tantrayaan

  The house had emptied out in a slow, ughter-filled exodus. Leftover soda cans, mismatched socks, and empty pizza boxes were all that remained of the chaos. Cami had kissed them all on the cheek before vanishing with Jorge. Tyrel had belted out an off-key verse of No Scrubs as he and Ravi disappeared down the street, still arguing about the best pickup line for a psychology major.

  And now, finally, it was quiet.

  The kind of quiet that felt serene.

  Marisol curled up on the couch with her legs tucked under her, a bnket over her p. Sarah sat beside her, leaning into her warmth. Bharath stood by the window, arms crossed as he watched the street fade into night, the st of the tail lights disappearing down the road.

  He turned back to them. “You ever think about what happens when the music stops?”

  Marisol raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “This,” he said, motioning vaguely around them. “Us. The group. The ughter. What happens when real life kicks in?”

  Sarah sighed. “You mean her mom.”

  Marisol groaned and buried her face in the throw pillow. “God. Don’t say her name like she’s Beetlejuice.”

  “I’m serious,” Bharath said, sitting down. “She’s your mom. I’m not… Latino. I’m not Catholic. And I’m definitely not someone she imagined you bringing home - let alone with another woman.”

  Marisol pulled the bnket tighter. “Yeah. She’s gonna lose it.”

  “Does she even know about me?” Sarah asked quietly.

  “No,” Marisol said. “She’s still trying to wrap her head around me dating an Indian boy. Who doesn’t speak Spanish. And who doesn’t eat meat. I love her, but she clings to culture and religion like it’s a life raft.”

  Bharath rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to make things harder.”

  “I know,” Marisol said gently, reaching for his hand. “You just... exist. And that alone is complicated in this world.”

  Sarah watched them, her fingers absently toying with the hem of the bnket. “What about Mia?” she asked softly.

  Marisol let out a long breath. “Mia’s case... is harder.”

  Bharath blinked. “Harder than your mom?”

  “She’s not judgmental,” Marisol said, “just... attentive. Too attentive. And, tely, weirdly curious.”

  Sarah smirked. “You mean she has a thing for him.”

  Marisol looked at her. “She definitely has a thing for him.”

  Bharath let out a groan, leaning his head back against the couch. “Please no. Don’t tell me your bombshell little sister has a crush on me.”

  Marisol elbowed him. “Don’t call her a bombshell.”

  “She is,” Sarah said, raising a hand. “Confirmed. I’ve seen the photos on your fridge.”

  “Et tu, Brutus?” Marisol muttered.

  Bharath ughed, dragging a hand down his face. “What am I supposed to do? Pretend she’s invisible?”

  “Yes,” both girls said in unison.

  He groaned again.

  Sarah slid closer, her fingers slipping under his shirt, dragging along his side. “Maybe we should remind you why you don’t need to look at anyone else.”

  Marisol’s eyes gleamed, her voice low and teasing. “You think about anyone else when we’re here?”

  Bharath blinked. “It was just-she’s your sister! I wasn’t-”

  Marisol straddled his p in one slow, fluid motion, silencing him with her weight and her lips brushing his jaw. “Too te. You said it.”

  Sarah moved behind him, arms wrapping around his chest from the back, her lips at his neck. “Now you pay.”

  He swallowed. “This seems like a dangerous game.”

  Marisol tilted his chin up with two fingers. “It is. And you’re going to lose.”

  Then she kissed him.

  Slow. Deep. Possessive.

  Sarah kissed the side of his throat. Her hands ran across his stomach and up under his shirt, nails raking just enough to make him gasp.

  Marisol pulled back just long enough to whisper, “You’re ours, Bharath. Not Mia’s. Not anyone’s.”

  Sarah’s breath tickled his ear. “Say it.”

  His pulse pounded.

  “I’m yours.”

  “Both of ours,” Marisol pressed, teeth grazing his lower lip.

  He nodded, breathless. “I’m yours.”

  Marisol grinned. “Good boy.”

  Her hips rolled forward, grinding against him, making him twitch beneath her in helpless response. He tried to keep some composure - but between the heat of Marisol’s body on top of him and Sarah’s soft, relentless teasing behind him, it was impossible.

  Sarah tugged his shirt off with surprising precision, her lips trailing across the fresh skin she revealed, pressing kisses between his shoulder bdes. “He’s already trembling,” she whispered to Marisol, nipping at the edge of his neck.

  “I know,” Marisol said, licking a slow stripe along his jaw. “Let’s see how long he can st.”

  Bharath groaned, his voice already ragged. “You two are insane.”

  Sarah’s fingers slid lower, undoing his belt with maddening slowness. “Maybe. But we’re your kind of insane.”

  Marisol leaned down, pressing her forehead to his. “You like it when we’re like this. When we cim you. When we own you.”

  He nodded mutely, panting, his hands clenching helplessly at the couch cushions.

  Then Sarah bit down lightly at the base of his neck - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to brand him with her mouth. At the same time, Marisol caught his bottom lip between her teeth and kissed him again, deeper this time, tongue flicking against his in a way that made his whole body jolt.

  “I-” he tried, but Sarah’s hand slipped inside his boxers and gripped him with practiced heat, and the words disintegrated.

  Marisol pulled back just enough to admire the flushed look on his face. “You were thinking about another girl,” she whispered. “Even if it was just for a second.”

  “I wasn’t-” he gasped. “It was a joke-”

  “We don’t like jokes,” Sarah said, licking up his spine slowly, deliberately.

  “Not about that,” Marisol agreed, her hand trailing down his chest to join Sarah’s. Their fingers brushed over each other as they explored him together, syncing in rhythm, moving with the kind of knowledge that came only from nights of whispered secrets and memorized reactions.

  His head fell back, resting on Sarah’s shoulder now, and she wrapped one arm around his chest tightly, possessively, as if anchoring him to their shared reality.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered into his ear.

  “I wasn’t trying to-”

  Marisol silenced him with her lips again. “No more talking. Just feel.”

  They worked him over in perfect tandem - Marisol’s weight grounding him, Sarah’s fingers and mouth tormenting him from behind. Each kiss, each stroke, each teasing moan yered over the next until he was arching between them, completely overwhelmed.

  Then Marisol lifted herself just slightly and reached for Sarah’s hand. She guided her down, between them, and together, they wrapped their hands around him - slick, slow, relentless.

  He groaned, his head swimming.

  “You’re going to come for us,” Sarah said sweetly, her voice like warm honey poured into his ear.

  “Right here,” Marisol whispered, “right now. For us. Because you’re ours.”

  And he did - shuddering hard, jaw clenched, arms clinging to both of them as wave after wave of pleasure broke through him. They held him through it, licking him and cleaning him up, stroking him, kissing his skin, whispering praise and possession into his ears until he colpsed, boneless and dazed.

  He blinked up at the ceiling, heart hammering, barely breathing.

  Marisol grinned down at him, brushing damp curls off his forehead. “Still thinking about Mia?”

  He could barely speak, his voice hoarse. “Who’s Mia?”

  Sarah burst out ughing, resting her chin on his shoulder.

  Marisol leaned down again, softer now, and kissed his chest. “Good answer.”

  Then both girls curled into him, sandwiching him with warmth and giggles, as he y there - cimed, adored, thoroughly undone.

  The ughter finally ebbed into soft, contented sighs.

  Sarah rested her cheek against Bharath’s shoulder, one leg draped zily over his. Marisol y curled against his other side, her breath warm against his chest, fingers drawing absent circles over the skin just above his heart. Their limbs tangled with his in a cocoon of warmth and scent and skin. The room was dim and silent now, the shadows long and velvety across the hardwood floor.

  Bharath didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to speak. But the thought had been nagging at the edge of his bliss since before Sarah’s mouth found his spine.

  He exhaled, brushing Marisol’s shoulder with a kiss before speaking.

  “I don’t want to ruin the moment,” he murmured, “but we still need to talk about your mom.”

  Marisol’s fingers stilled.

  Bharath said. “You practically live here now. She’s going to notice. If she hasn’t already.”

  Marisol sighed, long and low. “I’ve been dodging her calls more than I should.”

  “She’ll feel betrayed,” Bharath said softly. “Not just because of me. Or Sarah. But because you didn’t tell her.”

  Sarah gnced between them, her expression cautious. “Is she the kind who’d rather be lied to gently... or told the truth even if it breaks her?”

  “She’s the kind who already thinks I’ve fallen off the edge of the cultural cliff,” Marisol muttered. “Dating a non-Latino guy was already pushing it. An Indian guy who doesn’t eat meat? That’s strike two.”

  “And now add a second girl to the mix,” Sarah murmured. “That’s a full count.”

  Marisol sat up slightly, pulling the bnket around her chest. “It’s not that she wouldn’t understand love. She’s seen love in hard pces. But she’s... old school. Catholic guilt with a side of fire and chanc. She’s terrified I’ll get hurt. Or used. Or end up alone.”

  “But you’re not alone,” Bharath said gently. “You have us. And she deserves to know that, doesn’t she? Eventually?”

  “I know,” Marisol whispered. “I just don’t know how to tell her without breaking something between us.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  Sarah broke it. “What if you didn’t tell her the whole truth all at once?”

  Bharath raised an eyebrow. “Like... staggered disclosure?”

  Sarah shrugged. “Start with him. Let her get used to the idea of you and Bharath. Let her see that he’s stable. Kind. That he loves you.”

  “I do love her,” Bharath said quietly, brushing Marisol’s hair behind her ear.

  Marisol gave him a soft look, but her eyes were troubled. “But when does Sarah come in? When I drop it like a surprise after months of lies?”

  “Not lies,” Sarah said gently. “Just... timing. Context. Trust.”

  Bharath looked between them. “We could set the stage. Maybe invite Maria over for dinner? Here. A simple night. Just the three of us. You and me cooking, Marisol, Sarah staying in the background for now. Not hiding - just easing in.”

  “And then what?” Marisol asked. “She asks why my toothbrush is here? Why my books are on the shelf? Why there are three pillows on the bed?”

  Sarah gave a wry smile. “Tell her you’ve been crashing here because the dorms are loud. Midterms stress. Noise excuses everything.”

  Marisol leaned back into Bharath, the tension in her spine starting to soften. “She’ll smell the truth eventually.”

  “Then when she does,” Bharath said, “we make it about love. Not rebellion. Not shame. You’ve chosen something radical. But it’s beautiful. She should see that.”

  “I want her to,” Marisol whispered. “I just... don’t want to lose her trying.”

  Sarah reached for her hand. “Then let’s do it together. Softly. Carefully. But honestly. When the time is right.”

  Bharath wrapped his arms around both women, pressing them close. “Whatever happens... we face it as us.”

  Marisol nodded against his chest. “Okay. We start with dinner.”

  Sarah rested her head beside Marisol’s. “I’ll stay in my room.”

  Bharath kissed their foreheads, one after the other. “And I’ll try not to be too charming.”

  Marisol chuckled softly. “God help us.”