Haruhi can feel hands on her skin, stroking softly, making her hot and tingly. And though she can’t see whose hand belongs to who, she can tell, by the nature of their touch alone.
Kyouya is deliberate, straightforward, finding her erogenous zones and relentless in his search to make her moan, cry out her pleasure. His fingers tweak and rub her nipples. His mouth is hot and wet on her throat.
Mori is teasing, but firm. One hand strokes along the side of her thighs, the other presses against her lower back, pushing her closer to the glorious talent of his lips and tongue. Haruhi shudders as he mouths at her nethers, making her twitch and struggle for something to cling to.
Haruhi is no less busy. Kyouya is the only one close enough for her to wrap fingers around his length, teasing him with short, rapid strokes. Enough to keep him aroused and wanting, but teetering on the edge. Mori is between her legs, almost out of reach, but she can at least tangle her fingers in his hair, tugging on his scalp. The almost-pain is sure to keep him revved until she can reach to do more.
They don’t speak; they don’t have to. Years of being together have helped make them attune to the others desires.
So when Haruhi moans, near to tipping over the edge into orgasm, Kyouya’s mouth is there, covering hers, swallowing her cries with lips and tongue, the way she likes it. Mori’s own efforts become more vigorous, focused, gentle concentration on the cluster of nerves that make Haruhi nearly sing.
She comes with a shudder, body twisting and writhing between them, heat blanketing her body and shivers dancing down her spine. Mori chuckles in smug approval; Kyouya purrs into her mouth.
Her hips dance away from Mori’s lips, too sensitive, and the moment his hand releases her back, Haruhi flops over, all but tackling Kyouya around the middle. He falls back onto the bed with a quiet oomph, calm shattered when she closes her mouth around his rigid length, the taste of his musk thick on her tongue. Only then does Kyouya cry out, completely abandoning his usual composure. Haruhi smirks around her mouthful.
Hands on her hips warn her of Mori’s presence. She pushes her rump toward him, leaning into the long, sweeping strokes his palms give the back of her thighs. He presses toward her, nudging at her folds with his length before pushing inside with a delicious stretch that dances the line between pleasure and discomfort, but only for a moment. And then it’s bliss, sheer bliss, as they move together, the three of them, as one.