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"We've been talking about trying something," Marc says the first night she's home from Taweret's latest mission (or girls' trip, as the goddess tries to get her to call their little jaunts). She's naked in his lap, grinding against him, already drenched and raring to go after ten long days without her guys. "If you're up for it."
Layla sits back on her heels to look at him, because he sounds somewhere between nervous and excited. Not a strange combination for Marc while they're fucking, but it's rare for him to be the one to bring up experimenting. Even rarer for all the boys to agree on something they want in bed. "Oh, yeah?" She cards her fingers through his hair encouragingly. "Tell me."
He clears his throat, both hands running softly up and down her back. "So… you know that thing that happens when we switch right after, uh."
"After you come, yeah. No refractory period." Layla can't help but shiver deliciously. It feels a little like magic when that happens: one of the boys rolls off of her, and a breath later another one is ready to go. They've never satisfactorily figured out whether it's related to Khonshu fucking with them for so long, or if it's just a perfect case of mind over matter, the same way their pain tolerances work: Steven can't focus on anything else when he has so much as a hangnail, while Jake has been known to duct-tape major wounds closed in a pinch and then forget they're there while he carries on with his day.
"Right." Marc leans up and kisses her quickly. "We want to find out if there's a limit to that. With you. If you want."
"Oh," Layla says, and again, "oh," as her mind supplies a slew of scorchingly-hot images to go along with that idea. The three of them taking turns with her, one after the other, as though they're all in the same room somehow, barely waiting for the first to finish before another takes his place, like the world's least risky gangbang. Like the threeway she and Marc once talked about trying but never got around to, but better, because there are no strangers involved. Just her three boys, fucking Layla until her eyes cross and her legs don't work.
The wave of head-spinning lust crashes over her at the heat of it all; she was wet before, but now she's flooding like the goddamn Nile. She reaches down to guide him inside, letting him slip easily between her slick labia, and sinks down on his cock with a moan. "Do it," she tells him. Tells them, because surely they're all listening. "I want you to fuck me until you can't fuck anymore."
Marc groans, too, and screws his hips up to fill her up in that perfect way he has, his fingers sliding down to rest on the bottom of her stomach so she can rub her clit against the heel of his hand every time they move. It's unexpected how quickly that gets her off, gasping into the side of Marc's head only a few minutes in, but they're only just starting; he rolls her down onto her back and rubs her to another orgasm in the same moment he comes deep in her cunt, like two stars colliding.
He's still inside her, both of them panting against each other, when Marc's head goes back and his body stiffens in that familiar way. And then, in the space of a breath, it's Jake grinning down at her with a "Hey, querida, you miss me?" and a slow roll of his hips. She can feel his cock suddenly hard again inside her cunt, all sloppy and slick with Marc's come. It's so blindingly hot she can't do anything but gasp and squirm and haul him in closer.
From there it's nothing but a kaleidoscope of sensations, of coming again and again and yet again until she's wrung limp and trembling with more orgasms than she ever thought possible and she doesn't know which way is up, but the boys are still going strong, like none of them wants to be the first to fold, and she rouses again for each of them.
It's Jake, tonguing her clit and devouring her cunt like his one earthly purpose is to drive Layla out of her mind while she writhes on his face and moans around his cock.
Steven, kissing her like she's the air he needs to live while she wraps her legs around his hips and arches up into his eager fucking, laughing between those heady kisses.
And Marc, lifting the sweat-damp, tangled mass of her hair to mouth at her shoulders and neck and murmur countless "I love you"s into her heated skin as he takes her from behind, perfectly rough, and she buries her groans in the pillow.
Jake again, sucking and licking at her breasts while she rides him, his hands just hard enough on her hips and his teeth scraping her skin just enough to make her cry out and fuck herself like a wild thing on his cock, and he bucks and curses as her nails score lines over his back in retaliation.
Then Steven, on his side with her leg drawn cozily up over his hip, rocking gently into her without ever really pulling back, his hands reverently soft on her waist as he stares into her eyes and whispers to her how amazing she is, as she holds him tight against her and strokes his hair and feels strange stirrings of baby-yearning she doesn't have the brainpower to deal with right now.
Marc, on his knees for her as she leans against the steam-slick shower wall because her shaky legs won't support her, so soft and tender as he licks the come out from between her over-sensitive labia and carefully draws one more shuddering, whimpering orgasm out of her with lips and tongue and fingers.
"Oh, fuck, stop," Layla has to say at last, her voice cracked and hoarse and full of effort, and tangles her fingers into her husband's wet hair to shove him away. "Too much." Still, she licks her lips, watching him under the spray and the steam with his mouth and chin shining with their come and her slick. He looks perfect on his knees. He always has. "Get yourself off for me," she orders. "I want to watch you come at my feet."
She tightens her grip in his hair the way he likes, making him arch his neck back as he strokes himself. He must be over-sensitive, too, from the way he keeps his grip loose and strokes slowly, his eyes half-lidded and mouth falling open.
Those dark, wet lips are too appealing to resist: Layla slides two fingers through the mess on his chin before the spray can wash it away and presses them onto his tongue. Marc sucks them clean, gazing up at her through his wet lashes, and that's how he comes one last time, spilling into his own fist with a hoarse cry as she pulls her fingers tight in his hair.
Marc stays there on his knees for a few minutes, panting with his face pressed into Layla's thigh, while she pets his head and murmurs idle but totally deserved praise. Eventually he hauls himself back upright and lifts Layla right over his shoulder to carry her back to bed.
Which is a total mess now, of course, damp and stained with so many bodily fluids it's amazing they're not both dried-out husks. Marc sets her down in the armchair and wraps her in Steven's favorite plush blanket, and she drifts in a sated, exhausted doze as he strips the bed, remakes it fresh, and makes her sip some water before he bundles them both back into it, hopefully to sleep for days.
"That was," she mumbles into his chest, and has to stop for a jaw-cracking-wide yawn. "An excellent idea, boys. Do it again sometime."
"Yeah, let's," Steven agrees, twining his fingers between hers, and "Sí, cuando quieras," in Jake's most contented rumble, and "I love you, and also, I win," from Marc, exhaustedly proud.
Layla is too wrung-out to do more than laugh helplessly into his skin.