The Best Kind of Friends

Scott/Mark/Mason + Mitch. Dom/sub, face-fucking, manhandling, biting. Title from In The Middle by dodie.

It could be weird but I think I'm into it
You know I'm one for the overly passionate
I like you, and I loved him
We could all be the best kind of friends

Mitch opens the door to the sound of soft moans, and it takes a moment for the meaning to register. He sets down his bag and his jacket and follows the noises into the living room, and he knows, he knows it's not porn, but it doesn't lessen the shock when he walks around the corner and sees Scott and Mark tangled together on the couch, kissing like they're drowning in each other. Mason's there too, standing at the arm of the couch with his fingers twisted in Scott's hair, and he's the only one with any clothes on, jeans with the fly undone and hanging open at his waist.

It's one thing to know—of course Mitch knew, they weren't subtle about the nature of their relationship—but quite another thing to see it. Mitch loses his breath and he thinks he should probably make a quiet exit, escape downstairs to his bedroom or maybe just leave the house entirely. They haven't noticed him, and they clearly weren't expecting him to come home so soon. But he can't make himself turn away from the sight of them, all three of them with their mismatched skin tones and firm muscles on display.

Scott claws at Mark's back, digging in his fingernails between Mark's shoulder blades, and Mitch shivers, feeling it like a phantom of Scott's hand against his own back, sense-memory of Scott raising faint welts on his skin. Mitch watches them turn, watches Mark slide off Scott to his knees on the floor, and Mason leans over to kiss Scott even as he reaches for Mark.

Mark's hands roam across Scott's bare chest and Mitch's fingers twitch automatically, wanting to follow their meandering path. The moment Mark takes his cock into his mouth, Scott breaks away from Mason to gasp, and his delirious gaze lands right on Mitch, as if drawn by a magnet. Their eyes lock and Mitch is still frozen in place, unsure what his face is showing. He's not even sure how he feels, witnessing this.

In the space of two breaths, Mason bites Scott's ear and then makes his way across the room to Mitch, stepping neatly between him and the two on the couch, blocking his gaze. Mitch wonders if that was intentional. It breaks him out of his stunned immobility, at least.

"I'm sorry, I'll go," he says under his breath. "I didn't mean to interrupt." His eyes flick downward to the open fly of Mason's jeans. His cheeks warm.

"Do you wanna go?" Mason asks.

Mitch hesitates for entirely too long, and that's answer enough. Mason tucks a finger beneath Mitch's chin, tilting his head up for a deeply sensual kiss, and the rough scratch of his beard reminds Mitch of kissing Scott, but this is different, Mason is different. He's more controlled than Scott ever is, more contained. Softer, somehow, though no less demanding, and Mitch opens for him automatically.

Mason's other hand curls around the small of Mitch's back and pulls him fully into the living room. He turns, pushing Mitch ahead of him, and Mitch stumbles to a halt a few feet away from the couch, where Scott's sprawled and panting, fist clenched around a handful of throw pillow. His eyes are half-lidded as he stares up at Mitch; he almost looks drunk, though it's not even noon. Mason fits himself snugly behind Mitch, holding him steady by his hips, and nibbles at Mitch's ear.

"Yeah?" he asks. It's too vague a question to require a real response, so Mitch just nods dazedly. He can't tear his eyes away from Mark's bobbing head, the clench of Scott's fingers in his hair, and he wants desperately to be in Mark's place. He wants to feel the weight of Scott's cock on his tongue, wants to feel the twist of Scott's fingers. After a moment, Mason chuckles softly. His hands slide up under Mitch's shirt, lifting up to expose his torso. He bites Mitch's ear again, harder this time, and says, "Then take off your clothes."