𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 🚪 𝚓.𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗 + 𝚍.𝚍𝚒 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚜
pairing: Dark!John Logan x Housewife!Reader x Dark!Dean Di Laurentis
synopsis: As the foundation of your marriage continues to crack, the two hockey players next door become harder to ignore, and they're determined to not deny their feelings for you.
warnings: MxFxM, infidelity, emotional affair, married FMC, obsessive MMCs, love triangle, dual POV, voyeuristic themes, emotional manipulation, sexual content 18+ PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
word count: 5.8k
off campus masterlist
You had so many hobbies, so many skills you’d mastered, and yet you found yourself staring at the wall all the time. Literally, you were watching paint dry. The Bob Ross video you’d watched as a tutorial for your newest painting had ended, and another had started playing on your laptop. The seaside cabin you’d painted was nice, although not nearly as skilled as Bob’s. It was only ten in the morning, and you were being lulled into an early nap already, thanks to his soothing voice.
Breakfast was the same as usual. Avocado toast and an overeasy egg. You ate by yourself at the wooden dining table in the nook of the kitchen. The last time you’d had breakfast with another human might’ve been when you first moved into this house eight months ago with your husband. There was a short week before he started his new job at Briar, conducting marine science research for Briar’s College of Life Sciences. It was a celebratory breakfast for buying your first house and the new life you were starting.
Now that he had a tenured position, things would be different. He would have more control over the classes he taught and the places he would travel for research. No more busywork or covering topics he didn’t care about. He’d be able to make more time for you. He promised it would be a matter of time before you were pregnant, and that would finally give you something more to focus on. Except, he chose research expeditions further away than he promised, and the two of you hadn’t had enough sex in the past eight months to make a baby.
There were a few other housewives on the street you lived on. A lot of them still seemed to be warming up to you, but you did everything in your power to get close to them. You attended the Pilates classes, you brought homemade pasta salads to their barbecues, and you were even in the process of joining the local Rotary club chapter. Most of them wanted to talk about their marriages and seemed to dislike that you had little to offer on that topic of conversation. Your husband never attended their parties, he didn’t make friends with their spouses, and he was never home longer than a weekend.
You’d married him because he was smart and passionate about his career. These days, you wonder why exactly he married you.
Besides the housewives, a lot of college students lived on your road. Houses bought by rich parents that they either rented out or let their kids stay in.
Your doorbell wakes you out of your daydream. The floor of your 19th-century cottage creaked under your bare feet as you made your way through the kitchen, past the living room, and towards your front door. You’re not expecting a package, and your first instinct tells you that it’s another door-to-door salesman. You peek through the cream curtains that cover the door’s sidelights. He’s a little younger than you, his skin tanned, his hair long and dark. He’s wearing a Carhartt sweatshirt, work jeans, and a toolbox hangs at his side.
You debate opening the door for a moment, until he catches a glimpse of you peeking at him. Mentally cursing, you take a step back, take a deep breath, and then open your front door.
“Hey, I’m Logan.” He smiles, teeth white, and you fully get to take in how handsome he is. It’s almost comical. Like you’re in a cheesy porno where he’s a handsome stranger, and you’re a lonely, bored housewife. Not far off, actually. “Your husband said I could come by around this time and take a look at your bathroom sink upstairs.”
“Oh,” You realize then how crazy you must look. Looking down at your hands, you realize you have paint splattered all over your arms and your apron. You smile politely back at him, as if to appear less insane, but you’re almost sure it has the opposite effect: “He didn’t mention…”
Before you can even finish that sentence, your phone pings in your pocket. You reach into the pockets of your house dress and fish out your phone.
Rick: Handyman coming at 11:30.
Your husband sends you that text at approximately 11:35. You try not to let the frustration you feel instantly show on your face. Logan seems kind, and you trust your husband enough to find a decent, non-serial-killer handyman. “I’m Y/N,” You introduce yourself. “Come in. Sorry, I was painting this morning …I don’t usually look like this.”
Unfortunately, you realize too late that you’ve invited him to look you over. Your dress shows entirely too much of your chest and arms because you prefer to be comfortable when you’re home. And you had exactly no warning that you’d be meeting a stranger. You let him inside, closing the door behind him.
“No, no, don’t worry about it. You look …” He coughs awkwardly, and you cringe, assuming he was holding back a lie, “I live right next door, actually, so I’ve seen you…”
“More put together than this,” You finish. “That’s good, at least. So you’re one of the hockey players.”
His face starts to feel more familiar, although, from your perspective, there’s usually a million college kids coming and going from that house.
“Yup, one of them. Hope we’re not too loud for you.”
“Oh, no. I’m asleep by eight and a heavy sleeper.” You answer honestly, a little too genuinely, and worry for a moment that he’ll find your response strange.
“A great combination.” He chuckles, and you don’t expect to feel so weird about someone else thinking you’re funny. You don’t get much out of Rick, usually, probably because he’s so tired when you see him. “That’s what I look for in a neighbor.”
You laugh together for that short moment until you realize you’re probably holding him up: “Anyways, um, let me show you upstairs.” Logan follows you up the staircase to the second floor. Your house is smaller than the hockey boys’, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms in total. Still, much too big for you and your husband. If things turned around soon, you’d be making one of these rooms a nursery.
You lead him to the upstairs bathroom, which thankfully isn’t too messy. You had so much free time on your hands that it wasn’t hard to keep your house clean. You grab a bra and a pair of Rick’s underwear that’s strewn haphazardly on the floor and tuck the items behind your back.
Logan sets down his toolkit on the bathroom counter as you start to explain, “It seems like it’s getting clogged almost every week. We’ll snake the drain, and it’ll get better for a few days, and then it happens again.”
“Hmm, clog is probably deeper than you think,” He says, wheels seemingly turning in his mind, “I got it. Shouldn’t take too long.”
“Great, um, I’ll be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.” He smiles at you, and it genuinely makes your body feel warm. You have to force your feet to move past him.
You clean up the paint on your hands in the kitchen sink, scrubbing a little too hard, as if that will get rid of that warm feeling.
“Goddamn, man.” Dean groans as he looks out the dining room window. Logan is doing his best to concentrate on fixing a wobbly dining room chair. Well, it’s more than wobbly given the fact that Beau had attempted to use it as a weapon against Dean after an intense game of chess. “You have to see this. I think she’s about to get into downward dog. That’s it, baby …a little further …just like that.”
Dean’s nose is practically against the glass now as he spies on you working out in your backyard. Logan doesn’t blame him for looking; he himself had gotten a look at that butter-yellow matching set you were wearing, but he knew better than to look longer than a few seconds.
So he attempts and fails to ignore Dean.
“Oh fuck,” Dean continues, and Logan rolls his eyes. “Her ass is perfect. Genuinely. And she’s pretty flexible. Oh yeah, I gotta have that.”
“Dean, please,” Logan warns.
“Maybe I can go over and give her some tips. You can be the handyman. I’ll be the personal trainer.”
“You’re being creepier than usual,” Logan says, tightening the leg on the chair before he flips it back over. “You don’t have a puck bunny you can call or something?”
“I get it. You think you’ve got some sort of claim on her,” Dean surmises. “You’d tell me if you got any action, right?”
“You’d be the last person to know, actually.” Dean turns around in response to Logan’s remark, and his face turns into a pout.
He walks over, plants his hands on the table, and leans closer. “Don’t joke, dude. What was she like? Does she sound as sexy as she looks?”
Logan keeps his face straight, pretending as if your voice hadn’t been on replay in his mind, and that most of his thoughts weren’t consumed by you. “She sounded, I don’t know, cute.”
“Cute, not sexy, hmm …I like that more for some reason. Did she seem into you?”
“She’s married.”
Dean laughs, “Ha! Who gives a fuck?”
“I do, and she definitely gives a fuck,” Logan answers, his head shaking in disapproval. “Why would she hook up with one of us? We’re her neighbors. And we attend the same college her husband works at.”
“Because she’s so obviously touch-starved. A woman needs her release, John. I can see it in her eyes; he’s not fucking her. And if he is fucking her, she’s not finishing.”
“There’s no way–”
“You saw her up close. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Logan’s lips open to argue back, but he closes them after only a short moment. Dean claimed to be a “sex whisperer,” and Logan was nowhere close to that level of delusional, but thinking back on it, you did seem kind of …lonely.
“Exactly,” Dean smirks, turning back around and walking over to the window, “She barely leaves the house, and he’s never there. His very own angel on earth, and he doesn’t give a shit. It’s a shame.”
Logan doesn’t disagree with Dean. It’s the first thing he’s said today that makes sense.
“I can’t see her tits as well from this far. If you were to describe them in terms of size, how many handfuls would you say?”
Tucker’s voice is the one that responds this time, appearing from the kitchen, a tray of mini sandwiches in his hands: “Dean, what the fuck are you talking about?”
A motivational speaker talks to you in your earbuds as you finish your post-dinner walk around the neighborhood. The podcast is focused on increasing your confidence and independence. The middle-aged woman tells an inspirational story about how she found herself again after raising her children. How she turned her life around, got healthy, and started her own small business. It’s not the first of these podcasts that you’ve listened to. Based on your previous history, you often let yourself get motivated for days at a time before you fall back into your old habits.
You were more determined this time; that’s what made it different. The past weekend set your new mission in motion. Rick got home from a trip to a laboratory in New Jersey, and you’d spent almost the entire weekend together. You planned two home-cooked meals to make him each day and picked a local restaurant to go out to every night. He promised you that the two of you would actually explore this new town months ago, but when it came time again to be a man of his word, he failed again.
He was too tired to do any of it. You’d even planned a hiking trip with a huge lake and lovely scenery, but he’d made an excuse about wanting to lie in bed with you all day.
It was time for you to find some more satisfaction in doing things by yourself.
“If you want to change your life, you have to speak that new life into existence. Say it to yourself. I am going to change my life.”
Whispering to yourself, you repeated, “I am going to change my life.”
“I do not live for other people. I live for myself.”
“I live for myself–” You took a step off the sidewalk, a couple of blocks from your house, when a speeding car decided to blow through a stop sign. You’re a split second from a painful death when strong arms suddenly wrap around your torso and lift you off the ground.
Your back against their chest, you go from being scared for your life to being frightened that you’d been grabbed by a predator. Luckily, the possible predator sets you back down on your feet. You whip around, panicked, to find yourself staring back at a sweaty, sculpted chest.
“Jesus,” You whisper, reaching to take out one of your earbuds, as your eyes trail up to meet Thor’s himself because that’s exactly who grabbed you. Blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and sweat dripping down his brow that somehow still makes him look better.
“Your music might be a little too loud.” He pops out his own earbuds, and you realize you’ve interrupted his run.
“Right,” You stare at him, breathless, and then realize his hand is still on your waist, “I’m sorry, um, thank you.”
You step back from him, “Anytime. Dean, I live next door.”
Another handsome hockey player, obviously. The hockey gods had been smiling upon you lately.
“Y/N.” You introduced yourself. “You’re one of Logan’s roommates.”
“Yeah, best friend, teammate, practically brothers, taught him everything he knows.”
You smile awkwardly, “I should let you finish your run.”
“I was just about to cool down, actually; let me walk you home.”
You figure that he’s already held you tonight; walking you home wouldn’t be much more intimate.
As you accept the polite offer from Dean, you wonder if Logan talked about you to him. Maybe they collectively felt bad for you. Like you might care for an elderly neighbor. You weren’t much older than them, having married Rick young, but marriage makes you feel like you’ve lived a longer life.
“Your husband gone already?”
“Uh, yeah, there’s a big conference in New York. He goes every year.”
“Cool,” He says, although he sounds completely bored, and you find yourself wanting to be more interesting for him, “You ever go with him?”
“No, not really.” He’s never actually asked you to come, you realize. “I’m such a homebody.”
“When did you meet him?”
“Four years ago. I was in undergrad for veterinary science, and he was finishing his doctorate at the time.”
“You graduated?”
“Yeah,” You say, “Then we got married, and we had to move a few times so he could get a good position as a researcher.”
“But you wanted to be a veterinarian, right? When are you gonna go back to school?”
“I’m not sure. We’ve been trying for a ….” You pause when you realize you’re sharing a little too much information. “I’m just still figuring things out.
“Gotcha,” Dean replies, his voice seemingly free of judgement. You come upon the hockey house a few moments later. There are several cars parked out front, and you can hear rock music flowing from an open window and out onto the street. “I mean, I hear Briar’s veterinary program is pretty good.”
“There’s always time.” You hear Rick’s voice in your head as the words leave your lips. “What about you? Logan is obviously good at fixing things. What’s your talent? I mean, other than hockey.”
“I mean, I’m pretty good with my hands too.” You look up to see Dean has a devilish smirk on his lips. You get that warm feeling again. This time, there’s a bit of fear inside of you too: “I could show you some time. Maybe tonight?”
You laugh nervously, and you don’t want to assume his meaning, but he continues to stare down at you before he licks his lips. You should be offended, you should feel angry and tell him off, but all you can feel is nervous.
“I think that …you should get to your party, Dean.”
“We can have a party of our own.”
He reaches to touch your hip again, and on instinct you place your hand on top of his, to remove it. Except you don’t move his hand. You feel how large his hand is, and then your mind starts to wander to bad, bad things.
“I have to go.” You turn and almost trip as you start to skitter away. “Um, thanks for walking me.”
“I’ll see you around, honey,” He calls after you, but you don’t dare turn around.
What the fuck was that?
The power went out last night after a big thunderstorm. Which is great; you’re already a ball of anxiety, and you weren’t getting any sleep anyway. You tossed and turned in your bed, thinking about Dean and how he was obviously flirting with you last night.
By the time early morning comes, you start to worry, because you can look out your window and see the hockey house has power. You decide to text Rick.
Y/N: Power went out last night. Still not back on.
You wait for a reply for an hour and a half.
Y/N: Hello?
You start to worry all the food in your fridge will start to spoil, and now your phone is close to dying.
Another hour passes; you’ve called Rick three times to no avail, and your battery is at five percent.
You finally get a text back.
Rick: I’m in a meeting. Something wrong?
Did he even read your message?
At that point, you know what you have to do.
Unfortunately, a shirtless Dean is the one who answers the door when you show up at the hockey house.
“I knew you’d be back for me.”
“I’m looking for Logan.”
“Ouch,” Dean feigns jealousy, “And you’re pissed about something.”
“I’m not!” You raise your voice higher than you have in maybe…years. That only seems to make Dean smile harder, “Is Logan here?”
Dean debates something in his head that doesn’t allow him to answer your question. Moments later, Logan appears, bandana holding back his curls and his clothes giving you the impression that he’d been working out. “Dude, go away.” He pushes at Dean’s muscular chest, and Dean finally relents. He winks at you before he walks away, which again gives you that scared, warm feeling. “What’s wrong?”
The look of concern that Logan has for you is new. “My power’s still out. I tried flipping the breaker. I don’t know what’s wrong. Rick’s not answering his phone; he’s busy, and I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay, I got you.” He steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder, and you hadn’t realized how bad you wanted to be comforted. “Let me go grab my tools. I’ll take a look.”
You nod and let out a breath. “Thank you.”
Unbeknownst to you, your house has a backup generator in the backyard.
It takes approximately ten minutes for Logan to fix your issue. You’re waiting in the kitchen, lights starting to flicker back on, when he comes through the back door. “Good news, powers on. Bad news, how long have your gutters looked like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like completely detached from your roof. You’ve got rainwater pouring down on the foundation.”
You sigh, a little defeated, “Shoot, I hadn't noticed. I’ll text Rick.”
“No worries, I’ll fix it. You shouldn’t have to worry about this stuff, anyway.”
“I seriously can’t ask you to do that.”
He only grins in response, as if it’s no big deal. “I like fixing things. And this place needs some work.”
For a long moment, you consider it. You’re not sure how Rick would feel about you getting a bunch of work on the house done and him inevitably having to foot the bill. It needed to be done, though, and he was never here enough to notice anything was wrong.
“Now that the power's back on, I’m gonna make you lunch. And cookies. Do you like chocolate chip?”
He’s gorgeous, you think, when he looks kindly at you, “I love chocolate chip.”
It starts with the gutters and spirals into much more. There are lights on the exterior of the house that need replacing.
“I’ve been meaning to go to the hardware store.”
You hate going into places like that alone.
The chains that hold up your porch swing are rusting. “These would’ve snapped soon,” Logan says.
“Rick’s been meaning to replace those.”
All of your trees in the backyard are overgrown.
Your smoke detector has been chirping for so long that you’ve been tuning it out for at least a month.
You spend most of the day in the kitchen, cooking food from your fridge that had thawed to prevent any of it from spoiling. The bay windows in your kitchen allow you a great view of Logan’s handiwork. You take special notice of his exposed biceps and how the muscle flexes with his heavy lifting. By the late afternoon, Logan had completed several projects and he’d laid out plans for fixing about ten other things.
You insist he stop for the day and take a break to try your chocolate chip cookies. You sit next to him at your kitchen table, a spread of food before him, and wait patiently as he takes a bite.
“Wow, that’s good.” He compliments your baking, which you’re also not used to. “You really didn’t have to make all of this.”
“It’s my way of saying thank you. I mean, I’ll have Rick send you money for everything, but until then. And you can share with your roommates, of course.”
“Where’d you learn how to cook?”
You shrug, “Just practice, I guess. I’ve had to cook for myself since I was little.”
He nods, a shared understanding in his eyes: “Well, I appreciate it.”
He reaches out to touch your hand, and the two of you seem to have a conversation with your eyes. You feel like you’re in high school again with butterflies in your stomach. Even if the feeling is temporary, you’re relishing it. He must feel so bad for you. How desperate did you look right now?
Then, like a magnet, something pulls you together. You both feel it at the same time. You lean in. Logan leans in further until your lips are together.
Fuck.
Your chair skids across the tile, loudly, as you force yourself up and away.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Logan, wordlessly, stands up after you. His eyes are intently focused on your lips. He closes the distance between you, arms wrapping around your back, and his head dipping low to kiss you again.
“Don’t be sorry,” He says huskily, your lips vibrating from the timbre of his voice.
Pushing you against the counter, he kisses you harder. His hand grabs hold of your neck, pulling your face into his. He kisses down your chin, and then he tilts your head to have better access to your neck. Passionate kisses against the sensitive skin of your neck leave you trying to suppress your moans.
“We can’t. Please stop.”
He lifts you onto the counter in response. With a grunt, he roughly pulls at your dress, lifting until he can feel the seam of your underwear. You reach forward, trying to grab your panties, to keep him from pulling them down.
“Logan, please–”
His determined brown eyes stare back at yours. “You need this. I know you do, baby.”
One thing leads to another. Just how a quick house call led to a whole day being spent together. Your panties end up on the kitchen floor, your thighs are spread wide, and Logan’s head is between your legs.
“I’ll take care of you,” He moans against your center, “Don’t worry.”
Your head tilts back, and your chest heaves as Logan leads you to the first orgasm you’ve had from oral sex. And the first orgasm you’ve had in months.
It’s now Logan’s turn to stare out the window. This time, it’s his bedroom window that faces out towards your garage. He catches a glimpse of your husband returning. You greet him barefoot, lavender colored dress flowing as he lifts you into his arms and spins you around.
You’ve been radio silent since he left your house last week. You said you’d text him the next time he could come over to help you with the house. That text never came and now your husband was back now for who knows how long. And you looked excited to see him.
“If your goal was to make her hornier for her husband, I think you’ve succeeded.”
Dean says from Logan’s doorway.
“Shut up.”
“You still haven’t told me the details.”
“Because I’m not an asshole, unlike you.”
Dean walks in, shuts the door, and then makes himself comfortable on Logan’s bed.
“Whatever you did, it obviously wasn’t enough. So let’s brainstorm together on how we’re gonna fix this problem.”
“We?” Logan scoffs, “Fuck off.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want to hear my idea?”
Logan goes quiet as he watches you again from the window. You wrap your legs around Rick and let him carry you inside.
“I don’t get it,” Logan whispers.
“Tell me, I can’t help unless you tell me.”
Fist hitting the wall in frustration, Logan groans. “Dean, I’m serious; this has to stay between us.”
“I promise.” Dean says, holding out his pink, “Pinky promise?"
Coming towards the bed, Logan pushes his hand away. “Okay …um, we hooked up. After I did all that shit for her house, we made out and then I … uh…I ate her out.”
“She came?”
“Yes, she came. And then she felt horrible for cheating on her husband, and it kind of killed the mood, to be honest. I just thought if she let me in a little bit more, then we could move past that.”
Dean nods his head, taking in the information. “This is going to stay between us, I promise. But I need you to hear me out.”
Logan takes a seat beside Dean on the bed, elbows against his knees, as the weight of the situation starts to press down on him.
“What’s your big idea?”
“After her husband leaves again, you go back over there again. Seduce her again, but this time you’re gonna fuck her. No gentleman shit. Caveman sex.”
“She doesn’t seem like the type.” Logan starts to brush the idea off immediately.
“Oh, she’s definitely the type. She just needs coaxing. And, of course, I can come for moral support.”
“Dean–”
“Hear me out. You said you would hear me out. Imagine you go over there and just lay all your cards out on the table. She loves her husband, but it’s so goddamn obvious he’s not right for her. She wants you; she’s already shown you that. Then she has to face the fact that you know how she really feels.”
Logan hates when Dean makes a good point. Maybe he really does know more about relationships than he lets on.
“Think about what you want, Logan. If you want to run into the sunset with her, that might not be what she’s ready for. Take the situation for what it is. Our beautiful, sexy fucking neighbor wants you, Logan. So take her.”
The Briar U Hawks win their game Saturday night, which leads to a huge party at the hockey house. The largest of the entire semester. The starting line is drinking beers on the back porch when Logan catches a glimpse through his neighbor's window.
You're alone, eating dinner at your dining table. Logan downs the rest of the beer before he decides, “I’m gonna go over there.”
“You got this, man.” Dean taps his shoulder, “No gentleman shit.”
Dean watches from the porch as the whole scene plays out. For moral support, of course. You’re wearing one of those cute dresses you always wear. This one is floral printed and milkmaid style. God, Logan’s a lucky man, Dean thinks. He’d give anything to lift that dress and fuck you as you deserve.
Logan knocks on your back door, and Dean brushes off a few puck bunnies before he leans against the wooden porch railing.
You open the door for him, and Logan doesn’t make it past the threshold. Dean imagines the conversation in his head, taking hints from your body language.
Logan probably says something lame like I can’t stop thinking about you.
You have to stop thinking about me. I’m married.
That’s not what you said the last time I was here.
I was lonely, and I wasn’t thinking straight.
Logan stuffs his hands in the pockets of his Carhartt jacket. He’s being quiet now.
He’s fumbling. What kind of wingman would Dean be if he let that happen?
The rowdy party fades into the background of his mind, and he decides to slip out while no one's watching. He walks around the hockey house towards the fence line that separates the two properties.
Sneaking through your gate, Dean slowly walks towards the back of your house. He can hear your conversation now.
“I think you should go. I took advantage of you. You should be someone more like you.”
“You didn’t. I like you. Like a lot.”
“I’m married, Logan. I’m sorry if I got your hopes up.”
“Logan!” Dean appears, interrupting your conversation. Beer swinging in his hands, he walks up the back porch. Up close, he can see that slutty fucking dress. You’re begging to be fucked wearing that. “You disappeared, man. Now I can see why, though. Holy fuck, you look good, honey.”
“What are you doing?” You and Logan seem to ask simultaneously.
“Came to check on you guys. I’m thoughtful like that.” Wrapping his arm around Logan’s shoulder, Dean fills your back doorway, “So, Y/N, Logan tells me your husband fucking sucks.”
“Logan?” She shoots him an accusing look, “Why would you–”
“It’s pretty fucking obvious to like the entire neighborhood. And my friend here has so kindly stepped up and taken care of business for you. You’ve been nice to him up until this point, and I think he deserves better.”
“Dean–”
“I’m serious. Why don’t you show him a little more fucking gratitude?”
You stare back at Dean with wide eyes. Part of you seems to genuinely understand his point. Why were you, all of a sudden, you were acting like Logan was nothing to you? “And do what?”
“You can start by getting on your knees.”
Your eyes swirl emotion, lust, and fear, mixing.
“Dean–” You interrupt Logan’s protest.
Something has clearly shifted inside of you because you say, “Both of you, come in and close the door.”
Dean and Logan exchange glances. It’s a quick- are we doing this? They nod at each other before following your instructions. Dean enters your house for the first time and follows your lead as you walk towards the living room.
“I am grateful, Logan.” You don’t turn to face them as you say this. Dean’s eyes are busy raking over you, “I feel like I don’t know what I need sometimes. But I really needed you last week. I haven’t felt like that …ever.”
You're hugging yourself, hands making comforting strokes down your upper arms. Dean urges Logan forward, finishing off his beer before he makes himself comfortable in the armchair that sits perpendicular to the couch.
Dean’s length is already hard and struggling against the fabric of his jeans. Your voice is so desperate. Dean was right all along, of course, and you were clearly touch-starved. Pleasure starved. When you finally turn around to face Logan, he dips his head down to kiss you.
The two of you push and pull, hungry, before Logan falls against the couch, you on top of him. Logan lifts the fabric of your dress, grabbing your ass, which Dean is grateful for. He’s more than happy to be the onlooker in the corner. It’s like his favorite porno is playing right in front of him.
Much to Dean's surprise, Logan groans out the words, “Get on your knees.”
It takes you back, but not enough for you to ignore his command. You climb down between his knees and your eyes wander over to Dean’s. Dean leans forward, his jeans straining even more, “Show him how grateful you are, honey. Show him how much of a dirty girl you are.”
Dean can’t help it; the look you give him in response pushes him to free himself from his jeans. You’re much better at sucking Logan off than Dean expects. Grabbing a handful of your hair in his hands, Logan forces your mouth up and down.
“Lift that dress up, honey,” Dean requests, and you oblige even though you’re struggling for air. “Fuck.”
Dean enjoys how messy it makes you. Your hair is tangled, your eyes are watering, and spit is dripping down your face. “You can’t come in her mouth, John. I bet she’s so grateful she’ll let you come somewhere else.”
“Crawl over to Dean, baby. I’m gonna take you from behind.”
And crawl you do. Dean swears he hears angels singing above.
“Messy girl,” Dean breathes heavily, happy to take Logan’s sloppy seconds, “You wanna make me feel good too?”
You nod, teary-eyed, “Please?”
“So polite,” Dean pulls you forward, “Of course you can, honey.”
Logan fully takes off his jeans and kneels behind you. Palming himself, he feels how wet you are. He doesn’t even need to spit. You’re starting to take Dean in your mouth when he pushes inside of you.
“She can handle it. She hasn’t been fucked hard in so long. Even if it hurts, she’s so grateful; she won't mind.”
After the first few strokes, Logan doesn’t waste time easing you into it.
The grip on your hips is tight and unforgiving. The deeper Logan goes, the deeper you have to take Dean. You’re choking and moaning at the same time.
Dean finishes first, down your throat, but he doesn’t let you rest. Logan isn’t done, and the last thing Dean wants is for you to lay your head down in his lap. Grabbing your face, he forces you to keep looking forward. “Almost there. You’re doing so well. Dirty fucking girl.” You reach your peak with Logan behind you and Dean’s fingers in your mouth.
Logan grabs onto your shoulder, pulling you back towards him, as he makes his final and deepest thrusts.
“Fuck, honey.”
“Fuck, baby.”
Reblog with your thoughts on the chapter to be added to my off campus taglist :)
