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Napoleon. Oh, Napoleon. The image of him in the dress, shining like the sun through tulip petals, brushes and mingles in Gaby’s mind with dreams of what she will do to him. What he will wear next. Oh, it’s delicious, and heartfelt, and painful if she looks at it too hard. Napoleon. Her lover. And Illya, his too. Oh, Napoleon. How they will ruin him soon.
***
When they return, their flat is soaked in evening sun. Gaby and Illya set the bags down in the kitchen, Napoleon trailing around like an ecstatic puppy.
“That was incredible,” he says. “You two are so good to me, I swear. Incredible.”
“We are glad you like,” says Illya. “Do not praise us yet. There is something else, too.” With a sly hand, he extracts the package from one of the shopping bags and hands it to Gaby.
“Something else?” Napoleon is like a puppy sometimes, the way that his entire body will perk up when he’s curious or excited.
Gaby accepts the package with a little curtsy. “Come, Napoleon, let me show you,” she says, and draws him into the bedroom with her pearly nails on his arm. He goes willingly, smiling hopefully, warm and silver.
“What do you have for me?” he asks, once the bedroom door is shut behind them.
“Be patient, you’ll see,” says Gaby. She turns away from Napoleon and unties her white-and-brown silk scarf, letting it slip through her fingers to pool on the floor.
Behind her, Napoleon hums, a soft noise of appreciation. She smiles. It’s nice, but soon she will get him to see what is really happening here. She wants him to have — this. The full experience.
She takes out her amber earrings, setting them on the side table, then unzips her yellow dress, reaching behind herself to do so. She slips it off her shoulders and lets it join the scarf on the floor. Napoleon murmurs “I can help” a second too late. Next to go is her white balconette bra. She takes her breast forms out of it, setting them on the floor, too, then unhooks the bra and lets it fall.
Napoleon steps closer. She can hear the whisper of his socks on the carpet.
“Not yet,” she says, turning around. There is this beautiful smile playing over his lips when she sees him. “You cannot touch yet. Later, though.”
“Later?” he asks, plaintive and teasing. “Promise?”
“Promise,” she says. Then, she pulls her white tights down her legs and abandons them to the floor as well. Her white panties are the last to go, and she takes them off with no shame and no hesitation. Napoleon sees her half-arousal and a familiar blush settles across his handsome cheekbones.
With a hand on Napoleon’s hip, she draws him in. “Let me,” she says, and begins to undress him. His tie is cast to the floor to puddle elegantly alongside the grey waistcoat, the blue suit jacket. As she unbuttons his shirt, she smooths a hand across his broad chest. Seeing him makes the way that stars and scars rhyme make sense, she thinks. His pants and underpants come off next. Gaby cannot resist running her hands over his magnificent ass as she undresses him. She smiles at his arousal, just like her own.
Then, she steps over to the package on the bed. “Take off your socks and come here,” she says to him.
“Yes, ma’am,” says Napoleon, and Gaby laughs at the twinkle in his voice. She unfolds the package carefully. Inside are five items, all dove-blue, finest lace, perfectly sized. She smiles and draws out the first item — a lacy balconette bra covered in sweet rosettes.
Napoleon’s eyes widen. “Are you going to — ”
“It’s for you.”
“For me?” His voice is shimmering like the sun on the sea.
“Yes. Hold out your arms.” She slides the bra onto him and hooks it around his handsome chest. Next are the panties, French-cut. They settle perfectly onto his hips and frame his cock, balanced between delicate and seductive.
“Gaby,” says Napoleon. “For me?”
“Yes, for you.” Next, she unfolds a lacy garter belt and dove-blue nylon stockings from the parcel. “Do you like it?”
“I love it. Gaby,” he says again, and captures her mouth in a passionate kiss.
After a moment, she pushes him lightly away. “I could kiss you forever, but there is more.”
“More?”
“Oh, yes,” she says, fastening the garter belt around his waist. Napoleon’s face is as open as a peony. Darling man. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”
He does, apparently too moved to reply in words. Gaby kneels before him and slides the stockings up his legs, one at a time. She pulls him up again and hooks the tabs to the lace of the nylons.
“Spin for me,” she says. He does. He makes a delighted little turn that floods Gaby’s lungs with a rush of fondness so strong that she has to catch her breath.
“I love it,” says Napoleon again.
“You want to show Illya? Model for him?”
Napoleon says, “Yes.”
Gaby throws open the door to the bedroom and lets Illya in. He is naked just like Gaby. When he sees Napoleon, he stops and breathes in so deep that his eyes fill with tears.
“Napoleon,” he says, “malysh. You look so beautiful.”
“I do?”
“You do. You do. Napoleon,” says Illya, his voice rich with wanting, and then he strides to Napoleon and kisses him so hard that they both fall backwards onto the bed. Gaby follows them, sitting against the headboard as her boys kiss themselves breathless beside her.
Napoleon breathes out a lovely note as Illya runs a hand up his muscled thigh, made smooth by the nylons.
“Oh, Illya,” he moans, his cheeks spotted with silky pink. “Gaby. Illya.”
“You are so beautiful,” murmurs Illya.
“Mmm, am I? Am I beautiful?”
Illya moves up, up, pressing his face into Napoleon’s neck and grinding his hips into Napoleon’s thigh. “So beautiful. You, Napoleon, there is nothing like you.”
Nothing like him. Napoleon’s eyes are wide and shining blue between her legs. He moves up and rests his pretty lips on her inner thigh.
“What do you want?” she asks, running her fingers down his handsome jaw.
Illya shifts Napoleon’s panties over, giving himself access to Napoleon’s beautiful ass. He looks up at Gaby and grins with his entire face, grey eyes sparkling, and she feels her chest grow warm. Napoleon closes his eyes at the feeling of Ilya’s finger stroking into him.
“Oh, Gaby,” he says. “May I have you — in my mouth?”
“Of course you may, sweet Napoleon.” Her voice is more of a purr and she knows it.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, and takes her in his mouth, lashes fluttering and cheeks hollowed around her. Velvet. Oh, he is incredible, this man, warm, melting like the rouge on the face of a dancer, melting into his lovers. Behind him, Illya works gently and methodically, opening him up. Gaby smiles fondly at the kisses that Illya presses onto Napoleon’s back, onto her thighs. She tangles her fingers into both brunet hair and blond, closing her eyes as she ruts slowly into the heat of Napoleon’s mouth.
She feels Illya move slightly away and looks up to see him pressing into Napoleon, slow, gentle. The muffled moan that Napoleon breathes out around her is enough to pull her over the edge.
Her head thrown back, she stirs in a tempestuous haze of pink and blue. Oh, her lovers, oh, the majesty of them both. She can feel it in her fingernails, everywhere on her body. She wants to stay here forever.
Gaby looks up, for a moment, to see her boys. Her gorgeous, gorgeous boys. Illya’s cock is deep in Napoleon, working in and out slowly and steady in a way that Gaby knows is mind-blowing. Napoleon certainly looks like his mind has been blown. His mouth is open, pink and wanting, and his eyes are closed. Beautiful tears pearl on his thick lashes. He’s making sounds, these high, constant moans, so needy and helpless that Gaby feels a shudder of arousal flow through her, though she is already spent. Illya looks as though he can hardly contain himself. His ice-blue eyes are dark with raw arousal, his big hands drifting all over Napoleon’s back, drifting down and down to caress Napoleon’s perfect ass covered in dove-blue lace.
“Am I pretty?” he pants, his head on Gaby’s thigh, his mouth wet and geranium-pink.
“You are,” she says, caressing his lovely cheek. “So pretty for us.”
Napoleon’s eyes drift closed as he touches himself, shoulders flexing, hips moving back to meet Illya’s thrusts. “Am I your pretty girl?” he asks. His voice is a moan.
“You are,” says Illya, voice gravelly, rough. “Our pretty girl.”
“Fuck, say it again,” Napoleon begs. “Call me your pretty girl. Call me — ”
“Our pretty girl,” says Gaby, and slips her index finger into his mouth. “Good girl. Napoleon.”
Napoleon stutters out a word but it gets lost around her finger and comes out a wanton cry, high, desperate. Illya heaves in a breath at the sound and starts moving faster. His hips drive Napoleon down into the bed and Napoleon abandons touching himself and instead just ruts against the bed, his mouth open. Gaby slips another finger in, stroking over his velvet tongue.
“Good girl,” she says again.
Napoleon’s hips push frantically into the bed and suddenly he’s coming, rutting his dick into the bedspread and moaning like he’s getting paid to do it, louder than Gaby has ever heard before. Illya moves faster and faster and then he’s coming, too, draped across Napoleon’s back to bite his shoulder and muffle his own cry.
The room settles into the sounds of breath and the fading sunlight. Gaby hums as she caresses Napoleon’s face and Illya’s in turn. “My darlings,” she says, looking at them and their eyes, Illya’s grey like a tranquil storm and Napoleon’s a warm blue. “You did so well for me.”
They both seem to glow at the praise. Illya eases out of Napoleon, stroking a careful hand down his side. Sometimes it surprises Gaby how gentle, how tender he can be. Today it is not surprising — it is just the way things are. She kneels up on the bed and coaxes Napoleon to kneel with her, unhooking his bra and sliding it off of his shoulders while Illya unhooks the garters from the stockings. Gaby takes a moment to admire the beautiful slide of dove-blue lace against Napoleon’s sun-kissed skin, his scars, the dark hair on his chest and arms. He’s so beautiful that Gaby could cry.
***
They are still tangled together later, with the moonlight pooling around them instead of the sun. Gaby settles into the bodies of her lovers, and into her own body, and feels Illya and dear Napoleon doing the same beside her. They move together like the sea.