Chris wasn't entirely sure when it had become acceptable social behavior to fuck his best friend whist said friend's boyfriend watched. Or, for that matter, when it became common practice not to blink an eye when his boyfriend joined in on the fun.

As it was, Christian Kane was never really one for good social etiquette. The tequila was just on the right side of lethal, and Jensen really did look hot when he was sandwiched between Chris and Steve like the squishy bit in an Oreo.

Hell, Jensen looked hot all the damn time, and that was more than likely half the problem.

Then there was the fact that sweet, butter wouldn't melt Padalecki had obviously been moonlighting as a director in gay porn. Jesus Christ. For a good Texan boy, he sure as hell knew how to coax people into the most filthy, depraved acts imaginable. And Chris was a musician. He was pretty down with filthy and depraved.

"How ya doing there Jen?" Jared had circled around the back of the couch somewhere between the stripping and the actual fucking, and his voice was low and dirty in Chris' ear. Jensen moaned something that sounded suspiciously like fuck, so Chris echoed it just for continuity's sake. Jared, evil asshole than he was, fucking purred, and the sound went straight to Chris' dick.

One Godzilla sized hand reached across the couch and over Chris' shoulder to grasp at Jensen's neck. "Christ, baby, you look so fucking good like that, that pretty hole of yours stretched around their cocks. Gonna feel them for weeks, Jen. Every time you move you're gonna remember what it's like to be so full of dick you can't even think straight."

Steve's hands were curled around the muscle of Chris' thighs, hard and holding on for dear life. They tightened reflectively at Jared's words, his lips too busy sucking and biting at Jensen's neck to form a response. So again, Chris spoke for them. "Fuckfuckfuck."

Wasn't there some rule about the youngest being the sweet, innocent one of the group?

Chris wished he'd stuffed some of Jensen's mammoth couch cushions under his back before they'd begun; his ass was perched on the edge of the couch, and his shoulders rested on the seat back. Most of Jensen's weight fell against his chest, and what wasn't was dependant entirely on the trembling thighs either side of Chris' knees. Jensen was so fucked out he was barely able to move, let alone hold his own body weight.

To hell with it. Chris would be aching like fuck tomorrow, but it was worth it just to see the look on Steve's face as he slid his dick into Jensen's ass besides Chris'. He'd forgotten quite how they'd gone from 'need another beer' to 'wanna see you fuck Jen unconscious' but to hell with semantics, and to hell with Jared Padalecki and his dirty fucking mouth.

The kid's voice had dropped until Chris was sure only he could hear it, whispered words so damned obscene that Steve hissed when Chris' nails dug into his back. It was an evil, evil voice that made nice, innocent people do bad, bad things.

Like his Steve. As far as Chris was aware, Steve was actually the nicest, sweetest guy on the face of the Earth. And nice, sweet guys didn't bruise the fuck out of their lover's thighs with their fingers. And they sure as fuck didn't wrap an arm around Jensen's hips to hold him steady whilst he fucked him past the point of screaming.

All Padalecki's fault. Every fucking second.

Chris hissed and squirmed under both Jensen and Steve, groaning when Jensen's forehead fell against his shoulder. Steve thrust them both forwards so hard Jensen actually whimpered.

If Chris had been in possession of even half a brain cell, he'd have filed that sound under future blackmail material. As it was, he was actually a little impressed that Jensen hadn't started crying like a girl the minute Steve's fingers started stretching him for something wider than Chris' dick.

Moving as if every twisted inch cost him a pound of flesh, Jensen dragged his head up and caught Chris's chin with his jaw. His best friend's eyes- so familiar, and yet alien for all the new emotions Chris could see in them- were shot wide and glittered with tears. Soft lips parted, and Chris got the idea.

He managed to pry a hand away from its death grip on Steve, and locked Jensen's mouth to his. Someone growled. Probably Jared, but hell, maybe even Steve, and Jensen suddenly jerked forwards, eyes going wide and moan lost into Chris' mouth as he came.

The tremors that had driven Chris mad grew until they could have been measured on the Richter scale. Steve's arms wrapped around Jensen's waist and fucking lifted him up, bracing his weight against his thighs and the arm of the couch. Chris seized the opportunity and straightened himself up from his crippling sprawl. Their balance was precarious, but between the two of them, they were able to hold Jensen steady long enough for the shaking of his body to tip them both over the edge.

Jared didn't leave them long enough to catch their breaths before he pounced on Jensen, and if Chris could have summoned up any emotion besides exhaustion, he might have pitied his friend for the feverous zeal Padalecki unleashed.

Instead, he managed to wind his fingers in Steve's hair and damn near trembled at the effort.

Goddamn, he loved Tequila.

****

Thinking back now, he should have realized that any relationship built on sex that left him nearly catatonic was only going to drive them all to an early grave.

Three months in, and whilst they don't have the most conventional set up known to man, Chris actually felt more sickening newlywed than ever before. Given that none of the men he was sleeping with would ever consume enough tequila to actually walk down the aisle with him, and might just break out the shot gun at the mention of a dress, Chris figured that given the given, they were actually doing rather well.

Matters were helped somewhat by their parallel lives of acting and singing, with Jensen and Jared in exile up in Vancouver for weeks at a time, whilst he and Steve lived their rock&roll&the Sunday paper lives wherever the band took them. At first, when the fifth drunken round of accidentally fucking the best friend and his squeeze ended up involving more snuggling than actual alcohol, and it became pretty obvious that whilst three heads were better than two, four was the magic number. Chris had been pretty…concerned.

It wasn't that he didn't like…maybe even love all three of them- and there was an issue to raise with a shrink someday- it was just that they lived the majority of their lives in separate couples. Chris had figured that they'd end up just that; two couples who liked to fuck each other's brains out whenever the opportunity presented itself.

And they had, just not as he's imagined.

Couple one: Jared and Steve.

Yes, it was official, Jared was related to Satan. Distantly, but the link was there. Steve, on the other hand, had an angel or two in his family tree, and yet the both of them shared a bond that Jensen had drunkenly christened Puppy Power. In short, neither Jensen, nor Chris could actually say no to either of them. And they had tried. Repeatedly. Alone, PP was dangerous. Combined, and the deadly duo often left their significant others with bruises in places only doctors saw.

Which lead them nicely to couple two: Chris and Jensen.

More often than not, Chris ended up siding with his best friend more out of a sense of self-preservation than anything else. Of course it didn't help at all that Chris had a not so little thing for watching Steve and Jen in the shower, or for Jensen and Jared tinkering with the car, or for Steve and Jared and Jensen doing naughty things with ice cream, or….

He had it bad.

Really, really bad.

"Pass the eggs, sugar muffin." Chris growled, but obediently retrieved the carton from the pantry and handed them to Steve.

Couple number three: Steve and Jensen.

Who, for reasons unknown to either man or God, had taken it upon themselves to invent the most stupid saccharine nicknames for each other right from day one. When Chris had first seen Jensen and Steve interact, he had been at a total loss to understand how two fine, straight men could get away with calling each other sugar lips and baby doll, despite the leering that had accompanied it.

Go fucking figure.

Fine, straight men his ass.

"I'm not your sugar muffin," Chris grumbled as he thumbed through the morning paper. He jerked said thumb in Jensen's direction and continued, "He's your sugar muffin."

Jensen, who had his pre-coffee what-the-fuck face on, merely grunted and fished around in the refrigerator for the milk.

Jared's giant feet, complete with stripy red socks, slid across the tiled kitchen floor. He nearly decapitated Steve with his arms when he stretched and yawned. "Sugar?"

"Easy Grawp." Steve smiled as he brandished a mixing spoon at the younger man. Jared's face lit up.

"Pancakes?"

"I like pancakes." Jensen said brightly, having drained a mug of coffee and refilled it from the pot.

"Pancakes are good." Jared nodded. "They're like…flat."

Chris snorted. And Padalecki was the smart one of the group. Kinda embarrassing really.

"See what I have to put up with?" Jensen circled Chris to wind jersey-clad arms around his neck. Chris could smell warm cotton and Steve's aftershave on his skin, and the tongue that slipped into his mouth tasted of coffee and Jared's favorite mints.

"Mornin'" Jensen smiled at him, then without turning his head, he said to Steve, "Keep your eyes on the prize Martha Stewart."

"Maybe I am." Chris lifted his chin to see Jared wind himself around Steve like a boa constrictor. A very affectionate, mutated boa constrictor. With bad taste in socks. "Kiss him for me, Jen."

Chris felt Jensen's smile against his cheek, before he suddenly had a lapful of grinning Texan, and a mouthful of warm, wet, morning kisses. Jensen's tongue brushed across his, the same way Steve's would have, and two sets of smiling eyes beamed at him from across the room.

"Steve says hi." Jensen reported, pulling back and sliding himself off Chris' lap.

Steve nodded and Chris licked his lips.

"As hot as that was, and yeah, super hot…" Jared said with a grin, fingers creeping down Steve's arm to fasten around the wooden mixing spoon, "I kinda want pancakes."

"I like pancakes." Jensen repeated

Couple number four: Jensen and Jared.

The Hardy Boys of the WB, and the two biggest kids north of seventeen.

Jesus, he was too old for this kind of relationship.

"Make us pancakes, Stevie."

Chris was fixed with a look often seen on kittens just before they were mauled, as Steve tried to avoid the Padalecki Paw that poked him in the ribs.

Chris shrugged, and dragged Jensen back to finish their kiss.

"Traitor." Steve hissed, and Chris waved a one-fingered salute across the kitchen.

And of course couple number five: Chris and Steve.

Or SteveandChris, as Jared had christened them. Apparently, they no longer constituted two separate beings, and were indeed different sides of the same foil covered chocolate coin. Jared had been hungry at the time of analogy, but Chris had been sober enough to get the basic gist of things.

"Hey," Jared said brightly, cutting Chris' smoochie time in half with his enthusiasm and Jensen's natural instinct to tense at that tone of voice. "You think Steve can flip pancakes if I'm sucking him off?"

No. probably not. But hell, Chris was willing to pay good money to find out.