Amour de Trois

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"Uhm..." Duck began, worrying her lip between her teeth, "Fakir...don't you think maybe you should uh, you sh-should—"

"Shut up! I'm trying!" Fakir shouted, hastily trying to undo the buttons on his shirt. His face was ripe with embarrassment and he was so uncomfortable and dammit, couldn't she tell he was trying?

"Why are you taking off your shirt, Fakir?" Mytho asked in a quiet, curious voice. Fakir's finger slipped andthread snapped. He swallowed. How did he get himself into these sorts of things? He glanced at Duck from beneath dark bangs: her face was pink behind her hands.

He breathed in deeply, preparing himself with an answer when—

"My body is beginning to feel strange. And the place in between my legs is—" Duck launched herself across the bed and crammed her hand over Mytho's mouth. Eyes widened and Duck wrenched her hand away. Mytho sat silent and surprised.

"Ohmigod! I'm sorry, I'm really, really, sorry, it's just that, well—Fakir was starting to look uncomfortable, and I know you just got your heart back so you probably don't know what's going on that much—but well, I really didn't think he wanted to explain and then you saying things like that— you're not supposed to say things like that! But sometimes I say weird things too, so maybe it's okay, it's just that this is kinda weirder than weird, like a weird-weird, and well—maybe I should just go and come back another time. I'm sure you and Fakir would be fine—" It was Mytho's turn to cover her mouth, albeit more gently.

"But I like you, Duck."

"But you...you..qua—" Then it was Fakir's turn; he clamped his hand across her mouth to stop the sputtering. Her eyes widened and her face coloured.

"Don't go quacking in here because I don't want this to be any weirder than it already is, and getting water right now would be a hassle. Just calm down already." Like Fakir was one to talk, tearing buttons off his own shirt. Either way, it was good advice, so she took a few deep breaths and swallowed.

"Okay!" She shouted with a fist in the air to accentuate her readiness. Fakir jumped and another button rolled to the ground. "Oops. Sorry." She quieted and went back to observing, eyes flickering back and forth between the two boys on the bed.

"Do you need help, Fakir?" The other boy asked, golden eyes shining.

"I don't need any—" but Mytho was helping him undo the buttons before he'd even finished the lie. Much more composed than the other two, Mytho unfastened the buttons in seconds. He wasn't capable of feeling embarrassment or shame—not yet—and the other two had nearly forgotten.

Fakir's shirt finally dropped carelessly to the floor, while the blush on Duck's cheeks began to steadily fill out to the rest of her body. She sat tensed and enthralled, unsure of what to do.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Fakir without any shirt, Duck in her nightgown, and Mytho—for once—still fully clothed. Fakir realized that he had to make a move—Duck certainly wouldn't, and Mytho, well, Mytho didn't even know how to make a move, so...

"Mytho, take off your shirt," He nearly smacked himself in the face. He hadn't meant for the words to sound so harsh, and now Duck looked even more nervous

But Mytho only responded in kind, and he slowly reached his arms in the air to remove the t-shirt—tantalizing pale skin exposed at last. Duck looked adamantly at the sheets on the bed—and then suddenly someone was beside her.

"Will you take off yours too, Duck?" Mytho asked quietly, tugging lightly on her nightgown.

"But—" she begun sputtering, "well, it's ju-just—" It's just that all Duck had on was the night gown, and even though Fakir and Mytho didn't have any shirts on, well—that was different anyway because they were both boys, and boys took their shirts off a lot more than girls did, and how could she just take off her nightgown with those eyes staring at her—

"Duck is still being a scaredy-cat." The words were nearly spat, but Mytho didn't seem to notice.

"Scaredy cat...? You are afraid of something, Duck?" Mytho seemed concerned, but then again, that could have just been Duck's wishful thinking.

"No, no, no, no, no!" It's not that I'm scared, because, well, I'm Princess Tutu and how can Princess Tutu be afraid? "It's just that I've never done this before so—"

"Done what, Duck?" Mytho seemed terribly confused and terribly close and so terribly beautiful all at once. Mytho considered for a moment.

He glanced at Fakir and his shirtless torso. "Are we supposed to kiss now, Fakir? Is that what you've never done before, Duck?" Two faces instantly filled with red.

"I've never done it before either." He glanced between his blushing companions. "Can I kiss Duck, Fakir? When I get close to her my insides feel so—"

"You don't need my permission to kiss anyone!" Fakir shouted, and Duck jumped, feeling like maybe she really should leave.

Then lips touched. Duck stared. There was Mytho, her Mytho, Prince Mytho, kissing Fakir—the best friend—the knight. It was a brief connection of lips against lips; Mytho half-kneeling, and Fakir's arms in mid-air. And then Mytho sat back, and looked at him.

"Since you said I didn't need your permission, I thought that..." Mytho swallowed before, continuing, hoping he hadn't displeased Fakir.

"I felt it then too, Fakir. I feel it when I'm close to you, or Duck." He turned towards her. "What is this feeling?"

Neither of them knew precisely what he was feeling, and even if they had, neither of them wanted to explain it.

"Do you have that too, a burning in your chest?" he asked neither of them, instead deciding to look at the sheets.

Duck spared a glance in Mytho's direction: erect nipples. She immediately looked back down.

"I want to see what you look like too, Duck, underneath your nightgown. It's different than us, isn't it?"

"Of course it's different you idiot! Duck's a girl!" Fakir regretted his words almost immediately, his mind bringing forth memories of Duck after she'd transformed back from her animal form.

"Just take off the gown already!" He said, snapping his head in her direction.

Duck hesitated. Why wait? It was why they were there after all. She knew it'd have to come off at some point—but so soon and in front of them both—she almost felt sort of bad about it. A girl her age just taking her nightgown off for two boys and neither of them was her boyfriend, not that she had a boyfriend or anything, but well, they were her friends and she would—

She looked up and Fakir shifted his eyes. Amongst her thoughts she'd managed the garment off, and Fakir had been staring. Mytho had been too—still was—but in an inquisitive, curious manner.

"You like Duck too, Fakir," Mytho said easily, and for once it wasn't a question.

"What do you mean—"

"That's why you stare at her the way you do, like you stare at me." The room was quiet and frozen.

"Aren't I right, Fakir—Duck?"

Eyes shifted uncomfortably. Mytho reached for Fakir's hand confidently, and when their skin made contact, Fakir had to struggle not to jump. The white-haired boy grasped the other's hand within his own, and reached them both forward.

"That's why you blush when you look at her." Mytho led their hands in unison towards Duck.

"That's why you become angry when she isn't nearby." Fingertips brushed against skin and said girl shivered, cheeks darkening.

"That's why you feel a burning in your chest." Mytho finished. He released Fakir's hand, and the raven-haired teen was left staring at his own fingertips brushing up against exposed skin—someone else's exposed skin—a girl's exposed skin—Duck's exposed skin!

He swallowed. It wasn't as if he could turn back now. He flattened his palm against her chest and forced his body to move towards her. He leaned his head against her shoulder, dragging the pads of his fingers down her body. There wasn't a lot to begin with—she was a duck, after all—but the sensitivity was still there; touch sending chills down her spine.

Fakir closed his eyes to hide the embarrassment coursing through his veins, let his trembling hand graze across her stomach. A soft gasp fluttered into the air, and Mytho wasn't quite sure to whom it belonged to.

"Uhm...Fakir...?" A hesitant, squeaky voice asked.

"Don't talk now, you'll ruin it," he managed through clenched teeth. Duck stared over his shoulder as his fingers traced patterns across her torso.

"But—ah, Fakir..."

"I said, don't talk now, you'll—what—Ah!" Fakir shouted suddenly and turned rapidly in succession; Mytho's palms pressed firmly against his shoulder blades.

"I'm here too, Fakir. Shouldn't I be touching someone? It burns so much when I don't."

There was a lump in his throat. "Mytho, I told you, you don't have to ask—"

"I know, but you'll always tell me what's best, right Fakir?" said dark-haired male breathed in deeply.

"Move around towards the front of us." The prince shifted easily, seated so he could see both Fakir and Duck, so that the three of them were settled in a triangular shape.

Mytho mimicked the other boy, running his hands across Fakir—across Duck—heat blooming where skin met. Mytho wrapped his arms around Fakir's neck, pulling them closer and flushing their chests together. Duck squeaked in surprise and Fakir's eyes clenched shut. Mytho placed his hands hesitantly against the dark-eyed boy's hips, and Mytho spoke again, curious.

"Where else do I touch you, Fakir?" Duck wondered if her eyes could widen any more and Fakir wished he could close his own eventighter. Mytho hadn't a clue about any of it, about how to touch someone and make them feel good.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" Fakir asked, placing a mask on to hide his embarrassment.

"I touch myself all the time—"

"No, not like that. Have you ever touched yourself—between your legs—made yourself...feel good?" Masks only hid so much, Fakir realized as his throat tightened.

"No, I don't think so. Will touching that part of me make the burn go away? Is that were I should touch you—"

Fakir couldn't really concur or disagree, because Mytho was taking a hands-on approach; testing the proverbial waters. Thin fingers grasped between Fakir's legs easily—he felt everything through the thin fabric—and Fakir groaned. He groaned and tried to stop himself—nearly choking himself with it—his head falling against the prince's shoulder easily.

"This is where I should touch." Neither of the other two answered, not really sure if it was a real question or not anyway, and not that Fakir could answer, what with Mytho caressing his cock through his pants with that strange new enthusiasm of his.

Duck's breathing hitched because Fakir's breathing hitched, now coming in short, choppy breaths. And Mytho hadn't even gotten his pants off yet.

"Has the burning ceased, Fakir?" Mytho asked, stopping his hand motions abruptly.

"Mytho, you have to—no! You have to do it until—" He made an exasperated noise and a vague hand motion. "You have to..." he gave up, realizing that a hands on approach really was much better, and shoved his hands down his prince's pants.

"Aah!" A sudden intake of breath, a new experience. "Fakir...!" and Fakir was determined to make it a good one.

Duck could see Fakir's hand, well his wrist really, moving up and down. She knew what he was doing, and she could feel herself finding the scene, well, finding it—attractive. The prince and the knight, she kept thinking. Her prince and her knight.

Fakir's wrist cramped quickly, so he unbuttoned the constraining pants and the cold air hit the prince like an icicle. "Duck...!" He managed out, arm outstretched. Fakir might have been offended, but he knew Mytho wasn't thinking like that, wasn't to the point of considering the feelings of others.

Duck made an almost quack-half-meep sound, and then Mytho said Duck's name again, so Fakir just sighed and grabbed Duck, pulling her against them. He grabbed her hand and he guided her to Mytho's erect cock, warm, and different—much different for Duck. She swallowed and tried to breathe, worried she'd squeeze too tightly or move too slowly or too quickly or just plain wrongly, because it wasn't like she had one of these at home or that she'd even seen the kinds of videos that Pike and Lilie were always talking about—

"Just follow my league. It's a simple motion." Sure it was a simple motion for Fakir who had his own...thing to practice with and he's had years to—

"Aah!" The noise startled Duck and she realized that she'd been moving her own hand too—in unison beneath Fakir's—up and down, up and down. The skin around Mytho's cock was strange to her, thin, but then the whole thing felt almost heavy; thick in her hand. It was slender in a way that matched the rest of his body, and she realized, by accident, that when she slid her finger over the top his body shuddered.

She'd almost forgotten that Fakir was there at all—she was leading then—until he said "Faster, idiot."

"Sorry!" She stuttered out, feeling like the dumbest girl on the planet. He began moving her hand faster, and suddenly her hand was slick with something that was just...Mytho. She might have been grossed out if Mytho wasn't so handsome and his eyes weren't so alive.

Suddenly those little 'ah' noises were increasing, becoming louder and more frequent, and Duck could feel her very own—but much different—place pulsating between her own legs. The noises were shooting straight down her spine, and she wondered if Fakir was feeling that way too. She pulled her hand out from beneath his, and groped for his crotch, just to check.

Fakir yelped and jerked away. "What're you doing?" He sounded angry. He'd lost balance from the shock of the touch, pushing Mytho down and nearly crushing him with his own weight. He'd managed to brace himself with his arms at the last minute, breathing heavily.

"What is wrong with you?" Mytho was laying there with his golden eyes wide and surprised, and you could see that his irises were slightly larger—that his chest was still heaving with arousal.

"I just wanted to see if you were—if you were feeling like I—like Mytho was." She looked down, embarrassed. It had obviously been a bad idea.

Then she became almost as confused as Mytho, because then Fakir looked embarrassed too.

"Look, it's fine—you just—you can't all of a sudden touch someone like that! I nearly fell on top of him! You're allowed to... allowed touch, that's why we're here in the first place!...you just, not so suddenly!"

Duck swallowed and tried really, really hard not to think about what she was about to do.

Then she launched her body at Fakir and kissed him. It wasn't how Duck thought her first kiss would be. First of all, her first kiss was supposed to have been with her prince, not the prince's knight, and secondly it was supposed to be at the perfect moment and he was supposed to kiss her, not that it all mattered much anyway, since they were kissing, after all.

Then Duck felt something—Fakir's fingers!—touching her there, and—

"Quack!" Mytho laughed in a flurry of feathers, actually laughed, Fakir threw himself off the bed in search of water to hide his frustration, and Duck nearly fainted with embarrassment.

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