William was being pulled through the halls of the Summerfield manse by two very determined hands.
The wedding reception was still audible off in the distance, but it felt almost a world away now.
There was just him, the hallway, and his two wives.
Wives.
The world felt surreal to him. He could scarcely remember the actual ceremony. He was pretty sure he’d managed to say ‘I do’ at the appropriate moments. He was also pretty sure he’d seen his mother and aunts crying at some point in it.
…Maybe.
Again, the whole thing had been a bit of a blur. And now Clarice had seized his left hand, while Marcille had claimed his right, and together they were half-dragging, half-guiding him towards their new bedroom.
They were also arguing.
“I’m a Duchess. You’re a Countess,” Clarice was saying. “That means I get to go first.”
Marcille scoffed. “Exactly my point. I let you be the Duchess. Because I’m a kind sister. So you should be a kind sister by letting me go first in this.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“It’s extremely fair,” Clarice argued.
“You didn’t want to be a Duchess! You practically foisted it on me!”
“So!?”
William was barely listening. Mostly because the hammering of his heart seemed to be driving out all other noise. There was a strange pressure building behind his ribs. It had been there since the vows. No, before that. Since the moment he had seen both of them waiting for him.
His wives.
Wives who he was lying to. Who he’d always been lying to.
And that fact had never bothered him before.
He lied. It was what he did. His entire life was a lie after all. From his very first moments of awareness in this world, he’d lied.
William Ashfield was a lie.
Wasn’t he?
“Wait.”
Both twins stopped – and for a moment he didn’t know why, until he realized he’d been the one to speak.
Clarice turned first, brows lifting. Marcille followed a heartbeat later, her irritation vanishing as she took in his expression. Their hands remained around his, but their grips loosened.
“William?” Clarice asked, her voice softer now.
“I just need a second,” he breathed.
The sisters exchanged a glance. It was brief, but full of silent communication. Whatever argument had consumed them a moment ago was set aside at once.
Marcille stepped closer, studying him carefully. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous? We’re sorry if we… well, you know…”
“We knew you had experience, so we didn’t think…” Clarice said, before trailing off.
He actually laughed, the motion a welcome outlet for the… feeling twirling within him. “No, it’s not that. Not at all. I just, there’s something I need to tell you both. Before we… before anything else happens.”
Though it was too late for that? Wasn’t it? He’d waited until they couldn’t back out. And why did that bother him now?
“Shit, please don’t tell me dad was right!” Marcille hissed before Clarice shushed her younger sibling.
William had no idea what she was referring to, but chose to continue regardless.
“I’m harrowed.”
His pulse thudded in his ears as he said those words. And he didn’t know why!? He’d done this whole song and dance a few times now! Why now did it feel… so raw?
“…Oh. Ok. That’s fine,” Marcille said.
Her sister nodded. “Yes, thank you for telling us.”
William’s mouth parted slightly as he stared at the two who had done little more than blink mildly at his words.
“…That’s it?” he breathed – feeling the most peculiar sense of déjà vu.
Marcille tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean-” He pulled one hand free just so he could gesture vaguely at himself. “I just told you I’m harrowed. A gibbering madman.”
“Harrowed, yes.” Clarice acknowledged. “Mad? Maybe a little, I guess. Gibbering, not so much.”
She glanced at her sister as she spoke, and something passed between the two. Something that if William were forced to name, he’d say looked almost awkward as Clarice rubbed lightly at the side of her neck.
“We… kind of suspected.”
“You suspected,” William deadpanned.
“A little?” she nodded casually. “I mean, everyone’s talking about it. We’d have to be pretty blind not to at least suspect a little.”
People were talking about it!? Oh, sure, he’d always thought it possible, but honestly, he thought he’d managed to get away with, well, everything fairly unscathed. Instead, it seemed the rumors surrounding him just weren’t reaching his ears.
“We also saw you form an entire Shard hull in a single mage-crafting charge while we were working on the Shrieker together,” Clarice said. “That didn’t help your case.”
“Right!” Marcille nodded. “Like, I was pretty on the fence up until that point, but it was kind of hard to ignore that. Talented is one thing, but forming a mental image of an entire hull without a single defect?”
“I’m pretty sure the heads of the mage-crafting guild couldn’t do that.”
“Exactly!” Marcille agreed with her sister.
William opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Marcille stepped closer and took his hand again, her fingers curling around his with careful pressure.
“William,” she said softly, “It doesn’t change anything for us. Yes, it’s been pretty clear for a while to us that you’re harrowed and we’re expecting there to be some issues on that front going forward, but we chose to marry you anyway.”
Clarice nodded. “And not just because you helped me become a Duchess. I like you. Clarice likes you. Void, even our dad likes you. By the standards of most noble unions, that’s not half-bad. What’s a little harrowing in the face of that?”
Then Marcille’s expression sharpened slightly. “That said, it’s a little annoying that you chose to wait until after we were married to say anything. We were sort of hoping that, with how nice we were being, you’d open up before we were past the point of no return. It’d make us being fine with it seem a lot more convincing.”
Clarice nodded vehemently.
“I… sorry?” Was all he could say.
She leaned over, kissing him on the cheek. “That’s quite alright, husband. I forgive you.”
Marcille hummed in agreement as she made a similar motion, only to catch him off guard as she gripped the front of his jacket in both hands and pulled him down.
Into a rather searing kiss.
It was not tentative. Nor was it particularly refined. It was warm, relieved, and almost fiercely possessive, as though she were making a point that no revelation, no secret, no title or curse would change the fact that he was now her husband. When she finally pulled away, her cheeks were faintly pink. The smug little smile spreading across her face ruined any illusion of shyness.
“I also forgive you. Though it helps that right now I’m a bit more interested in other parts of your anatomy than your messed-up brain.”
Behind her, Marcille gasped. “You absolute bitch.”
Clarice glanced back over her shoulder, entirely unrepentant. “What?”
“You got the jump on me!”
“It was a kiss!”
“It still counts!”
William, even as the two continued to argue, just found himself smiling.
“Look, I’m tired of this. Swords, Shields, and Bows for who gets to go first!”
“You’re on!”
…Though it did get a little strained as the pair seemed to once more forget that he existed in the face of their renewed sibling argument.
It was time to remind them that even if he’d been a little wrongfooted by being wrong about exactly how well kept his harrowed status was… he was still William ‘goddamn’ Summerfield!
-------------------------
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
William had Clarice pinned beneath him, her legs hooked high around his waist as he drove into her with hard, steady thrusts. The headboard knocked against the wall in a steady rhythm as her hands were fisting the sheets, knuckles white. Every time he bottomed out, she let out a sharp, breathy moan.
While neither Clarice nor Marcille were as old as his usual targets of choice, they were most definitely not blushing virgins either. As evidenced by the way the Elf’s nubile body moved in response to his thrusts, rolling her hips up to meet every stroke.
“How’s that? Better than those old women you were going after before, right?” She bit her lip, eyes bright with mischief even as her back arched.
He didn’t respond – because there was literally no smart way to answer that - with a deeper thrust, hard enough to knock the words out of her. Fortunately, his response only seemed to amuse the Elf, as she laughed breathlessly. Fortunately, she didn’t continue down that path. Instead, her legs tightened around him as if to prove her point through actions.
…And William couldn’t deny that it was an effective avenue of attack.
The sensation of her grip around him was incredible, the slick heat enveloping his head with every thrust. He didn’t give in to his instincts, though. Instead, he kept his pace deliberate, slowly coaxing soft, desperate sounds from the body beneath him as her thighs started to tremble.
Yeah, he had her.
“William!” she cried.
And he felt nothing less than the same bone-deep satisfaction he always did as Clarice came for the first time in their marriage, her body clenching tight around him as she moaned.
Though as the final ebbs of her orgasm left her, she glanced up at him with a pout. Slowly, the long legs wrapped around him tightened.
“Don’t hold back on me, Human boy. I want an heir,” she whispered.
Perhaps under different circumstances, those words might have caused him to hesitate. A kid was a big deal after all.
Alas, with a soft, pliant body beneath him and his own release still building. Well, all it did was add a certain amount of iron to the stiffness of his member.
He couldn’t have held back even if he wanted to.
“Clarice, I-” he didn’t get to finish before his own orgasm was ripped from him by the succubus beneath him.
A succubus that sighed in satisfaction as he filled her womb, before finally collapsing.
Not spent. Not even close.
But sated for a moment. Both of them.
“Heh, that was good,” she crooned.
“It was,” William whispered.
The two just lay there, enjoying the moment. Slowly, he moved up to plant a kiss on her – only to jump as a loud pounding echoed from the wall.
“That bitch,” Clarice muttered, glaring at the wall.
William just chuckled as he slowly started to clamber upright. The Elf made a small sound of protest, reaching for him with one hand.
“Stay,” she murmured, still flushed and hazy. “I deserve a little longer, don’t I?”
He shook his head and swung his legs off the bed. “I would – but I think Marcille might break down the wall if we make her wait any longer.”
Clarice pouted, propping herself up on her elbows as he stood. “You’re probably right. Be sure to come right back when you’re done with her, though! I don’t plan to let my wedding night end with just one session!”
“As milady commands,” William chuckled as he grabbed a cloth from the bedside table, wiped himself down quickly, and pulled on a loose robe from the dresser. Clarice watched him the whole time, lower lip still pushed out in a dramatic sulk.
He blew her a kiss as he left, eliciting a small giggle as he stepped out into the hall.
It felt a little strange as he crossed the short hallway to the adjoining room. Still, it was what the pair had insisted on. Just because the two siblings happened to share the day of their wedding didn’t mean they had any desire to share their wedding night.
In fact, they regarded the idea of seeing their siblings “in congress” with the sort of horror most siblings would.
…And though William could admit to some small disappointment on that front – because twins! – he’d hardly argued.
Lord knew, even if Olivia was the same age as him, the idea of seeing her… like that was… ugh.
With that thought in mind, he tried not to dwell on how strange it felt to step into another room that was almost identical to the first – right down to the young woman inside.
The only thing physically differentiating her from her sister was the small pink streak running through her hair, which was in contrast to the blue of her sibling.
A pink streak that fluttered through the air as Marcille practically pounced on him, eyes bright with anticipation, the moment he stepped inside. Clad in a thin nighty that left nothing to the imagination – as evidenced by the two pink teardrop nipples sticking out from her modest chest and the small tuft of blonde fur between her legs - she took two eager steps toward him before she stopped dead.
Her nose wrinkled, and she practically recoiled.
“Shower,” she deadpanned, pointing to the connecting ensuite. “Now. Please.”
He glanced down. There was a faint sheen across his skin, and the smell of sex was obvious now that he was standing in cooler air.
“Right,” he nodded.
“And be, you know, thorough,” she added as he walked away. “But don’t take too long!”
He didn’t.
Nor did he the next three times he was forced to repeat the process throughout the night as he switched between his two insatiable wives.
…Though that state of affairs didn’t last.
------------------
The breakfast tray sat on the small table near the window, half-eaten. Clarice was eating oatmeal and watching the bed with something akin to both arousal and horror.
Because on the bed, Marcille rode William with slow, rolling movements, her hands braced on his chest as a faint sheen covered them both.
“You couldn’t wait for me to leave? Really?” the older twin finally muttered as she glanced away.
Marcille didn’t even turn her head. She simply raised one hand and flipped her sister off without breaking rhythm. “No one’s forcing you to stay. Go eat in your own room.”
William lay beneath her as the younger twin bickered with her sibling, one arm thrown over his eyes. He could feel every shift of her hips, the slow drag and press of her body around him.
It felt good, of course. Very good.
But he’d be lying if he claimed his energy reserves weren’t flagging a bit. He’d barely managed to grab a bite of breakfast before Marcille had dragged him back to the bed for round… he wasn’t quite sure.
…He’d been enjoying breakfast. Was it better than sex? Well, no, which was why he wasn’t complaining.
But he had a feeling he’d be regretting not getting his fill before long.
The war hadn’t stopped just because he’d gotten married – and as busy as he was, the twins were even more so with the new Duchy. To that end, their ‘honeymoon’ was only going to last for two days – not including the night of the marriage.
And clearly, the twins intended to squeeze every second they could out of it.
Good for them.
Less good for him.
They got to take breaks in between sessions.
He… didn’t.
Eh, it’d be fine. He wasn’t about to tap out.
“Put a baby in me!” Marcille shrieked.
He grunted and obliged as the blonde let out a little pleasured gasp as she finally found the orgasm she’d been seeking – as well as another load from him.
------------------------
He couldn’t honestly say when they’d stopped using separate rooms. At some point before dinner on the first day, perhaps?
Either way, the door to the adjoining room had been left open since yesterday. He and his wives were all here now, in the same space.
He watched as Clarice reached for another slice of melon. As Marcille kept moving above him, steady and unhurried.
She was flushed, eyes half-lidded, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth as she rode him. He reached up and settled his hands on her hips, not guiding, just holding.
His grip wasn’t as firm as it had been the day before.
On the bright side, more than a day of near constant sex had made him very familiar with his two new spouses. And he felt it as Marcille’s breathing changed. Her movements grew slightly uneven as her breath hitched.
Here it comes, he thought, preparing himself.
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before she let out a long, dreamy sigh. Her body clenched around him in slow, pulsing waves as she reached her orgasm. William followed a few seconds later, hips lifting once, twice, before he spilled inside her with a low groan.
Honestly, young man or not, he was surprised he was still producing anything. Yet sure enough, as Clarice clambered off him, a steady stream of fresh jizz was running down her leg.
Had someone dosed him with-
“Piper,” he muttered as he realized.
The alchemist had offered him something to drink during the wedding reception. And he’d accepted because he’d thought it was alcoholic – and he wasn’t too proud to admit he’d been nervous.
Clearly, that had been a mistake.
…He also needed to have a conversation with his resident crazed scientist about the importance of informed consent when offering potions to people.
“You ok, William?” Clarice asked as she offered him some of the melon she’d been slicing – utterly unbothered by her nakedness or that of her sister in ways she wouldn’t have been just twenty-four hours ago. “Do you need a break?”
Now, he knew he should have said yes. Because he kind of did. Youth and vigor aside, he was still only mortal. And being passed between two very horny sisters was taking a toll.
But of course, all of that went out the window the moment he caught just the slightest hint of disappointment in the twins’ faces, even as she made the offer.
“With two hot girls in front of me? Not a chance!” He lied.
And tried to convince himself it was worth it as Marcille’s pout turned to something altogether more hungry.
…He might have bitten off more than he could chew here.
--------------------
Had it only been two days?
It felt longer.
Much longer.
An eternity trapped in some kind of purgatory – swaying between Heaven and Hell.
There were no more turns.
William lay on his back in the center of the large bed, arms sprawled loosely at his sides. His chest rose and fell in deep, uneven breaths. Clarice was straddling his hips, riding him with slow, deliberate rolls of her body, while Marcille knelt beside his head, one hand gently stroking his hair as she kissed him.
As the deadline to their honeymoon drew to a close, the two had stopped pretending to give each other space. Now they simply shared him.
Like lionesses sharing a kill.
When Clarice grew tired, Marcille would take over without a word. When Marcille wanted his cock, Clarice would shift higher up his body and settle over his face. There was no discussion. Just a quiet, relentless coordination between the two of them.
And William no longer tried to keep pace.
He had been defeated.
Now he simply endured.
His hands rested on Clarice’s thighs, but he didn’t grip or guide her. He simply let them move. His hips twitched upward now and then out of instinct, but the strength behind the motion was gone. Every time Marcille kissed him, he responded sluggishly, his tongue slow and tired. When Clarice leaned down to bite gently at his throat, he only managed a low, hoarse sound.
He was hard. That much still worked. His body responded to them even when his mind felt foggy and distant. But the rest of him was spent. His thighs burned. His stomach muscles ached from hours of involuntary tension. His arms felt heavy, like they belonged to someone else.
Marcille broke the kiss and looked down at him, her thumb brushing across his bottom lip. “You sure you’re ok?”
William smiled blearily and nodded. “Anything for my wives.”
Clarice made a soft, pleased sound above him as she rolled her hips again, taking him deeper. One of her hands rested on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.
Yes. He would endure.
There was nothing left to do but lie there and let it happen.
“Good. We’ve only got a few hours left. I want to make sure I’m good and pregnant before we have to go back to war!” the girl said as she clambered atop him.
William said nothing.
He lay there.
Defeated.
----------------------
Bonnlyn looked up from the pile of reports as the office door opened. William staggered in, one hand braced against the frame like he needed the support to stay upright. His shirt was buttoned crooked, his hair was a disaster, and he moved with the slow, careful steps of a man who had been thoroughly used.
“Good, you’re back,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Hope you enjoyed relaxing over the weekend, but a lot of work piled up while you were gone.”
She cocked her head as, rather than respond, her teammate collapsed into the chair across from her, dropped his head into his hands, and stayed there.
Bonnlyn watched him for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Did you hear me, William? If you’re hungover, grab a healing potion because there’s a ton I need you to get on top of. Seriously, I’ve been running around like a headless wyvern trying to get your production lines sorted, but there’s a ton of stuff I need you to look at.”
William groaned into his palms, the sound muffled and pathetic.
Bonnlyn scowled. “Honestly, what’s wrong with you? You just spent the last two days fucking a pair of hot twins while the rest of us were working!”
He groaned again.
Bonnlyn shook her head before pushing over another sheet. “Oh, and the Queen wants to see you. Apparently, the North had a Shrieker of their own during the last raid, and she wants to know if you can think of any counters.”
William groaned again.
-------------------------
Yelena finally decided to speak up. “Lady Summerfield. Lady Whitemorrow. I understand you enjoyed the last two days, and I would never normally be the one to put a damper on young love – but this is a strategy meeting. The humming is rather distracting.”
“Ah, right. My apologies.”
Yelena sighed.
The smiles and near glow the two had were still annoying, but she’d take what she could get.