Anselm Vogelweide X Reader X Nathan Bateman - Tumblr Posts

UGH I LOVE REALLYRALLYAUTHOR’S WORKS. LITERALLY PURE MASTERPIECES

anselm x reader x nathan- One Weekend (part 2)

Summary: Final part & aftermath of one weekend with Anselm & Nathan. (~7.3k)

Contents: 18+nsfw, sex machine, restraints, orgasm denial, impact play (only once, but fair warning it's Anselm on Birdie), mmf threesome, creampie eating, attempted kidnapping, voyeurism (what a fun group of content warnings, right, gang?)

Part 1 Here

-----

Nathan has you strapped face down on one of his lab tables.

The lights under the glass make it warm, but you feel like a dissection specimen.

Your wrists and ankles are secured with nylon web fabric and paracord.

Anselm bends over and smiles at you. “I had him add padding to the table. For your comfort.”

“That’s very sweet, Anselm, but you’re both still leaving me strapped to a dildo machine for the night,” you say, torn between wanting to thank him for being so thoughtful and wanting to beg to be set free because this was going to be torture.

Anselm pets your head. It’s soothing, even if it is demeaning. Along with the machine you can hear Nathan wheeling in behind you, it’s that’s kind of the whole weekend in a nutshell.

“Don’t worry, Birdie, Nathan and I are taking shifts watching over you. I’ve told him how we play. Let me feel your stop signal,” he says brusquely, putting his hand in yours.

You squeeze his hand three times in quick succession, a safety you and Anselm had set up a long time ago to mean stop. Just once meant everything was fine.

Anselm takes a leather bite gag out of his pants pocket. He shows you the strap, embossed with a flourishing ‘V.’

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” you say.

“Is it made out of the flesh of your enemies?” Nathan says, walking up toward your head to join you and Anselm.

“No. My enemies are useless, even in death,” Anselm says.

Nathan laughs under his breath. He runs his hand up your arm and over your shoulder.

He squats down, which actually brings him slightly lower than you. He has to look up at you over the gold rims of his glasses.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He says.

It almost sounds like he’s actually asking.

Nathan still has that intelligent, over-calculating look in his eyes, but his guard has gone down. Somewhat.

You can’t tell if it’s a move that’s designed to make you think he’s starting to soften up and has feelings, or if that’s how it’s actually starting to shake down.

“I’m ready,” you say in a confident voice.

Anselm gives you a kiss on the lips, soft and slow, before he fastens the rubber and leather strap into your mouth and around your head.

Both of them walk behind you, one on each side, until they disappear from view.

Your legs are spread already, strapped down the back side of the table while the rest of you lays flat. You feel fingers opening you up more, and you moan around your gag when a tongue flicks your clit, dives into you and starts slowly spearing in and out.

You can’t tell who it is.

You don’t know if you care. If you should care. If Anselm would care that you couldn’t tell his mouth and tongue and beard from someone else’s.

It’s almost distressing.

Then a hand lays on your thigh reassuringly and you feel the metal of Anselm’s wedding ring on your skin. The tinge of anxiety you had melts away and you let yourself relax and focus on, nothing, because Anselm stops.

You hear zippers, and you feel yourself get wetter, anticipating whatever they’re going to do with you.

But all you hear is the sound of skin, Nathan groaning faintly.

And then hot spurts of cum, aimed right at your hole. They hit with exact precision before dripping down the insides of your legs. Anselm comes too, adding to what Nathan started, making you more than wet enough for the machine.

Unsatisfied, empty, they leave you waiting until the liquid starts to cool. The hum of the equipment in the room is the only sound for a long stretch of seconds.

Then, you feel the silicone tip of the dildo nestle up against you, making you jump. Slowly, very slowly, it spears into you.

Both Anselm and Nathan are larger, but size isn’t the point.

It moves ever so slightly faster.

The smooth shaft warms quickly in your hungry cunt. You moan, feeling it fuck into you faster, a little faster, just enough to make your breath catch. Your muscles try to create more friction, squeezing around the silicone.

It slows down.

You make a frustrated sound, squeezing again.

It slows down more.

“Works perfectly. Told you,” you hear Nathan say.

“Your craftsmanship was never in question.”

The men walk up either side of the table, each with a white, plastic chair in hand. They set them in front of you, so you can see them and they can see you.

The machine picks up pace again and you let out short moans, trying to keep from letting it stimulate you to the point of contraction. But it feels so good. You bite down into the gag, almost screaming when you squeeze and the machine slows down.

They sit in their chairs. Anselm folds one leg neatly over the other. Nathan leans forward. He pushes up the sleeves of his sweater.

“You probably guessed how the machine works,” Nathan says with a smirk. “The harder you squeeze it, the slower it goes. Every second that goes by, it’s learning your body. It’ll come to a complete stop for as long as it takes to keep you from coming. Then, it’ll speed up until you’re almost there. Repeat, until one of us turns it off.”

“Although it’s meant to deny you what you need, we’re not completely heartless. It will let you orgasm eventually.” Anselm cocks his head at Nathan. “Won’t it?”

Nathan’s eyes never leave yours. “Maybe. Completely random chance. Odds are, you’ll come once tonight. I wouldn’t say your odds are good for more than one, though.”

You whine into the gag.

Nathan’s hooded eyes narrow slightly. “You want to give up? I’d be disappointed if you did.”

“We would be disappointed if you did,” Anselm says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to mirror Nathan’s body language. “Nathan built this for me years ago. A thing of beauty. Perfect, exquisite torture. We conceived this machine before I ever knew you, my dear. In the end, it was never meant for anyone but you. And since you’re mine, by law and rights, I have the pleasure of the first shift. Watching you try to squirm in your bonds, trying to come, but unable to reach your goal. I look forward to your tears.”

Anselm sits back in his chair. Nathan reaches over and squeezes Anselm’s thigh.

“I’m going to do some work, take a nap,” Nathan says as he stands. He brushes your cheek with his hand. “Have fun, beautiful.”

*****

Hours later, you’re drooling on Nathan’s fancy table. Every time you exhale, you moan.

He doesn’t seem bothered when he comes back in. Anselm certainly hasn't been, just sitting there, watching you with a smile. Adjusting himself occasionally.

“How’s it going in here?” Nathan asks as he surveys you with his hands on his hips.

“Entertainingly,” Anselm says. He hasn’t spoken to you since Nathan had left.

Your concept of time is nil. It could've been two hours or two days. You’ve given up on anything but being over-stimulated and unsatisfied.

Nathan puts his warm hand in yours and you squeeze it once. He waits, but you don’t repeat the action, you just hold onto him tightly before he lets go.

“Good girl,” he says running a hand over your shoulder.

He drops into his chair and you swing your glassy eyes up to look at him.

Your muscles have gone slack. The machine is stopped now, having gotten you so close, you'd started to feel that electric thrill, primed to come from where the dildo had been steadily fucking you.

And then nothing had happened. Ripped away, out of your grasp.

You whine at Nathan. You can’t help it.

“Fucking adorable.” He leans forward, looks at your pathetic face. His eyes are more engaged than you’ve seen them before, dilated and anticipatory. “I’m going to take off your gag.”

“Nathan,” Anselm warns him.

“What? I want to hear her moaning. I want my dick sucked. Why do you care?” Nathan’s hand reaches for you but Anselm slaps it away.

“A word.” Anselm rises stiffly and stalks out of the room.

For a second, you think Nathan’s going to take off the gag. Like even though you’d given him the okay signal, he’s not sure about this anymore.

You hear Anselm snap his fingers. Nathan’s eyes break reluctantly away from yours as he leaves.

The machine starts again.

*****

“You’re a terrible dom,” Anselm says to Nathan once they’re in the hallway alone.

Nathan crosses his arms. “The fuck machine that I built by hand means that my work speaks for itself.”

Anselm pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “It’s not about equipment and furniture. It’s about here.” He pokes his finger at Nathan’s chest. “You lack commitment. You’re a pushover. Trust me, my Birdie can tell.”

“Her brain’s leaking out her vagina as we speak. I don’t think-“

Anselm cuts him off. “You are wrapped around her finger. The balance of power shifted completely when you walked in. She’s dom’ing you and you don’t even realize it.”

Nathan leans his head back, offended. “It’s a fucked up thing to brag about, but manipulation is kind of my thing. I’d know if someone was trying to outsmart me.”

Anselm smiles cryptically at Nathan.

One of the reasons they’d made a good team was that Nathan suppressed all of his passions and Anselm let his run free. It made Anselm feel as if they were covering each others’ blind spots. Now, he wonders if he hasn’t been looking at this entire thing the wrong way.

“In so many ways, you’re a fool. I’ve always said so.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “She’s not trying to outsmart you. She doesn’t have to do anything but exist. You’re the one trying to gain her approval, and therefore, you would have freed her before she’d even asked. Clever of her, to have lured you in like that. But give her an inch and she will take your entire soul.”

Nathan scratches his head. “You’re so fucking obsessed with this woman. I’m running a brain scan on you.”

Anselm laughs under his breath. “Run one on yourself while you’re at it.” He puts his arm around Nathan’s shoulders. “Let’s cut this portion of the evening short. Get her cleaned up and rested. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Nathan resists, but Anselm pulls him into a hug.

“Stop,” Nathan says, arms still folded as he stands like a statue. “Let me sit and watch her for a couple hours. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

Anselm steps back, assessing Nathan from top to toe. “What will you do when left alone with her?”

“I don’t know,” Nathan shrugs.

“I thought you knew everything,” Anselm says with a half-smile.

Nathan doesn’t respond, but Anselm knows what he’s thinking.

Nathan Bateman’s always plotting something. Everyone is a means to an end. The fact that Nathan has no plan speaks volumes.

He’d only wanted to enjoy himself.

An attitude that Anselm admires, but one he’s sure is making Nathan rethink everything.

Twelve carries you back to Nathan’s room, while Nathan himself puts away the machine.

Anselm has Twelve lay you on the bed, not into the waiting bath. Not yet.

You’re half-awake, body exhausted. You’d been edged longer than this, but never so brutally. Anselm sits next to you, bending so his beard and lips kiss your neck.

“He’s as taken with you as I thought he’d be,” he whispers.

You only hum, rolling on your side so your hips can press against him. Anselm rubs your thigh.

“You want release, don’t you?” He says.

“Yes,” you say, the word coming out desperate and needy.

He clucks his tongue, fingertips curling toward your center. Your muscles shudder under his touch.

“Your jaw and joints ache from the restraints. Your cunt would come the very second my fingers entered you. Wouldn’t she? Tell me.”

“Yes, Anselm,” you chase his fingers with your pulsing heat.

“Be still,” Anselm says quietly, but firmly.

He brushes his knuckles across the sticky, wet mess between your thighs. You shiver. He cups between your legs, too softly. The warmth is tantalizing, but there’s not enough pressure or movement for your body to feel anything but more torture.

You know you shouldn't move, but your brain isn't in charge anymore. You can't think beyond what your body needs, as much as you'd like it to.

Your hips shift.

Anselm’s hand jerks away and cracks down on your thigh. You cry out, eyes opening.

“You will behave,” Anselm says, his tone telling you he’s not joking. “You can feel what you’re doing to Nathan. Your whimpering and begging almost spoiled our fun. Luckily for you, I’ve been doing this long enough to know when one’s tactics must switch.”

Anselm parts your legs and you lay on your back. He does nothing but look his fill, though. “I want to put myself inside you so much right now. It seems, however, that I’m the only one with any self control around here.”

“Anselm, please.” Your hand moves toward your cunt, out of your control. He hates whining, but you can't help it.

Anselm’s hand slaps across your cheek. Not hard enough to bruise, but it stings. It also brings you back to yourself. As he knew it would.

He gets off the bed, leaving you wanting, but at least able to think through the haze of arousal. He straightens his tie, then holds out his hand to help you up.

“Take a bath. Do not get off or you’ll spend the rest of the weekend with metal clamps on your most sensitive parts. I’d rather not have to actually hurt you,” Anselm says.

He pats your ass as you leave, your exhaustion rendering you quiet and polite.

Anselm looks at the camera mounted on top of Nathan’s bank of monitors. A little pin-prick of green light stares back.

He nods his head at it, as if to say, That’s how it’s done.

*****

Sunday morning

Anselm’s hands wake you. Appropriate since it's exactly what you’d been dreaming about.

He slides them over your sleepy, warm skin, dipping his fingers between your legs the moment you stir.

After yesterday, your body is still primed and ready to snap. All Anselm has to do is finger you, rub your clit gently with his thumb.

Your moans wake Nathan. You ride Anselm’s fingers as he sinks them deep inside of you. Nathan's at your back, kissing your neck. He wraps an arm around you to play with your nipples, twisting and pulling softly. His hard, naked cock rests in the crack of your ass and Nathan fucks himself against you steadily.

Anselm kisses you once he feels you start to tighten around him, so his tongue can lap at your open mouth when you come. You almost sob, your hands holding onto him, fingers digging into his skin.

Nathan shudders against your taut body. Hot cum coats your lower back, running down your skin and onto the sheets.

“Nathan, lay with your head near the end of the bed,” Anselm says, moving you so you lay over him, face-down the other direction, once he does.

You bend automatically to put Nathan’s softening cock in your mouth, but he pulls your hair hard to stop you. You’ve noticed he’s sensitive after he comes.

Nathan seems to know that you’re not in this position for a simple 69.

He raises his head so his tongue can reach between your legs, bury itself until you’re clutching the sheets. He sucks gently, then licks your clit.

He doesn’t stop licking you, even when Anselm lifts your hips slightly and you you feel the familiar push of his cock splitting you open. Your legs shake when Nathan licks gently where your skin is stretched around Anselm.

Once Anselm’s as deep as he can go, he pauses, letting Nathan bring you another orgasm with his mouth. You work yourself over Anselm, your body driven solely by the need to come again. You hear Nathan licking skin, but it isn’t you. The thought makes you so wet you're sure it's all over Nathan's face. Anselm’s hips roll against you.

Anselm moves faster, his head bending near your ear. “One more. Be a good girl. Take everything from me and then Nathan’s going to eat it straight out of you.”

Anselm’s chest is sweaty. It mixes with Nathan's cum on your back, a sticky, hot mess. Nathan’s mouth tries to keep up with Anselm pounding into you. You clench down hard around Anselm, practically screaming for him to come in you.

He does, holding your body tightly to him, praising you for doing so well, coming so beautifully, giving him so much pleasure. He fills you quickly, then pulls out abruptly and lets your hips drop to Nathan’s waiting mouth.

Nathan laps at you, groaning. His lips close around your cunt and he sucks gently. You sob and hold tightly onto the sheets, knowing better than to pull away, even though it feels like too much.

You can’t come again, but you know Nathan won’t stop until you do. You lay your head on his hip and relax just enough so that the next time Nathan’s tongue swipes inside of you and his facial hair grinds on your clit, your body goes over the edge one, last time. You feel like you hold your breath for an eternity, waiting for Nathan to finish eating you out, and for your body to come back down.

You’re both out of breath. You disentangle yourself from Nathan.

His head is almost off the end of the bed. He looks as fucked out as you feel. He licks his lips, but his beard and face are a mess.

“You okay?” You ask him.

He lays his forearm over his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Give me minute.”

You look at Anselm, but his eyes tell you not to worry.

You run your hand over Nathan’s shaved head, scratching it gently as Anselm opens the bedroom door. Twelve comes in with a tray of green smoothies and ice water.

Nathan watches it with one eye. “I’d tell you I don’t allow eating in the bedroom, but I’d be a hypocrite.”

“There’s a proper breakfast out on the deck when we’re ready,” Anselm says. He hands you a glass of ice water. “The whole thing, my love.”

You drink half, pausing to look at Anselm with a raised eyebrow. He seems distracted. You want to know what he's thinking.

He looks at you and Nathan, sprawled on the bed together. It’s then that you see Nathan’s eyes are open again. He’s staring at you.

“What?” You say, looking back and forth between them. “Neither of you can possibly be getting hard again for a least four to six hours, so why are you both looking at me like that?”

Anselm walks away toward the bathroom. He leaves the door open, but you hear the sink running.

Twelve hands Nathan a smoothie and he sits up to drink it. “Why don’t you and Twelve go out on the deck,” he says to you, but he’s looking at Anselm.

“No,” Anselm says decisively, the water shutting off, “I don’t make decisions without her. I’m insulted you would even ask.”

“Fucking relax,” Nathan says before downing the thick, green liquid in one long gulp. He gets up and tells Twelve to leave.

The room smells like sex, but the air is heavy with something else too.

Anselm dries himself with a towel as walks past Nathan. He picks up his clothes and starts to get dressed.

It's like they're avoiding each other.

Nathan grabs his glasses from the desk so he can focus on you. “If you’re as smart as I think you are, then you know we have a problem.”

Anselm’s hands rest on a console table, his back to the room. His head turns just a fraction, enough that you can tell what he’s thinking.

I told you so, he says.

“Stay the week,” Nathan says. He sounds logical, but you can tell he’s being gnawed by something. “Stay a month. Fuck. Stay.”

Your shoulders sag.

Nathan holds up a hand, like he’s negotiating as much with himself as with you. “Just until this can burn itself out.”

Anselm chuckles, deep and humorless. “An idiot and a fool.”

Nathan doesn’t appreciate that. His hand grips the edge of his desk so hard his fingertips are white. “Fine. She can stay. You can leave without her,” he snaps back.

The thing about Anselm is that for all of his homicidal temper tantrums, all his impatience and irritation, usually it only lasts long enough for him to shoot someone.

He gets mad. He gets over it.

But what you see on Anselm’s face and body language now isn’t blind rage. It’s cold and scary. Nothing you’ve seen before. Then again, no one but Nathan would ever have the balls to suggest separating you and Anselm.

When Anselm speaks, his voice is low and quiet, like a blade he wants to slice through Nathan’s neck. “If you imply anything like that again, I will kill you.”

Nathan, to his credit, doesn’t back down. He gets calmer actually. “Maybe she wants to stay.”

Anselm’s beard twitches. “This is not a game anymore, Nathan. She is not one of your robots, who only has the opinions you give her. Birdie, my love, please speak for yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan,” you say as gently as you can.

Your heart breaks a little when you see the disappointment on Nathan’s face. He breathes out of his nose.

“I overestimated you two,” he says before he pivots and leaves the room, not bothering to put on clothes.

Before you can even cover your face with your hands, Anselm is there, putting his arms around you.

“This entire thing is my fault,” he says.

“No, I’m the one who made you come out here. I know you can’t say no to me.”

Anselm smiles good-naturedly, his earlier mood dissolving. “I’ve never seen Nathan make a mistake until now. He thought he could divide us.”

“He doesn't, though. He wants us both,” you say, not understanding.

“Yes, but you’ve caught him by the feelings and he’s not used to it. He knows he can’t convince us to stay, but he’ll try just about anything.”

“Yeah,” you agree slowly, “plus, you called him an idiot and a fool.”

Anselm’s brown eyes blink at you before he starts laughing.

“I’m fond of him. What can I say? Although, you do know that we’ll have to leave today, yes? As soon as we can pack our things.” His smile fades. “I arranged to have a helicopter touch down in the landing field at noon, yesterday and today, in case we needed to go home ahead of schedule. I’m sure Nathan knows, but we’ll still have to convince him to say goodbye early.”

“We? Uh-huh, sure,” you say, noting the look on his face, “and I’m guessing that’s my job?”

Anselm shrugs. “I think he likes you better.”

*****

Nathan’s in gym shorts doing deadlifts at an unhealthy pace. Sweat beads down his neck and soaks the top of his sleeveless t-shirt.

You knock on the open door of his weight room.

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” he grunts.

“I gave you a whole 30 minutes to be mad,” you say, breezing in and sitting down on a padded workout bench.

You and Anselm had packed your things and put them by the front door. Anselm’s sitting in the living room with Twelve.

The weights clank and slam together when Nathan drops them on the floor. He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“You don’t want to leave right now,” Nathan says. “You might not think the sun shine’s out of my ass like you do with Anselm, but I know you’re not ready to give this up yet.”

“I don’t think the sun- well, okay, maybe I do a little,” you say honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you too. I would stay for longer, but when it comes to safety, I trust Anselm more than I trust myself.”

Nathan puts his hands on his hips, his eyes like laser beams on your face.

You realize you shouldn’t have used the word ‘safety.’ It’s given him something to latch onto. Something to base an argument around.

“Don’t listen to Anselm. I’m not holding you here against your will,” Nathan says.

“He didn’t say that.”

Nathan walks toward you. “Maybe not with words, but half your conversations with him are nonverbal. He thinks I’d pull some shit and keep you locked up here. I'd fuck you so stupid you wouldn’t even try to leave.”

You sigh and look away from him.

“I know that I’m not a big believer in the law. It doesn’t adapt fast enough. It’s too conservative.” He pushes his glasses up. “Look, all of my crimes are white-collar. I’ve never kidnapped anyone, killed anyone. I didn’t build an empire on trafficking illegal goods.”

“Neither did Anselm,” you say angrily at him.

“Semantics,” Nathan says, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean. Just because his hands are cleaner now, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t covered in some of the worst shit in the world back in the day.”

You try to stand, but Nathan’s hand presses down on your shoulder, pushing you back down to sit.

“If he was really worried about your safety, he would’ve sent you to me a long time ago. This is the safest fucking place in the world. The whole thing is a sandbox, technologically yes, but also physically. It’s so far removed from anything that could ever hurt you.”

You know he doesn’t want you to stay to keep you safe. He’s just trying to twist you in knots. Does he think you’re stupid enough to fall for it? Or is he so desperate he’s grasping at straws?

You shove his hand off of you. “I’m a criminal too. You do realize that, right? Being the head of the Vogelweide family isn’t just a figurehead title. And I killed Anselm’s ex-girlfriend because she cheated on him more than 10 years ago.”

“Claire?”

You look up at him. “What? You know her?”

“No, but Anselm came here not too long after that whole incident,” Nathan says, backing away. He rubs his face, calming down. His are still burning-hot, though. “You know that’s what you’re really doing here, right? He feels like he owes me for helping him put his life back together afterward. He wants me to know he’s not that guy I knew anymore. Maybe he’s trying to fix me too.”

You stand quickly, wrapping Nathan in a hug, even though he's a little sweaty. You know he needs it. It takes him a second to return it.

“He knows it’s not his job to fix you. You’re not broken,” you say.

Nathan’s big hands hold you tightly. He doesn’t want to let you go, ever. He kisses your neck softly, then along your jaw. You stop him from kissing your mouth though, drawing your line in his sandbox.

He lets you go, but keeps his hand in yours. He pulls you to the living room, where Anselm and Twelve are sitting on the couch having a one-sided, fruitless conversation.

Anselm’s trying to get the robot’s opinions on ties. Twelve has none. Ties or opinions. Also, no vocal response capabilities.

Anselm smiles from his seat. “All set, my love?”

You squeeze Nathan’s hand. “Yes, but maybe we can come back some time?”

“I look forward to it,” Anselm says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Although with all the extra rooms in this place, I’m very disappointed that you don’t have at least the basic themes set up.”

Nathan shrugs. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Prison cell, classroom, doctor’s office, apocalypse, vampires,” Anselm frowns. “But I’ll send you a longer list. We do expect great things from our next visit.”

“Yeah, about that,” Nathan says slowly. He lets go of your hand with a regretful look. “Twelve?”

The robot stands stiffly and marches over to the security panel by the front door. He pokes a metal finger in the side. It blinks two words: lockdown mode. Mechanical clicks echo in the living room. You see the lights in the elevator flash red.

Anselm’s face is still friendly and smiley, but your hand raises automatically to slap the back of Nathan’s head. He stops it easily with his arm.

“Cut that shit out. Violence is never the answer,” Nathan says.

“Oh, you are cruising for a bruising, Bateman.”

He looks at you patiently. “Give me 3 days. You’ll start to see things my way. You both will.”

You clench your fists tightly, trying to hold back your temper. “If you don’t unlock this house-“

“What?” Nathan says, his voice cutting and intimidatingly loud. “You can’t do anything about it. No one knows you’re here. No one knows I’m here. I promise, I won’t keep you forever, but I need this. I need you.”

“This isn’t the way to do it.” Your hands relax and you reach for him, but he backs away.

Nathan runs a hand over his head. “I know. I'm sorry, but I already decided.”

Click

You look over and Anselm’s gun is resting on his thigh, pointed at Nathan.

“It’s not loaded,” Nathan says.

“Are you sure?” Anselm says smoothly. “Your reliance on technology is a weakness, Nathan. You think it can predict everyone’s next move, that it knows everything. But if it did, then it would have told you: compared to the things I’ve already done to keep this woman happy and safe, shooting you would be like handing her a tissue for a nosebleed. Something easily done, to remedy a minor inconvenience, and soon forgotten.

“So, my friend, do you really think your technology can out think me? Because I’ve been predicting human nature without assistance for decades now.”

Anselm leans forward, the metal of his brace squeaking loudly.

You look at it, then at him.

Nathan folds his hands under his biceps. He stares at Anselm for a few seconds.

“Twelve, release,” Nathan says quietly.

Twelve leaves the security panel and the house goes back to its normal, peaceful state. Anselm decocks his gun.

“I had to try,” Nathan says, like nothing happened.

“No, you didn’t. You were just being a dick.” You shove his shoulder.

The corners of his mouth lift. “I won’t do it the next time you visit.”

He looks at you from over the frames of his glasses. You don’t respond. He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m pissed at you,” you say, looking away.

“You’ll be back,” Nathan says with authority.

He reaches out a hand to help Anselm off the couch and they hug, Anselm giving Nathan’s ass a squeeze. A kiss on the cheek and a few quiet words.

“Come here, honey. Let me say goodbye to you,” Nathan says to you, a grin ghosting on his lips.

You don’t move a goddamn muscle.

Anselm holds out his hand. “Don’t be rude, my dear.”

You give them both a dirty look.

Nathan gives Anselm an ‘I got this,’ look. He walks over and rests his face against yours. His hands are like iron manacles on your arms.

“You think I showed you a softer side this weekend, but I knew what I was doing. I know you have a weakness for men who have a weakness for you.” He brushes his beard against your cheek. “If Anselm wasn’t here, I’d have Twelve drag you down to my bedroom and you wouldn’t see sunlight for four weeks. That’s how long I figured it would take me condition you to be my drooling, stupid, fuck hole. I’d keep you in a cage and Anselm could come visit you like you were an animal at a petting zoo.”

You lean back a fraction, just enough to look Nathan in his eyes.

He’s not someone who makes empty threats, but you’ve also learned that most of what he say isn’t threatening. It’s a test. Or, it was.

Now, you get the feeling that he’s testing himself. Getting a feel for whatever actual emotions he’s letting himself have. That he’s saying things to get a reaction from you, so that he can react in turn. Not just studying and analyzing, but letting himself have actual, human connection. A messed up one, sure, but a connection nonetheless.

“That could be fun,” you say with a smile.

Nathan huffs out a laugh. “Such a pervert. Unfortunately for me, it turns out, I think you’re interesting. I think you’re worth keeping just like this.” His fingers touch your face. “Don’t make me regret letting you go. Or next time, I won’t.”

He hugs you hard and you hug him too, tucking your face into his neck, smelling that mix of fresh air, sweat, and metal that’s uniquely Nathan.

You wonder if you chartered a helicopter to bring you out here next month, if it would all be gone. The house, the underground bunker, Nathan. If it would be nothing but virgin forest. Deer drinking out of the river that used to run under the house. Not a scrap of refined metal or plastic for hundreds of miles.

It makes you not want to leave.

Anselm’s hand wraps around your waist. “I promise both of you, we’ll come back.”

You turn your head to look at Anselm, resting it on Nathan’s muscled shoulder. “Once a fiscal year?”

Anselm smiles. “Yes, my love. If that’s what you wish. Oh,” he says quietly, the knuckles of his other hand brushing a tear away from your cheek, “this must be the first time anyone’s cried in anything but gratitude for leaving Nathan’s presence.”

You almost laugh, pulling away from Nathan.

Nathan just shakes his head at Anselm. “Okay, asshole, take your wife and leave already.”

He walks you to the front door.

As soon as you and Anselm cross the threshold outside, he shuts it behind you. You hear it lock.

As Twelve drives the truck away, taking you back to the empty field where the helicopter waits, you’re sad that Nathan isn’t at any of the big windows. You’d wanted one, last glimpse of him.

Anselm holds your hand on the drive.

The unmanned helicopter sits in the field. Twelve loads the bags and you breathe in the fresh air as much as you can.

Twelve stands next to Anselm as he helps you climb into the helicopter.

“Bye, Twelve,” you say to the blank, robot face. “I’m going to miss you.”

Twelve shifts, putting a mechanical hand on the side of the helicopter. Like it’s asking you not to leave. Its other hand is on the doorway. The fingers dig in. The slight sound of denting metal hits your ears.

Anselm reaches into his jacket and pulls out his gun. He shoots Twelve in the head. Twice.

Your ears ring and you look down at the still body on the ground. Fluid leaks out of the orb that was Twelve’s head.

Anselm signals the helicopter to start and hops inside next to you.

“Nothing is a simple robot with Nathan. He’s been trying to get me to bring Twelve home with us ever since we arrived. It’s too advanced. I fear what Nathan would do by proxy. He has impulse control issues about certain things,” he says to you through the microphone once you both have your ear protection on.

“Poor Twelve,” you say.

“Please don’t anthropomorphize the machines, Birdie. It doesn’t feel suffering. I’m sure Nathan will fix it for our next visit.”

He puts his arm around you and pulls you close.

“How did you get bullets into the house?” You ask him.

Anselm shrugs. “I always have bullets in my brace. Emergency back-up. It’s why I wear it even on days when I don’t need it. I thought you knew that.”

You look down at his leg. “What? No, I didn’t know that. What else do you have on there?”

“Not much. A bottle opener, knife, garrote. I thought if I had to wear it, then it should at least be multi-task,” Anselm says.

“Is that why you won’t let me put stickers on it?”

“Yes, the glitter hearts and skulls were charming, but they would have hindered its functionality.”

The helicopter takes off, lifting you high above the beautiful landscape.

Anselm had said spending time with Nathan would be spectacular. He was right. Your body’s exhausted, but happy. No permanent marks on the outside, but Nathan Bateman has left plenty of them on your heart.

You snuggle closer to Anselm, happy to be heading home.

*****

Anselm’s been in his office all morning. You’re in yours.

The mansion has been quiet. You and Anselm had done nothing but kiss this morning.

Post-vacation blues have hit hard in the days since your weekend with Nathan.

There’s a knock on the door and Anselm walks in

“Mid-afternoon snack, my dear?” Anselm says.

“If you’re the snack, then yes. Oooh, is that a tie with flowers? That’s romantic,” you say.

You get up and join Anselm on the small sofa in your office. He smooths a hand down the pretty patterned fabric of his tie.

“I felt I had to compete in some small way. Nathan hasn’t stopped sending you gifts.” He gestures to the elaborate bouquet of ferns and flowers that had arrived this morning. A tiny, plastic version of Twelve had been stuck inside of it (complete with two fake bullet holes in the head). It’s sitting on your desk now, after you’d had Godzilla check it for a camera.

Yesterday Nathan had sent bedsheets like the ones he has in his room and a thousand sticky notes. In case you wanted to recreate his bedroom at your house, his e-mail had said.

Andre rolls in with his tray, two ice cream sundaes with long-handled silver spoons sticking out of the top.

You hand Anselm his and then take yours, petting Andre’s head lightly. Anselm gives you a look.

“He’s like a pet, so let me pet him,” you say. You dig your spoon into the ice cream. “Nathan’s using Andre to spy on us, right?”

“Most definitely,” Anselm agrees. “But Andre’s capabilities are limited to serving.”

You lick your spoon and tap it on his head.

“Hey, Andre,” you say to the screen that shows Andre’s pixel eyes and smile. “Maybe next time I go visit your maker, we can limit his capabilities to just serving. What do you think?”

Andre’s face blinks out, then reappears with a winky face. “Yes, Birdie, man,” the mechanical voice states.

“Ma’am,” you correct him. “Now that I know Nathan’s so involved in Andre’s life here, I’m a kind of peeved that he’s so glitchy. It took 3 tries for his name to even show up right on the little screen. And for him to stop calling me Birbie, with 2 B’s.” You look at Andre.

Andre’s face blinks back to its vacant stare. There’s a bit of white-noise from the speaker at the front of his body.

“Anselm won’t let me fix him,” Nathan’s voice says from Andre’s body.

You inhale, mouth wide open. You look at Andre, then at Anselm. Back and forth.

Anselm’s studying his sundae carefully. “Nathan, we agreed-“

“Yeah, but now that I know her, you can’t expect me to stay quiet.” Nathan’s voice is tinny and strange.

Anselm looks at you apologetically. “Andre’s camera is always on. Nathan’s computer system scans constantly for potential threats to your safety. Of course, I knew Nathan himself could control Andre, but we had a gentleman’s agreement that he wouldn’t use it for anything inappropriate.”

You hear Nathan snort. “I’m not a gentleman and you haven’t been appropriate a day in your life.”

“He’s got you there,” you say to Anselm, eating your sundae and thinking it over.

“You mad, sweetheart?” Nathan asks.

“I guess it’s okay,” you say with a sigh. “It’s only fair. You’re out there all alone. If you want a snuggle or a fuck, you have to build a machine yourself. I don’t mind you watching if Anselm doesn’t.”

He licks a drop off ice cream off his thumb. “Now that you know Andre is actually Nathan, perhaps you won’t make him leave the room during our various activities. Perhaps you’d let me slather the rest of this sundae over your breasts and lick it off. Eat the cherry from the inside of your delicious cunt.” Anselm gazes lovingly at your body. “And if Nathan can agree that you are, indeed, perfect, then he can stay and watch.”

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t have to say that. This isn’t a cult.”

Anselm frowns. “You know I don’t like to disagree with you, my love, but I’d never let someone enjoy you who doesn’t truly appreciate the gift they’re being given.” He pokes Andre’s white, plastic body with the toe of his shoe. “Say it.”

A gigantic sigh resonates through the speaker. “I don’t believe in perfection. It doesn’t leave any room for improvement.”

Anselm raises an eyebrow. “If you’re suggesting there’s room for improvement in my dear Birdie, then the next time we visit, I’ll shoot you first thing. Perhaps you think she’d look better bathed in a mixture of your blood and soft tissues.”

“Yikes,” you mutter, “he’s really mad.”

Nathan growls in frustration. “Okay. Look, how about this? Other than that thing at the end where I went all crazy… last weekend was perfect. I’d kind of made my peace with spearheading the destruction of humanity, but if you two come out once or twice a year, I think I’ll have to slow down the inevitable.”

“Hooray, we’ve saved the human race with sex,” you throw up your hands in a sarcastic celebration.

“I said delayed,” Nathan grumps. “Now, take off your clothes and lay down. I don’t want to see Anselm lick ice cream off your boobs. I want to see you squirm when you get brain freeze through your clit.”

“Is that a thing?” You start to undress.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Nathan says. “Oh, and I fixed Twelve. A few improvements. He’s gonna look that guy from that TV show you like. Or. Guys, I guess. You’ve streamed the thing like, three hundred times, so I guessed you had a thing for him.”

Anselm looks at you from under his dark eyebrows.

You’d truly thought being with Anselm had cured you of ever being embarrassed again. But Nathan looking into your internet activity is apparently still a little mortifying.

“I don’t know if I can make him fly," Nathan continues, "but I can definitely do the costume thing with the cape, and the mask with the glowing eyes-“

“Stop talking,” you say to Nathan.

“I refuse to give him a Cubs hat though, just on principle.”

Anselm folds his arms. “How fascinating.”

You redo the clothes that you'd started taking off. “You know what? I’m going downstairs for awhile.”

Anselm nods. “That’s fine. I think I’ll stay here with Nathan. I’d like a hand in plotting whatever this is. You naughty girl, I had no idea you harbored a fantasy that you hadn’t told me about.”

“I didn’t. It’s not- I’m really not- It's nothing,“ you say, flustered. “Forget it. Bye Nathan. Anselm, I’ll see you at dinner.”

You leave them in your office, Anselm and Andre/Nathan, cackling like old women over a fictional man. You try to be irritated, but you can’t.

They’re just too adorable, the two of them.

And you’re very interested in how their little project turns out.

Anselm Vogelweide masterlist :: Nathan Bateman Masterlist

main masterlist :: Join My Taglist

-taglist friends-

@silvernight-m @sosa2imagines @myhohastuff @mangoslushcrush, @twwcs

@clemdango04 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @daydream-believer19, @howellatme

@eternallyvenus @iolaussharpe-24 @spacecowboyhotch, @bulletgoth @eternallyvenus

@minigirl87 @oscarssimp @oddballwriter @scarlettmoon98 @apesarecuul

@pigeonmama @miluiel1 @everythingbutresolved, @faretheeoscar, @emma23

please lmk if you'd like to be removed- i promise not to take it personally!

---

anselm x reader x nathan- One Weekend (part 1)

If Anselm and Birdie have a canon, then Nathan isn’t really in it like this. But it's too fun not to think about.

Contents: 18+ nsfw, past mm relationship, objectification/degradation, mfm threesome (vaginal, anal, oral) ~10k

-----

A sunny afternoon. Anselm and his crew are sitting in his office enjoying an afternoon snack. Hot fudge sundaes that they eat with great relish, nodding to each other about how delicious they are.

Anselm scoops a huge bite of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce onto his spoon.

“Stop lurking in the doorway like the creature you were named after, Godzilla. Speak,” he yells toward the other end of the room and takes his perfect bite of sundae.

Godzilla clears his throat and steps forward into the room, the space full of the sounds of metal spoons against glass dishes.

“Sir, Mrs. Vogelweide would like to see you in her office upstairs,” he says with a slight bow.

Anselm looks at him from under his dark brows. “Mrs. Vogelweide is it?” He licks his lips. “My God, this might be the best ice cream sundae I’ve ever eaten. Take one up to Birdie after you clean up, will you, Andre?”

He sets his empty bowl on Andre’s tray and the robot motors around the room, collecting everyone else’s dishes.

“She’d like to see you in an official capacity, sir,” Godzilla says.

Anselm sits up straight and buttons his suit jacket. “Well, why the fuck didn’t you say so in the first place?”

His bodyguards stand up stiffly and Anselm waves them back down.

He leans forward, a menacing look on his face. “Where do you think you’re going? Do you think I need protection from my own wife, in our own home? Hmm? What are you imbeciles going to do? What was your big plan?”

They look at each other, clearly having no plans and no actual thoughts beyond trying to get a second round of ice cream sundaes.

Anselm pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to calm himself. He limps over to the mirror and smooths his hair, makes sure his tie is straight and his beard is neat.

He takes the elevator to the second floor and lets Godzilla announce him, only entering when you’ve given the okay.

You smile, sphinx-like, from behind your desk. “Anselm,” you say.

He walks forward through the long room, noticing that his brace is very loud in the absence of the music you usually play.

“You wore that low-cut blouse just to tease me. I approve,” he says, as charming as the day you’d met him.

You don’t stand. You only hold out your hand and he kisses the back with more relish than he’d given the sundae a few minutes ago.

“Anselm, Anselm, Anselm,” you say slowly, looking him up and down.

He looks at his suit, making sure nothing’s amiss. “Shall I sit?”

“No, I just want to look at you. Really take this moment in.” Your smile doesn't change.

He puts his hands in his pockets, a little confused. He stands so you can look as much as you want.

After a long moment, you tap the closed ledger on your desk.

“You’re a really talented gambler, Anselm. You know that? You could have made your fortune placing bets alone,” you say.

He nods slowly. “Would you like me to place one for you, my love?”

You shake your head. “I called you here to talk about an old bet. Through one of the family bookies. A regional high-school Croatian water polo match a few months ago. The semi-finals I think.”

Anselm scratches his beard. “Yes, I remember it.”

You drum your fingers on the desk. “You lost.”

Anselm frowns deeply. “I beg your pardon, my dear, but I did not.”

You make a humming sound in your throat. “You might not be familiar with the cut throat nature of Croatian junior water polo, but the results of the match were contested almost immediately.”

“Yes, but it came out in my favor,” Anselm says with a grin.

“That one did, yes. But not the second arbitration.”

The grin slides off of his face. “Second arbitration?”

“Filed and decided last week. The victory was given to the opposing side.” You fold your hands on the desk. Your smile is so wide it almost hurts your face. “Which means you, Anselm Vogelweide, owe me money.”

His lips part in surprise, a very confused look on his handsome face. He’s literally at a loss for words. To your great delight.

The doors to your office open and in rolls Andre with a silver tray and a perfect hot fudge sundae on top.

Anselm watches it be delivered to you. Watches you take the sundae with a pat on the robot’s head. Watches you slip off your shoes and put your feet up on your desk and dig into your ice cream.

“So, Anselm,” you say around a mouthful of whipped cream, “what would you do in my position?”

He heaves out a breath. “My God, Birdie, I’d shoot me.”

You cough loudly, sundae stuck in your throat. Anselm rushes forward to hand you a glass of water from the side of your desk. “Not shooting you,” you say.

Anselm walks around the desk to pat your back as you get your breath back. You set the rest of the ice cream back on Andre’s tray and you sit upright in your chair.

“I thought you’d acquired a taste for settling disputes my way,” Anselm says with a grin.

“Not with you,” you say. “Then again, my mentor in all of this crime stuff taught me to take debts very, very seriously.”

You look pointedly at him.

Once, Anselm had received a debt payment of a million dollars in cash. He’d had the man bring it to the estate from all the way from across the country.

When the guy arrived, Anselm had asked about the ten dollars of interest. The guy hadn’t had it. Didn’t have any more cash on him.

“Come on boss, you wouldn’t shoot someone over a lousy tenner, would you?” The guy had asked nervously.

“No, of course not.”

And Anselm had allowed the man to borrow a ten dollar bill from one of the bodyguards. He’d given it to Anselm and gone on his merry way.

Oh wait, no. That’s not how that story ends. Anselm had let the guy borrow a stick of gum from one of the bodyguards and then shot him dead before he’d even gotten the wrapper off.

A debt is a debt. The number is irrelevant. At least, that’s what he’d taught you.

Anselm half-sits on the top of the desk, close to you. “Quite a conundrum, my dear. And one for me as well. I’ve never owed a debt in my life.”

“That’s just bragging,” you say.

“Well, shall I have the money that I owe you wired or would you prefer cash?” He asks, business-like. “It would have to be next week. There are two bank holidays that would interfere with the transfer.”

You take a breath, a moment to think it over. You run your foot up and down the calf of his unbraced leg.

“It’s almost two million dollars,” you say, glancing up at him. “You wouldn’t let someone walk out of your office without repaying that kind of dough, right? And if you can’t repay me today, then I’m afraid we might have to make alternative arrangements.”

You see Anselm’s gaze sharpen, his pupils widen ever so slightly.

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing over the collar of his shirt. “Such a thing would put me completely at your mercy,” Anselm says quietly, with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“But if it’s the only way to pay off your debt, you don’t really have much of a choice. Right?” You lick your lips slowly.

“I accept your proposition.” Anselm unbuttons his suit jacket so you can see from the bulging length in his pants just how accepting he is.

“Andre,” you say to the robot, taking the rest of your sundae back off his tray, “you can leave. Tell guards outside we’re not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, Birdie, man.” His pixel-smile blinks at you as he backs out of the room.

You hand Anselm the sundae.

“Did the robot just call you a man?” He asks.

“I think it’s supposed to be ma’am, but at this point, I don’t ask questions. Where did you even get Andre?”

Anselm scoops some of the ice cream out, fashioning an acceptable bite, and holds it up to your lips for you to eat.

“I invest heavily in emerging technologies,” he says, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray drop of hot fudge from your chin. He licks it off. “Andre was a gift from one of the owners. He’s offered many times to replace it with a newer model, but they’re all too human for my taste. A robot should look like a robot, I think. Or we’ll all become very confused, very quickly.”

Anselm sits against your desk, feeding you perfect bites of sundae as you work on your laptop for awhile.

He walks around the room, making sure things are tidy, closing the blinds so the sun doesn’t hit the artwork. He glances at you, opens the cabinet he’d had installed.

You don’t object.

He holds up a black, leather riding crop. You shake your head.

A dildo shaped like a unicorn horn, with sparkles in the silicone to make it shiny. You pass.

A ball gag that’s attached with straps to wrist cuffs and ankle restraints. Another no.

“Are you bored?” Anselm asks, his eyes zeroing in on yours. His voice echoes down the room. “Are you so bored with all of this that nothing makes you tingle in anticipation of me?”

“No,” you say, startled that he would even think that, “are you bored by me?”

Anselm grumbles to himself.

“What?” You say. “You’re too far away. I can’t hear you.”

“I said you’ve hurt my feelings, even suggesting such a thing.” He fusses, putting things back in the cabinet, before closing it.

“You’re so dramatic,” you say quietly.

“I heard that,” Anselm says loudly.

You get up from your desk, noticing that Anselm stubbornly stays where he is, brushing his fingers along a shelf like he’s checking for dust.

You walk over to him, curling your fingers inside the pockets of his suit pants. “I’ve thought of how you can repay me,” you say with a smile.

Anselm turns his gaze to you, pretending not to be particularly interested.

“Come on,” you tease him, “don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“Fine. What is it it?” Anselm says, his arms coming up around your waist.

“I want to have the threesome you keep putting off,” you say.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, my dear,” he says, but you can tell he’s faking. He knows exactly the one you mean. “But if you’d like someone to join us, I’ll have someone come to the house immediately.”

“Not someone,” you say pointedly.

“Not him,” Anselm returns. “I may invest in his endeavors, but we haven’t socialized in many years. I’m not sure he’s capable of it anymore.”

“Social awkwardness never stopped you from hanging out with someone before,” you say, pulling him closer. “If you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll never bring it up again.”

Anselm sighs. “It isn’t that. But you don’t know him like I do. He’ll be very degrading to you.”

“We do that sometimes,” you say.

“He’s very different from me, and for us to both be with you, I’d have to be quite different too. Different than the devoted husband you're used to.”

Your eyes narrow. “Anselm, last night we role played that you were a professor who was blackmailing me for sex. I don’t buy that excuse either. Whatever you’re trying to skirt around, just fucking say it.”

A worried look passes over Anselm’s face. His eyes study you from behind his yellow lenses. “He’s going to be enamored with you.”

You roll your eyes. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Anselm’s hands tighten around your waist. “Once he gets a taste of your beautiful body and spirit, well… he’s going to try to keep you, my dear.”

A laugh bubbles out of you. “Who cares? It’s not like he can.”

You look at Anselm’s face. He still looks serious.

“Can he?” You ask, confused.

Anselm’s face quirks into a half-smile, half-grimace. “The only way he’ll be with us is if we go to him. He’s a recluse, and never leaves his work for more than a day. His compound is inescapable. His control over it, total. I have no doubt if he wanted both of us to disappear, he could cover every track we’d ever made. Until the entire world wondered if we’d ever existed at all. He’s a genius, my love.”

“Okay,” you say, thinking over Anselm’s words, “then why would you ever have told me he’d offered? If it’s so dangerous.”

Anselm’s eyes sparkle at you, the dark brown turning warm and anticipatory. “Because it would be spectacular, my dear.”

“Then it’s settled, isn’t it? Neither of us have gotten where we are in life, or with each other, by doing things safe and easy.” You kiss Anselm quickly on the lips. “We’re going to have sex with Nathan Bateman.”

*****

Friday Afternoon.

Nathan’s helicopter drops you and Anselm off in the middle of a field. A vaguely-human robot is behind the wheel of a waiting truck. It puts your bags in the back and helps you into the cab.

You stare at it.

“What the fuck?” You ask it. It doesn’t answer. You turn to Anselm, who’s sitting in the back. “Are there a lot of these things around? They’re creepy.”

“I was only here once, when it was under construction,” Anselm says. “I helped Nathan take care of the contractors who’d built it. So that the project stayed a secret.”

The house and the river running under it are gorgeous. Everything a little too still, though, eerie almost. The house is too quiet.

You let yourselves in and the robot takes care of your bags. You see that it has a ‘Hello, I'm Twelve’ sticky note on the front of its body.

“Twelve?” You say experimentally.

The robot drops the bags it had been holding and pauses, looking at you with its smooth, featureless face.

“Carry on,” you say, watching suspiciously as it resumes its duties. You look at Anselm, who's poking around the living room.

“I think I hear Nathan at the back of the house,” he says.

He takes your hand and leads you out to a deck with weathered boards that overlooks the rushing river water. 

Nathan Bateman looks like his photos, even though most of them are from years ago. He has a black, dense beard and a close-shaved head. His hands are wrapped in white tape and he’s beating on a gym bag like it owes him a trillion dollars.

You clear your throat loudly. “You’re not fooling anyone. If you’d wanted us to be impressed, you should’ve greeted us with martinis and a robot butler in a tux.”

Nathan, out of breath, turns to look at you. Your gaze runs from the deep, dark V of sweat down his workout shirt and back up to his face. And you see it in his sharp, dark gaze.

You know two things immediately: one, Nathan Bateman is exactly the kind of trouble that’s perfect for this weekend. Two, he and Anselm have definitely done all kinds of sex to each other.

You have that feeling in your gut as his eyes acknowledge Anselm.

As they sweep over you, though, you have a different feeling entirely.

He has an aura of control that’s different from Anselm’s.

Anselm is like the back room of a gentleman’s club, the one where the business-side is conducted. Hazy smoke and velvet. You’re a half a glass of brandy in, some mostly naked woman face-first between your legs, before you realize he has a gun pointed at you.

Nathan, is a pair of handcuffs and a concrete interrogation room.

His eyes tell you, before he’s even said hello. Submit.

Nathan unwraps his hands with a smile that’s meant to be disarming. He looks like a shark.

“Good to see you,” he says to Anselm. “Thanks for taking me up on the weekend out here. About time.”

Anselm links his fingers through yours. “Not all titans of industry can afford to disappear like you did, Nathan.”

“We’re not like those old assholes. Sitting around doing jack shit. We like to take our fate in our own hands, don’t we,” Nathan says. He holds out his hand and Anselm shakes it.

Nathan shakes your hand too. “Very, very good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say with a smile.

Nathan picks up a towel to wipe of his face, before putting his glasses back on.

“Never in a million fucking years did I think Anselm would ever get married. You must be quite a woman, honey.”

Anselm lays his hand on your lower back. “You have no idea, Nathan,” he practically growls. “She’s exquisite.”

No one would notice anything off, but to you, it’s like a gigantic megaphone announcement.

Anselm NEVER speaks about you in the third person when you’re present. Never talks about you like you aren’t there, or like you’re an object, or decoration. It’s a point of pride with him. And he shoots anyone who doesn’t do the same.

But as Anselm and Nathan share a look, you know that Anselm’s tone and word choice have spoken volumes to Nathan, too.

The weekend, it seems, has begun.

*****

“Nathan has cameras everywhere,” Anselm says as he sits back on the bed, his back against the headboard. He unfastens his brace while you unpack.

“Even in here? Pervert,” you say, shooting Anselm a smile.

Anselm chuckles under his breath. He looks odd in the stark, undecorated room.

He rubs his leg and you put down the stack of shirts into the drawer and close it.

“The walk from the truck to the house?” You ask, joining him on the bed.

“It was uneven ground, but I’m fine,” he says.

Anselm never complains. His leg doesn’t usually bother him. You’ve even seen him practically run with his brace, but every once in awhile, he has a bad day. 

You gently move his hands out of the way and massage his leg, starting at the ankle and working up to his calf. 

“Take off your pants, it’ll make it easier for me,” you say.

Anselm grins, and methodically takes them off. You watch him get hard for you, just from your gaze on his body. He reaches out his hand and cups your cheek.

“Will you give my old friend something to salivate over? Something so delicious, he’ll have no choice but to sit at his desk, jerking off like an over-excited teenager?” Anselm leans forward so his face is closer to yours. “Something that will make him want to completely destroy you, when the time comes?”

So, you undress slowly and sensuously. You let your fingers linger on your skin, over your nipples and breasts.

You sit up on your knees, so your thighs are on on either side of Anselm’s. His hands rub up and down your skin, and you touch yourself for him. Playing with your clit, your own fingers sliding along your wet walls, teasing your own pleasure centers. Your other hand reaches for Anselm’s. You bring it alongside yours.

Anselm adds two fingers into your cunt, pressing against yours, forcing more pleasure through you. You brace yourself one-handed on the wall behind the bed, letting Anselm finger you, dragging your fingers with his until you come in a gush of liquid and a high-pitched moan. It drips down both of your hands and makes a dark stain on the bed. Anselm keeps fingering you, your hips grinding down on him. You come again, biting your lip so hard it hurts.

His fingers pull out you, pushing into your mouth. You suck on them gently, sitting down on the bed and then leaning forward so he can cradle you against his chest.

You hope Nathan was watching.

*****

Dinner is sushi and little cups of sake that Nathan constantly refills for you.

He and Anselm talk easily. Memories of when they were last here. Projects Nathan’s working on that Anselm’s invested in. Everything.

Nathan glances at you. “You’re watching this like it’s a fucking tennis match. Don’t you speak?”

It catches you off guard. He’s right. You’ve taken on the role of quiet submissive easily, but Nathan clearly likes to rile you, gauge your reactions.

You shrug, unbothered. “I like listening. I’ve never heard Anselm talk to someone like this. Like they’re his equal.”

Nathan raises his eyebrows. “If you knew me, you’d say the same thing about me. Your husband and I seem different on the surface, but we’re actually a lot alike."

Nathan pops a salmon nigiri into his mouth.

You look at Anselm. He nods in agreement.

“So,” Nathan says, his eyes almost black as they pin you down, “nothing I ask for should surprise you. Right?”

“Right,” you say automatically.

Something about him unbalances you. Even though you know it’s what he wants, you can’t help it. Normally, Anselm would lay his hand on your back, or say something reassuring. He would back you up in some way.

But this weekend, he’s doing none of that. He’s letting you flounder, and find your own way. If you drown, then this whole thing was your decision, and you wonder, briefly, if Anselm would watch you be taken under by Nathan’s current, swept away in his rip tide.

Nathan’s gaze wanders over you. 

“Your body,” he says like he’s talking about a piece of code or the weather, “it’s good.”

Anselm brushes his hand over your shoulder, sweeping your hair back. “You should see her at her best,” he says quietly.

Nathan drains another shot glass of sake. “I’d like that. Why don’t you get undressed, sweetheart? Give us something to look at while we finish talking.”

You turn your head slightly, looking for Anselm’s eyes, but he’s looking further down. Over you, but not at you.

“Please,” Anselm says slowly, “as a thank you for our host’s hospitality. We don’t want to be rude.”

The thrill of Anselm’s fingertips tracing on the back of your neck. The way Nathan keeps eating, even while his eyes are steady and dark on your face.

You slide the thin sweater you’d been wearing up and over your head.

“Very nice,” Nathan says quietly.

“Keep going,” Anselm says, with a depth of authority he usually reserves for when he’s reminded you of your safe word, when he’s made it known that you’re the one who’s actually in control. But again, he’s done none of that now.

You reach back and undo the clasp of your bra. You remove it self-consciously, even though you’re not in any way ashamed of your body. Haven’t been, since the first time you’d been with Anselm. But their gazes are assessing, almost detached.

Nathan points at you with his chopsticks. “Bottoms too.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, undoing your pants and pushing them down over your hips and down your legs. You fold everything neatly and set your clothes next to you. Your nipples are hard and your skin, chilled.

You’re so wet, you’re going to leave a puddle on the dining room chair.

“So, how’s Andre working out?” Nathan asks.

Anselm smiles. “Defective. But I enjoy him that way.”

Nathan chuckles, and signals for one of his more human-looking robots to start clearing the dishes. “That’s fucking weird, man.”

Your rub your hands up and down your arms to warm up.

“You’re too obsessed with perfection,” Anselm says, sitting back in his chair. He unbuttons his suit jacket. “Perfection makes everything dull. I have one perfect thing in my life, and I find that’s quite enough.” Anselm rubs a hand over your bare shoulders.

Nathan nods, looking at you. “You think she’s perfect?”

He sounds casual, but there’s a push in his tone. Like he’s poking at Anselm’s statement, doubting it. And Anselm, though he’s enjoying the weekend’s play acting, can only be pushed so far.

Anselm’s voice is clipped. His eyes are dark steel behind the lenses of his glasses. “Do not forget yourself, Nathan. This is my wife we’re discussing.”

Nathan licks his bottom lip. “Alright, relax. I’m just saying, I’ve never known you to be so hung up on one person. You used to be more open.”

Anselm exhales loudly through his nose. “And you’ve let your isolation narrow your view of the world. You don’t understand people because you don’t consider yourself to be one anymore.”

Nathan makes a face. “I’m human.” He lays a hand on your wrist. “Very human.”

You swallow as he runs his hand up and down your forearm. He picks up your hand and looks at it, brings it up to his face and lays it on his cheek, right where the line of his beard cuts a line across his skin.

“Caught your little show earlier,” Nathan says. “You gonna squirt for me too, honey?”

Anselm chuckles. “If you can find her on-switch, she will.”

“I’m pretty good with hardware,” Nathan says. 

You feel his beard with your fingers. It’s not as soft as Anselm’s. Nathan probably doesn’t condition it, doesn’t worry about it rubbing someone’s skin red and raw.

Nathan seems to like the way you feel his face and hair. There’s even a hint of warmth in his eyes. He looks at Anselm.

“She take your cock as well as I used to?” He asks.

Your heart beats faster against your chest.

“Better, and faster. My God, it took me weeks to prepare you,” Anselm says.

Nathan looks offended. “You’re walking around with a fucking tree trunk between your legs. You’re lucky anyone lets you fuck them at all. I should’ve sued.”

Anselm makes an impatient sound in his throat. “Darling, Nathan’s ego is clearly in need of a boost. Be a dear and sit in his lap.”

It’s not unusual for you and Anselm to have a third. This, however, is different. You’ve never been with someone from Anselm’s past, and in the short time you’ve known Nathan, you realize why Anselm’s never told you anything about his former lover and current business partner. There was no way to prepare you for him.

Much like Anselm, Nathan has to be seen to be believed.

Nathan pushes his chair back, giving you room to settle across his lap. He holds you loosely with one arm, while his other feels your skin.

You were already a little cold, but his touch gives you goosebumps.

“Sensitive thing, aren’t you?” He grins. “I like that.”

He looks at you from under his heavy eyelids.

“Can I touch you?” Nathan asks.

“Are you really asking?” You counter.

Nathan smirks. “I’m an egomaniac. I want you to want me.” He runs his fingers over your shoulder, back and forth.

“I’m the one who suggested that Anselm and I take you up on your offer,” you say, pleased that it seems you’ve surprised him.

Nathan’s gaze flicks to Anselm, who’s leaning his elbow on the table, his fingers practically twirling his mustache in glee.

“I told you, she’s like no one you’ve ever known,” Anselm says.

The wine and dessert are forgotten. Anselm holds your hand, pulling you to the sitting area next to the dining room.

Nathan has you on your hands and knees on a cream-colored ottoman. Anselm’s cock is out of his pants in a flash and when your tongue touches his soft, musky head, you feel Nathan’s tongue on you. His hands pull apart your legs so he can eat you out from behind.

The surprise of it makes you gasp, which only gives Anselm the opportunity to insert himself smoothly down your throat, which makes you jerk back, onto Nathan’s waiting tongue.

Nathan’s hands steady your hips. He dives into your cunt with his mouth and you moan around Anselm’s cock, gagging every once in awhile when you take him down your throat.

Anselm’s hands thread through your hair, holding tightly. His breath picks up and his hips move harder, his cock making loud, wet sounds as it enters and exits your mouth. Spit rolls in strands down your chin. Anselm shifts your head a fraction, so you can look up at him.

Whether it’s so he can take in the view, or so he can check you’re okay, you have no idea. Both, probably.

You can’t answer him though because Nathan is licking you from your clit to your asshole, burying his tongue in every place he can and making your body tense and shudder.

He sucks hard on your clit and you come with absolutely no warning, your moaning driving Anselm’s climax and he jams his cock down your throat again, throbbing and coming in hot spurts.

You whine, pulling your hips forward, but Nathan is relentless. Eating you out until your arms collapse and Anselm pulls out of your mouth. You’re face is buried in the fabric of the ottoman, tears staining the fabric, as Nathan’s strong arms hold you up, his tongue and mouth working between your legs quickly, licking another loud orgasm out of you.

And then he’s gone. Your hips drop hard and you lay there, panting.

You see Anselm walk back over to the table and take a sip of water. He hands Nathan a napkin to wipe his face with.

They’re talking about something, but you can’t bring yourself to give a shit. They walk away, Anselm gesticulating and Nathan nodding as they leave down the hallway.

As if you don't exist at all, now that they've gotten what they wanted.

It was probably all of three minutes.

Twelve cleans the kitchen.

How are you going to survive 48 hours of this?

*****

On shaky legs, you dry off as you leave the bathroom. You sit back down on the bed in your room. Anselm’s still not there.

He’d warned you not to wander around the place. Said he was worried about your safety.

There’s a glass of iced tea and note on the dresser.

Three doors on your left. -A

You drink the tea, the cool liquid and sweetness soothing your throat from earlier.

The top drawer of your side of the dresser is empty when you open it. You look in the next one. The next one.

Empty.

It must have happened during dinner.

Anselm’s things are still folded neatly in his drawers. His suits are hung up in the closet. For you, there’s only a white, silk robe. It’s short and trimmed with lace. You put it on, admiring the stitching and the fabric. You tie it shut with a double-knot and leave the room to see what Anselm and Nathan are up to now.

The third door on your left slides open as you approach.

It’s a big, dark room. The only light is from a bank of computer monitors facing the bed.

They’re talking about preserving native plants and animals on their lands. Something about progress versus nature.

Nathan’s sitting on the mattress in his boxers, leaning against the headboard, hands behind his head.

Anselm’s leaning against Nathan’s desk. You can tell he’s tense.

He’s taken off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his shirt. He holds his glass out to you as you enter.

You think he’s offering you a drink, but then you see it’s empty. Anselm nods to the side table for you to get him a refill.

Your lips twitch. You can’t help it.

Subtle power moves that Anselm is so good at, but he’s never used on you. His eyes laugh slightly, crinkling at the corners. A flash of your Anselm, before his gaze goes serious again.

He shakes his glass lightly, the leftover ice tink-tink-tink-ing as he does.

You take the glass over to the table, turning your back to refill it.

A hand brushes up the back of your thigh and under your robe. You smell Nathan. His teeth graze along the back of your neck and his hand slides around the front of your hip. He presses his hard cock against you.

“Don’t bother with the drink,” Nathan says, his fingertips toying with your clit. “You taste better anyway.”

His fingers crawl down between your lips, where you feel yourself starting to get wet. He licks your neck, slow circles on your clean skin.

“Anselm says you can take two cocks like a champ,” Nathan says.

You shudder. You’ve done it before, but usually you have time to prepare. Anselm alone can stretch you to your limits.

Nathan pulls away from you, tugging your arm.

“Get on the bed,” he says.

Anselm’s taking off his clothes, unhurried. He reaches over to the nightstand and drops a silicone dildo next to you on the mattress.

“If I have you two, what’s this for?” You ask him.

Anselm remains expressionless, neatly laying his shirt over the back of Nathan’s desk chair.

“Giving you this is a kindness. I could make you use your own hand,” he says.

He sounds impatient.

“Now,” he says loudly, confirming your suspicions.

As you part your legs, resting the head of the cold material against yourself, you remember what Anselm had said. That he’d be different here. He certainly is.

Nathan sits on the bed, he gently takes the dildo away from you. “I don’t think you’re wet enough, sweetheart.” He looks up at Anselm, who’s taking off his pants.

“She should get wet or this is going to be very unpleasant for her,” Anselm says dismissively.

Nathan’s eyes narrow a tiny fraction. “Don’t try to be an asshole, just to make me go easier on your wife.”

“And I thought you didn’t want me to think of her as my wife,” Anselm snaps back, anger coating his words.

“Anselm-“ you start to say, but he cuts you off with a look.

He never has sex when he’s angry. Or at least, never with you. It’s not that he’s opposed to it, but honestly, Anselm turns into a puddle of love when he gets his hands on you. It melts away his anger.

So, whatever Nathan said before you got here, it must have been bad.

Nathan takes off his glasses, tosses them aside. He rubs a hand up and down your thigh. “Anselm and I had a little disagreement.”

Anselm turns away, his hand smoothing over his beard.

Nathan clears his throat. “I thought this was a no boundaries weekend, but you can probably tell already, I’m all about finding the limits. I had to find his.”

“Are you okay?” You ask Anselm.

Anselm’s back relaxes. He takes a deep breath and continues undressing, pushing his pants down over the swell of his ass and his thick thighs.

“I’m fine, my dear,” he says. “Nathan does have a way of being the most irritating person on the planet, though.”

Nathan grins. “I asked Anselm if he’d let me have you tonight. Alone. Just you and me while he slept down the hall.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to that. My rule, not his,” you say.

“I asked him, not you. Trying to figure out who’s really in charge here,” Nathan says.

Your gut clenches as his eyes freeze you in place. Nathan’s face warms back up into the fake easy-going attitude you’re used to now. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just had to see where we were all at.”

Anselm shakes his head. “Don’t scare her.”

“Okay,” Nathan says. He looks at you. “I’m sorry. The truth is, I didn’t really buy this whole thing you have with Anselm until I saw it for myself.”

Anselm sits next to you, near the pillows. He wraps his arm around your waist and lays his forehead against yours. “Love and devotion aren’t in Nathan’s vocabulary.”

Nathan hums in agreement. “True. The way you described how you felt for her sounded like a psychotic break to me. This woman comes out of nowhere. Gets you to completely change your attitude toward relationships, and then takes over your entire family? I had to be suspicious.”

Your eyes track from Anselm’s to Nathan’s. “You were protecting him.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Nathan says, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably.

You lay your hands on either side of Anselm’s face so you can look at him dead on. “Of all the weird people you know, this guy is definitely the weirdest.”

Anselm laughs, a deep chuckle from deep in his chest. He puts his hands over your shoulders, warming the chill off your skin.

He takes off his glasses and sets them next to Nathan’s on the nightstand. He takes your hands off of his face, holding them as he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

The kind where his lips are slotted deeply into yours, devouring you, tilting his head to drive his tongue into your mouth, mapping out everything he can touch and taste. Your breath catches and Anselm inhales it, sucking on your bottom lip, pulling it into the hot, soft cavern of his mouth. Your mouth chases his, eager for more.

“Jesus, okay,” Nathan says loudly, breaking the moment. “I get it. You really love her. Fucking hell, dude. Leave some for the rest of us.”

Anselm stops kissing you, with one last peck on your cheek. He gives you a teasing, wicked look. His hand cups your chin.

“Whenever you’re ready, my dear,” he says quietly.

Nathan looks amused. Intrigued. His confidence is back in place.

“She’s ready,” Nathan says. “Come here.”

You lean forward, meeting Nathan as he slides his hand up behind your head, bringing you in to kiss you himself.

You were right. Nathan’s beard is scratchy. His mouth is hot and wet, dominating on yours. Your hand bumps against his knee and you take the opportunity to follow the muscle of his thigh up and under the leg of his boxers.

He pulls back, grips your chin hard in his fingers. “Did I say you could do that?”

You shake your head.

“Words, slut,” he says, his voice low and hard.

“No, you didn’t,” you say.

Anselm’s hand runs over the crease of your hip and down between your legs. You hadn’t realized you’d been pressing them together until Anselm works his fingers down between them.

“You’re wet now,” Anselm almost purrs. “Soaking. Delightful.”

You turn, trying to get him to kiss you, but Anselm pulls back. He unties your robe deftly, almost ripping it off of you.

“Nathan’s going to lay down, and you’re going to ride him like a whore until I tell you to stop,” Anselm says. His eyes are bright. He’s back in his role now. Fully in control.

Your breath shakes as Nathan takes off his boxers and lays down. Anselm gives you a gentle push and you turn to Nathan. You straddle him, sitting on his cock, but not taking it inside of you just yet. You drag his length along the wet seam of your cunt. He’s so hard you could probably get off just like this.

Anselm rubs circles on your back. “What do you think of her?”

Nathan’s lips are parted. He raises his hands to play with your nipples. “Gorgeous. Fucking unreal.”

You slide forward enough to catch the soft head of him, readjusting to fill yourself with his cock. Nathan smiles, exhaling hard as you take him in one, smooth sitting motion.

“Oh fuck, honey, you’re a fucking professional aren’t you?” He grins.

You smile, slowly rising and lowering yourself as Nathan pulls your nipples a little too hard. You shudder on him.

“Make yourself come. I want to feel it,” he says.

You seat yourself on Nathan, resting your hands on the hard muscles of his chest. You tilt your hips forward and back, adjusting yourself to him, riding him slowly at first. Nathan bites his lower lip, his cheeks a little flushed already.

He’s thick. Not as big as Anselm, but he’s so hard it’s easy for you to rock against him, hitting all the places inside and out that you need to moan and squirm. Anselm’s hand reaches down to touch where you and Nathan meet. You come with a hot gush of liquid, squeezing Nathan’s pecs, and clenching down on him so hard, it almost hurts.

You haven’t come down all the way before Anselm’s hands push you down. Nathan captures your mouth as your chest presses onto his, coaxing your tongue out and sucking on it gently as you feel Anselm position himself behind you.

His fingers are already well-lubricated as he slips two into you, working you open with a groan.

“Stay still,” Nathan orders when your hips start to move.

It’s like torture. There’s nowhere for your pleasure to go, so you sit, clenching around Nathan while Anselm works your other hole open enough to finally give you just the tip of his enormous cock.

You moan, and you think they do too, as Anselm rubs a hand over one of your shoulders.

“You have to relax for us,” Anselm says.

You take a shaky breath and open your eyes. Nathan’s dark gaze is already on your face.

Anselm slides in a fraction more and you whine. Not from pain, but from the already too-full feeling of them inside of you.

Nathan almost smiles. You know he can feel Anselm at this point, the thin barrier of your body separating them.

“Take it,” Nathan says in a whisper. “Fucking take it all, sweetheart. Come on.”

Anselm’s body bends over yours as he slowly stretches his way inside of you. You’re panting.

Nathan’s hand grips your hair. “I bet your sweet little pussy’s never been tighter.”

You moan, your body relaxing, needing to feel as full as possible, needing the last few inches of Anselm’s cock deep inside of you.

“You’re a good girl,” Anselm growls in your ear, his tongue catching your earlobe. “We’re going to use you now. And you’re going to let us.”

He pulls halfway out and pushes back inside, stealing your breath and popping your eyes wide. Nathan pulls out a fraction, punching his hips up into yours.

“This what she wanted?” Nathan asks Anselm.

They’re fucking you hard already, in and out in tandem. You’d thought- oh fuck, who even knows- you’d thought it would start slow. But you already have tears in your eyes, their cocks dragging in and out of you. Your skin stretches and burns from the delicious way your body holds onto both of them.

Anselm grunts. “This is what she wanted, yes. It’s what she’s good for. Aren’t you?”

He slaps your ass hard, not even a stutter in his thrusts.

“Y-yes,” you choke on the word.

“Oh look at that,” Nathan groans, “fucked out already. Brainless little slut.”

You moan, your body moving forward against the relentless pounding, but Anselm pulls your shoulders, bringing you all the way down on both cocks again.

Anselm slows the pace, long strokes in and out of you. It should be a rest, but Anselm knows you better than that. Knows you can’t hold back when you can feel every ridge and vein in his cock.

Nathan takes his cue and pulls in and out as much as he can from below you. Letting you feel way he stretches you out.

“You’re cute like this,” Nathan says. “Look at me.”

Your eyes can’t even focus, but you open them. It feels so good you can’t even think. Like nothing exists but the pure ecstasy of being filled by these two men.

“Good girl,” Nathan says slowly. “You gonna come for us? Get off on being fucked like a dirty slut?”

His hand in your hair, he nods for you.

You’re moaning, unable to hold back as they fuck you back and forth between them.

“Nathan, pull out of her,” Anselm says.

You collapse onto Nathan when he pulls his cock out of you, but Anselm pulls your hair back so your head snaps up. He fucks his entire cock into your cunt and you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to process it. He pulls out. Nathan pushes in.

In and out, sharing your dripping wet cunt.

“She’s close,” Anselm says, his voice is strained.

He resumes his previous position, gently feeding his cock back into your asshole as Nathan fucks back up into your pussy.

Nathan pants in your ear. “You like this, don’t you? One load’s not enough for you. You need the two of us ruining your little holes.”

You scream when you come, your throat burns, your whole body burns, every single nerve sings as you go completely stiff. Coming so hard your eyes roll back in your head and they have to hold you up to keep fucking you. It’s never ending. You can’t stop your muscles from pulsing around them, which only makes them fuck you even harder.

You feel like you’re going to go insane from how it all makes you feel. Nathan starts coming deep inside of you, lodging his cock as far as it can go. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and he fills the air with filthy sounds and words. Anselm finally lets go, filling your ass with hot ropes of cum.

Your body shakes and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until Nathan’s arms are tight around you, his hand on the back of your head. 

“Shhh,” he says, still out of breath, “’s okay, honey. You’re alright.”

Anselm pulls out of you and you feel his arms around you too.

“She’ll be okay,” he says. Nathan must have given him a questioning look.

You sniffle, wiping Nathan’s shoulder where you’d cried a puddle of drool and tears.

Anselm turns your head and kisses you softly. “There, there,” he says. “You did beautifully. It was a lot for you, wasn’t it?”

You nod, not quite ready to speak.

Anselm’s face is worried. “Too much, perhaps.”

You shake your head.

He smiles, kisses your forehead. “Alright. I’m going to draw you a bath. Nathan will be right here with you.”

You sniffle. “I know. He’s still inside me.”

Nathan kisses your cheek. “Holy shit, you’re a dream. Making a fucking joke at a time like this.”

Anselm disappears into the bathroom and Nathan gingerly pulls out of you, going extra slow, knowing how sensitive you are.

He holds you close to him, rubbing your back.

“For real,” he says quietly, “you’ll be okay?”

You look at him, touched. “It was perfect. All of it. It was just intense.”

You reach up and scratch your fingers through his beard. Something Anselm likes. And apparently, so does Nathan. He looks almost relaxed.

Nathan looks down his nose at you, but for once, it’s not condescending. “You love Anselm as much as he loves you?”

“I do,” you say, smiling.

His eyes are dark pools that pull you in. “Good. But if-“

“Your bath is ready,” Anselm says from the doorway.

“I don’t think I can walk,” You flop back, out of Nathan’s arms.

“I got this, Vogelweide,” Nathan says. He kneels on the bed, pulling you to the edge so he can pick you up and carry you bridal-style to the bathroom.

Anselm’s already in the tub, which Nathan quirks a brow at, but he helps you in anyway. You sit between Anselm’s legs, reclining limply against him. He wraps his arms around you.

“I’m gonna use the shower in the other room. Give you two a minute,” Nathan says. He shuts the door as he leaves.

Anselm takes a big breath, holding you tightly. He kisses the side of your head. You sigh and sink down slightly, letting the water come up to the top of your chest.

“I think we should leave tomorrow, and not Monday,” Anselm says quietly.

You turn, your sore muscles protesting and water sloshing. “What? We just got here.”

Anselm scratches his neck, but you know his scars aren’t bothering him. It’s Nathan. He’s gotten under Anselm’s skin.

“You were completely in control out there,” you say, dipping your head down to wet your hair. “And I loved it. Every second.”

The corner of Anselm’s mouth stretches up. “Did you now?”

You turn back around to nestle in Anselm’s lap again. “I did.”

“Usually something that intense is just the two of us,” Anselm says.

“Jealousy isn't your style,” you remind him.

“Not normally. Jealously is useless and does nothing for me. Nathan is not normal.”

“He’s also not my husband and not the love of my life.” You reach up and cup your hand around the back of Anselm’s neck, rubbing it soothingly. “He’s completely full of himself, and totally insecure. He can show a girl a good time, but…”

Anselm grabs a bottle of shampoo and squirts some into one of his hands. He massages his fingers through your hair.

“You could fix him,” he says.

“Not my dog. Not my fight.”

“You like him, though.”

You sigh, leaning into Anselm’s scalp massage. “Surprisingly, yes, I do.”

“But you can’t live without me, can you, Birdie?”

Anselm’s tone is teasing, but something in it makes you twist around again, so you can look him in the eyes.

“No, Anselm. No one could ever come between us.”

Later, as you’re snuggled between Anselm and Nathan in Nathan’s bed, one last thought creeps into your brain.

Nathan has cameras everywhere. Anselm knew Nathan was listening while you were in the bath together.

Anselm didn’t need reassurances. He’d needed Nathan to know that some boundaries weren’t movable. Some things, Anselm would never negotiate for.

*****

Saturday Morning.

“You brought a gun,” you say, looking at Anselm’s underwear drawer.

You’d both gone back to your room to get ready for the day. Nathan had already been up for hours working. He never slept more than a few hours a night.

Anselm is putting his hair in place and you’re grabbing clothes for him. At the bottom of a pile of Anselm’s silk underwear is a matte, black pistol.

“You sound surprised,” Anselm says from his place in front of the bathroom mirror.

You look at the gun, then cover it again. Out of sight out of mind.

You’d thought the only thing dangerous here was Nathan. And Anselm would never shoot him. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

He puts his suit on. You put the white silk robe from last night back on and you head out to breakfast on the back deck.

You’re sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, your feet up in Anselm’s lap when Nathan strides out. He pushes up the sleeves of his white sweater and sits down in the chair next to you.

He rests his hand on the back of your chair, his fingers just brushing over the thin fabric of your robe.

“Rested?” He asks you.

“Why?” You ask, suspicious.

He pushes up his glasses and pours himself a mug of coffee. “Calm down. I don’t have time to fuck you this morning.”

“Wow, my review of this place just went from four stars to three.”

Nathan rubs a hand over his heart. “After everything we shared last night? I’m heartbroken, honey.”

“Two and a half because of your whining.”

Nathan runs a hand over his head. “Anselm and I’ll have to switch places tonight, see if I can’t get myself back up to four.”

Anselm makes a sound in his throat. “The double penetration hasn't ever worked the other way around for her. I’m too large. It makes her uncomfortable.”

“Learn something new every day I guess.” Nathan toasts Anselm with his mug. “Anything you two haven’t tried that I can help you with?”

You and Anselm blink at each other. You shrug.

“Holy shit,” Nathan says, “you two are fucking depraved.”

He stands up and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“I gotta go back to work. See you for lunch.”

“He was in a good mood,” you say as you watch Nathan grab a green shake from the refrigerator and disappear into the elevator.

Anselm picks at his thumbnail. “Of course he was. Things look very different from inside of you. You have a way of changing a man. I should know.”

“I don’t think anyone could change Nathan.” You sip your coffee. “And I’m not sure I’d want to.”

Anselm pats your feet. “I have some business calls to make on the satellite telephone. Perhaps you should go visit the lab. You can build Andre a friend.”

Twelve comes to clear the breakfast dishes.

“Hold on. I’m not done with that.” You pick a croissant off the plate. “Can I have a glass of orange juice, please?”

Twelve’s wide steps take it back to the kitchen.

“I’m going to draw eyes and a smile on that thing,” you say, taking a bite of croissant.

“Give it a mustache,” Anselm says.

You hold out the croissant for Anselm to take a bite of his own. “I prefer men with more facial hair than that.”

*****

You ask Twelve to take you to Nathan and it leads you down a level. You have no idea how far down you are. A long way, judging from the elevator ride.

You follow it down an unnervingly nondescript hallway and it opens a door.

The room is big, with bright, cold lights and electronic parts everywhere. A table at the center of the room has a partially-finished mechanical body in it. Nathan’s bent over, working on something in the chest cavity.

He glances up. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? Don’t try to bring orange juice in here. You’re gonna cost me ten million dollars when you spill it.”

You drain the glass and leave it with Twelve. “You can afford it,” you say, wandering inside.

“True. But it’s not about money. It’s about the time it would take me to rebuild.” Nathan pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers.

“What are you doing?” You stand next to him, peering down at the mess of wires and servos. 

“Giving the tin man a heart.”

“I thought you were the tin man.”

Nathan grins. “You would know. You’re married to the fucking Wizard of Oz.”

You laugh. Nathan slips his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to the table. “See that?” He points down at a bright red piece in the chest, covered in wires and soldering. “One of the most important pieces. It’s part of what separates this model from Twelve.”

“Is it the brain?”

Nathan’s hand brushes up and down your back. “No, although the brain was the hardest part of make. This is part of what’s going to allow this robot to be more than just a supercomputer. More like actual AI. It sends very specific sensory feedback to the brain.”

You look at him suspiciously.

Nathan turns to face you, so both his hands are around your waist. “It sits on the surface of the chest. When I stimulate it, and it’s going to send pleasure feedback for a more realistic sexual experience. The robot will have a good time, and I won't have to reach down all the way between its legs.”

You snort. “So, her clit is where her heart should be? Yeah, that sounds like the male view of female anatomy.”

Nathan’s head tips back and he laughs. It’s an actual laugh, deep, echoing in the lab. He wipes his eyes under his glasses.

He smiles as he speaks. “I can make a computer that will pass the Turing Test. For it to be human, though, it needs an anchor to the rest of the world. Needs to feel connected to humanity or it can do a lot of damage without realizing it."

You're not sure if he's still talking about the robot, or about himself.

"This robot," Nathan pushes up his glasses, "is going to test how much of the sexual experience makes a human tick. Your visit's good timing. Helped me rethink my approach."

“So, when I’m fucking you, it’s research? Like, we’re doing it for science?”

Nathan nods. “Sure, you can think of it that way. If I modeled it on Anselm, the entire world would be fucked or shot before the thing turned one year old.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh.

Nathan’s thumb rubs over your lower lip. He watches your mouth. “Love that sound.”

You pull back slowly. “I should go. Anselm’s working, and I should too, for a few hours at least.”

Nathan drops his hand. You can tell the wheels are still turning in his head. “Alright. See you later.”

He gives your waist a squeeze and sends you on your way. You feel his eyes on you as you leave.

*****

“But that wasn’t the end of it,” Anselm says as he tells stories over lunch, “the man had the audacity to try and borrow money from me a second time.”

Nathan shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“That’s what I said,” you say, pointing at him. “I told the guy ‘why would you come back here? Do you see the stain on the carpet? That’s blood. Idiot.’”

“Birdie, that stain by the lamp isn’t blood. It’s chocolate ice cream,” Anselm says.

“Seriously?” You look at him.

Anselm nods. “Louie dropped it during his birthday party four months ago.”

You shrug. “Well, potato tomato or whatever. You ended up killing the guy anyway.”

Anselm wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

He leans back in his chair, adjusting his tie.

“How’d he look?” Nathan says, taking a drink of juice.

“Disrespectfully, and I know that you catch my meaning,” Anselm says, looking at Nathan seriously from behind his yellowed lenses. “As someone who seems hell-bent on winning my wife’s affections, you should know that I never go anywhere unarmed.”

Nathan sets down his glass. He folds his hands in front of his beard. “And you should know that I’d never let you bring a fire-able weapon into this house.”

Silence settles over the table.

“How would you know if he did?” You ask.

“I assume he tried,” Nathan said, his dark eyes turning to you. “I have scanners at the entrances.”

“Metal detectors?” Anselm asks. He smiles, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

Nathan’s eyes narrow. “Twelve. Search his room.”

The robot, who’d been standing like a statue by the table, turns and strides away.

“I’m disappointed that you think you’d need a gun,” Nathan says.

“It’s not loaded,” Anselm says.

“Then why bring it at all?” Nathan pushes back from the table.

“For comfort. It’s like a teddy bear to me,” Anselm smiles enigmatically.

Nathan raises his eyebrows briefly. “You can keep it, as long as it’s not loaded. You won’t find any bullets here anyway.” His gaze sweeps over to you. “You bring a teddy bear, honey?”

You cock your head toward Anselm. “Yup.”

Nathan sighs impatiently, but there’s no annoyance. “You two are gross. Quit being so in love before I get jealous.”

“Jealousy isn’t your style,” Anselm says to Nathan.

You look at Anselm. You’d said the same thing to him last night.

From the cocky grin on Nathan’s face, he gets the reference. So he had been listening.

“You two are mind-fuck city,” you say. “How did you guys live out here for like, 3 months together?”

“We had early prototype robots that Nathan built. We found them suitable diversions. Along with each other.”

Nathan’s eyes spark. He rubs his knuckles over his bottom lip. “I still have that machine. The one you asked me to build, but we never got around to using.”

Anselm lets out a low groan. “I think I brought along the perfect test subject for that.”

-

-Part 2 here-

Anselm Vogelweide masterlist :: Nathan Bateman Masterlist main masterlist :: Join My Taglist

-taglist friends-

@silvernight-m @sosa2imagines @myhohastuff @mangoslushcrush @burymesanti

@clemdango04 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @daydream-believer19, @howellatme, @unbeatablecurlgirl

@eternallyvenus @iolaussharpe-24 @spacecowboyhotch, @bulletgoth @eternallyvenus

@minigirl87 @oscarssimp @oddballwriter @scarlettmoon98 @apesarecuul

@pigeonmama @miluiel1 @everythingbutresolved, @faretheeoscar, @emma23

please lmk if you'd like to be removed- i promise not to take it personally!

---