Hi! I love your writing and I may or may not have stalked your blog a little. I saw requests were open, if you're ok with this can you write poly Bruabba's first time with a virgin s/o. Please?
Have a nice day!
shared - abbacchio x reader x bruno (2k)
everything always seems to be perfect, when it’s with them
afab reader, neutral pronouns aside from one use of ‘principessa’. not sfw! threesome/poly relationship, first time. oral sex.
“We’ll be very gentle with you,” Bruno had murmured, humming against your ear, his fingers resting on your hips as you were cradled in his lap. In front of you, Abbacchio has already lost his shirt and his trousers, and now his pale hands are reaching for you, carefully lacquered nails taking hold of the hem to tug it upwards. “Leone can be a little rough, but even he can will himself to something a bit more considerate.”
Abbacchio snorts at Bruno’s words, but then your shirt is coming off and you’re just in front of them in your bra, hungry eyes raking over the newly exposed skin. You feel your cheeks heat up, squirming in Bruno’s lap.
“Says you,” Abbacchio says. “Amore, don’t let his ‘kind man of the people’ act fool you. In bed, he can be every bit as depraved as I can--”
“Leone,” Bruno’s voice has a light laugh. You know, from whispers in your ear and romantic notions put into your head, that Abbacchio is probably right – but still, as Bruno’s hands move up from your hips to lodge in the spaces of your ribcage, your head comes to rest on Bruno’s shoulder. You sigh into the air as careful fingers unclip your bra, the fabric falling from you – your nipples peaking in the cool night-time air.
“Look at you,” Abbacchio murmurs. The scratch of his nails down your stomach as he goes for the zipper of your jeans next sends a lightning flash of warmth through you, a curious heat and heaviness between your thighs. “You’re so pretty, tesoro.” The loving pet name coming from between Abbacchio’s lips makes your heart skip a beat – he’s usually rather less romantic than Bruno is, though when you look at his ice-pale eyes you see they’re all melted and softened by fondness. Bruno’s thumbs brush over your nipples, making you shiver, and making Bruno’s lips where you can see them from the corner of your eye tilt into a smirk.
“So responsive,” he coos, enthralled, repeating the motion so you squirm once more. You’re aware of a heat between your thighs, a kind of slick pounding that makes your head spin. “I wonder how many times we can make you come between us tonight.”
Your jeans are unbuttoned, peeled down your thighs – your legs spread. Abbacchio stares down at the place between your legs, where your underwear is slick and clinging deliciously to your damp folds, with the air of a man looking at a beautiful work of art.
His reaches, fingers skimming your bare thigh – thumb tracing the indent of the valley between them, barely skimming your pulsing clit where it’s pressing against the fabric. You sigh against Bruno, back half-arching into the touch, heart pounding a consistent rhythm in your ears.
“I can smell you,” Abbacchio growls.
“Perhaps you should taste,” comes Bruno’s suggestion, vested in teasing – but there’s a steely quality to his words that makes you think that perhaps he is not merely making a suggestion. It’s a quality that both you and Abbacchio seem to respond to – the pale-haired man bites his lip briefly, for a fleeting moment – before he ducks his head and chuckles.
“You’re so wet,” he tells you, as his thumbs hook into the waistband – as you’re rid of that scrap of fabric too, and your sex is bared entirely for Abbacchio to drink in.
Drink in he does.
First, with his eyes – caressing the length of your slit, drawn to the fluttering hole and your plump clit, how the pink folds are glistening with your own slick. And then, as he settles on his knees and leans forward and breathes in, he turns his attention to drinking you in with his mouth.
The first long, hot lick of his tongue against your sex you keen; as he lathes the blunt wetness against your heated core, your hands reach up to cling to Bruno’s neck, your own fingers twisting in the other man’s silky dark hair. Bruno’s eyes are trained between your thighs, to where Abbacchio is lapping at you like you’re water in a dessert.
“He looks so good there, hmm?” Bruno asks, and you look down and see exactly what Bruno sees – subservient Abbacchio, eyes unfocussed as he concentrates on how the sweetness of your nectar tastes on his tongue. “I’m probably better at this than he is, but it doesn’t mean he’s not good--”
“Aa—hnn, ‘m--” Your words are lost as Abbacchio’s tongue teases at the tip of your clit, rolling the sensitive nub over and around. Bruno chuckles dark and deep.
“Next time, I’ll get to use my mouth on you,” he murmurs. “And he can watch. Would you like that, principessa?”
“Y-yes,” you breathe, as Abbacchio ramps up the speed of how his tongue is flicking over your clit. You can feel your body responding with tight vibrations of need, like you’re being lit on a hundred tiny fires. Your fingers desperately rake through Bruno’s hair still, as your voice turns into a collection of shaky whines instead of anything coherent. As Abbacchio sucks your clit into his mouth to suckle on it, Bruno murmurs;
“We’re just preparing you, you know. So you’re slick and wet and ready when we get to finally fuck you--” and you are pushed over the edge, by Bruno’s velvet-edged voice. Fireworks in your stomach, the sound of waves rushing in your ears, Abbacchio’s tongue easing you over the highest peak and the smaller aftershocks that come next. He pulls back from your sex with his mouth glimmering with your wetness, and he kisses Bruno like he’s sharing the taste,
The younger gangster does not disappoint, moaning in pleasure as their mouth sloppily glide together. Bruno’s dark ocean eyes go half-lidded with enjoyment.
“You taste divine,” he tells you, and he kisses your cheek. Your limbs are still pleasantly fuzzy, your body still not caught up with anything else after the shake and rock of your orgasm, so as Abbacchio gently eases you off Bruno’s lap and lays you down among the pillows, you have nothing to say or do except smile fuzzily at them.
“Do you think you’re ready to carry on?” The silver-haired man asks, settling into the bed next to you, brushing hair from your forehead. “You can let us know if you need a break, we won’t hold it against you – this is for you, as much as it’s for us--”
Your attention is caught by Bruno pulling down his trousers. There’s been a respectable tent in them all the while you were squirming as you were eaten out by Abbacchio, but as the clothing item is finally stripped off from him completely, you see that ‘respectable’ is not quite the right word.
“He’s thick,” Abbacchio says, and the hunger in his voice is palpable. “He fills you up exactly right, tesoro, I promise--”
Bruno gives his shaft a few pumps, showing off in front of both of your enraptured gazes. The smile on his face is lazy – he knows that you both like what you see very much indeed. It doesn’t mean he’s not going to make fun of you, though.
“You don’t need to stare, Leone,” Bruno chides, smug. “You’ve had it in you enough times . . . And you,” he turns his attention to you, raising an eyebrow, murmuring your name in a way that makes your toes curl and the liquid heat between your thighs feel like it’s molten lava. “You’ll get to know it just as well, soon. Better to learn it with your body, don’t you think? I won’t ruin you, your first time.”
You’d thought you’d be more anxious about your first time, let alone your first time with them. But Bruno and Abbacchio are not making it a big deal, beyond the fact that they’re focused on your pleasure, on making sure that everything is comfortable for you – they aren’t making a song-and-dance about it, they’re just . . . treating you how they always do, with extra genitals and nakedness involved. They’re barely mentioning that it’s your first time ever, the fear of disappointing them being pushed somewhere far in the back of your mind--
“Yes,” you breathe, urging your thighs wider apart and winning a chuckle from Bruno. Bruno moves closer to you, settling himself on his knees between your legs. He adjusts the angle of his cock, brushing it over your sex, coating it in your slick juices and Abbacchio’s fluids too – before he gently sinks inside of you, the head catching on the rim of your entrance.
A soft noise of surprise escapes you at the stretch. Immediately, one big hand is grabbing yours, fingers entangling – Abbacchio, murmuring something softly about how good you are that you can’t fully parse because another hand has grabbed your other hand, lacing those fingers together. This hand is tan, a definite shudder in the clench of his knuckles – one hand held by one boyfriend, the other held by the other.
Bruno takes his time sheathing his cock inside you. You’re tight around him, clinging to his walls like you’ll barely fit him, and he does it for both of your benefits – but oh, the slick walls pulsing around him and how the mould so well. The little pants escaping your pretty mouth. His eyes flicker from you, your eyelashes fluttering and your mouth half-open and pleasure-daze clouding your vision – to Abba, who looks like the two most beautiful angels in all of heaven have come down to spend time with him in particular. He’s worshipful. If Bruno were a different man, and you were different too, perhaps that look would have made you both conceited. Instead, you smile dreamily at the two of them, your gaze flittering from one to another with an air that seems to say ‘I love you’ over and over again.
He hilts. He’s as deep in you as he can go, all snug and hot and tight and wet – and he pulls out a little, and drives in again, revelling in the wet sounds of your intimate areas echoing through the room.
You’re so wet for him. You’re so good, for both of them – your hand slack in Abbacchio’s as you moan out first Bruno’s name and then Abbacchio’s, aware that even if it is Bruno that’s fucking you right now, all of this pleasure is a team effort.
You’re perfect.
Bruno’s hips pick up speed as he finds a rhythm – not too fast, not too slow. The perfect middle ground that you feel every vein and throb of his shaft, but not so slow that you concentrate on the stretch and burn. Your head is rolling around on the pillow, beads of sweat forming at your hairline as you pant and gasp out along with Bruno’s own thrusts. Abbacchio’s sighing, unconsciously bucking his hips as he watches the two of you – he’ll need some gentle handling later, and you wonder if Bruno will help teach you how to make Abbacchio feel as good as the paler-haired man had made you feel.
Bruno’s thrusts begin to get sharper, his hips seeming to hit you just a little deeper. As he continues to fuck your welcoming walls, a sharpness appears in his eye and a slight grit to his teeth – you realise, as he groans out your name again, that he’s rapidly approaching his own orgasm.
“Bruno,” you whimper, trying to move your hips in tandem with his though you can’t help but feel that your movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, nowhere near good enough to compare with the glide of Bruno’s cock inside you. “Feels . . . feels so good--”
Bruno laughs, a breathless noise.
“You just wait until we can both get in you at the same time, amore.” That one is Abbacchio, dark and gritty – and Bruno groan-laughs at it, his hips twitching, jerking into you with a sudden lack of finesse as you feel a creamy heat and thickness fill you. Bruno pushes his come inside you with a few more weak jabs of his hips before he pulls out, your combined release dripping out of you even after Bruno’s efforts.
“You did so well,” Bruno coos at you, bringing a hand to stroke the side of your face. “So perfect, tesoro . . . so perfect for us--” His eyes have gone half-lidded and his voice is slurred with sleep and pleasure as he pets at you, even these clumsy movements making you feel warm and safe.
“Not quite perfect, “ Abbacchio says. His voice is a little dry. You raise your sleepy eyes to look at him – and your gaze is immediately drawn to the place between his thighs, where he’s wearing only underwear, where the long imprint of his cock is clearly visible in a state that’s best described as ‘straining’. “Someone who’s perfect wouldn’t leave me with this problem--”
Bruno laughs that laugh again, deep and rich like the first coffee you’d ever shared with them on a crisp spring day.
“Who says we’re leaving you, caro?” He asks – he turns to you, smirking. “Do you want another first time lesson, amore?”
You swallow, eyeing the bulge in Abbacchio’s pants, the swollen lips from where you suppose he must have bitten down on them to try and distract from how turned on he was.
“Yes,” you whispers. “Absolutely.”
