The towel is rough where I knot it at my hip, still damp, and the air in the hallway raises goosebumps across my chest. My hand finds the doorframe, the wood smooth and worn, and I stop.
They've rearranged themselves. Jamie is braced over Luca on the mattress, his back to me, the sharp wings of his shoulder blades shifting as he works two fingers into his own hole—slow, deliberate, slick with lube that catches the morning light. Luca's head is propped on the pillows, dark curls a mess against the white, and his mouth is fixed on Jamie's nipple, sucking hard enough to make Jamie's arms tremble.
The sound Jamie makes is thin and punched out of him—a whimper that cuts cleanly through the space between us. Luca's tongue circles the tight peak, his hazel eyes half-lidded, and then they find me in the doorway.
His smirk is slow and knowing. "Told you he'd watch."
Jamie's head whips around. His cheeks are flaming, that deep embarrassed pink that stains his chest, but his blue-grey eyes are bright, and he doesn't stop moving his fingers inside himself. He pushes them deeper, lets out a shaking breath, and holds my gaze. "Morning, Dad."
The word hits me low and hot. My hand is on my cock before I know I've reached for it—palm wrapping around the half-hard weight, the towel falling open and forgotten.
"You wanted a show," Luca says, his voice a low purr. He drags his hands down Jamie's sides, over his ribs, settling on his hips. "So watch."
He guides the motion. Jamie starts to grind against his own fingers, a slow, wet rhythm, and Luca's mouth finds his other nipple. The bed creaks under them. The air is thick with the smell of their skin—warm cotton, sweat, the sharp musk of arousal.
My fist moves on my cock in the same slow rhythm. I don't know if I'm mirroring them or they're mirroring me. It doesn't matter.
"More," Luca commands. Jamie moans, pulls his fingers out, and shifts back until his wet hole is positioned over Luca's mouth. Luca's tongue darts out, tasting himself on Jamie's rim, and Jamie's head falls forward, a broken sound spilling from his lips.
"Luca—I'm close—"
"Come on my face." Luca's voice is muffled against him but clear as a bell. "Dad wants to see. Don't you, Dad?"
"Yeah." I hear myself say it, the word scraped out of my throat. "Yeah, I do."
Luca digs in. His tongue spears into Jamie, fast and focused, and Jamie's whole body bows—that beautiful, ruined arch of his spine, his hand flying back to grip Luca's hair. He comes with a sob, his release streaking across Luca's stomach, his thighs shaking, his voice cracking on a sound that's mostly my name.
Luca gentles him through it, licking softer, until Jamie slumps forward with a shuddering exhale. Then Luca's hand moves down his own body, wrapping around his flushed, neglected cock, and he starts to stroke.
"Don't stop," I tell him.
His smirk fractures. For a second he looks almost young, almost vulnerable, before he lets his head fall back and pulls himself fast and rough. His eyes lock on mine. His mouth falls open. He comes with a low grunt, his release pooling hot on his stomach, his chest heaving.
The room goes quiet. Just their breathing, the creak of the mattress settling, the thin morning light catching the sweat on their skin and the cum between them. I don't move. My hand is still wrapped around my cock, hard and aching, but I don't finish yet. I hold it, let them see the hunger I'm reining in.
Jamie rolls off Luca, one unsteady hand reaching for me. "Come here," he whispers. "Let us take care of you."
I step forward, leaving the doorframe behind, because the show is over and what I want now is their hands on my skin.