Damn Lissa U Thirsty

Sometimes, Lissa thinks that moving in is the best thing she has ever done.

Maribelle is her best friend. Henry is her best friend. (She has a heart big enough for two, and besides, the two are basically a set now that they've married.) She gets to hang out with them every day, and even a good chunk of the nights, as they both know she's prone to nightmares when sleeping alone. Brady is also an adorable baby, who she will never tire spoiling, and though it might be overstepping to admit so she loves him as if he were her own.

Sometimes, though, sometimes Lissa thinks she has done a terrible mistake.

Like right now.

Lissa wakes up to the gentle shine of the Moon, Maribelle's head nested in her breasts, Henry's front pressed against her side, and all she can think of is AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Okay. Okay! This is fine!! This Is Fine!!!

Henry grumbles in his sleep and throws a leg around her owns.

This is not fine oh gods abort abort

Lissa closes her eyes again and exales, really slowly, reminding herself that her best friends are happily married, to each other, no less, and that lusting after them is what the kids would call a bad move. No matter that Henry's heat makes her acutely aware of how he'd feel on top of her, pinning her down by the wrists, forcing her thighs apart. He's a rough lover, no doubt; Lissa has seen the bruises he left on Maribelle. He'd delight in making her squirm, watching her struggle fruitlessly before he-

No! No! No fantasizing about Henry! Good grief!!

Lissa would turn to Maribelle instead, but her thoughts are no purer on that front. Here, laying on Lissa's chest, it's all too easy to imagine her lapping at her throat, trailing fingers to squeeze Lissa's breasts. Maybe she'd take Lissa's earlobe in her mouth, you want more? How about you be a good girl and earn it? Though Lissa doesn't think Maribelle is the kind to ask anything at all. She'd most likely directly take, crawl up to sit on her face and-

Fuck.

Lissa drags her hands across her face in frustration. Her best friends are married. Married. To each other. It is utter disrespect, it is betrayal on Lissa's part to imagine them pleasing anyone but each other. Maribelle would never ride anyone but Henry, hips snapping up and down with the same ferocity she approaches anything else, and nope that trail of thought isn't any better actually.

Hell is real. Hell is real and it's being pinned between two people she loves too much and cannot touch.

Gods. She wants them so much it hurts. She wants them in every way there are for human bodies to slot together. She wants Henry to hold her head between Maribelle's thighs, and Maribelle to lock her arms as Henry takes her, she wants Maribelle to praise good girl, you're taking us so well, you're so pretty for us and Henry to mock my, princess, if you wanted to be our pet, you should have told us earlier, I'd have brought you a nice collar. She wants to be used, bullied, fucked by the two of them, her mouth and cunt and breasts until she's left as an incoherent mess for their greatest pleasure.

She hears shuffling behind her as she squeezes her thighs together one time too many. Fuck.

"Lissa...?" Henry's voice is low, sleepy. It shouldn't make her shiver. He gets on one elbow, blinking tiredly at her. "D'you have a nightmare?"

"No." She shakes her head. "I'm just overheated."

"Ahh, I see." He looks down at his wife, peaceful on Lissa's chest, then to their tangled legs. "M'gonna move behind Maribelle."

"Thanks." Replies Lissa, voice tight. Feeling him crawl over her to curl on the other side of the bed is going to be torture, and she'll yearn for the lost heat once he'll be gone, but it's for the better.

Henry smiles, something uncharacteristically gentle from him, and he leans down to kiss her cheek. He's a lot like Maribelle this way; they both tend to shower her with platonic kisses, to her delight and infortune. "Anything for you, Lissa."

Anything? Really? Lissa bites her tongue before she can asks for something innapropriate. Instead she nods, and watches him shuffle behind Maribelle.

Perhaps she should sleep in her own bed tomorrow.

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