hardparade | avalanche, cook/freddie/effy (skins), nc-17

Title: avalanche
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Cook/Freddie/Effy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Threesome, both het and slash, drug use
Summary: He's prepared to fucking beat Cook black and blue if that's what it takes. He knows the other boy's stronger but he also knows he's the one who wants Effy the most, and he'll give it the best he's got. If he has to.
A/N: Because a threesome is the best solution to a love triangle. :D Set a little while after 3x05.

He only turns up 'cause they're all so persistent, going on about how he needs to take his mind off things and just go out and have a good time. But after fifteen minutes of watching Effy grinding against Cook on the dance floor he's ready to head straight back home. One of the twins—he's too drunk to know which—sort of tugs at his collar and says something like, "Hey. Just ignore them," but he can't. He just can't stop looking at them, Effy in her short little dress, pressed up against Cook in the sweaty crowd, his mouth at her neck. They're practically fucking right there in the club, and Freddie just can't take his eyes off them. What makes it worse is that Effy keeps looking over at him, too, with this weird kind of sadness in her eyes like she doesn't really want to be there at all. She's been doing that a lot lately and he just doesn't understand it. He doesn't know her well enough to understand it.

The one thing that keeps his jealousy from pretty much taking over is the fact that at least Cook doesn't either. But it's not much of a comfort when he thinks about everything else Cook has that he doesn't. Maybe neither of them are able to connect with Effy on any kind of emotional level, but Cook's the one who's seen her naked, touched her, been inside her. It makes something swell inside him, bitter and sore and aching, and he swallows another shot. Effy's in front of Cook now, kissing him, her arms draped around his neck, and he's got his hands up her dress, clutching her arse.

"You must fucking hate yourself," the twin says in his ear, shaking her head and laughing. "JJ said he wanted you to come out so you'd stop moping around and torturing yourself."

Freddie takes her drink out of her hand and downs whatever it is, then sets off across the dance floor, eyes fixed through the crowd on Cook and Effy the whole time. Once he's in the thick of it, though, he loses sight of them. He shoves people out of his way, but the whole place is just this sweaty, thrashing mess of waving arms and shaking hips and he can't see a thing. He gives up, stops fighting against it for a while. He listens to the music and lets himself get pushed around, feeling the pounding of the bass in his chest. He doesn't know how long he's there for, but when he finds a wall he realises he's completely lost his bearings and he stumbles to the toilets just to get away from it all.

He's not that surprised that when he bursts in the first thing he sees is Effy, sitting on the dirty counter top with a little plastic baggie between her fingers. Cook's bent over beside her, snorting. Her eyes flicker up to him and she doesn't say anything. Cook straightens back up, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"Freddie," he cheers, "you made it."

He says it like everything's cool between them; like he didn't kiss him on the lips the other day and then spend all his time since then fucking the girl Freddie's crazy about. This sort of thing has always been in Cook's hands, though, it's always been up to him what happens after a fight—Freddie and JJ have always just followed his lead.

Cook gestures to the coke in Effy's hand. Freddie doesn't want any, but even so he finds himself nodding, and then snorting the neat little line that Effy cuts for him. He swings back, leaning against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall as he feels it course through him.

"Good, eh?" Cook grins at him.

There's a half-empty vodka bottle on the counter and Cook takes a swig from it before offering it to Freddie. Freddie can barely feel it burn in his throat.

"You having fun?" he sneers at Effy before he can stop himself.

She uncrosses her legs and Freddie can see up her dress, can see the lacy black knickers she's got on. He's too fucked to stop himself from staring and she doesn't seem to care anyway.

"I'm having fun," she says back at him in a steady, measured tone.

Cook's hands are on her before either of them have a chance to say anything else; one caressing her cheek, tilting her chin towards him, and the other curving over her knee, sliding up her thigh. Spreading her legs further apart as he pulls her in for a kiss.

"Fuck," Freddie spits out. "Fuck this."

He doesn't actually want to leave, because he wants to get to the bottom of this, whether it takes a full-on fistfight or not. He just wants to make a point, but it takes until he's got his hand on the doorknob for him to realise that of course, neither of them are going to stop him. He stops himself, instead, turns back around. Cook and Effy are kissing messily, her legs wrapped around his waist. Freddie takes a huge gulp from the bottle in his hand, and this time he really feels it. He splutters and Cook draws back, eyebrows raised.

"You still 'ere?" he asks, grinning. His lips are wet with saliva. "Pervert." He slides his hand further beneath Effy's dress. "Voyeur," he murmurs with a bad French accent.

Freddie feels the anger surge through him but he calms it, forcing himself to look at Effy instead. She looks back at him, her expression almost challenging.

"So this is it, then?" Freddie demands. "This is—you're just gonna keep on fucking him like there's nothing between us?"

"There is nothing between us," Effy says steadily. She curls her fingers around Cook's shoulder, pulling him closer. "I told you before. Besides, I doubt Cook's fond of the idea of sharing."

Cook snorts with laughter and jerks back, out of her grip. He smirks at Freddie. "Nah, man, by all means. She's all yours if you want her so badly."

He steps back and gestures to Effy. She crosses her arms, waiting, watching, and Freddie just waits and watches right back at her. Cook breaks the silence with a peal of cruel laughter.

"Knew it," he chuckles. "You're such a fucking pussy, Freddie. She's right here and you can't even do it."

Freddie wishes, right then, that Cook had been there the other day to see him swim halfway across a fucking lake just to kiss her. He knows he shouldn't want so badly to prove things to Cook all the time, like his self-worth is determined by how brave or how wild Cook thinks his actions are. But it's always been like that. He doesn't know how to make it change.

"You just want to look, don't you? Just want to watch."

He takes Effy by the knee again, pulls her legs apart. Freddie's eyes flicker down before he can stop them and again, he sees the dark lace between her legs.

"Or what, are you too scared to touch her because you're so in love?" Cook taunts, pushing her dress up further. "Scared that fucking her will ruin a beautiful thing? Don't want to taint her pure, perfect lips with a kiss?" He snorts with laughter again. "Well let me tell you, her lips've been places you wouldn't—"

Effy shoves his hand away and pushes herself off the counter. "Shut up," she says.

Her voice is still calm but her movements are quick, unsure and shaky, and Freddie doesn't know if it's just the coke or something else. In seconds she's pressed up against him, hands clutching at his back as she kisses him deeply, like it means something, and it's almost better than the first time. The sense of sick satisfaction it brings overrides his other feelings though and he finds himself with that childish desire he's so used to, wanting to say, I told you so, but all Cook does is laugh and grab the bottle out of his limp hand to take another swig.

Effy steps back from Freddie and grabs the bottle from Cook while it's still at his lips, causing him to spill some of the vodka down his front. She takes a long pull at it, then tosses it into the sink with a clatter and turns towards the door.

"Come on then," she says, not bothering to straighten out her dress or smooth down her hair.

"Where?" asks Cook, bemused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"My house," Effy says like the answer's obvious as she pulls the door open. "We're gonna sort this out."

Freddie pauses. Cook grins at him and they both follow her. After all, they can pretend otherwise, but they both know who's really in charge here.

***
In the taxi, all Freddie keeps thinking is yeah, he's prepared to fight for her. He's prepared to fucking beat Cook black and blue if that's what it takes. He knows the other boy's stronger but he also knows he's the one who wants Effy the most, and he'll give it the best he's got.

If he has to.

It's not what he wants, not at all. Even though he's probably never been so angry with anyone as he has with Cook lately, he doesn't truly, honestly want to fight him. He doesn't know why. He figures it's just some best friend thing, some kind of fucking love for the bastard that prevents his anger from getting out of hand.

Even when right now, Cook's in the back seat with Effy, and Freddie can see, in the rear-view mirror, that he's all over her again. And she's writhing around like maybe he's the one she wants after all, and Freddie thinks that if this were any other girl he'd have cut and run hours ago, because that's just not okay, it's not okay to keep going back-and-forth like this and act like it's no big deal.

But honestly, he's never felt this way about anyone before. He excuses it because even if every time she kisses him she goes right back to his best friend for a quick shag in a club bathroom, it's worth it. He'll get walked all over for her. For Cook, too, probably—he's been doing it all his life. And he excuses it because he knows what she's going through, knows how confused and mixed up she must be feeling and how she must just want some kind of company, even if it's from a wanker like Cook.

So yeah. He'll fight for her if he has to, and he's beginning to think that's what this is all about. A conclusion's going to be reached tonight and he sure as hell hopes it'll be one that ends with him waking up beside Effy tomorrow morning.

***
Effy leads them up to her bedroom right away, Cook groping her all the way up the stairs, and Freddie wishes he could do something about it, shove Cook out of the way, or something. But he just leaves it all in their hands. He doesn't want to be the one to start the fight, to start anything.

When they reach the bedroom Effy hands him a bottle of vodka, sensing his discomfort somehow. Freddie drinks more of it than he probably should and takes in his surroundings—the messy floor strewn with clothes, the empty bottles on the dressing table, the ashtray on her bedside table next to a framed photo of herself grinning with a boy who looks a lot like her. Maybe he's just smashed but he finds himself getting lost in it all, the little details of her life, as this is the furthest he's come so far. When he comes back to his senses and turns around, Cook's got her pressed up against the window, and he's kissing her fiercely.

Her eyes open and meet Freddie's. He lashes out, kicks the corner of her bed.

"What the fuck is this?" he bursts out. He can't stop himself. "I'm not just going to sit around here watching you two fuck, all right?" They separate; Cook's grinning at him infuriatingly and Effy's just listening. He addresses her. "You need to—you need to sort your shit out, okay? And then get back to me."

This time, she does stop him, and it's the instant he turns back around for the door.

"Freddie, don't go."

He wants to say, give me a reason to stay, then, but he doesn't need to—it's like she's read his mind. She crosses the room, comes up close to him, her eyes watchful and sure as she brings her head in towards his, their lips almost touching.

But not. Not quite.

He doesn't have the patience to do this anymore. "Which one of us do you want?" he asks, grabbing her by the shoulders.

She smiles, shaking his hands off her with ease and then throwing her arms over his shoulders. She sets her eyes on him wickedly and runs her tongue over her bottom lip.

"Guess," is all she says, as Cook closes in behind her, strong hands at her waist.

She kisses Freddie, her tongue delving inside his mouth as Cook's travels over her collarbone, her neck. Freddie's worry and confusion are dulled by the drugs and the booze and he just relents, kissing her harder and pulling her nearer even when he can feel Cook, sense him and smell him, he's so close. He thinks of the other night and remembers Cook's lips on his, pressed against his mouth in a kiss harsher and wilder than any punch to the face. It was a shock, at the time, but it's just the way Cook is, the way Cook needs him. It's been like that before—fighting, so fucking pissed off, and then at the moment it seemed it was all going to blow up, Cook would just wrap his arms around him in a fierce and crushing hug, mutter something about love angrily in his ear. Once, he kissed him on the forehead, hard, and Freddie felt like he could still feel the imprint of his best friend's lips on his skin for hours afterwards.

But he'd never kissed him on the lips before.

He tries to relax, bringing his hands down to Effy's waist, but Cook's are already there and Freddie's fingers close around them. He stops. He wants this, wants her, has imagined it countless times, but the thought of Cook being there the whole time was never a part of it. He feels jumpy and anxious and he wants Cook to leave, but at the same time, the thought of being alone with Effy like this scares him even more.

"I don't know if—" he begins, and his voice comes out thick and throaty. He stops to cough and Cook jumps in with a groan, stepping back and looking at him from over Effy's shoulder.

"Would you fucking stop your yammering and just take your fucking clothes off? Jesus."

Freddie stares at him in shock but Cook's already peeling off his sweaty t-shirt and then taking Effy by the waist again, spinning her around to face him and making her giggle. Freddie waits for a moment, then another, and then—he pulls off his shirt too, heart thudding noisily in his ears. Effy's reaching out behind her for him and he takes her small hand, hearing himself murmur, "I'm here."

She goes "Mmm," against Cook's mouth and then pulls him in closer so he's up against her back now. The drugs and the alcohol are still chasing through his veins and he kisses Effy where her neck meets her shoulder, ignoring the bruise-like marks left there by Cook's mouth. His hands are at her hips and he watches her tongue push between Cook's lips as he drags her dress up with the palms of his hands.

Cook's eyes flicker open and hold Freddie's gaze for a second, and Freddie doesn't know what the look means. He gently tugs at Effy's dress and she pulls back to lift her arms up in the air, allowing him to ease it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her lacy knickers and her high heels.

"Knew you weren't wearing a bra tonight," Cook mutters in her ear, flashing Freddie a filthy grin. "Easy access, eh?"

His hands are on her tits before Freddie has a chance to even see them, and he pulls her to him, feeling the smooth warmth of her bare skin against his chest, and the curve of her arse against the crotch of his jeans. He reaches around to curve his hands over her hips, to stroke her stomach, and Cook moves off almost instantly, kissing her and tangling his hands in her hair and letting Freddie bring his hands further up her body. Her nipples are hard against his fingers and his throat feels dry. He's starting to get hard, fast, and his jeans feel tight and constricting, even more so when she pushes back against him, her arse against the bulge of his erection.

She stops kissing Cook, tilts her head back to give Freddie a wicked smile. "Trousers," she says simply, "off."

He obeys instantly, sweaty fingers fumbling with his belt as he tries not to watch Cook doing the same. Effy sits on the end of her bed and kicks her heels off, the shoes soaring across the room to land in a pile of dirty laundry. Freddie toes off his own shoes, yanks off his socks, undressing quicker than he ever has in his life, all the while his eyes flickering from Effy to Cook, Cook to Effy—Effy's long pale legs parted, Cook slipping out of his jeans. No boxers. Freddie tries not to look, tries as hard as he can, and fails miserably.

"Easy access, eh?" Effy quotes back at Cook, smirking.

"You know me, babe," he grins, placing himself between her legs.

Freddie's frozen, thumbs still hooked into the waistband of his boxers as he stares, watching Effy's mouth purse at the head of Cook's erection, the flushed slick skin clinging slightly to her lips before she takes him in. She does it easily, practised, her head bobbing back and forth and her hands on his arse in a crude imitation of the tattoo beneath them. He listens to the wet sounds, to Cook's groans.

"Go on then, Freds," Cook says, looking back over his shoulder, "have a go. She's fucking good, mate."

The jealousy boils up inside Freddie again for a second as he's reminded Cook's done this before, knows how her mouth feels. But then Effy pulls back, lips glistening, eyes heavy-lidded as she looks at Freddie and he sees how inviting her expression is. He eases the elastic of his boxers over his aching cock and pulls the fabric down off his legs, feeling four eyes on him, making his heart race. He straightens back up and risks a glance at them, sees Cook stepping aside to make room for him and curling his fingers round his own dick, tugging and pulling quickly. It hits Freddie, then, that Cook's going to fucking watch this, and a shudder runs through him as Effy reaches out, beckoning him closer.

He can barely think at all once she's touching him, her fingers smoothing down over his chest and stomach, the chipped black nail polish standing out starkly against his skin. She runs her fingers through the dark hair leading to his erection, then looks up at him, blue eyes shining as she flicks out her tongue. His brain short-circuits. He can hear the slick sound of Cook wanking himself off beside them, and Effy's tongue dances over his cock, slow, taking her time, enjoying it.

"Go on," Cook says suddenly, his voice low and sort of strained. "Boy's not gonna last forever. How long's it been, Freddie, mate?"

"Shut up," Freddie grits out, but a laugh escapes him too, a sort of breathy huff of one, and he feels somehow relieved at the light-heartedness of Cook's comment.

Effy fills her mouth with him in an instant, taking him into her throat, her hot soft tongue pressed to the underside of his cock and he lets out a moan so loud that his cheeks burn with embarrassment. His hands tingle and he flexes them, not wanting to grab her but needing something to hold onto. His head rolls back and his eyes fall closed as she sucks him harder, mouth working up and down. Suddenly, hot, sticky fingers lace themselves through his and he feels Cook move closer, not quite touching him anywhere else but near enough, his steady presence still a comfort somehow. Freddie squeezes his hand thankfully and Effy's tongue flicks at the tip of his cock.

When she stops a moment later he opens his eyes, and she pulls back, giggling breathily. Freddie shakes his hand free, embarrassed, but she just shrugs and quirks an eyebrow as she slides further back onto the bed, long legs wide open. Cook joins her in an instant, fingers toying with the flimsy lace of her knickers.

"Get these off, then, love, yeah?" he murmurs to her, and Freddie wishes he could roll his eyes at the way Cook sometimes sounds like such a sleazy porn star, but there's something about the rough low rumble of his voice that makes it work.

Effy settles back comfortably but makes no further movement. "Oh, no," she says calmly, eyes flickering up at each of them. "Not yet. You're going to have to earn that."

Cook rocks back onto his knees, scratching the back of his head. "How'm I s'posed to earn it if I can't get my hands on your pussy?"

He reaches between her legs again but she bats his hand away effortlessly. She looks at him intently for a moment, then looks at Freddie.

"I'm sure you could come up with a few ideas."

Freddie's pretty sure he knows what she's implying, but he can't tell from Cook's expression if he's caught on, and that's a problem, because his instinct is to wait for Cook to lead the way on this one. He doesn't even know if that's really what she means, or if he's just jumping to conclusions, and if he is, why is that the first thing that's come to mind?

Cook lets out a snort of laughter and leans over to pat the empty space on the bed beside Effy. "C'mon then mate," he says, but he's not quite looking Freddie in the eye anymore, "let's give the lady what she wants."

He winks lecherously at Effy, and Freddie joins them on the bed, suddenly painfully aware of his nakedness, feeling incredibly exposed. Effy's eyes shine up at him in the dim light and he looks at her because he's too afraid to look at Cook, his heart hammering away in anticipation of what's going to come next.

Before he has a chance to even try to collect his thoughts, or to wonder how they're going to do this, a strong hand is on the back of his neck, pulling him in, and Cook's mouth is on his in an instant. His body goes stiff and his arms hang by his sides. It's like the first time, only now there's motion, Cook's lips moving hard and fast against his, and something inside him that he tries to suppress is throbbing and pulsing to life.

"You can do better than that," Effy says, voice clipped and calm and lazy, and Freddie jolts slightly as he feels her hand travelling up the bare skin of his back, gently urging him closer to Cook.

Freddie lets his lips part slightly, and Cook's tongue slips between them immediately, licking, searching. Freddie tries to calm down and copy his movements but his head's all over the place and this isn't a game anymore, this isn't just taking Effy up on a challenge so they get to see her naked. This isn't anger, anymore, or bitterness or jealousy or resentment. This isn't some replacement for a black eye, it's—it's just something else entirely.

He breathes out shakily into Cook's mouth and Cook's hand tightens on the back of his neck, fingers pressing in against his skin. The taste of his mouth's strong and harsh like liquor and he's—god, he's so eager, and Freddie's finding it hard to catch up. It's then that Effy's hand slips off his back and he finds himself staying in the same position, even reaching out to hold Cook by the hip to steady himself. He's painfully hard and painfully aware of it, aware of Cook's erection only inches away from his own. He wonders what would happen, what it would feel like, if he brought his hips a little closer—

Just then there's a sound, Effy shifting on the bed, and he hears a soft snap of elastic and a rustling of lace. She's taking off her knickers, obviously satisfied with their performance, but Cook's not moving away and Freddie doesn't want him to. He finds himself kissing Cook openly, urgently; their teeth clash, and clash again, and they keep going, holding onto each other so tightly Freddie's sure they're going to leave bruises.

He jerks again when Effy's hand returns to rest at the small of his back, and her other hand, small and hot, wraps itself around his aching cock, relieving the tension with quick twists of her wrist and smooth slides along his length. When she guides his hips gently forwards, he lets her, and his whole body feels like it's buzzing and humming when he feels the slick, stiff shape of Cook's cock against his own. He pushes further of his own accord and she takes them both together in her hand. Cook's teeth nip at Freddie's bottom lip and he pulls back, just a little bit, looking Freddie right in the eye.

"Fucking hell."

Freddie nods and hears himself say something hoarsely in agreement, though how his brain's still functioning right now he has no clue.

"Enough of this gay love-fest, then," Effy says coolly, letting go of them both and spreading herself out on the bed, and that's when Freddie comes back to earth, however briefly, because Effy's lying there naked right in front of him, her legs open. Fucking hell. "I want you to fuck me," she says simply.

"All right then," grins Cook, rubbing his hands together.

Effy shoots him a look. "Not you."

She looks at Freddie pointedly, and he feels a bit faint.

She's already rummaging through the drawers beside her bed, though, on her hands and knees, her arse in the air, and Cook sort of nudges him and points as if Freddie's not already staring and gaping. When Effy sits back up she's got a box of condoms in her hand and she tosses him one. Freddie kind of wants to be allowed a minute to think because, well, it's not every day he makes out with his best friend and he thinks he's got some stuff to sort out in his mind there, but it's not every day his dream girl's lying there spread-eagled on a bed and asking him to fuck her, either, so he does what any right-minded sixteen year old boy would do and slides the condom on in a flash.

It actually has been a pretty long time since he's had sex and that seems horribly clear to him when he's on top of her, her legs wrapping around him, and his cock's against her, slick and hot. He's thought about this so many times but now it's actually happening it feels so real, despite the substances in his body making him still feel a little lightheaded and dazed. He's still nervous. God, he's so nervous. Cook's right there beside them, hand working his cock as he watches them. Effy pulls Freddie down to kiss him, reassuringly, maybe, and then he takes a deep breath and guides himself inside her. He hears his own breathing quicken, heavy in his own ears, as he sinks deep inside the tight, wet heat of her. The pressure of it around his cock is incredible, better than he even imagined.

"Fuck," he breathes, giving her an unsteady smile.

"Fuck," she says back at him, her eyes careful and serious.

He thrusts and her mouth falls open. He thrusts again and so does Cook's, the motion of his fist speeding up, hand becoming a blur around the hard jutting length of his dick. Freddie's given up trying not to look, now, given up pretending. Cook shuffles forward on his knees, rocks back on his ankles, and Effy turns her head and sucks him into her mouth with ease, keeping her fingers curled round the base. Her other hand snakes down between hers and Freddie's bodies, down between her legs, her fingers brushing his cock where it disappears inside her. She circles her clit with two fingers, groaning quietly around Cook's cock in her mouth, and Freddie just pushes and bucks into that fucking wonderful tightness wrapping itself around him, dropping his head low to kiss her chest and her neck, to breathe in the sickly sweet smell of her perfume.

He straightens up, changes the pace, pulling her thighs down around him and bringing his hips back and forth in swift strokes. Her eyes flutter closed and her grip tightens around Cook's erection as she struggles to keep him inside her mouth. Freddie loves watching her reactions, looking at her gorgeous body spread out in front of him, the soft sway of her small breasts. He wants to give her the best fuck she's ever had, wants to make her wonder why she ever even thought of shagging Cook first. He wants to make this mean something to her like nothing with Cook did, or ever could. He wants to make her want to stay with him after tonight.

Just like that, the competition and the jealousy are back, flooding through him, and he fucks her harder and faster until she's moaning out loud and her fingers are working furiously down between her legs, and then suddenly Cook's staring at him, eyes fixed on him, expression unreadable as he palms his cock quickly, Effy's mouth now busy making noises Freddie never imagined he'd get to hear. Cook's coming closer, closer and closer until he's pressed right up beside him and Freddie can feel the heat of his sweaty skin. Their mouths meet easily and Freddie holds onto him like he's clinging on for dear life, the kiss hot and wet and desperate.

"I've got to—I've got to—" Cook's saying then, against his lips, muttering and stammering, and Freddie can't remember the last time he heard Cook fucking stammer. "I've got to—oh, Freds, fucking hell—"

Freddie doesn't know what he's talking about but he finds himself nodding, nodding rapidly, agreeing to anything and everything, and when he feels Cook's slick palm sliding down his back and then tightening on his arse he's not surprised, and not entirely scared either, just fucking nervous and overwhelmed and confused, and overcome with this unfamiliar but powerful want that he's just never quite felt before. Or never let himself feel before. He doesn't know.

Effy clenches around him, bringing him back out of his thoughts, and he tries not to pay attention to Cook fumbling with the condoms, tries to focus on fucking her. Effy. Beautiful, sexy, fucking amazing Effy, surrounding him and pulling him in. He leans down to kiss her again, hard, trying to remind himself of all those feelings, the feelings he had when he first saw her, sitting bored and smoking in the passenger seat of her Dad's car.

But then Cook's back, easing a condom onto his cock and sticking two fingers into his mouth, slicking them up with spit. He pulls Freddie upright and kisses him once again. Freddie freezes up completely as Cook's hand slips down between his thighs, pushing and pressing. He tenses up against the probing fingers, but then Cook mutters, "Fuck. Relax," and he does, taking a deep breath and feeling the burn as Cook pushes a finger inside him.

Effy's just watching now, still laying there, her legs looped loosely around Freddie's. He's gone soft and slipped out of her but she doesn't seem bothered, she just looks curious, and, Freddie has to admit, not altogether surprised by this turn of events. He offers her a brave smile as the pain intensifies, sharp and quick, and he makes a hurt sound in his throat which Cook swallows with another deep kiss. Another finger. It's a dull, stretching ache now, and Freddie finds himself pushing back against Cook's hand when the fingers are knuckle-deep. Cook sucks and bites at Freddie's neck as he brings his fingers in and out, crooks them, making Freddie almost whimper at the strange feel of it.

When he feels Cook's body behind him, thick with muscle, damp with sweat, he finds himself leaning back into it, comfortable, trusting. When Cook gently spreads his palm out over Freddie's back, Freddie bends over easily. He knows that Cook might be a fuck-up at almost everything he does, but if there's one thing he's good at, it's sex. He doesn't know if that goes for sex with guys, too, doesn't know if Cook's ever done this before, but it sure seems like he has, and it makes Freddie feel a little less on edge.

And a lot more willing.

Freddie hears Cook spit into his hand, and again. Now that he's on his hands and knees, he's inches from Effy's face, but her gaze is focused just behind him, on Cook, watching. The first push of his hard, thick cock hurts, it really fucking hurts, and Freddie grits his teeth, listening to the in-out of his own breathing, feeling Cook sliding and stretching his way inside.

"Fuck," he chokes out, eyes beginning to water.

"It's okay," Cook mumbles, and there's an odd waver in his voice. His large strong hand smoothes over Freddie's back, soothing, and he says, "it's okay, mate, it's okay."

And it is. It hurts like hell, but it's okay, because Freddie wants to make sure he feels this, feels every inch of Cook's cock inside him. Already the pain's giving way, and he just feels—he feels open, and full at the same time, exposed and vulnerable and used, but it's good, somehow, it's so fucking good. His blood pounds, and his cock grows hard again, and it's like the sharp quick snort of the cocaine earlier, some sensation taking over. He starts to crane his neck but Cook's hand holds his head down as he starts to fuck him, quick harsh thrusts, too fast too soon, but Freddie doesn't care if he'll be sore tomorrow—he pushes back, meets Cook's hips each time, listening to the ragged breaths he draws from Cook's throat.

"Fucking hell," Effy says, slowly, in awe, looking up into Freddie's eyes searchingly as she holds onto his waist.

Freddie steadies himself on one hand, reaches for his cock with the other, and guides it between her legs once again. Cook thrusts hard into him and it pushes him inside her; she's wet like no other girl has been for him, and she moans honestly and openly as he fills her. She's not in control of this anymore.

They find a rhythm, a jerky one but a rhythm nonetheless, and Freddie feels himself pushed back and forth between them, each movement encouraging another and another until he's not sure he can take any more. Effy's head's thrown back, her long pale throat exposed, her mouth open, and her fingers are back at her clit, grinding and rubbing. Cook's all around him, arms wrapped around his chest and stomach, clinging and clutching. His sweaty cheek is pressed to the plane of Freddie's shoulder blade and Freddie can feel his hot gasping breath in between the kisses he smears against his skin. His hips piston furiously and Freddie's breathing comes shallow, orgasm twisting down through his body as Effy twists and writhes beneath him.

It's too much. He loses control, driving deep into Effy and coming harder than he ever has as Cook continues to pound into him. Seconds pass in a blur and then Cook's biting down into his shoulder, coming in a hot rush that Freddie can feel somehow, and he goes limp, distantly aware of Effy bringing herself off, still gripping onto his waist with sharp nails and sucking in a sharp breath.

When they disengage, his mouth starts working without waiting for his brain to catch up, and Cook slaps him, actually slaps him on the back of the head.

"We're not fucking talking about this now, all right?" he snaps, shaking his head as he cleans up, tossing the condoms into Effy's bin. "Jesus. We're sleeping. We are fucking sleeping and that's it."

Freddie stares at him in amazement, wonders how he can just push aside everything's that just happened like that. He looks to Effy but she's already settling down on one side of the bed, curling up on her side, small and naked and sleepy. He wonders how the fuck he's supposed to sleep after something like this, but when he lies down beside her and his head hits the pillow, his eyes close almost instantly.

***
He wakes up feeling like shit, aching all over. Comedowns have always been harsh on him and his hangovers set in early. His head throbs, he feels raw. Last night comes flooding back to him in a rush and he rolls over onto his back, wincing with the movement. It didn't go anything like he expected it to go. No conclusion's been reached and it seems like things are even more of a mess than they were before.

But when he looks from his left to his right, he sees Effy curled up on one side of him, and Cook spread out, arm draped over Freddie's own chest, on the other. And he realises something. He's waking up beside his best friend and the girl of his dreams.

He ignores his headache, ignores his stinging muscles. He stretches, and blinks into the late morning light.

And he smiles.

End.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Sneaker Pimps - Curl