NSFW TASTY ALPHABET BONUS

Sorry for the wait, guys, enjoy!

As for me, I'm going to hide in my corner of shame.

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The laughter and the last chords of music had faded in the ballroom, carrying with them the final wisps of spiced mulled wine and burnt wax. It was to the lingering notes of a surviving waltz that you found yourself separated from the group.

A warm hand, soft yet firm, had closed around your wrist, another had settled against the small of your back, guiding you through a maze of corridors until you reached a deserted wing. And when your back met the wall, you knew the frantic beating of your heart was not only from your hurried steps.

Corden to your left. Arthur to your right.

The stone was cold through your clothes, but nothing compared to the sudden warmth spreading in your belly.

Arthur’s gloved hand braced against the wall near your head, Corden’s arm stopped at your hips, not to restrain you, but present enough to make you understand you weren’t going anywhere.

Not now, not yet, not without them. And their eyes…

You blinked, your breath hitching, before a slow, mocking smile curved your lips.

“You know,” you began, lazily letting your head slide back against the cold stones. “If you two keep undressing me with your eyes like that, I might just catch a cold.”

A short breath passed between them, more surprised than amused. Corden’s eyes narrowed, dissatisfaction etched on his features, his cheeks and ears flushed pink.
“Don’t play that game with us.”

“Who says I’m playing?”

Arthur’s lips tilted into a smile, almost tender, almost dangerous. “I think she… asking us to warm her up,” he murmured just as the orc’s hand tangled in your hair, fisting strands and tugging.

You moaned, the sound more pained than aroused.

Your little games always made Corden lose his head, sometimes too fast, too rough, leaving you and Arthur to guide him, slowly, step by step, caress by caress.

“Gently, Nettle. I like her voice, but I don’t like hearing it in pain.” Arthur arched a brow, his left hand sliding along Corden’s arm to rest on his cheek. The orc startled at the touch. His eyes widened, and you didn’t miss the fragile flicker trembling there for the briefest second. He would hate to know you saw him this vulnerable. His gaze darkened, but he didn’t push Arthur away. His grip in your hair faltered, loosened, and he turned his eyes aside. “Tch…”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, too soft, before his voice returned with a sharper, deliberate edge. “This isn’t a game! You think you can mock, smile at those idiots like it means nothing, and that we...”

He shook his head, just as Arthur’s lips found your neck, his nose brushing where your pulse throbbed the strongest.

“And you,” he accused the young man. “Why do you always take her side? Stop letting her crawl into your head!”

You laughed. Arthur had that serene smile that cut against Corden’s raw tension. His fingers slipped from the orc’s cheek to tuck a strand of inky hair behind his ear. Then Arthur leaned in, his lips brushing your temple like a hushed caress.

“Nettle is a terrible liar. But he’s right. You shouldn’t provoke us like this. And I shouldn’t let you under my skin, inside my head, like this.”

You turned to him, nuzzled your nose against his, then brushed your lips against Corden’s in a kiss that caught him off guard, making him startle back.

“And yet, I’m the only thing either of you think about,” you teased as the young Tear’s fingers clamped possessively against the flesh of your hip.

The orc growled, annoyed, but his hand slid from your hair down to your waist. His palm was hot, heavy, his thumb tracing an involuntary arc over the fabric. Not as bold as Arthur, but just as hungry for affection.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffed under his breath, ears still burning red.

“Liar, liar!” you sing-songed back, eyes sparkling.

At that, Arthur caught your fingers, guiding you beneath Corden’s clothes, against his burning skin, a furnace that allowed no escape. The Harassëin drew in a sharp breath. Then Arthur pressed, firm, just enough for you to feel the erratic beat under your joined hands.

“Listen.” His murmur was silky, yet commanding. “It beats for you.”

His eyes locked onto yours, then shifted toward Corden, as if to include him, to remind him he wasn’t alone in this silent confession.

“I know,” you admitted with a smile. “I love that your hearts beat, pulse for me.”

“If you love it, then why keep playing?!” Corden snapped, seizing Arthur’s wrist to hold him in place against his chest.

“Because I love to play.”

A thoughtful sound rumbled in Arthur’s throat at your admission. “Want to play a guessing game?”

You arched a brow, Corden did the same, as your uncle’s former student pressed himself tighter against your thigh.

“Can you guess what else is pulsing for you, right here?”

A trembling breath escaped your lips as Arthur pressed harder, his voice sliding against your ear like liquid honey.

“Right here…” His hips ground against your thigh, his smile brushing your skin. Insolent.

Corden wrenched his gaze away, jaw tight, but you caught the tension betraying him. His grip on your waist grew harsher, possessive, burning.

“Tch… Cut the crap, Arthur.” His voice cracked like a whip, though the flush in his ears betrayed him. Arthur chuckled low, the sound almost caressing. “But Nettle… look at you. You’re trembling more than she is.”

He provoked him, forcing him to face the desire spilling from his every move. And you loved Arthur all the more for it.

You basked in the between-space, in their contradictions, their mingled restraint and hunger. Your smile turned sultry, assured, even as your breath broke when Arthur’s hand slid up your thigh, caressing fabric before brushing bare skin.

Corden finally slapped his free hand against the wall, inches from your head, his chest crashing into yours. The shadow of his body swallowed you, his scent of leather and steel suffocating your senses.

“If you keep smiling like that… I swear I’ll...” His voice fractured, choked by the raw need he couldn’t voice, by the fire raging in your veins.

You tilted your head, lips brushing his jaw. “You’ll… what?”

Arthur laughed again, darker this time, deeper. His hand left your thigh to grab the back of Corden’s neck, forcing him lower. Their breaths mingled, and caught between them, you felt the balance snap, no room left for escape, only for the blaze. And oh, you were so ready to burn, to consume and be consumed with them.

But you are not the target of the fire. Too quickly Corden brushes your lips, only to extinguish himself there before reigniting against Arthur’s, blatantly ignoring you.

The low groan of satisfaction that escapes both your partners makes you shiver, but when the orc’s amethyst eyes find yours again, you do your best to maintain a detached air.

Corden sees right through you. “What? I thought you liked to play?”

Arthur doesn’t intervene immediately. He savors Corden’s kiss, this burning bite, this flame that belongs only to him and has been so cruelly denied to you. Then he pulls back just enough for their lips to part with a thin thread of ragged breath. Arthur’s cheeks are flushed, his gaze a little dazed. Dreamy. Lucky.

You turn toward Corden so suddenly you nearly hurt yourself. He has the audacity to smile, all smug and sharp.

“I do.” You reply.

But you rage that the privilege of his lips hasn’t fallen on you. You even envy Arthur for a heartbeat. And the sigh of bliss the young man lets out does nothing to calm the painful thrum of your heartbeat nor the trembling running through you.

“Liar, liar,” Corden sing-songs, echoing your own words back at you, irritatingly so.

“I think you’re angry,” he adds. “Jealous, even.” His smile widens. “Now you know how it feels.”

You narrow your eyes. “This is a terrible moment to grow bold, Corden.” You retort hotly, leaning in until your breaths mingle, lips grazing but not closing the distance.

Neither of you goes further, locked in a battle of wills that threatens to tip in your opponent’s favor with each slow, deliberate roll of Arthur’s hips against your side. Like receiving jolts of electricity, it scrambles your head, melts your thoughts into puddles. In the end, your defeat does not come from Corden, but from Arthur—his suave, insidious voice slicing through the burning fog in your mind, slipping straight into your ears.

“That’s it… show him how it’s done. Punish him for both of us.”

His words undo you, and you surge forward, capturing Corden’s lips with your own. The three of you moan, gasp, and sigh together.

It’s too much and not nearly enough, and Corden tries to pull away—but you don’t allow it. Swiftly, your hand slips down to the bulge in his trousers, pressing just enough to tear a broken moan from him.

“Please.”

“Stay with me, Nettle.” you whisper, biting at his neck as his head falls onto your shoulder. With one hand, you fumble aside the barriers between you, until you’re stroking him directly.
Oh, how your bodies always tell a story entirely different from your stubbornness. Corden nearly sobs against your neck, while Arthur presses you almost flush against his chest. One of his hands finds the heat of your breast, teasing a nipple until your motions falter.

“Tell me how he feels,” the young man demands, his eyes now shaded darker.

“Hard,” you answer after a kiss. “Obedient,” you add when he nibbles at your ear.

A satisfied sound rumbles in Arthur’s throat. “Good. Then you agree he’s doing well, don’t you?”

You can only respond with a moan, because his caresses continue on your breast, intensify along your bare thigh.

“Then I think he deserves a reward.”

The sensation of fabric being tugged aside, granting access to your most tender place, barely registers before the sound of it falling to the floor draws Corden’s eyes. He swallows hard, and the startled gasp that leaves you melts into a long moan of pleasure as Arthur sinks a finger inside you.

“Nettle,” he murmurs with amused intimacy as you drop your head against his chest. “Know this—she’s wet.” He chuckles. “Soaked, even. Well done, dear.” 

You’d like to retort, but it’s nearly impossible—an outright lie when you’re already chasing the slow, torturous rhythm of Arthur’s finger plunging into your heat. “Come on, praise him,” Arthur orders, his thumb brushing tenderly over your most sensitive spot.

“Ah! Yes, good job, Corden! More!”

Arthur chuckles at your confession, satisfied, while Corden responds with a guttural growl. You cast him a dazed, misted look before letting your eyes fall closed.

“Then admit you’ve lost!”

You weakly shake your head. Your stubbornness meets its punishment instantly. In one cruel second, Arthur withdraws his finger with a wet sound that none of you even find shameful anymore, leaving you pulsing around nothing, empty.

You sob.

Arthur’s fingers slip beneath your chin, forcing you to lift your head. The leather of his glove contrasts with the softness of his smile.

“Has she lost? No…” His mouth captures yours, slow, invasive, stealing the last of your breath and strength. His lips taste of the spiced wine lingering on yours, lingering, consuming. “…I’d say she’s surrendering. Isn’t that right?”

The floor sways beneath you. “Yes. Yes, I surrender.”

“Good girl.” Arthur rubs his nose against yours. “In that case, you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Dazed, you nod. “Good. Then, Nett—go ahead. You first. You’ve done such a good job until now.” Arthur coos.

But Corden remains still. Only when you whisper a pitiful “Please” does he let himself sink to the floor before you.

Four hands lift the fabric still covering you, and you can’t tell if your trembling comes more from the fresh air of the corridor brushing your skin, or from the orc’s tongue lapping at the traces of your essence that had run down your thighs.

“You are ours,” Arthur declares with no room for argument, while your fingers find their anchor in Corden’s dark hair.

“Yes.”

“And we are yours,” he continues with the same conviction, as your breath stutters.

“Does that mean I’ve won?” you falter, while Corden’s ministrations climb higher, stronger, sharper. Doing such a good job, just as Arthur said. Right there, there, just there!

“Of course,” Arthur concedes. “But it’s a secret,” he adds, stealing your mouth to swallow your cry.