The Midnight Showing We Shared, the Three of Us

We had planned that night for weeks and, even so, the three of us acted as if we could still change our minds. Damián drove without saying a word. Camila, in the back seat, played with the zipper on her purse. I rode shotgun, watching the street roll by and repeating to myself that it was an idea the three of us had had, not just mine.

—Are we going to the one on Belgrano? It’s the one with the least people on Tuesdays —Camila said.

Damián nodded. I did too. No one explained why the number of people mattered so much to us.

The cinema was inside an old arcade, with worn carpet and a sweet smell of reheated popcorn. We bought tickets for the smallest theater and the longest movie on the board: a French drama that promised to bore anyone. The girl at the ticket booth didn’t even look at us when I asked for the three tickets together. She had earbuds in and her head buried in her phone.

—Last three seats in the top row, right corner —I recited from memory, because I’d chosen them myself from the app that very morning.

We went up slowly. The theater was almost empty: an older couple in the fourth row, some guy alone farther up, and nothing else. The lights were still on and the screen was showing loud soda ads. We sat down in silence: Damián in the middle, Camila to his right, me to his left. It had been our tacit arrangement from the first day. He was the bridge between the two of us.

We still have time not to do anything, I thought, as I put my jacket on the seat in front of me.

—Are you okay? —Damián asked me under his breath.

—Yeah. You?

—Nervous. But good. I’m getting hard just thinking about it —he admitted, and adjusted the bulge over his jeans without even trying to hide it.

Camila leaned over him and looked at me with a smile I’d never seen before. She had her eyeliner smudged on purpose, her lips painted a nearly black red, and a new perfume that filled the whole row. When we’d met, a little over a year earlier, she’d been a jeans-and-sneakers girl. This version of her, planned down to the last detail, was something else.

—If at any point either of you wants to stop, we say so and that’s it —she murmured—. No one gets mad. But I’ll warn you, I’m here wanting both of you to fill my mouth.

We both nodded at the same time. My stomach clenched with pure nerves and my cock started swelling against the denim of my jeans.

The lights dimmed. The theater sank into that bluish half-light from the trailers. A voice-over announced that the next release was unmissable. Nobody paid attention.

Camila got up from her seat and, making no sound, settled herself on the narrow floor between our legs. I felt the brush of her hair against my knee before I really saw her. The darkness turned her into a silhouette, just a glint in her eyes every time the screen changed color.

—Hi, boys —she said, and let out a low laugh that made the hair on my neck stand up—. Let’s see what you brought me.

She started with our thighs. Her hands were warm, firm, and moved up and down without hurrying, squeezing the flesh over the jeans, climbing to the bulge and sliding back down again. Damián let out a long, slow exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath since we walked in. I closed my eyes for a second. When I opened them, she was already working the buttons on his jeans and mine at the same time, with a skill that made me laugh and go dizzy.

—No underwear, both of you. How obedient —she whispered, and blew hot air over the opened fabric.

We’d argued about that by chat the night before. A stupid idea that we ended up following to the letter.

She pulled everything down just enough. The cold air of the theater hit my skin and my cock sprang out, hard, pointing at the ceiling. Almost at the same time, her mouth slid up the inner side of my thigh in a line of wet kisses, her tongue marking every inch. She never quite got where she was headed and then went back down again, like a cruel joke. I felt her lick the base, run the tip of her tongue over my balls, and go back down without touching me where it burned most. Damián was laughing quietly beside me, his teeth clenched, while his own cock tightened against his stomach.

—Don’t start like that or I won’t be able to take it —he muttered to her.

—You’ll take whatever I want you to take —she answered—. Tonight I’m the one in charge.

I turned my head toward Damián. He looked at me and, almost without thinking, we met in the middle. His mouth tasted like the beer we’d shared beforehand. His short beard scraped my jaw. When he slipped his tongue in and I answered, I felt Camila finally decide: she wrapped her hand around me, squeezed, made two slow passes from top to bottom, smearing the tip of what was already leaking from me, and a second later swallowed me whole down to the base.

The first moan escaped me inside Damián’s mouth. He silenced it himself with a deeper kiss. Camila worked patiently, unhurried, sucking from the tip all the way down, taking me into her throat, pulling me out with a wet sound that in the silence of the theater sounded obscene, then going back down again. She alternated tongue and hand: when she took my cock out of her mouth to breathe, she gripped it in her fist and jerked it slowly, never looking away from me from below, strings of saliva hanging from her chin. I lost track of what was happening on the screen. Every so often, a burst of light exposed us for an instant; no one turned around from below.

Suddenly I noticed the change: she wasn’t on me anymore. I opened my eyes just in time to catch her taking Damián into her mouth. She took him in slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until her nose touched his waist. He let his head fall back against the seat and bit his lip to stay quiet while she started really sucking him, with one hand cupped around his balls and her neck rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I’d been left without his kiss. But she didn’t leave me alone: with her left hand she kept jerking my cock up and down, squeezing hard at the base and loosening at the tip, without breaking the rhythm of the blowjob she was giving him.

That was the system for the next few minutes. Back and forth. Two minutes sucking me, two minutes sucking him. While she worked on one, she masturbated the other with a closed fist, twisting her wrist over the tip, spitting a little when she needed more slip. The difference between that hot mouth and that firm hand was exquisite and cruel at the same time: just when you started to feel the orgasm rising through your balls, she would leave you in her hand and everything turned to waiting, while you listened to her gurgle around the other guy’s cock.

Damián, without letting go of the back of my neck, pulled me in and we kissed again. This time hungrier, biting each other’s lips. His free hand found mine and squeezed it. I squeezed back. No words were needed.

—Wait —Camila said, her voice rough and her lips already smudged red.

We heard her moving in the darkness. She unbuttoned her blouse one button at a time. The bra gave her trouble; she laughed at her own clumsiness and, when she finally got it off, left it hanging from Damián’s armrest. The screen lit up for an instant, revealing the curve of her tits, nipples already hard, pointing toward us. A low curse escaped Damián.

—Holy fucking shit, what great tits you’ve got —he murmured.

—Come here. Put it in here —she ordered, pressing her breasts together with both hands.

He slid a little farther back in the seat. Camila settled herself between his legs, spit on his cock so it would slide better, trapped it between her tits, and started moving her whole body, slow, up and down. The head of Damián’s cock barely peeked over the cleavage, shining with saliva. When she had it near her lips, she leaned in and took it in her mouth without letting go of her chest, sucking only the tip while her tongue circled around it, then sliding back down to keep fucking her tits with it. The combination was brutal: Damián thrust upward, looking for her mouth on every stroke, and she let him miss two, three times before rewarding him with a long suck.

—Don’t leave me out —I asked, half joking, half serious, my cock throbbing in my hand.

—Never —Damián answered, and grabbed me by the neck.

He took his free hand to my cock and started jerking me with the same rhythm she was using on him. He had me firm, enveloping, moving up and down the full length, squeezing at the base when he reached the bottom and making a subtle twist of the wrist over the tip that had me clenching my teeth. It was the first time he’d touched me in public, and it was no coincidence that he chose that moment. Camila was looking at him, he was looking at me, and I didn’t know who to look at first. The theater had become a closed triangle of held breaths and skin against skin.

I held out as long as I could. It wasn’t long. Damián’s hand was firm, sure, familiar. He knew exactly where to squeeze, when to ease off, when to insist with his thumb against the frenulum. When I felt myself about to come, I told him with my eyes and he picked up the pace. I came in silence, biting my fist so I wouldn’t make a sound, and the spurts came one after another onto his hand and my own thigh, hot, thick. I felt the heat travel up my legs to the nape of my neck. Damián kept moving me for a few more seconds, gentle now, almost a caress, getting the last drop out of me. Then he took his fingers to his mouth and sucked them one by one without taking his eyes off me, swallowing what he’d pulled out of me.

—My turn —I murmured when I got my breath back.

***

I lowered myself to the floor carefully so I wouldn’t hit the seat in front. The carpet prickled my knees but I didn’t care. Camila made room beside her for me, without letting Damián’s cock go from between her tits. We shared a complicit look in the darkness and split the work without needing words: she kept fucking the base of his cock with her breasts, I took care of the tip with my mouth, sucking what was peeking above the cleavage. Our tongues crossed a couple of times over his glans, mingling up there, and Camila laughed without stopping moving. Then she pried my mouth open with two fingers and made me take him deep, pushing the back of my neck slowly until my eyes filled with water.

—Like this, take it all —she whispered—. Let the whole thing slip in.

Damián had more stamina than I did. He always had. But against two mouths and a pair of tits there was no possible endurance. His fingers tangled in both our hair at once, not squeezing, just there, as if he needed to confirm we were really there. I licked the tip of his cock, circled my tongue around the glans, went down to his balls and licked them one by one while Camila stole him back from me and sucked him deep. Then she gave him back to me shining and I swallowed him as far as I could, feeling the veins against my tongue. I heard him hold his breath, then let it out in a series of short gasps that blended with the music from the movie.

—Tell me —I murmured, my voice thick.

—Now. Now, now —he said, almost voiceless—. I’m coming, I’m coming.

Camila beat me to it by a second. She eased me away with a gentle hand, wrapped her whole mouth around his cock and took him without moving, without a single sign of complaint. I watched her cheeks swell with the first spurt, watched her swallow and receive the second, the third. I kissed her thigh, her hip, whatever was close, while he trembled under our hands and a rough groan escaped through his nose. When she finally straightened and pulled the cock from her mouth with a wet sound, her eyes were watering from the effort, a white thread running from the corner of her mouth, and an enormous smile that the screen lit up for a second.

I leaned in and kissed her. I found her tongue and shared what was left of his taste with her, salty and thick. Then I wiped away with the back of my hand what had escaped and ran it over her lips, and she sucked my fingers one by one until they were dry. She gave a soft laugh, almost a sigh.

—You two are disgusting —Damián murmured, his voice broken, still breathing hard.

—You asked for it —we answered at the same time.

We stayed like that for a long while, without talking. Me leaning against his knee, Camila curled against mine with her tits still bare, the three of us balancing on that square meter of damp carpet. On the screen, a French woman was crying while looking at the sea.

Then, with the usual clumsiness of people readjusting themselves in the dark, we got dressed again. Camila looked for her bra, couldn’t find it, laughed, found it hanging from the armrest. I smoothed my jacket over my lap just in case, still with my cock wet and sensitive inside my jeans. Damián put an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple.

—Do we watch the rest? —Camila asked.

—I didn’t understand anything so far —I said.

—Me neither —Damián admitted.

Even so, we stayed. We watched the French woman finish crying, watched the credits roll slowly, watched the lights come back on little by little. When we went out into the street, none of us dared comment on what had just happened. We walked in silence to the car, the three of us holding hands underneath my jacket.

On the way back, Camila fell asleep in the back seat, her lips still painted red. Damián drove with one hand and with the other searched for mine on the gearshift. I thought we were going to have to talk about all of it the next day, and that it would probably be harder than it should be.

But I also thought we would do it again. And, somehow, that was what I liked most about the three of us: that none of us was afraid of next time.