two years into a relationship with zayne, you've practically grown fluent to his language of love, most of the time reaching extents you wouldn't even believe yourself he'd have the will to do - spanking you with a paddle everytime you poke him too much, tying your hands together to overstimulate your clit until you're basically seeing stars, covering your thigh in nothing but hickeys - the ones that aren't wrapped in pretty words, but always arrive, somehow.
’til now, you’re trying, with every ounce of practiced composure, not to break in front of your family. it’s nothing new, really. these dinners have always been a thing, ever since you were kids. your parents, zayne’s, and caleb’s have always been all tightly knit, bound by years of friendship, tradition, and shared holidays that turned into rituals. so of course, the three of you grew up side by side, tangled in the same photo albums and family vacation stories.
speaking of caleb, he’s been different ever since you got together with zayne. he used to be the best kind of gege, always one step ahead of what you needed before you even asked. the kind who’d walk you home even when you insisted you were fine, who knew your favorite takeout order by heart, who never forgot your exam dates or bad days.
but ever since you've decided to choose zayne? he barely looks at you, he barely speaks. and when he does, it comes out as merely for the sake of being polite, like you’re just another guest at his parents’ table, like you're just a family friend all this time.
you don’t say anything, though it eats at the edges of your mind. you try not to let it show, because zayne is your priority now. he's your person, and if caleb has chosen distance, then maybe it’s only fair you learn to stop reaching.
even when you're right here, sat between them.
but anyway, going back! you might be wondering as to why you're trying your very best not to unravel your composure - well, it's because your boyfriend, zayne, have decided to show you another bizarre method of affection tonight.
you’re trying to focus on your plate, really, you are. but zayne’s hand is warm and maddening where it lingers beneath the table, fingers grazing slow, lazy circles against your inner thigh like he has all the time in the world and none of the shame. your fork pauses halfway to your mouth when “-so, how’s school been treating you lately?” one of your aunts asks, eyes fixed on you like she’s waiting to read between your words.
you swallow the food, the fluster, the heat crawling up your neck, and force a smile. “it’s been… good,” you manage, voice just a little too high, a little too bright. “busy, but manageable!” zayne’s fingers teasingly make their way upper, specifically just about where your pussy's throbbing under the fabric of your panty! a silent dare. this makes you shift in your seat with a low, imperceptible "hmn-" as you press your thighs tigher.
and when your aunt leans in to ask you once more, right while zayne's fingers are working you up, caleb looks up. his lashes lift lazily, gaze dragging across the table like smoke and landing on you, almost bored, if not for the way his jaw ticks the moment he catches that look on your face. his eyes stay on you for a heartbeat too long, burning with the kind of quiet clarity that says he's seeing more than that.
and then, like he’s decided you're not his business anymore, he looks away. he picks up his glass, takes a sip, with lips brushing the rim like he has all the time in the world too. maybe you should be more careful of what you show to your gege...
but even still, this goes unnoticed by zayne. your boyfriend presses just a bit harder, enough to remind you he’s there, that he owns the heat blooming across your skin, and when he brings his drink to his lips, he lets two fingers glide along your folds in an absentminded motion, a lazy swirl. “mm? stocks are dropping again,” he says breezily to one of your uncles, “but nothing too fatal, not if you know where to look.”
he increases the pace faster, and you nearly choke on your food. your aunt doesn’t seem to notice. “you alright, sweetheart?” she asks, peering at you.
you clear your throat, forcing a polite smile. “y-yeah, just… the rice went down wrong.” zayne just keeps talking like he isn’t setting your libido on fire, dropping little dry jokes here and there that make the table laugh, as if his hand isn't currently misbehaving under the linen cloth, as if his fingers aren't the reason why you're technically dripping wet now.
his knee bumps yours, and then he tilts his head, finally glancing your way mid-sentence. a flick of his eyes, and just like that, he’s back to his conversation - so damn good at acting clueless you almost believed it yourself.
you shouldn't be this breathless and pink-faced, not when you're seated this primly, not when you're infront of the food and a family. you really try to focus on your plate, on chewing your food - but the fingers pressing into your sex are not making it easy. it's warm, and it feels too good.
and it's moving.
you steal a glance sideways, and there’s zayne, all charmingly stoic but casual, both hands on the table now. one's holding a fork, the other's wrapped around his glass as he lifts it to his lips like a little prince.
wait. wait, both hands? then who's - ?
you see it when you look down. the hand, tucked beneath the linen drape of the tablecloth, fingers resting between your thighs. and it’s not zayne’s. your gaze lingers, the world narrowing to a blur around the details: the familiar curve of his knuckles, the telltale silver ring on his index finger, and the loose leather bracelet wrapped twice around his wrist - the one caleb’s worn since forever.
you know that hand.
your head tilts up slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid looking too fast will snap something in you. and there he is, caleb, listening to your uncle talk about land prices, like he's just another dinner guest, like his hand isn’t up your skirt. his lips twitch, not quite a smile, just the faintest curve - as if he’s so interested in the conversation. he then swirled his fingers inside you, almost tender. his touch lingered along the entrance, then slipped deeper, tracing the curve with lazy circles.
you grab his wrist, but you weren't sure whether you were dragging his hand away or pushing it deeper. maybe the answer could be seen in the way your thighs are parting. "kudos to the chef tonight, the steak's cooked so well!" one of the uncles suddenly beamed, and caleb smiled boyishly in response. "mhm, i like it soft and juicy, i'm glad you do too."
then, he pushes two fingers in until the tips are practically brushing against your g-spot, curling his fingers for a bit, before pistoning them inside you in lightspeed. "ah!" you accidentally moan, gripping the edge of the table. now everyone in the table had their eyes on you, including your boyfriend, who's now placing his hand back on your thigh, tracing slow circles along the skin, as if to soothe you. your breath caught. caleb looks at you worriedly, "you okay, pipsqueak?" that's the first time in two years he's used that nickname on you. but that's not what's important right now!
"s-sorry, i bit my tongue..."
"silly girl," your mother said, earning a few chuckles from the table as they go back into their rhythm like nothing fucking happened. you swallow, trying to chase your breathing when your gege does it again - he squishes his fingers into your sex with a squelch and pulls out and pushes in and pulls out again! and, all the while feeling zayne's hand gripping around your thigh that it might leave a red mark!
gods, help you. it was almost as if zayne was telling you to keep it low and let caleb take his time with you.
all of a sudden, the phone in your pocket vibrates against your hip. your breath instantly faltered, slowly taking it out with trembling fingers, and they trembled even more after reading the notification on your lock screen.
"my bedroom later ;)"
you shuddered, glancing and peering at caleb beside you. he had his phone on his other hand.
