Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

F/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Ilya Rozanov/Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Additional Tags:

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Spit Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Bisexual Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, POV Ilya Rozanov, Canon Divergent, Shameless Smut, Monsieur Marleau loves Paris

Language:

English

Series:

Part 5 of The Talented Mr. Marleau

Collections:

Game Changers Series Rare Pair Fest

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-24 Words: 6,676 Chapters: 1/1

Such Good Boys

Summary

GCS Rare Pair Prompt #8

When the Boston/Montreal game gets cancelled due to two feet of snow Cliff invites himself back to Ilya's house for a drink, and who is there waiting, but Svetlana. One drink becomes two and a proposition is made.

OR: Svetlana visits Paris with Ilya and Cliff

Notes

I'm not 100% sure that I even did this fest correctly, but this fic was based on a prompt from the Game Changers Rare Pair Fest. It's not exactly what the prompt asked for, but I saw a perfect chance to build this into canon divergence and couldn't resist. Hopefully I'm forgiven for swapping a hotel room for Ilya's house.

I've used italics and << ___>> arrows to designate when Russian is spoken.

"Look, whoever she is, she's gonna get over it," Marleau says to him, but he's not so sure.

Ilya glances down at his phone again and lets out a huff. He had plans today with Hollander, and this snowstorm is seriously fucking up his plans of getting laid. It's not a huge deal; he shouldn't feel as disappointed as he does, but he can't help the sinking feeling he has over it. He shakes it off and looks up to see Marleau looking down at him.

"C'mon, Roz, let's get the fuck out of here and get a drink somewhere," Cliff says to him with a quick nod toward the doors.

"No, man, I'm heading home," Ilya says, ready to go home and sit on his couch and sulk over missing his opportunity to one, kick Montreal's ass, and two, fuck Hollander.

Cliff is undeterred: "Perfect, drinks at your house. You always have the fancy stuff there anyway."

Ilya stands and rubs a hand over his face. It's no use arguing with Cliff; he's like a stray dog, and he will follow you home once he has decided you're his owner. "Fine, but you're not staying the night. I'm not having you drool all over my couch."

Cliff shakes his head, unamused. "I don't drool, fucker. Besides, I'm not sleeping on the couch when you have like four guest rooms."

In the half-hour ride back to Ilya's house, they spend about twenty-five minutes arguing about whether Cliff drools when he sleeps. In truth, Ilya has shared a hotel room with Cliff many, many times on the road and has never seen his co-captain drooling in his sleep. However, Ilya is in a shit mood, and he digs his heels in on this specific fight with Cliff. Cliff eventually lets him have the last word, then goes quiet, texting on his phone. When Ilya peers over at the phone screen, he sees Cliff is texting his sister, "Do I drool in my sleep?" and he can't help but count it as a victory.

They both enter Ilya's dark house quietly, the cold of the Boston night chilling their bones even on the short walk from the driveway to his front door. He's expecting the house to be the way he left it, spotless and dark, with a single light on in the bedroom — something he'd once heard deterred thieves, and he'd done so ever since.

He was not expecting to walk to his kitchen and have a heart attack. This is what happens, though: one moment he is walking into his home, ready for a brief drink with Cliff, and the next, a figure pops out of the dark in his kitchen and lands in front of him.

"Jesus Christ," he shouts in shock, his heart pounding.

It's Svetlana, standing in his house—without an invitation—in one of his Raiders jerseys, and it appears to be nothing else. «"Surprise,"» she exclaims.

"Svetlana!" he half-shouts at her, still trying to tell his heart to calm down.

It's in this moment that she seems to notice Cliff standing behind her finally. He looks her up and down, his eyebrows raising at her lack of pants. This is not something that will faze Svetlana; he doesn't need to look at her to know she's smirking at him, possibly toying with the hem of the jersey and giving her a show.

He switches to Russian as he turns back to her, «"I thought you were back in Russia. What the fuck are you doing here?»

«"Being nice, but I already regret it."» She scoffs, like, he's in the wrong for not immediately welcoming her into his house with absolutely no warning. Her eyes flick back to Cliff, «"Who is your friend?"»

He glares at her and switches back to English: "Svetlana, this is Cliff Marleau, whom I know you know"

She smirks, caught red-handed, and saunters around his kitchen island, his eyes trailing down her long legs as he's sure she intended. She opens his liquor cabinet like she lives there and throws a smile over her shoulder. "It's still nice to get an introduction, Ilya. Manners." She gives him a feline grin, then turns her attention to Cliff. "Hello, Cliff."

Cliff walks from behind Ilya, joins Svetlana on the other side of the island, and easily accepts a glass from her. "Nice to meet you, Sveta. I've heard great things."

Sveta's head swivels to Ilya, and she raises her eyebrows; he shrugs. "I say great things about you when you're not breaking into my house." He finally closes the distance and accepts the glass of his own vodka she hands him.

She takes a slow sip from her glass, and Ilya watches the way her throat works, the slight residue of her lipstick on the glass. She really is a stunning woman. It doesn't escape his notice that Cliff is watching her with the same intensity. "I heard the game was canceled and thought I'd surprise you. I didn't realize you wouldn't be alone."

Cliff—for the first time in his life, seemingly—picks up on the subtext and takes a small sip from his own glass, not even cringing at the bite of the vodka. There's a reason he's Ilya's best friend. "I can head out; I was just looking to raid Ilya's liquor stash. I don't want to get in the middle of—" he pauses, his eyes ping-pong between Sveta's bare legs and Ilya's eyes "—whatever it is you have going on here."

Ilya is momentarily considering kicking them both out, since they invited themselves, but he immediately decides against it. He'd rather have them both here as a distraction, lest he spend the night obsessing over freckles 300 miles away.

He doesn't have the chance to voice this, though, because Sveta decides for him: "No, please get in the middle," she purrs. He doesn't miss the implication, and he's sure Cliff doesn't either. A sledgehammer would have been more subtle. As if to add insult to injury, she leans back against the counter, forcing the jersey to ride up a few additional inches, baring more of her strong, smooth thighs. Ilya doesn't have to look over at Cliff to know his gaze is zeroed in on the new flesh on display. His friend is a simple creature, and powerless to resist the lures of a siren such as Sveta.

Ilya levels her with a stare, half-considering outright asking her plan, but opting for silence instead. She meets his eyes and gives the slightest raise of her eyebrows, so subtle that most would miss it, but he's known her too long to miss anything she does. He keeps his face neutral, unwilling to betray the thoughts running through his head, but she has him, and she knows it.

She grins the moment she realizes he's caught in her web, a victorious hunter, and she turns to Cliff, closing the steps between them and resting her hip against the counter while she takes a slow sip from her glass. "Would you like to stay and play, Cliff?"

It's bold; he'll give her that. Svetlana has never been one for tiptoeing, but to invite another man to join them without even asking him –in his own house, mind you– is a new level for her. He at least has to appreciate the boldness, but he knows that she's dancing along the edge of a blade right now and it's more dangerous than he'd planned on.

It's not the first time he has done this with Svetlana; there was a single night with both her and Sasha years ago that hadn't been terribly successful. They'd been young, drunk, and Sasha's lack of attraction to women had made the whole thing a little bit difficult to manage. He hadn't been eager to have a repeat, but somehow the opportunity was now falling into his lap, and he couldn't deny that he was curious.

Now, Cliff was off limits, for so many reasons. First of all, he was Ilya's best friend in Boston (barring Sveta), and he didn't want to complicate that. Second, he'd never discussed his own sexuality with Cliff and really had never planned to. There was a fair chance this could open doors he wasn't ready to unlock. Third, and probably most importantly, Cliff was almost certainly straight. There was a huge chance that he would turn the whole thing down anyway, unwilling to share a bed with another man even if there was a beautiful woman in the middle as a buffer.

Cliff's response breaks the silence of the room and Ilya's train of thought: "Sure, I'll play along with whatever you want, gorgeous." He glances at Ilya and raises both hands with a shrug, as if he's asking Should we?

He's surprised by Cliff's easy acceptance of it all, and realizes rather belatedly that the choice is now his. He can participate, or he can kick them both out and sulk on his couch with a glass of liquor.

It's an easy choice.

He downs the rest of his drink and places the empty glass on the counter with a loud echoing clunk. "Why not," he responds to the question neither of them asked, in a slow, trained way that he knows betrays nothing he's feeling. It's a practiced tone of voice, a personal protection against showing any carefully guarded emotions.

Cliff and Sveta both smile like they've won the lottery, and Ilya can't deny that it feels good to be so wanted. He places his phone face down on the counter, and pushes any lingering thoughts of brown eyes and freckles from his mind. He has other faces to occupy his attention tonight.

He's not sure if Cliff has done this before, but there is something about the practiced way he takes a sip of his drink and leans over to kiss Sveta without further invitation that makes Ilya think he has. One of Cliff's hands bands around her back, bunching the fabric of her jersey until it reveals the lower half of her ass. The other hand rests against the counter, glass still in hand, like he truly doesn't need two hands for what he's doing. Cocky.

Ilya saunters over, away from his glass and phone, and presses his front to Svetlana's back, wishing he was already free of his pants so he could feel the soft curve of her backside against his skin. All in due time. He can, however, feel Cliff's hands trapped between Svetlana and himself, and he's surprised when Marleau makes no move to remove them. Ilya uses his own hand to slide around Sveta's body, gripping her thigh and sliding up the jersey until the thin band of her panties is uncovered. He toys with them, wrapping the thin fabric around his finger. He brings his mouth to her neck, kissing along the hot skin and feeling her body shiver between the two men.

Svetlana moves her mouth away from Cliff's, tilting her chin towards the ceiling and letting out a soft sigh as Ilya continues to kiss along her jaw. Cliff moves his head to the opposite side of her neck, a mirror image of Ilya's own ministrations. He can also feel as Cliff's hand drifts south and grazes Sveta's ass, because the path leads to him grazing his hand against the front of Ilya's pants and consequently Ilya's hard cock. Cliff doesn't jerk his hand away or make any sign that he's horrified by the action; he just continues moving his hand until it's firmly cupping the curve of Sveta's backside. Interesting.

Two can play at that game. Ilya moves his left hand down from the band of Sveta's underwear to the front of her body, using two fingers to tease her clit through the thin fabric of her underwear. It's slow, so the back of his hand brushes against the hard length of Cliff's dick every time he moves it. He smirks into Sveta's neck, pleased with his own moves in the game of gay chess he's playing with Cliff.

Ilya moves his other hand up the front of her jersey, letting the rough pads of his fingers coast over her smooth skin until he reaches a lacy bra. He's tempted to reach underneath and play with Sveta's nipple, but all good things are worth waiting for. He wants a full view of the lingerie she appears to be wearing before he plays with what's wrapped up underneath it. Besides, he's already got her squirming just playing with her over the thin material; perhaps he could even make her come like this, without even properly touching her.

Svetlana is not one to be so easily manipulated, though, even to her own benefit. She steps to the side, leaving both men a little off balance, their hands suddenly empty of her, their mouths newly unoccupied. She gives them both a catlike grin, walking backward to Ilya's living room and grabbing the bottle of vodka from the counter on her way. She uses her other hand to beckon them both after her with a small crick of her finger. Like a dog listening to its owner, they both trail after her diligently.

"Sit," she tells them, making no distinction as to who she is talking to; she doesn't need it. They both sit on the couch, half a foot separating their spread thighs, staring up at her for the next direction. She smirks, pleased with their obedience, and Ilya smiles to himself; he's well aware of Sveta's affinity to call the shots.

Svetlana unscrews the bottle of vodka and tilts it back against her cherry-stained lips, taking a swig but not swallowing. She leans over the couch until her face hovers above Cliff's. She brings her hand up to his chin, painted nails wrapping around his jaw until his mouth hangs open. Her lips barely graze his, but Ilya can tell from the way Cliff's eyes snap open that he's surprised by the burn of the vodka that she spits into his mouth. Cliff swallows the vodka, meeting her eyes and then shifting his gaze to Ilya for a quick moment.

Ilya tilts his chin downward to Cliff; he's used to Svetlana playing, but it sure is fun to watch Cliff be surprised by it.

Svetlana leans to him this time, and he's ready when her hand grips his face, her lips graze his own, and he happily swallows the swig of vodka she gives him. The vodka burns for a short moment and then spreads through his body in a quick blaze. He doesn't give Svetlana a moment to retreat as she did from Cliff; he brings a hand around her neck and pulls her closer to him, bringing their mouths together in a far deeper, more heated kiss.

When she does pull back with a pleased smile, he's unsurprised to find Cliff watching them both with heavy-lidded eyes. He is surprised, however, when Cliff speaks, "Let's pause for a second," he requests, voice confident even as his eyes stay stuck on Svetlana's lips.

His and Svetlana's looks of surprise are surely twins. She stands to full height and looks at him in confusion, "You do not want this?"

Ilya isn't sure Svetlana has ever had her advances rejected, so this must be a new experience for her. He's equally surprised that Cliff is stopping something he seemed quite insistent on moments ago.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that his oaf of a best friend is also a professional athlete. It's easy enough when they're on the ice together, but off their skates, he does tend to forget that Cliff trains as hard as he does. It's why he's surprised by the speed at which Cliff moves. Fast as a viper, his hand darts out from where it was resting on his thigh and grabs Svetlana's wrist. He gives her a sharp pull forward and easily catches her body as she stumbles towards the couch.

In less than three seconds, Cliff has managed to get Svetlana settled across his lap like she's been there the whole night. She looks shocked by the development, like she's trying to untangle the quick movement Cliff used to get her there. Ilya can't deny he's impressed by the quick dexterity, and he also can't deny he's making mental notes to add that move to his own repertoire.

Cliff gives her a small smile. "I would like this very much, but we should make sure we're all on the same page. Talk about limits, possibly set a safe word," he explains this like he's a flight attendant doing a safety briefing for the tenth time that day.

Ilya blinks, utterly astounded by this side of his friend. Who would have thought Cliff was the type to discuss limits before sex? Svetlana looks as lost as Ilya is, and Cliff misreads their surprise as apprehension. "You obviously have fucked before, but I want to make sure I know what you both like and what you don't".

Svetlana gives a small laugh that she tries to bite back, "No, it is a good idea. I think Ilyusha and I were just a little surprised at your…forethought."

Cliff turns to Ilya with pure glee etched on his face, "Ilyusha?"

Ilya glares at Cliff, "Not for you to use Marly."

Marleau pouts at this, like a child, all the maturity credit that Ilya had given him for his safe sex discussion lost in an instant. "Fine," he grunts.

"Ilyusha, anything you want to say about the sex?" Svetlana says, seeming to draw out his name, like she's bragging that she gets to use it and Cliff can't.

Ilya flicks his eyes to her, still perched on Cliff's lap, like it's the best seat in the house. His own lap feels rather cold and empty. "I'm not kissing Marly or touching his dick," he declares. To Cliff, it probably comes across as homophobic, but he makes no move to mitigate any misunderstanding that comes from his words. Cliff Marleau is attractive; he'd be blind to deny that, and in a different world he might be interested in blurring the lines tonight.

It seems like any fears he had about Cliff's sexuality or their friendship have been blown away. He has a different issue, though: Cliff is not his type. Ilya's never had a "type" with men or women before. Sure, he tends to go for women who are a little taller, smart, and athletic, but he's not terribly picky. Men, he likes to go for ones who are trouble; he's well aware of this. Yet somehow, over the past couple of years, his taste in men has shifted, and now he is very specific—his height, freckles, and almost as good at hockey as he is. Cliff is too tall, has no freckles, and isn't close to his level of hockey; therefore, he's not going there.

Cliff nods, "You're missing out, Roz. I'm a real good time, but I don't think that will be a problem. You can handle us both, right, sweetheart." It's that easy with Cliff: no debate about sharing a girl with your buddy and the implications of it, just an understanding of the boundary Ilya has placed, and he barrels on.

Svetlana nods, "Yes." Then a smirk, "I think you will have to tell your limits though, since you will not be in charge."

"Oh?" Cliff questions, and Ilya doesn't miss the way his fingertips press into her hips, ghosting over the band of her underwear.

"No, I'm the boss," Svetlana half-whispers.

Cliff's eyes dart to Ilya, and Ilya nods in confirmation. Svetlana likes to be in charge, and he has never argued when a beautiful woman tells him what to do. That's not much of a burden to bear.

Cliff shrugs with a grin, "Fair enough, I don't think there's anything you can do to me I wouldn't like, but if there is, I use the traffic light system: red for stop, yellow for close to a limit. I was tested a month ago, and everything was negative, and I haven't been with anyone since."

Again, he states all this information easily, as if it were a lecture he gives often. Ilya has to wonder how often Cliff is doing this. Sure, they'd been to the clubs together, and Ilya's watched Cliff leave with women every time they go out, but he has a release and efficiency to all this that speaks of practice.

"Works for me; I was tested at the same time Cliff was. All negative on my side, and I haven't been with anyone since either." Ilya bites his lip. He was supposed to be with someone tonight, pressing Hollander into the bed frame somewhere in Montreal.

Sveta wiggles slightly on Cliff's lap like she's getting comfortable, and Ilya watches Cliff attempt to school his expression. "I was tested a few months ago and was negative. I have only been with Ilya since then."

Cliff looks between the two of them, "And you two aren't…together, right?"

Ilya and Svetlana both answer no at the same time.

"Okay then, I'm all good. Which way is the bedroom, Roz?" Cliff says, his arm banding around Sveta's back while the other creeps under her backside. He stands with her in his arms, her legs wrapping around him as she lets a small note of surprise fall from her lips.

He's not sure why he does it, why he directs the three of them to a guest room and not his primary bedroom. If Svetlana is thrown off by it, she doesn't say. It doesn't matter; he has lube and condoms in every bedroom in his house. As well as the kitchen. And the living room. And the bathrooms.

What can he say? He's well prepared.

It's slightly discordant once they reach the bedroom. Cliff deposits Sveta on the bed and lies back on her elbows, looking at the two men towering over her. Perhaps they stay still because of her earlier request for control, or perhaps they're frozen for a moment, unsure how to properly proceed with an extra person there. Either way, he and Cliff stand for a moment, looking down at her and waiting for someone to make the next move.

She takes in her captive audience, and he eagerly watches her hands drift to the bottom of the jersey she still wears. She leans back and inches it up slowly. One inch at a time. It would be torturous if it weren't so unbelievably sexy; even still, it's a little torturous, waiting for every inch of her skin to be revealed. When she eases the jersey over her head and throws it aside, he feels his patience is being rewarded. She lies back on the bed in only her underwear and bra now, both black, lacy scraps of fabric that are sheer enough that he can make out her pert nipples through the cups of the bra.

"Your turn," she purrs to them both, eying both him and Cliff up and down happily, like she's in her favorite seat at the cinema, waiting for the movie to begin.

Ilya removes his shirt quickly—no strip show for Sveta today—then gets to work on his pants, unzipping them and letting them fall to the floor, where they join his shirt, which he's haphazardly tossed there. When he glances next to him, he finds Cliff similarly undressed, clothes in a heap that mirrors Ilya's. If he had to guess, he'd assume that Cliff was racing him to see who got undressed quicker. Everything is always a competition with him.

Ilya runs his hand over the waistband of his briefs and glances at Svetlana. "Everything?" He knows the answer, but sometimes egging her on is fun.

"Not yet," she says, her eyes moving back and forth between him and Cliff, a happy smile across his face. She sits up, sliding to the edge of the bed until her feet touch the floor and she stands, approaching them like a panther on the prowl.

She reaches Ilya and runs two fingers down his chest, sliding them over the bulge in his briefs and stroking him through the fabric. Cliff steps up behind her, effectively sandwiching her between them yet again, but this time in reverse. Ilya wastes no time in pulling her closer until she's flush against him, all the soft curves of her body lining up with the hardest parts of hers. She lets out a soft moan as she's pressed between the two men, which Ilya quickly swallows.

There's already a synchronicity they're falling into that was absent with his dalliance with Sveta and Sasha. He and Cliff have spent years on the ice together, and the unspoken teamwork they share there is translating well to this new environment- imagine that? Cliff slides his hands up Svetlana's sides, seemingly luxuriating in all the new skin on display.

Svetlana twines her hands around Ilya's neck and doesn't have to ask before he picks her up in his arms and presses her against Cliff for stability. Cliff isn't the only one that he knows the whims of. He's been friends with Svetlana a very long time, and she's not all that difficult to read. She appreciates the new angle, clasping her long legs around his waist and grinding herself down against him. He can't deny how nice it is to have an extra set of hands to brace her against, unfamiliar—yes, but unwelcome—no.

Ilya occupies himself with Svetlana's mouth, kissing her deeply until their tongues twist against each other. It's hard to track Cliff's exact movement with his eyes closed like this, but he can feel the way he anchors Sveta's body, the brief bits of contact against his skin as Cliff's hands skate by to touch one part or another of Svetlana.

"Bed. Now," she mumbled against his lips, and the directive is clear. Her back is up until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he lies back with Sveta still in his arms. She straddles him and brings her lips to his neck, biting and sucking at the skin there. He leans his head back and smiles as it gives him the perfect view of Cliff approaching the bed and standing between Ilya's spread knees. Cliff runs a hand up Sveta's back, and Ilya can feel the motion of his fingers ignites a deep moan in her throat that vibrates through her lips against his skin. Cliff's hand reaches the nape of her neck, tangling his fingers in the hair there and using it to gently pull her until she is sitting back against his chest.

Cliff begins kissing her neck, and Ilya watches as she closes her eyes and leans back into the motion. She swivels her hips against him as she does so, and he groans at the feeling of her rubbing over his hard cock. Even through two layers of fabric, he can feel the heat between them, can just make out the dampness that already exists in her panties. He can barely make out the words that Cliff whispers into Sveta's ear: "God, you are fucking exquisite," but he can make out the reaction they have on her. Her lips curve into a knowing smile, and she lets out a sultry moan into the quiet air in the room.

He pushes himself up on his elbows until he can bring his mouth to her nipples, licking them through the sheer fabric of her bra. It's a team effort as Cliff undoes the garment's clasp and lets it fall into Ilya's lap, leaving his path unimpeded. He brings his mouth to the freshly exposed skin there, sucking a rosy nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue.

He half-expects Sveta to protest the loss of control now that the men are removing her clothes without invitation, but she seems blissed out as Ilya moves to her other breast and Cliff works a hand around the front of her body to cup her sex. Once again the motion brings Cliff's hand against his cock, or at least against the outline of it, through his briefs, and once again Cliff doesn't move his hand away, just continues to rub small circles against Sveta's underwear.

Perhaps Sveta remembers she's supposed to be in charge, or perhaps she's done indulging them, but she leans forward again and places a kiss on Ilya's lips before swinging her knee over him and flipping onto her back. She's up on her elbows as she looks at Cliff, still standing there, snaps her fingers, and points at the ground.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, then slowly lowers to his knees at the edges of the bed. He reaches out to grab her thighs and uses them to tug her body to the edge of the bed until her thighs are spread before him. Ilya climbs to his knees, and it gives him the perfect view to watch Cliff push Sveta's underwear to the side a little and lick up the seam of her.

Cliff gives a purely male smirk at the way the actions make Sveta's body tremble. Ilya looks at her, nipples hard and rosy, body spread out on the bed like a feast with Cliff worshiping between her legs. She looks like a version of Aphrodite like this; if he could paint, then this is what his muse would be. He doesn't allow himself to think about a different muse hundreds of miles away with star-flecked skin.

Cliff pulls back and looks at Ilya as he slowly drags Svetlana's panties off her legs completely. "Come here, Roz, she's such fucking sweet, you should taste."

Svetlana's eyes pop open at that request, and he head turns to take in Ilya like she's waiting for his next move. The proverbial ball is in his court, and he smirks as he shuffles off the bed and kneels beside Cliff. Now he can admit that Cliff has some moves, but he is not to be outdone by his teammate in this way.

Ilya drags his fingers over the dampness between Sveta's thighs, teasing them between her folds before he pulls them back and places them between his lips, sucking his fingers into his mouth and licking the taste of her off his fingers. He doesn't have to look up to know she's watching this; he can hear the little whimpers she's making just from the sight. He brings his spit-slicked fingers back to her and presses two of his fingers into her. It's an easy fit with how soaked she already is and the added lubrication of his spit. Then he brings his mouth to her clit, flicking over it with his tongue before he sucks gently on it.

Svetlana's body shakes, and he smiles to himself at her reaction, but he's not quite done. He pulls back and catches her eyes, wide and wanting. Then her pulls his fingers from her and brings them to Cliff's mouth, "You're right, Marly, she's so fucking sweet."

Cliff doesn't hesitate to let Ilya's fingers pop into his mouth. They both have their eyes on Svetlana as he does this, his tongue rolling over the rough pads of Ilya's fingers. He can feel the change in the air, his action tipping the first real domino of this. Everything until now they could laugh off: 'hey, remember that time we almost had a threesome', a joke they'd tell over drinks or in front of their friends, a source of raucous laughter. It no longer feels like something they can laugh off.

"Fuck" he can hear Svetlana murmur wantonly from the bed as he withdraws his fingers from Cliff's mouth.

His knees are digging into the stupid rug the designer picked out for this room, but he stays on them. Whether it's because Svetlana is in control or whether he wants to give her the illusion she is, he's not sure, but still, he stays. She sits up on the edge of the bed and takes in the two men kneeling before her.

"Such good boys," she says, her eyes dark with lust, and he'll admit that the praise goes directly to his cock. "Stand up and lose the briefs," she instructs, and he's more than happy to oblige.

From the speed that Marleau stands and loses his own briefs, he's sure that Cliff is happy to comply as well.

They crowd in until their shoulders touch, both standing before her, waiting for her next direction. They don't have to wait long; Sveta glances between the two of them as if deciding on the grocery store, which cut of meat she prefers. Then she brings her head down over Cliff's cock and wraps he hand around Ilya's. Truthfully, he thinks it's just easier since he knows she's right-handed, but he does feel like Cliff won something this time.

"Fuck" is Cliff's only words as she bobs her head over his dick, her hand matching the rhythm as she strokes Ilya. It's not an eloquent way of expressing himself, but it's a sentiment that Ilya can match because...fuck…it feels incredible.

Svetlana pulls off Cliff's dick with a pop and switches her mouth to Ilya's, sucking him down to the base in a move that makes his eyes squeeze shut. From the hitch in Cliff's breath, he has to imagine she has her hand wrapped around him now.

She goes back and forth like this for a few minutes, letting the pleasure build in each of them before she pulls back and switches her attention. It's simultaneously incredible and excruciating. He's on the verge of tangling his hand in her hair and keeping her wicked mouth on him until he can come down her throat, but he retains control not to do so.

She eventually pulls back enough to meet their eyes. "Cliff, lie down," she demands.

Ilya is surprised that Cliff doesn't trip over his own feet with the speed he moves to the bed, flopping down on his back. Svetlana smiles one last time at Ilya before she throws a leg over Cliff and straddles him. "Ilya, lube?" she asks him without looking back at him.

He walks to the nightstand and grabs the lube, as well as two condoms. He tosses one on the bed next to Cliff's thigh and holds the other in his palm with the lube. He's never fucked Sveta like this before, certainly not with someone else there, and there's a small flash of nerves that runs through his body, but he pushes any apprehension aside and gets to work.

First, a dollop of lube on his fingers and steady fingers down the crease of her ass. He makes slow circles around the rim of her hole, light pressure. He feels her take. A deep breath in and let out a low moan and sees the source immediately; Cliff has moved his hand back to her cunt and has two fingers inside her, his thumb pressed against her clit.

With Svetlana breathless and relaxed, he begins to press his finger into her ass, slowly and steadily. He begins with one finger, and then carefully adds another. Every time Cliff crooks his fingers inside her, he can feel the pressure, and he can only imagine how it will feel when their fingers are replaced with their cocks. Fuck.

Her ass is stuffed full of three of his fingers now, while she rides Cliff's hand between her legs. His hand is slippery with lube, and his dick is verging on pain with how hard he is right now. Just as he's about to start begging, literally on his knees begging if she prefers (he knows she does), she moans, "Fuck me, please".

There's some fumbling, the sound of two condom packets being torn open, and then some general arranging. "You first," he tells Cliff, and Sveta hums in agreement.

He watches as Cliff lines himself up with Svetlana and she sinks onto him. Cliff's hands clench in the sheets, and they both let out matching groans as Svetlana gives a few shallow moves with her hips. Then it's his turn.

Ilya lines up with her and presses the head of his cock against her ass, pushing in at a glacial pace. It's absurdly tight, and he can feel Cliff's dick pressing inside her. He goes slowly, half for her comfort and half for his own control so he doesn't spill him come inside of her ten seconds into this debacle. He's not going to embarrass himself in front of Cliff like that.

It takes a few minutes of careful work before he's fully seated inside of her, his breaths coming out in pants that match both Cliff and Svetlana's. There is little talk in the room, just panting and the occasional whimper from Sveta or groan from the two men. Then Sveta begins to move.

Tentatively at first, leaning forward until she's on her forearms above the cliff, bent over so Ilya has a clear view of both their cocks stretching her open. Svetlana grinds herself forward on Cliff's dick and then pushes back against Ilya. She finds her rhythm and begins fucking them in earnest, moving her hips back and forth confidently until Cliff and Ilya are both groaning. Their hands brush as they both grip her hips, and Ilya doesn't move his hand away.

He wants to do so many things in the moment. He longs to drag his nails down her back until he can see the marks, to pull her back against him until he can wrap a hand around her throat. He doesn't do any of these things, though; he lets Svetlana lead and just focuses on keeping himself from being the first to come. That needs to be Svetlana.

Cliff leads the way in worshiping her in praise, "You look so fucking good taking out cocks like this, so fucking perfect. Like you were made for it."

Ilya doubles the effort, but in Russian, a bilingual bath of praise for her «What a good girl you are, Sveta. Are you going to come for us like this?"»

Svetlana doesn't last long once this begins. He feels her body tense around him, her breaths becoming erratic, and she moans out some messy amalgamation of their names. If he were a stronger man, he'd hold out until he was sure that Cliff had come, last man standing and all, but he's not. The moment he feels Svetlana clench around him. he's a goner. He grips her hips and gives one final thrust even as she stills and spills into the condom.

He can't be sure what he says as he comes, possibly Svetlana's name or some English or Russian curse. He only knows that he didn't say Hollander and that is good enough for him.

As he comes back to himself, he realizes that Cliff has stilled and is panting too, probably came at the same time as him. Svetlana is draped over Cliff's chest, her eyes closed for a moment but a blissful smile on her face as he plays with her hair.

Ilya slips away for a moment to the bathroom, disposing of the condom and wetting a warm washcloth that he brings back to the bed. He lies down on the bed next to Cliff and wordlessly pulls Svetlana to him, wiping her down with the washcloth in slow, soothing motions. She hums against his neck as he does so.

Cliff slips off to the bathroom as well, but returns a few minutes later, settling behind Svetlana on the bed and running his hand up and down her side in quiet, comforting strokes. They don't speak; they simply lie together in blissful silence as Svetlana falls into a peaceful slumber between them. Not long after, Ilya falls into the same slumber.