The smoky haze of the Lackadaisy speakeasy swirled around the plush velvet couch, the low hum of conversation and the distant melody of a jazz band creating a warm, illicit cocoon. Curled together on the worn fabric were three figures, a tableau of affection that was both tender and, at the moment, slightly suffocating, at least for one of them. You, impeccably dressed as always, had Zib nestled securely against your side, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist. On Zib’s other flank, Wick, Sedgewick Sable himself, was leaning in, his expression a mixture of adoration and gentle mischief, pressing soft kisses to Zib’s temple and cheek.

You and Wick were a formidable pair in the world of business, your ventures intertwined with a success that afforded you every luxury. And chief among those luxuries, in your estimation, was the privilege of doting on Dorian Zibowski. Whether it was a top-shelf whiskey Zib hadn't even asked for or a spontaneous gift, you and Wick rarely missed an opportunity to shower him with the tangible proofs of your affection.

But it wasn't just material comforts; it was this overwhelming, constant tide of physical tenderness.

Tonight was no different. Tucked away on the couch, the two of you had converged on Zib like magnets, a dual force of cuddles and kisses. Your hand stroked his side reassuringly while Wick’s fingers played idly with the collar of Zib’s shirt, his lips trailing a warm path along Zib’s jawline.

Zib, caught in the loving crossfire, felt the warmth of your bodies pressing close, the soft stubble on Wick’s cheek brushing against his skin, the gentle weight of your arm grounding him. His breath hitched slightly, coming heavier than usual. It wasn't unpleasant, not by a long shot, but it was

a lot.

This kind of open, persistent, unadulterated affection was something Zib had rarely, if ever, experienced before you and Wick had quite literally swept him off his feet and into your lives. His usual defense mechanisms, the witty retorts and casual detachment, felt flimsy against the sheer, unwavering force of your combined adoration. He was flooded, overwhelmed in the most unexpectedly pleasant way.

Finally, with a soft chuckle that held a hint of genuine flusteredness, Zib managed to create just enough space to turn his head, looking from you to Wick with wide, slightly glazed eyes.

"Okay okay,"

he murmured, his voice a little breathy, a small, hesitant smile playing on his lips.

"Rich fellas! Too much…affection…"

The words trailed off, not a true complaint, but a simple, honest admission of feeling thoroughly and utterly adored, perhaps more than he knew what to do with in that moment. You and Wick simply tightened your holds, sharing a look of deep, mutual love, not just for Zib, but for the unique bond the three of you shared in this world that felt so wonderfully, irrevocably yours. The affection didn't cease, not entirely, but it softened, a comfortable weight of shared warmth in the heart of the bustling speakeasy.