The Moon Gallery was one of the older sections of Druumat; it hadn’t been planned, it had just happened. No two levels of the first five had quite the same layout, and no single access way connected more than two levels. Some sections on the same level couldn’t even be reached without going to a different one.

Finding their way to the northern section of the third level took the twins a frustrating amount of time, but at last they were there, five doors down from the mage-lit lobby.

Hoping he didn’t show too much of the anxiety that had his heart racing, Mulin lifted the knocker and gave it a light tap against its plate. It struck, not with a mere metallic clink, but with the sound of a soft chime.

Old and haphazard the Moon Gallery might be, but it was still the better part of Druumat’s residential district. Even the door bore a number of small, convenient enchantments – such as the knocker, and the seeing-gem that brightened for just a moment to the magic sense, and the wards that parted and pulled back the bolt.

He and Kralin exchanged glances. “I think that’s a good sign,” Mulin observed; as the one who knew the occupant, he took it on himself to ease the door open and lead the way in.

Srin was, he couldn’t help but notice, not wearing much; the cloak he did have on wasn’t quite done up straight, as though it had been grabbed in a hurry.

And that sent his thoughts into whole new realms of speculation…

“It’s… wonderful to see you both!” the Nightkin exclaimed, absently locking the door again, his tail flicking about his ankles. “Urrh, but… forgive me, I hadn’t realized just how identical you are. Ah…” Before either of the twins could offer a clue, Srin turned his gaze to Mulin. “No, I see it now. I’d know that stance in a few breaths, at most.” He held Mulin’s gaze, except for a brief glance to the other twin; an anxious question was in his eyes, but Mulin wasn’t certain of the answer, much less how to communicate it if he were.

“At any rate, I… wasn’t certain I’d see either of you tonight, much less…”

“Today, we were merely told what the future holds,” Kralin sighed. He was taking the opportunity presented by Srin’s focus on his twin to look the Nightkin over; he did, at least, like what he saw, to judge by the way he stood up a bit straighter, tail flicking, wings lifting slightly. “It’ll take some time yet to unfold.”

“Hm?” Fortunately for Kralin’s discretion, it was to the twin he already knew that Srin looked for confirmation.

Mulin dipped his head in assent. “There’s… something big going on, out there. We’re going to need to make plans, get some final-hour lessons I don’t doubt, and… leave Druumat to put a stop to it.”

Srin was smart enough to connect the obvious; he slumped in momentary dismay, knowing this night might be all the time they had. But then he straightened, flicking the tips of his wings, and looked Mulin in the eye, then turned to Kralin as well. “Well, if you happen to have need of a scout or a sneak… I might still be working on combat, but those things I’ve already done quite well on, in trials.” He said it with simple pride, and without pleading. This was not the statement of a hot-blooded male trying to keep close to possible lovers, or even a youth cleaving to his friends; it was a man, albeit a young man, volunteering to do what needed to be done.

“If they give us any discretion over who’s to help us,” Mulin sighed, leaning close to grip his shoulder, “and I hope they at least acknowledge that we ought to get along with our companions, I’ll most certainly keep you in my mind, Srin.”

“But for the present time, perhaps we shouldn’t worry about such matters, hm?” Kralin suggested, stepping up behind the Nightkin and resting a hand on his other shoulder. “Tomorrow will come soon enough. For now…” He touched his snout to the side of Srin’s neck, prompting in the older youth a sharp intake of breath. “Any friend of my brother is someone I very much hope will be a friend of mine, as well – and I certainly can’t fault his taste.” His fingers slid downward, his other hand rising to mirror them, touching the base of the Nightkin’s wings. “So, for this night, we’re yours. What can we do for you, Srin?”

Srin’s eyes narrowed to dark slits, his wings lifting away from his back; he leaned back into the touch, and tilted his head up when Mulin drew in closer to nuzzle under his chin. “I… hadn’t really dared to make any plans,” he sighed, his breath warm over Mulin’s head. “For the most part, I’m more than content to explore what can be done; I’ve only ever done a few simple things, and those with only one, not…” He sighed, a wistful sound, and caressed Mulin’s horns. “Not two lithe and wonderfully eye-catching males like yourselves.”

Mulin pushed up into the touch, tongue darting out to tag Srin’s wrist. The other male had washed since their bout, and likely for longer than the hurried scramble the twins had been permitted before the Assembly; he didn’t smell of the surface, and the slightly-spicy, slightly-musky scent of his skin was a touch stronger than usual. “You’ve had more opportunity to explore than… than I have, at least.”

“Or I,” Kralin confirmed.

Srin’s fingers curled under Mulin’s jaw, nudging it upward so their gazes could meet. The Nightkin hesitated, drawing and holding a deep breath; when he finally spoke, it was still hesitant. “Before we go into more… well, more normal things, I wonder if I might… trouble the two of you for a rather irregular kindness?”

Kralin peered at Mulin past the third male’s shoulder, but Mulin had no more idea what Srin had in mind; it fell to him to prompt, “What is that?”

Another breath. “Could you… both of you… pose together for a memory crystal? Nothing too advanced,” he blurted. “I… wouldn’t want to make you truly uncomfortable or any such thing. But standing together… I’d treasure the sight. And I’d be very touched to have even a glimpse of the fondness you share. My sister and I don’t get along a tenth part so well…”

Mulin’s breath caught. He’d been worried enough when he’d confessed to wanting a triad with Kralin. He hadn’t expected Srin to enjoy the thought of them together. “It’s… a tad bittersweet,” he warned.

“There are things we would do,” Kralin murmured as well, “were it not…”

Srin smiled a gentle smile; his tongue slipped forward to touch Mulin’s muzzle. “If you indulge it here, just a little,” he said, “I’ll tell none. I’ll keep the memories close.”

Well, if someone thought it was good, it couldn’t be entirely bad, could it?

“Either way,” the Nightkin added, “let’s… adjourn to somewhere more comfortable. Before I lose my nerve.”

“You?” Mulin couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve been the outgoing one for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Perhaps.” Srin managed a toothy grin. “But I hadn’t been faced with two of you, before.” Nevertheless, with an arm around each twin’s waist and a wing draped over each in turn, he towed them toward the den.

Intellectually, it was no surprise, when Srin undid his lopsided brooch and tossed his cloak aside entirely, that a few fingers’ width of gleaming black flesh were already slipping into view. All the same, it was an arresting sight, and the scent of it on the air made him very eager indeed.

Mulin undid his own cloak, shuffling his wings to shake it loose from them, gripping the cloth by his right shoulder and pulling, letting the left side trail off on its own; he was looking for a place to put it when Srin took it from his hand with a smile. Then his belt, and the cloth it kept wrapped around his midsection; this time, Srin dared to lean in close and nuzzle at his stomach, tongue darting forth, coming so very near his slit and the pearly flesh starting to press from it, but not quite making contact – not yet.

Kralin made slightly better time, already waiting, unclad and upright, as Mulin relinquished his hold on the many-coloured silk. He flashed a nervous grin; Mulin returned one in kind, and took a step toward him. Their hands came to rest on each other’s shoulders, and they ducked their heads, noses and horns coming into gentle contact.

“I’m afraid, brother,” Kralin whispered. “But so long as you’re with me, I’m sure nothing we do can be really wrong.”

“It can be our little secret,” Mulin breathed, forcing himself to smile. And at least it’d be doing someone other than themselves good, as well.

He pulled in closer, feeling his wings quiver behind him. Kralin’s arms slid down, under those restless limbs, pulling in nearer still; their muzzles met, tongues dancing against each other. Mulin closed his eyes and savoured the touch, the heat of another male’s body. On some level, he could ignore just whose it was; it was another male’s, and that male was anxious for his touch in turn, touch that he was only too glad to give, fingers sliding over smooth hide and feeling muscle tense and quiver in their wake. On another, he knew full well that this was his twin, and it was no bad thing; it only reinforced the feelings, made them that much stronger, that much better. This was someone who loved him, unconditionally; he could do nothing that his twin would not enjoy, nor would Kralin do anything that could possibly be displeasing to him in turn.

Their tails curled around each other’s legs, and they twisted a little closer together, pressing body to body now. The hot spire of Kralin’s growing arousal rubbed and slid against his own, this time without even the slightest of impediments between them; the contact was almost electric in his thrill.

But why keep it at almost? Why limit the sensations to the merely physical?

He drew a deep breath, feeling the pulse and flow of mana all around him, drawing it close. It coiled about his arms; it trailed out from his fingers, dancing over his twin’s body; it gathered around his loins, tingling along his erection, all the stronger where his skin touched his brother’s. Whimpering, Kralin squeezed him tighter, the tips of his claws digging into Mulin’s shoulders, they and his shaft bearing an answering charge; with a growl of need that he scarcely recognized as his own, Mulin curled his wings around, enfolding Kralin in their embrace. For a few moments, there was no barrier to that frustrated need; for a few breaths, all that mattered was their connection.

It dawned on Mulin, though, that he hadn’t felt the touch of the memory crystal on his mind. He glanced over, and saw Srin very fully aroused, cradling the quartz shard in his fingers and turning it about, the silver chain it was hung from coiled loosely around his wrist. “As much as you’re willing,” the Nightkin breathed, tail lashing behind him, “I’m only too eager to experience. The two of you are simply exquisite…”

“There’s just one thing missing,” Kralin hissed. One of his arms slid free of Mulin’s body and instead between them; with a surprisingly soft, wistful sigh, his fingers curled around Mulin’s length, gathering it against his own.

And there they rested. Mulin sighed as well, touching his snout to his brother’s neck. “The one thing we can’t have,” he murmured.

“But someone else can,” replied his twin, his voice hopeful, eager. “Someone can keep us both close, mmm?”

There was a momentary sense of nearness, of presence, as though someone were not just looking over his shoulder, but visiting his own skin.

And then Srin was crouched down beside them, nuzzling at Mulin’s hip, then Kralin’s. “Thank you,” the Nightkin purred.

“And you,” said Kralin, releasing his hold between them, instead running his fingers along the Nightkin’s horn, on his side. “Your mind has a gentle touch.”

“And yet a wonderfully intimate one,” Mulin said, mirroring the gesture.

Srin grinned up at them both. “With you two in front of me, how could I be anything but? Give me some room, now…” He nudged their hips with his fingers. At his direction, they turned apart, standing at an angle to one another; Mulin kept one wing over Kralin’s back, furling the other in against his shoulder.

And he stared downward as Srin reached into the gap thus made between their bodies, and shuddered as claws glided along the naked skin of his maleness. From his slit to the very tip of his rod those claws chased, barely dimpling the skin; then down again, even pressing slightly into the hidden depths at the root of his shaft. Srin’s gaze was rapt, trying to drink in each length entirely, as he fondled both and coaxed a steady slick flow from them; after a few strokes, his hands curled around, gliding along Mulin’s length with his right hand, Kralin’s with his left.

Clinging to his brother for balance, Mulin shivered and stared down. His tail lashed behind him, brushed against Kralin’s as it did the same; they curled together in a tight helix, wriggling against each other, spades tapping together.

And then Srin leaned right in, tightening his grip on Mulin’s shaft, sliding his hand down to the base of Kralin’s and giving that one a flick of his tongue across the tapered head.

Kralin let free a throaty moan, bucking forward into the touch, but the Nightkin had hardly begun; again his tongue stroked over tender flesh, firmer this time, and still again. He was pumping swiftly on Mulin by now, and eased the tip of Kralin’s length into his muzzle, crooning around it, the sound interrupted by wet slurps that told all too clearly just what he was doing to it.

And then he let that flesh slip from his muzzle, turned, and started giving the same attention to Mulin instead.

The light flicker of his forked tongue was maddening; it was a blessed relief when that agile muscle started pressing harder, coiling around his aching rod, drawing it into the welcoming, moist warmth of Srin’s muzzle. And from there, the Nightkin pressed down, down…

He expected Srin to pause about a third of the way from his slit and reverse course, much as Kralin had done with himself, as Mulin had found he needed to do himself in the intervening time. But Srin did not. He paused, yes; but then he continued, and a tighter heat enfolded Mulin’s length, firmer, squeezing tight around the taper of his member’s tip – and tighter still when the Nightkin swallowed.

Four Winds and stormy skies, Srin was drawing Mulin right into his very throat.

And the Nightkin didn’t stop again until his snout was against Mulin’s slit, his tongue teasing at the base of the shivering male’s rod where it emerged from his body.

A haze crept over Mulin’s vision He squeezed his eyes shut, his wing tightening around his brother’s body. The sensation, though new wasn’t all that intense; but the sheer reality of what was going on was dizzying.

Srin drew his muzzle back, his tongue dragging along the underside of Mulin’s length. He bobbed along the upper half or so a few times more, suckling, his tongue stroking it here and there, and then he pulled off; Mulin pressed onto his toes with a whimper, straining, for a moment, to follow.

Then Srin’s hand was upon him again, swiftly stroking, and he was engulfing Kralin instead; the other twin whined, shivered, and pressed into the embrace of Mulin’s wing. And then he settled squarely between them, stroking each, holding them such that their tips were near touching – did touch, in fact, from time to time as they squirmed against each other, an intense thrill that just made them wriggle harder. His tongue teased over both of them, carrying from one to the other in a smooth stroke, or taking quick laps at each in turn –

His pleasure gave him only a few heartbeats of warning, just enough to stammer a few words, and then it was racing through him. Mana tingled in every nerve, seethed in his blood, crackled over his wings; the entire world was awash in its luminous haze. His seed seemed to almost glow as it arced out of him, streaking Srin’s ink-dark snout, some of it even landing on Kralin’s shaft before that dancing tongue lifted it away.

Bit by bit his climax subsided, though the haze of mage-sight lingered; mana curled around the living figures, concentrated especially around the spires of flesh jutting toward each other and in Srin’s dark eyes. Still that tongue glided along his aching flesh, drawing out his pleasure if not his release; sensation drifted down to its norm, delayed by the quick laps and strokes, and in the meantime ever slight breath of air was pure bliss.

And then it as Kralin’s turn.

Srin turned to focus on him, drew the panting male into his mouth and let him slip out, again and again; noisy strokes of his tongue made clear that he was hardly getting less attention for what Srin had already swallowed, far from it. Kralin whined, shuddering hard, and leaned in against his twin; Mulin crooned over his cheek, curled his wing tighter, and urged him on. “Yes, that’s it,” he breathed. “Let it happen, brother. Share it with us; let your seed mix with mine, let him savour each…”

He didn’t need to go any farther than that; Kralin bucked forward, body arched, and cried out. Srin closed his eyes, soft, wordless mumbles of delight slipping from around his mouthful of flesh as he drank the second twin right down. Not a single drop escaped, this time; not from the first surge of Kralin’s pleasure to the moment his momentarily-spent length slipped from the Nightkin’s muzzle.

They stood together, Kralin panting, Mulin breathing a bit steadier but still quickly; Srin rose as well, slipping an arm around each one’s waist and drawing closer. His wing slid over Mulin’s back, and Kralin’s wing over his, closing the loop, and they held each other for a minute or so, the twins savouring the echoes of release.

At last they parted, but the night, Mulin knew, was far from done; for one thing, Srin’s still-rigid length brushed his hip as the moved.

“What next, O wise and experienced tutor?” he purred, and Kralin giggled at his bombastic tone.

“Next?” Srin cocked his head, grinning. “Well, that’s largely up to you, isn’t it?” His questing hand sought and found Mulin’s length, curling around the still-rigid flesh; the twin gasped, bucking into the touch. “It seems we won’t need to wait at all for you to recover. Four Winds, I hope I can keep up – even one of you would be a challenge, I think!”

“You two enjoy each other,” Kralin breathed, easing away from the three-way embrace. “This time, I think I’d rather… observe.”

And so he slipped apart; and so Mulin was left standing with Srin, and the Nightkin turned to face him squarely. One hand cupped his jaw; the other stayed low, squeezing their arousals together – and this was not the gentle cradle that Kralin’s fingers had been; Srin pressed them tight, and skin rubbed firmly along hot, slick skin. A twist in the Nightkin’s hips, and the curves in each male’s length meant they almost hooked together; and still he rolled against Mulin, flesh sliding against flesh.

In the grip of his hands and now both wings, it was all Mulin could do to stay standing, trembling against the other male, his body thrusting into the touch of its own accord.

Srin was saying something – the words washed over him without sinking into his mind; but the meaning was clear enough, the sheer lust vibrating in them undeniable. Here was someone who wanted him, wanted him almost desperately, touching him in as intimate a manner as there could possibly be.

He closed his eyes, but mage-sight was not so easily dismissed; what had been so hard to touch at all, a few short months ago, now seemed fuelled by his pleasure and would not need him. He was even more aware of the other male with that than he had been with his eyes – there was a curious certainty to the feel of his magic and his life that mere vision lacked. And with every racing beat of Srin’s heart or his own, that awareness pulsed as well, adding a flicker of vital force to the sensation.

And bit by bit, they were slipping into unison. The closer their rhythms grew, the more aware of Srin he became – not just of his presence, but of his thoughts, as though not just their bodies but their minds were gaining harmony.

For one perfect moment, they were as one. And in that perfect moment, ecstasy seized them both.

The better part of a minute passed before he could open his eyes and draw a steady breath. Somehow, his hand had settled atop Srin’s, both wrapped tight around lengths now slick with spilt seed.

Off to one side, laboured breathing drew Mulin’s attention to the fact that the two of them hadn’t been the only ones to enjoy their contact; Kralin was sprawled on the couch, wings slack to either side, the shifting colours on his skin interrupted by nearly-white streaks over his chest.

“Something about the pair of you,” Srin murmured, bringing his attention suddenly back. “I haven’t had more than a small handful of lovers, it’s true, but… none of them, nor I, could touch magic at the height of pleasure if we tried. I wonder…” His fingers trailed along Mulin’s jaw, and the Nightkin finished, “Could you possibly let go? Not that I would wish you to.”

“There must be something that makes us Magekin,” Kralin offered, with a weak and breathless chuckle.

Nor was it only the breathlessness of recent orgasm; his fingers were still sliding along his shaft, albeit with a gentle stroke of two fingertips to the underside of it, and the sight was enough to make Mulin’s stir all over again.

Their host laughed. “Oh, the two of you… I think I can manage once more before I’m too exhausted to carry on. Let’s make it a good one, shall we?”

“You’ve something in mind?” Mulin tried and failed to keep his tail still; he didn’t even bother restraining the excitement from his voice.

“I do,” Srin breathed. “All we need is a bit more space and some body oil…”

Mulin’s heart fluttered. He hadn’t bothered with oil yet; for him to do so now… Kralin, apparently thinking the same thoughts, held his breath, leaning forward, his tail winding around an ankle to occupy it.

“I can think of no better end to the night,” Srin murmured, “than to be entirely between the two of you, each as close to me as a man can be. In both permutations of it at once.” Fingers touched Mulin’s cheek. “Dear friend… it would mean so very, very much to me if I could have you in me…”

“And to the one you know a touch less,” Kralin murmured, “you give your own seed?” He shivered. “I count myself fortunate indeed…”

“The sooner you lie across that cot,” the Nightkin said with a teasing grin, “the sooner that fortune can be realized.”

It was Mulin’s turn to stand back a pace; he could reach out and touch either of them, his twin or his new lover, if he so chose, but he refrained, leaning on one of the spurs of stone that supported Srin’s cot as his twin arranged himself upon it. At the older male’s guidance, Kralin shifted a bit and settled anew; meanwhile, Srin himself had found a good-sized flask, and was applying a coating of the clear, thick contents to his malehood with an anxious growl.

Once finished, he handed it to Mulin and eased into place with Kralin square in front of him.

The intellectual portion of Mulin’s mind noted the positions and angles, noted how Srin held himself, how he gripped Kralin’s leg and bent him just so.

The larger portion of his consciousness saw the eager anticipation on their faces, the rush of pleasure in each as their bodies met; saw their eyes sip shut, heard the deep groan rumbling in Srin’s throat, the whine slipping from Kralin’s, as they slid together; and yearned to join them.

Srin’s tail wrapped around his waist as he moved in behind, the spade hooking around his thigh, prodding at the base of his slick length. “Start gentle,” the Nightkin panted over his shoulder, “I’m not much less new to this than you are.” But he had enough experience that even his tail could keep Mulin’s length in the right place; when he eased forward, the point of his rod encountered a snug bud, and Srin muffled a groan against Kralin’s shoulder.

And so – gently, as asked – he started to ease his weight forward, and felt that bud open for him, allowing him in.

It was a different sort of warmth to that of his muzzle, tighter, stronger; but the most significant thing, in his mind, was that it let their bodies press close together, his arms sliding under Srin’s half-mantled wings, hands sinking into the weave of the cot by his twin’s sides. It was ever so much more intimate a touch.

“Good, good,” Srin hissed. “Four Winds, you two…!” He gulped. “Ahhhh. It’s incredible…”

At his coaching, Mulin drew his hips back, shivering as the other male’s body gripped his withdrawing length, and then he pushed in again, slow and gentle as before; at his further coaching, the next thrust was a little firmer, the next one harder still. And soon he was pistoning as hard and fast as his weary limbs would drive him, pulling just over half of his length free, then ramming deep under the Nightkin’s tail. In moments Srin was crying out, writhing between them, and Kralin was gasping and thrashing under him, all three trembling in pleasure.

Exactly how long it was, Mulin didn’t have a hope of guessing, but it wasn’t very long at all until Srin’s voice gained a more urgent tenor, his breath hard and fast. His body gripped Mulin’s length, clenching and releasing like a fist; each stroke through that tight, silken heat was exquisitely intense, stroking every bit of his sensitive flesh. And then, somewhere amidst Kralin’s whimpers and moans, the scent of fresh semen inundated his senses, sending an electric thrill from his nose down to his toes and the tip of his tail, lingering around his groin.

He lasted a dozen strokes more, and then something just seemed to bubble over inside him. It was a gentler pleasure than those he’d encountered so far; a slight quickening of his breath, a shiver in his limbs… he clung to the dark male under him, panted over his neck, and let his seed pass into him, one warm pulse at a time.

Last to his pleasure, but their arrangement made him first to draw free, unwinding his limbs and easing his deliciously sore length free; finally spent, it fell limp to his thigh, and from there it started to retreat. Srin stumbled a bit in his efforts to rise, and Mulin steadied him with as firm a hand on the Nightkin’s shoulder as he could manage.

“The cot’s rather too small for all of us,” Srin panted. He looked over to the couch, which was much sturdier, and offered an arm to Kralin.

That couch was where they settled, Srin on his back, with one wing curled around each other male; each of them had his wings tucked in close and was on his side, facing inward, Kralin’s hand atop Mulin’s atop Srin’s slowing heart.

The world could push what toil upon them it would; the memory of this night, Mulin was sure, would sustain him for quite some time.