Time passed much like that. Randy and Jamie wove through his life as several heats passed, each somehow more intimate than the first. Randy seemed to derive genuine pleasure out of hand-feeding Killian, each occasion branding him deep in his muscles and bones. Killian, slumped against the headboard with Jamie draped over him, passed out on Killian’s knot. And there Randy was, feeding him sticky pieces of orange and strawberry and pineapple and pear.

At night, when Killian was alone, he would sink into the phantom sensation of the tight pressure around his knot. Of Jamie’s warm body, Randy’s gentle fingers, the way they would linger so Killian could lick them as he whined in pleasure. Could feel how Randy would dip to give him long, aching kisses, stroking his cheek and hair.

There were so many moments with Jamie and Randy that were slipping under Killian’s skin, making him itch with the desire for more.

Killian would never be sidelined, now, even when it was Randy’s turn to knot Jamie. There was a memorable occasion when Randy lay carefully on Jamie, knees bent under him, and Killian took the opportunity to eat him out as slow and filthy as he wanted. The fucking noises Randy made, choking on them, thrusting deeper into Jamie instinctively even though they were tied together. Jamie had clutched at Randy, babbling incoherently as Randy trembled over him, practically writhing on Killian’s tongue.

Randy’s knot had lasted thirty-five minutes—a personal record, according to him.

Randy had gotten him back during the next heat, asking Killian lowly if he could finger him as he fucked Jamie. The feeling of Randy’s thick, slick fingers inside him as his knot swelled in Jamie, caught between the two of them and barely able to move, still haunted him. The pleasure had been everywhere—the way Randy unerringly rubbed again Killian’s prostate was obscene, scissoring his fingers on his way out, stretching Killian’s rim just to hear him gasp and moan, apparently.

As searingly hot as all that was, what really followed him home were the soft, tender moments. The times after the heat, when Jamie would be bright-eyed and Randy permanently relieved at his level of energy. The way the bed would smell like them, Killian right there in the mix, making his head go fuzzy with want. How Jamie would make him laugh easily, his cheeky grin getting fuller as time passed.

Jamie would join Killian in the shower now, shampooing Killian’s hair and making it stick up in spikes as he giggled, kissing the stubble that would grow on Killian’s cheeks during the heat.

Killian would be buoyed by how healthy Jamie was getting, the imprint of his ribs disappearing. He’d still lose his head during heat, but he had the strength to take more control, too, pinning Killian down and fucking himself exactly like he wanted. Killian would grab his hips loosely, letting Jamie grind down, overwhelmed by the sight and feel of it.

And then, of course, there were the sessions between the heats, when the three of them would just hang out, going out somewhere before returning to the apartment to eat and cuddle.

They took Killian to a gallery where all the art was made out of bubble wrap, Randy pretending to be exasperated by Jamie’s and Killian’s poor impulse control as they pretended to pop everything in sight.

The art was cool, though, sweeping structures of the painted material, like colourful, bubbly creatures flying through the air.

When the weather was nice, they sometimes went to the park. Randy would read as Jamie and Killian played Frisbee, returning to him sweaty and intent on annoying him until he was flat on his back, laughing and trying to get away from their stinky insistence on cuddling up to him.

They even went to some weird play where they had to follow the actors from room to room, revealing the mystery slowly. Randy was the only one to yelp loudly when one of the characters burst out from behind a curtain, making Jamie and Killian giggle uncontrollably for the next five minutes.

They didn’t let Randy forget it, either. At the couple’s apartment, Killian clutched at his arm, pulling him away from the window with a very distressed, “Careful, Randy! A curtain.”

Randy pretended not to be amused, but Killian knew his expressions now—how the corners of his lips would tremble downwards as he tried to keep the expression in place.

Before Killian knew it, more than three months had passed, and he kept catching himself thinking of them at inopportune moments, like in the middle of a session, or he’d smile dumbly when he was with his sister, which she caught straightaway.

Randy and Jamie were taking over his life in the best way possible, a warm feeling inside him growing day by day.

And yet, even with all that, it still hurt like hell to have something without really having it.