you actually meant – not sure it was flattering. He shivered under their breaths, the lingering contact of their mouths and the hint of their teeth on his cock. When he answered, his voice came out croaked and roughed, which was no surprise.

“Not in the last three years anyway. I would remember something like that, believe me.”

Jane shimmied up to kiss him, pushing her tongue into his mouth. She tasted like him and Sara and he found this quite decadent.

* *

Quite decadent too, the way they fucked him.

Jane first, sure and steady, just as she seemed to do everything. He watched with heavily hooded eyes as Sara’s slender fingers wrapped around his shaft and held him firmly, positioning him for the other woman. Once she straddled him, once he was engulfed in her heat, he braced himself and arched up cautiously. A soft groan and a clench of muscles rewarded and encouraged him. He kept on moving his hips, relishing the delicious friction. She was so hot, eager and complacent, her body twisting above his, her breasts bouncing in rhythm, it fueled his stimulation even more; he aggressively thrust up and grunted in excitement.

Decadent. So when Sara bent down to kiss him, he grinned and asked her, “Come here,” guiding her until she straddled his shoulders. He spread her knees a bit wider to expose and explore the swollen, throbbing flesh; it was glistening with her own wetness, sweat, and saliva, and with a flutter of tongue, he added to the mess. The long, needy whimper she uttered when he greedily licked her inner thighs and trailed his mouth up went straight to his groin and had him shove roughly into Jane. The way the three of them were entangled, he couldn’t see anything, but the sounds were pretty explicit and he would’ve bet that the two women were kissing once again. For all he knew, Sara was fondling Jane. It would certainly explain the hands that skimmed over his lower stomach, short nails scrapping his skin, before he couldn’t feel them anymore at all, as well as the way Jane slammed down on him with a guttural moan. The view had been nice; what he experienced and could figure out right now wasn’t bad either.

So Jane first, Sara then once Jane had come and slid off of him to slump onto the bed. He breathed hard, trying to control his impending release, while Sara turned around to face him and took him in without haste, her hands on his shoulders to steady her stance. She was sweaty and flushed, almost lazy as though already worn out and way too far gone to try to make it last. Behind her, Jane had recovered just enough to rise on her knees and spoon her, arms snaking around her, fingers playing with her tits.

“Come. Let him come,” she advised. Sliding one of her hands down Sara’s belly, she aimed for the hard nub of flesh hidden there and lightly rubbed it with her thumb. Sara jolted beneath the caress, mouth open on a sharp cry, back arching in an impossible way, causing Lincoln to buck in response. He held onto her waist.

“I’m with her,” he smirked, nodding at Jane, and Sara laughed faintly.

She abridged the moment, mercifully so, he thought, since he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer. A few, deliberate, intense up and down movements, Jane’s arms around her to hold her, stroke her and they were coming, her climax triggering his long awaited one. His pleasure exploded brutally and he pounded up into her, not caring for a few seconds how much he might be roughing her up.

She collapsed onto his chest in a limp and exhausted heap, blindly laying butterfly pecks on his chin and cheek until she found his lips and whimpered against them, late shudders shaking her. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, which, he was aware he couldn’t totally put down to the orgasm they just shared. He heard her breath out a hoarse, “Fuck,” and couldn’t help seconding that thought – they were fucked, irremediably although deliciously. The reality of what they did sank in fully when she snuggled up into him, trusting and weirdly affectionate. His hand suddenly unsteady, Lincoln pushed her hair back, baring her damp neck to Jane’s gentle kisses.

* *

Like so many things in his life, it hit him hard, took him by surprise and left him in a mess.


Feb. 25-27, 2009