Lucky Pierre

by Rose Campion

Title: Lucky Pierre
Author: Rose Campion
Disclaimers: I took off my aluminum foil hat and alien thought control rays made me do it. Rating: NC-17 (of course)
pairing: M/Sk/D
summary: Hippo birdie, two ewes; hippo birdie, two ewes; hippo birdie, dear Bertina! My first ever threesome, written as a birthday pressie for Bertina, the queen of threesomes. Total PWP smut biscuit.

I just about choked when I turned around and saw the man collecting a Bud longneck from the bar. I did a double-take. My jaw must have dropped to my lap. Walt finally noticed that something caught my attention and turned his head to what I was looking at. His eyes widened too.

"The light's not good. It might not really be him," Walt said after a moment's stare.

"Oh, that's him all right," I said. And it was. He might well possibly have been the last man on earth I'd have expected to see in a place like this. No, not just in here, but looking like he belonged here, just another one of the native fauna. He was wearing well-worn blue jeans that hugged the curve of his ass like peach fuzz clings to the roundness of a peach. He wore a white t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to give the hint of a tattoo on his bicep. To top it off, he had on a simple black leather vest. Nothing too elaborate, but definitely enough to hint that he'd been around the block a few times and that he was a man who knew what he wanted. For some reason, I wasn't as surprised as I thought I'd be to see John Doggett on the prowl in a gay bar, in a city hundreds of miles away from the city we all called home.

I glanced over at my date, Walter Skinner, formerly my boss. Walt was wearing similar garb to John's. He wasn't quite a big, bad, leather daddy, but the vest was enough that I could pretend sometimes. Walt, as I knew he would be, was openly staring.

"Jesus, Walt," I teased. "Should I ask the bartender for a drool bucket?"

The bar was crowded and with a real motley bunch too. Someone had apparently forgotten to tell the twink crowd that it was bear night or vice versa. The place was swarming with both towering hulks of manliness that made Walt seem like a delicate flower and with toned and gorgeous young men who could only make me sigh for my lost youth. The twinks ignored John, as if he didn't exist, but as Walt and I watched, several of the bears cruised John. He made brief eye contact with a few, then prolonged eye contact with one. Not one of the mountains of manliness, but a guy who looked like he might easily outweigh John by a good fifty pounds, most of it muscle. The guy was older, his hair reduced to a fringe of gray and a well-trimmed salt and pepper beard.

I was on my feet before I could hardly think. Walt was on exact same page. One of the things I loved about him was, once we'd gotten past our work conflicts, how much we thought alike. He said, as I started to stand, "We have to make our move now, or we'll lose our chance."

In the silent minute or two since I'd spotted him, without hardly a word exchanged by either of us, we'd decided that we were going to take John home with us, come hell or high water. Since I was already standing, I moved in to make the kill.

What the hell? And why did Mulder always seem to happen to me, like some force of nature?

Mulder swooped down on me from seemingly nowhere as the guy I was busy trying to pick up had reached about ten feet away. Suddenly I was in his arms, swung off my barstool and being kissed. On the lips, but not deeply, like a man much swishier than me might greet a long lost friend. "Oh, my, God, it's so great to see you," Mulder said. No, he effused. Bubbled, practically. He was almost flaming- a total put on, I was sure. "I hardly expected running into you here. Come on, there's an old friend of yours here that you'll just kick yourself if you miss."

I found myself chivvied away from the bar into the darkness where a few booths ringed the room. My hard-won barstool was quickly appropriated by someone else. The hunk that I'd been sure I was going to land backed away, faded into the crowd.

"Mulder, what's going on?" I asked him. I didn't bother to whisper. Between the thumping DJ music and the roar of all the people trying to talk over the music, I figured no one else could hear a damn thing. "What are you doing in this place?"

Mulder looked me up and down from head to toe, taking in the clothes I'd dressed to prowl in, from leather vest, to skin-tight jeans, to my black motorcycle boots. He seemed to like what he saw. No, more like he'd like to eat me up with a spoon. "Not quite the same thing you are, but close. Here we are."

He pushed me in front of one of the deep booths, then manuevered me into the booth. And it was a good job he did, because after I saw who was waiting for us in that booth, I had to sit down.


Skinner. The number two man of my fantasy life. One of the biggest objects of unrequitted lust I'd had for some time. Sitting. In a booth. In a gay bar. Not just sitting in a booth in a gay bar. But wearing just about the same thing I was, minus the white t-shirt. And the vest was open. The man had abs like that washboard my granny used. Under his clothes, you got some hint of his physique, but I'd never seen it all laid out in the open before. It was like a feast. I couldn't help staring at Skinner.

Mulder wasn't exactly hard on the eyes either. Sure, he was just dressed in jeans and a plain gray t-shirt, but the man wore them like a second skin, leaving no doubt that he was sleek, as toned as any of the twinks who'd taken over the dance floor. The fact that he could do that, look as sexy as hell in something so simple, was part of why he'd earned the title of number-one fantasy in my sometimes fervered imagination.

Yeah, either one of them would have been like finding treasure. Both of them at once was an embarrassment of riches.

Skinner scooted close to me. Mulder sat himself right down next to me in the booth, shoving me over with his hip to do it. "Delicious looking, isn't he?" he asked.

All I could do was nod mutely. Honestly, I'd really expected to see one of Mulder's little green men dance the hokey pokey on the steps of the Lincoln Monument before I saw this.

Then it hit me. Hard. Like a sack of concrete right to the solar plexus hard. I figured out what they were doing here. They were here together. As in, together. Skinner, that was a bit of a surprise. Mulder, not a surprise at all. You look for a guy like I looked for him, you get to know him better than you think. I'd looked through his porn collection even. Mulder's prediliction for guys with Skinner's physical type was something I was well aware of. I wouldn't have thought of them together, but it made a certain sense. Fox Mulder was one paranoid bastard, and there would have been very few men he would trust that much. You could tell just from the look that Mulder gave the big guy, that Mulder was in love, and Skinner returned the look. Any casual notions of one or the other of them that I might have entertained in the middle of the night were out of the question now.

So what I was doing here, sandwiched between them?

I wanted, more than anything, to get out of here, to get back on the floor. I wanted to pick up some guy who'd use me for a piece of ass, not ask any questions, and give me the momentary oblivion that I'd come in here looking for.

First confusion, then comprehension, then, finally, disappointment crossed John's face with the rapidity of a big train wreck. Time for damage control, I told myself. When Fox had said, "Delicious, isn't he?" he'd meant it as an invitation to share, but John had read it as a rubbing in. Time for an approach that was a little more direct. John would appreciate that. He was a man who understood direct, preferred it.

"We were hoping you'd come back to our hotel with us, John," I said. I moved closer. I touched his jawline, tracing a finger down it. His face was so much more angular than Fox's. Hard, like a man who hardly knew how to smile. I realized that I wanted to put a smile on that face, no matter what it took. No, that I'd been wanting to make him smile for some time now. Even during the early days of our acquaintance, when I'd been so wrapped up in grieving for my missing Fox, John and I had sparked somehow. There'd been a real chemical reaction between the two of us that I'd ignored because of what I had with Fox.

"No, I don't think so," he said in that rumbling voice of his. It was rough, but I loved the sound of it. I wished that we were in that hotel room right now, so I could hear the full effect of it, not what little escaped the DJ's torture techniques. John continued, "I'm not into mercy fucks, if that's what you're offering. Or being a toy for you to toss out when you've had your fun."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that, Doggett," Fox said, before I could even stop my reeling from the force of John's words.

This was going far worse than I'd ever thought it might, in all of my long wished for fantasies. I suppose in fantasies, the third is always thrilled to be invited in to share, doesn't mind that there's already a primacy of pairing going on, that they all fall in bed together with no recriminations, no backward glances, no second guessing and no regrets. Maybe Fox and I were fools. On the other hand, I'd rather know I'm a fool then not take my chance and wonder about it for the rest of my life.

My hand was still on John's jaw. He hadn't moved away from me at least. On the other hand, the only place he had to go was right into Fox, so that didn't mean much. Fox continued to talk, "I've known I was attracted to you from the instant I saw you. What I didn't know was how much I wanted you. Not until I saw you about to glom onto that stranger. I knew I couldn't see you going home with him. I, we, didn't invite you to toy with you. And did you really think so little of us that we'd discard you when we were done? Walt here is generous enough with his love for me that he can share me, and I can share him. Give it a chance, John."

Fox's voice was softly pleading and urging. I suspected it wouldn't be long before John's capitulation. I don't know why Fox didn't use that kind of pleading with John before, rather than the bombastic arguments that they'd gotten into. Only the coldest hearted man could resist when Fox turned on the charm full force.

I don't know how it happened, but I found myself wedged into a cab with Skinner on one side, Mulder on the other. Mulder's hand was on my thigh, insinuating itself upwards and inwards. Skinner's meaty arm was wrapped around my shoulder.

I couldn't believe it. I was going back to a hotel room with the pair of them. I was going to regret this in the morning. They were going to hate me. I was going to hate myself. I'd never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. I was going to make a big mistake here.

Mulder's fingers brushed up my hip, near, but not actually touching my dick. They rested momentarily on my belt, brushed up towards my belly a little, then trailed lightly down my hip and thigh again. Some small animal had taken up residence in my gut and was dancing in tune to the music Mulder was playing on me. I just about jerked at his touch. Oh, God, but I wanted to ignore every last jolt of reality. This might be, if I could just make my better judgement shut up for a while, very, very good. As for the pair of them, I suspect only the fact that we had a none too amused looking cab driver up there kept them from just ripping off my clothes right then.

Then suddenly, it was the moment of truth. We were standing on the pavement in front of their hotel; Skinner was paying off the cab driver. This was my chance to bolt if I wanted it. But suddenly Skinner's arm was around my shoulder again and the moment was gone. It was an oddly hypnotizing gesture, something about the warmth of his body being transmitted to mine, and something about the sense of controlled power. Through a big set of glass doors, then we were in the lobby of a big city Hilton. Skinner led the way to the shiny doors of the elevator banks. It was too late to back out gracefully, I thought. Might as well give in to the half of you that really, really wants to do this. That part seemed to have voting control over my dick at the moment anyway. Skinner manhandled me into an elevator, then held me in place. As the door shut, Mulder made a full frontal attack, latching onto my neck, licking and sucking.

I had to admit, I was worried, even as we walked into the elevator, that this was going to happen. John's body language was screaming doubt and unease. Then Walt's arm went around his shoulder again and I saw John suddenly relax. That's when I went in, once he'd been softened up. His neck was so inviting looking, the area right underneath his jaw. I think I was intending to just plant a light kiss, then work my way elsewhere. Sort of a preliminary, to see if he'd be receptive to being kissed on the lips now that I didn't have the surprise factor going for me. But, he made the softest sigh as I first touched his neck with my lips. It inspired another, stronger kiss, then a touch of my tongue to his skin. The man smelled amazing. Not a hint of aftershave. It was all him, and hardly describable, except there was only a touch of sweat. The rest was just masculine and wonderful. Once I got a sniff of him, I just kind of lost it.

Both of us were so oblivious in our attentions to each other that when the elevator dinged and the doors opened, both of us jumped. "Our floor gentleman," Walt said with benign amusement. He shepharded us both out, then down the hallway. Then, as we reached the door, he tossed me his wallet and said, "You get out the card key. It's my turn with John."

The sight of my main squeeze engaging in some very inappropriate for a public hallway behavior with a prominent feature of my fantasy life was enough to distract me so I could hardly push the card into the reader. They were kissing, hot and heavy, lips mashing against lips, as if they were trying to occupy the same space at once. Walt had insinuated his leg between John's and his big hands rested on John's slim hips. I could imagine what John was feeling at this moment, having been on the action end of those hands and those lips so often before. After fumbling with the card, I finally managed to slide it into the slot, then push open the door.

I tugged on John's belt for attention and said, "Go on, get in there."

I was suddenly aware that John was moving away from me. Oh, Fox had gotten the door open. Better move this party out of the hall before someone caught us.

Kissing John was much less like kissing Fox than I thought it'd be. I'd struggled with my attraction to men my whole life, but Fox was my first and so far, only male lover. His kisses were like he lived his life, a rollercoaster of intrigue. You never knew what to expect out of them, but it was always a heck of a ride, demanding, hair-raising. Dick-raising. John's kisses, on the other hand, had the inevitability of a river. A slowly flooding river. At first, I thought his passion had nothing on Fox, but he kissed relentlessly, his lips never releasing mine, the kiss slowly invading my senses so that by the time Fox had opened the door I was hardly coherent. And already stiff-dicked. Yes, no doubt about it, John Doggett knew his way around a man's mouth. I wondered what he could do to a different part of my anatomy.

I shut the door behind us. Fox and John had snapped together like a pair of magnets, swapping spit, tugging up shirts. John's leather vest had already been skinned off and was abandoned on the floor. I approached the closest of them, Fox, from behind and started running my fingers through his silky brown hair. The back of his neck just begged to be kissed. He moaned around John's mouth.

Fox broke away from John's kiss just long enough to ask, "So, who gets to be Lucky Pierre?"

"You," John and I said at the same time. Then we both laughed and our eyes met. I'd never thought of blue eyes as firey before, but his were. Sharp, not missing a thing. And, at the moment, dancing with both lust and amusement. I'd stared at him many times before, but that had been more staring him down, the normal conflicts of two alpha males. I'd never really looked at him before. And when I was done looking, I was more glad than ever that we hadn't let that man take John home instead of us. He belonged with us. I just hoped Fox would realize that.

I dove down to Fox's neck again, latching on just behind his ear and sucking. He moaned, and as he did I looked up. John was smiling, his hands busy snaking Fox's belt out of his jeans. "Yeah, definitely you," he said as he dropped the belt onto the general pile of clothes that was forming on the floor. A few moments later, Fox's jeans dropped to his ankles and John was on his knees in front of Fox. I was so busy running my tongue along the smooth curve of Fox's earlobe and rutting my dick against his ass that I couldn't see what was happening, but Fox started making little mewling noises. I couldn't explain why, but the sound of another man attempting to suck my lover's brain out through his dick got me raging hard, had me breathing hot and heavy. Oh, God, this was going to be better than any fantasy of this that I'd ever had.

I didn't know what Skinner was doing to Mulder, but I was pretty sure Mulder's incoherent state and the way his hands kept scrabbling through my hair, feeling for a hand hold, wasn't due entirely to what I was doing. I kept up my best technique wishing that I dared move my hands to release myself from suddenly painfully tight jeans. You see, Skinner's strong hands had placed themselves on top of my hands where they were holding Mulder by the hips. Those hands. I don't know how to describe them except to say that I wouldn't want to have to try and get out of them when Skinner had decided he was going to hold on. And strangely, it was Skinner who controlled this blow job. He guided Mulder thrusting into and out of my willing mouth, determining speed and depth far more than I did. Yes, strange, this feeling. Like my mouth was being made love to by both men at the same time. I'd started going down Mulder with the idea that I was in control, that I was topping Mulder. It wasn't like that at all. And I didn't mind. Not one bit.

Making love. I couldn't have imagined that it would feel like that, but it did. When both of them laid their hands on me, it was with great tenderness and regard, maybe not exactly love, but something deeper and different than friendship. When Skinner had looked me deep in the eyes, I saw warmth and welcome there. They wanted me for me, for the person I was, not a fantasy body to share for getting their rocks off.

And that would just make the inevitable end of this worse. When we were done having sex, or maybe it might stretch out until just past a room service breakfast, they would go back to being a couple and I would be by myself again.

I'm a bit fuzzy on the details of a few minutes there, but I do know that I ended up stripped naked, my jeans still around my ankles, both John and Walt kneeling, John in front, Walt behind me. I was fuck dumb already. John had me swallowed to the hilt, Walt had my legs slightly spread and was rooting around in my crack, knocking at my back door with his tongue, so to speak.

Then John stiffened, stopped bobbing his head up and down on me. He made as if to back off. My dick protested being removed from that blessed warm wetness, but more than that, I'd gotten a good look in the man's eyes. The doubt was back, clouding that vibrant blue. "Don't you dare!" I said. "You're mine. Ours. Get back to work."

Despite that, he backed off further, the head of my cock popping out of his mouth. I rested my hands on his shoulder's firmly, with the suggestion that more force might be used if necessary to keep him in place. "Walt, help me out here," I demanded. I was just a bit greedy when it came to getting what I wanted when sex was on the line. "Let's take him, show him where he belongs."

"Pushy, pushy," Walt said, even as he rose to his feet again.

"You knew I was when you hooked up with me," I said.

I was definitely shocked to find myself pulled out of my kneeling position. Mulder had grabbed me by the shoulders, Skinner by my feet. I was carried bodily across the room and tossed onto a bed. They swarmed over me, a two-man swat team engaged on a desperate, last ditch seek and remove clothing mission. Somehow, I'd gotten to be Lucky Pierre and I was enjoying myself too much to protest. Yeah, every bit of good sense I had seemed to have taken its accumulated vacation time and gone away without leaving an address where it could be reached. That left my dick pretty much in charge of things for the moment, and it knew what it wanted, and it was going to have it.

While Mulder engaged in a full-frontal assault on my dick, Skinner quickly divested himself of the the last of his clothes. I got a quick glimpse that confirmed what I'd guessed- that Skinner was a tighty-whitey man. And boy-howdy did he make those white briefs look good. While Mulder sucked, I heard Skinner rummaging in a suitcase. Condoms and a bottle of lube were produced.

"Me first, or you?" Skinner asked.

Despite my best efforts, Mulder popped off my dick and said, "Definitely you."

Then, thankfully, Mulder was back, hard at work. Skinner got to work too. First he hauled me up to my knees, for better access. Then he slowly teased a lubed finger around my opening. The lube was cold, the rest of my body hot, seemingly on fire. I wanted to protest, to tell Skinner to just get on with it. I wasn't exactly a slut, but I knew the ins and outs of what was about to happen next, so to speak. And I wanted it bad. Like never before. Especially when I got a glimpse of the monster that Skinner was prepared to fuck me with. Not the hugest one I'd ever seen, but the hugest in a good long time. Oh, yeah, this was going to be good. Providing, of course, he knew how to put it to good use. But I couldn't imagine he didn't know.

Finally, Skinner's finger plunged in, started fucking me, quickly joined by another, then a third as he realized I could take it, that I wanted it desperately. I backed onto his hand, wanting more, wanting more of Mulder's magic mouth. It was a wonder I lasted long enough for Skinner to bend me over and mount me. Even prepared, it burned as he entered, but Mulder kept me hard, deep throating me, tracing eights with his nose on my pubic hair. Oh, Lord, God. I wasn't going to last much longer if they kept this up.

And they seemed to realize this. As Skinner started thrusting in earnest, Mulder crawled out from under me, leaving my dick alone in the cold. All I could do was mewl in protest, and not even that for very long as Mulder's dick was pushed at my mouth. I opened up to let him in. It was fantastic. Skinner fucked like a jackhammer, hard, heavy, all the force of his muscles behind him when he wanted it to be. And he used that force with finesse, angling at just the right motion, hitting all my good inner spots. I'd never been fucked like this before.

Mulder's cock was nothing to be ashamed of either. Though it wasn't as long as Skinner's monster, it was thicker around. It stretched my lips as I tried to take as much of it as I could. I tried to repeat the little trick he'd done with the figure eights and was rewarded with inchoherent little moans. One of the things I love best about giving a guy head was the smell of his pubes, that musky, ripe smell. It just said sex to me. And Mulder's scent was distinctive. Not just musky, but undoubtedly, gorgeously, him.

I wasn't sure how it happened so fast, but Skinner started thrusting even harder, his body tensed behind me, then he came with a deep groan. He slid out of me with a happy sigh, then said to Mulder, "Your turn I think."

Skinner helped prepare Mulder. He rolled a condom down Mulder's dick, then slicked him up with more lube. "Go, on," he urged. "He's amazing."

Then Mulder was on me, and it was all I could do not to shoot right then.

I never could have imagined, once, being happy to see my lover fuck another man. Shouldn't nagging jealousy be raising its ugly little head or something? But no. It was beautiful to see Fox's pleasure write itself across his handsome face as he sank deeper into John. John's face was illuminated by the pleasure that my lover was giving to him. And I realized, I really, truly did not want to see John walk away in the morning. I wanted to do this again and again. I'd been happy so long with Fox, but now that John was here with us, it was like something had been missing, like we had been incomplete somehow, like he was the third leg that stabilizes the triangle. I wondered if he would give us a chance. That maybe, as unconventional as it was, we, all three of us, might have something permanent.

I crawled under the pair of them, wanting to make sure John had as much of a good time as Fox was having. Fox was expressing his enjoyment quite vocally, so much so that I hoped our neighbors were out.

I needn't have worried about John. A few short minutes after I'd latched onto his cock, he tensed. He seemed torn between trying to thrust down into my mouth and back against Fox's thrusts. I took that as my cue to suck harder and I was rewarded amply. He groaned and grunted a little and my mouth was flooded with hot, salty liquid. I swallowed him down, not letting him go until I was sure I'd gotten every last drop. Then I crawled out from under the pair to watch.

Fox, I know from experience, loves nothing more than fucking a man who is coming. The impossibly tight grip of the internal muscles is usually all it takes to send him over the edge, and it did. His vocalizations ended with one last gasp and he slammed himself into John's limp body one last time. Oh, yeah, Fox was having a good one, I thought, pleased to see him so sated, even if I wasn't the direct agent of his satiation.

They slumped down on the bed together, Fox still holding John even as he slipped out. Because I was the most coherent of the three of us, I pulled the condom off Fox and tied it off, then disposed of it. I went to get a damp washcloth, just to wipe some of the worst sweat off of us. I came back from the bathroom to see Fox and John struggling slightly. John was trying to get out of bed, out of Fox's arms.

"Just let me leave now," John almost pleaded. "It's easier this way, rather than drawing it out until morning. Let's make this graceful, Mulder."

"Fox," Fox said. "It's Fox to my lovers. And you're not going anywhere. Is he, Walt?"

"No," I said, dropping the washcloth and rushing to the bed. I added my not-inconsiderably bulk to the task of keeping the man in place. I was amazed again at how exactly he seemed to fit in my arms. And my heart. It felt as if my heart had grown larger somehow, that there was plenty of room there for both him and Fox. "No where at all. Not ever."

"Skinner, what do you mean, not ever?" John asked doubtfully.

"Just what he said. You're not leaving us, not ever," Fox said. "Oh, by the way, he's Walt, unless you're mad at him. Then it's Wally."

"We want you to stay with us. Be our lover," I said. I ignored Fox's little comment about Wally. He'd pay later, now was not the time.

"But you two are..." he started.

He'd been about to say, 'a couple.' I didn't let him finish. I cut him off with, "Both falling in love with the same gorgeous, blue-eyed man. Now, give it up, John. Just relax and fall asleep. And let us cuddle you. Both of us are cuddlers. I hope that's okay with you."

John struggled for a few minutes longer, more, it seemed, with himself than with either of us, but the inevitable post-coital drowsiness took its course. He laid still, then didn't protest as Fox snuggled up to one side of him. I reached to turn off the lights and was allowed to snuggle John's other side. I reached an arm over John and rested my hand on Fox's side. I heard a soft chuckle from John, then he said, "Wally." He snorted slightly and that was the last I heard from him. Oh, yeah, Fox would be paying later, but that didn't matter. The welling up of happiness as I too, drifted to sleep, was all that really counted.

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