Three-Part Harmony, human au frukus* smut
*I still call it frukus even though Alfred’s in the middle. I’ve always had a penchant for Alfred as an escort and this isn’t exactly that, but it’s in the spirit of it.
Rating: Explicit, pwp
Warnings: DP, smut that’s not overly graphic--it could probably qualify as M+, large age gap (Alfred = early 20′s, Francis and Arthur = late 30′s), an excessive amount of feels given the subject matter, Alfred is kind of a slut, general cheesiness and sap
Summary: Francis and Arthur are happily married. Alfred lives with them as their “pet.” Life is perfect.
If there’s one thing that Alfred F. Jones has learned about Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland, it is that while the couple (who have been married for ten years) bicker and snipe and banter with each other, they are deeply in love… and when they put their minds to it, they can work in perfect harmony.
And they truly are perfect for each other.
No one else could tolerate Arthur’s often terse demeanor and his verbal jabs that always hit their target with devastating accuracy, let alone bring out the soft, romantic side of him like Francis does.
No one else could simultaneously indulge and even encourage Francis’ idealistic and moony-eyed waxing philosophic tendencies and while being able to rein him in at the same time like Arthur can.
And in pure serendipity, their… appetites are also perfectly aligned.
Which is where Alfred comes in. Or rather where they “come in” or are about to if the way they are both driving into him with Francis moaning behind him, stroking Alfred’s cock, and Arthur biting into his neck are any indication.
Alfred is, as he often is, suspended in bliss, lost to himself in sweat-sticky heat, babbling out half-intelligible praise and pleas while they both murmur filthy adulations against his skin. He tosses his back on Francis’ shoulder and rakes his fingertips down Arthur’s back.
Alfred had met Arthur three years ago when Arthur had been on an extended business trip in Boston. At the time, Alfred was a university student pulling the “stripping is better money than waiting tables” bit to pay tuition, but really he just enjoyed it. During his stay, Arthur quickly became a regular patron.
When Alfred had first accompanied Arthur back to his hotel, he hadn’t quite guessed that Arthur was as young as he actually was. The dim lights of the club and Arthur’s demeanor had led Alfred, only nineteen, to think he was in his late forties or even early fifties, but Arthur was only in his mid-thirties at the time. Alfred also hadn’t known Arthur was married. Arthur had tried to pay him for his time, but Alfred had insisted that he should be paying Arthur for such an amazing fuck.
After that, they had spent almost every night of Arthur’s short tenure together. Alfred had found out Arthur was married about halfway through and he’d been pretty furious at first, not for a second believing Arthur’s claims about his and Francis’ “semi-open relationship.” Yeah, Alfred had heard that one before. But then Arthur had insisted that Alfred talk to Francis and after a video chat, Alfred was just as infatuated with him as he was with Arthur.
On several occasions, Francis had watched them via webcam and Alfred had never come so hard in his life.
He had been pretty devastated when Arthur had to return to Paris, not only because Arthur had more or less become his sugar daddy and he hadn’t been working. It wasn’t the money. It was the fact that when Alfred returned to the club, he didn’t enjoy it anymore.
“Fuck, fuck, ahh! I’m gonna—!” Alfred gasps as the pleasure drowns him and he spills cum over himself, Arthur, and Francis’ hand. Both of them fuck him through his orgasm, kissing him wherever they can reach.
“Ouais, yes, si bon, mon cher,” Francis purrs, silky words that slither down Alfred’s spine.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Arthur grunts like he’s complaining when Alfred knows he isn’t. Arthur presses his cheek against Alfred’s and as Alfred returns from his high, he can feel Arthur and Francis kissing over his shoulder. They’re both close.
Francis breaks their kiss, drags his fingers through the sticky fluid on Alfred’s stomach, and thrusts them into Arthur’s mouth and Arthur sucks on them greedily, moaning and every cell in Alfred’s body wants to climax again—all except for the ones that could accomplish it.
Instead, he whines until Arthur kisses him.
And to think Alfred had once thought he’d never see them again.
About a month after Arthur returned home, Alfred received a call from him and Francis. Arthur had started by mentioning that Alfred would be graduating soon and how he had told Arthur he didn’t have any plans or prospects. He was talking around what he wanted to say as he has a habit of doing when it also requires emotional honesty. Francis had saved his husband: “We want you to come live with us.”
The couple had then gone on to explain what that would entail. Alfred would live with them (he’d have his own room), they would pay off his loans, pay for all his expenses—anything he needed or desired (apparently, he had severely underestimated Arthur’s wealth) and in return, he would be their lover. Their pet. He would be sexually available to both or either of them at any time. Twenty-four/seven, ideally. If he wanted or needed it, he would be welcome to have a day or two off when requested. All of his limits would be discussed and respected, as would theirs.
They said they intended for this to be a long-term arrangement.
It had sounded way, way too good to be true. Alfred had definitely considered that there was a high probability they would murder him. Or worse.
He said yes anyway because he missed them so much and he was already kind of falling for them.
They had even flown out to Boston for his graduation ceremony.
Now, three years later, he sobs in overstimulated ecstasy as they orgasm at the exact same time, harmoniously. He vaguely hears them worshiping each other over how good they feel against each other inside him, but the only thing he registers with any clarity is their cum filling him and how amazing it feels, how it makes his heart swell.
The three of them are a panting, heaving mess and they stay connected for a few moments just to enjoy it, until Arthur and Francis soften enough to slip out of Alfred’s (lovingly) abused ass.
Arthur chuckles reflexively as he moves off of Alfred and Francis and flops onto his back beside them, sighing dazedly with a sated “Fuck me.”
“Didn’t we just do that?” Alfred laughs too as he awkwardly clamors off of Francis, turning to sit in his lap and kiss the Frenchman the way he hadn’t been able to a few moments ago.
Francis smiles against Alfred’s lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, mon coeur. We are all spent.”
Alfred knows that if they really do want another round, they won’t have to actually wait very long. Despite not being nearly as young as Alfred, Arthur and Francis are more than capable of keeping up with him, even outlasting him on many occasions.
Alfred insists on doing a lot of the housework because he wants to do something to earn his keep because having copious amounts of amazing sex with them at their beck and call is something he would absolutely do for free and so he will often be doing something very mundane, like washing dishes, only for Arthur to suddenly appear behind him, fingering him and then fucking him right there over the counter.
Other times, Alfred will wake up on a Sunday morning to Francis sucking him off or thrusting his cock into his ass.
Alfred’s limits are completely respected… he just doesn’t have very many of them and he hardly ever asks for a day off.
He continues making out with Francis, whose hands caress Alfred’s thighs while Alfred grips his shoulders.
“Bloody hell, that’s gorgeous,” Arthur muses, watching them, enraptured. “But I’ve got to piss.”
Francis breaks away from Alfred’s lips and Alfred moves to kissing his neck instead. “You are so crass, Arthur,” he scolds in his thick accent. “Your filthy mouth is going to rub off on dear little Alfred.”
“Fuck yeah, I hope so,” Alfred says cheekily into Francis’ flushed skin. “Hope he rubs it all over me.”
Francis smacks his bottom teasingly. “Don’t encourage him.” He then smiles softly, adoringly at Alfred, pushing his hair back from his face. “Do you know that you are so perfect for us?” he murmurs.
Alfred grins. “You’ve mentioned it a couple times.”
Francis pulls him close, hugs him tightly. “Our happiness is a hundred times what it was before you.” Francis is very prone to becoming rather sentimental after all three of them have been together… Alfred loves that about him.
He nuzzles Francis and settles against him. “Mine too. More than that even.”
The three of them clean up in the shower, touching each other more than necessary, but it’s only that.
Alfred climbs into bed with them. Even two years ago, he would have gone to his own room, feeling a little bereft, but respectful of their wishes. On the nights they don’t fuck like this or nights when they explicitly ask him to, he does go back to his own room, but on a night like this, no one would even think to suggest it.
Arthur is in the middle now, facing Alfred. Francis falls asleep very quickly and rolls half on top of Arthur, to which Arthur rolls his eyes but smiles at Alfred with a wink. He reaches out and pets Alfred’s damp hair. “I think I’ve only just started to realize you’re not some wondrous dream,” he says fondly.
Alfred leans into his hand and kisses his palm. “I don’t know if I’ve stopped thinking this is too good to be true yet.” To be loved this much seems unfair; no one could possibly deserve it. Neither Francis or Arthur ever say those words—that’s something they reserve only for each other, but Alfred doesn’t need to hear it.
He just feels it… a part of their perfect harmony.
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