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On top of Luke, I buck and shudder. Rory’s fingers are still on my clit, and a desperate, pleading whine rips from my throat. The circles continue at a dizzying pace, as though Rory is literally trying to unravel orgasm from my body, and in the clench and convulsion of my muscles, I find myself unwinding, unfastening, unspooling. Danny breaks his kiss with Luke, and together they watch me with bright, avid eyes, while Rory’s head lounges right in front of me as playful as a kitten. In the cage of Finlay’s arms, I cry into the air, all of my lust exploding into sparkling metallic dust, into atoms and particles, into my very basest essence. My foundations rearrange, particles within me shifting as though the old me is dead, and I cry and I cry and I cry, my soul split open with cocks and cum.
I clench lovingly around Luke’s thick cock and feel it answer to me, a tight warning sign throbbing at my entrance. Wearea machine, each one of us breaking down as the other is destroyed with pleasure. Behind me, Finlay slumps, kissing lazily at my neck, nibbling gently upon the lobe of my ear. His cock is still a hot weight plush against my cheeks, mixing with his slick hot release.
Bodies. That’s all we are. Bodies breaking down. Bodies at their best and most glorious. Bodies we’re fools to think we can control any more than the contents of our minds. Through lowered lids, I absorb the rise and fall of Luke’s chest, his parted wet lips and the pool of sweat that’s trailed down to the hollow of his throat again, shining deliciously up at the sky. Danny crawls to his knees, lowering his face and tongue to Luke’s throat.
It should be nothing, one lick in a night of many. But for some reason, it’s stronger and more powerful, a claiming on the most intimate level, as he laps lovingly at Luke’s pulse point, Luke’s pulse captured between soft kissing lips.
Luke’s arms slam overhead. He arches into me with one last furious yell, his hand claiming hold of Danny’s head and grinding him harder into his body. Obligingly, Danny obeys. His huge cock curves skyward in desperation, the longer he licks Luke. And the more Luke submits to Danny’s meticulous mouth, the higher his hips buck up and up into the air, until something in his throat catches — and Luke shatters beneath me like a pane of glass.
Shards of him radiate into the air, his breath spiky and panting, as Luke gives a cry bordering on ruined. It tears up his throat and tears line his eyes. This, more than any of us, shows us what a release can truly be: shocking, swift, brutal.
Catharsis.
Luke leans back on his forearms, his chest a shifting pillow beneath Danny’s head, Luke’s mouth parted in shocked, trembling awe as he gazes straight at me. I feel pinned by him. Trapped by Finlay’s arms but pinned by Luke’s blown, soulful gaze. His face is naked with openness. His hand reaches out for me, stretching, and I accept it over Rory’s side at once.
In a scratchy voice, Luke says, “I love you.”
It’s sincere. It’s true. In a world manipulating this one substance, turning it from a rarity into an utter corruption, Luke’s breathed-out statement rings with purity.
I hold it dear to me. I cherish it. I say it back, looking at Luke the whole time, my heart sailing speedily across to him.
He sags backward, gazing up at the sky. His eyes are wide and he never once blinks, as though too afraid to miss anything, his hand still holding mine, but his other nestled delicately in Danny’s hair. Rory watches this with undisguised intrigue, and glances up at me, also glued to the sight of this strange new intimacy, this barrier broken for the night. Luke’s fingers gently toying with Danny’s hair feels like the summary of tonight: of love and something like it, something darker and more vulnerably male, as male armor in all directions is slowly chipped away.
“I have an idea,” Rory murmurs beneath me, pressing a soft kiss to my satisfied cunt. Where his lips meet me, heat soars, turning his sweet kiss into a burning lash.
Rory’s gaze drifts from the hand in Danny’s light brown hair to the fury of his straining cock. He lounges his head in Luke’s lap, while Luke is otherwise elsewhere, catching his breath and still staring up at the sky, his chest squeezing in and out like his heart is too big to contain it, hurting as it rubs against the sides of him.
“I just had a flashback,” Rory drawls quietly, and Danny turns half-lidded, lust-glazed eyes onto him. My cunt clenches around Luke again, full of renewed power at that one docile look from Danny’s dark, doe-brown eyes. The power Rory has over him is immense. “Me and you, D-boy. Did we really do ‘The Boys are Back in Town’ at a packed Camford pub? I must have been drunk out my mind.”
I stare down at Rory. Now?Nowis the time to bring up some nostalgia?
Danny’s face grows more guarded, as though expecting the rug-pull of a comment that will inevitably follow from Rory’s initial statement. “It’s my most treasured memory of you,” he responds without inflection, and this I know is how he gets away with saying the truth: by pretending it’s not anything more than sarcasm.
But all of us now — we’re tight. We’ve lived together. We know each other’s quirks inside and out. Each other’s hearts can be read like labels, not books, and Danny’s admission doesn’t escape Rory for a second. “Huh,” Rory says, and drops his voice into a coy murmur. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll let you suck me off, and then you’ll have a whole new memory of me to treasure.”
His words are a dark, dark promise — and even while embedded in a tangle of naked bodies, even when watching orgasm obliterate his closest friends, Danny’s face still manages to blush fiercely scarlet. He whispers through plump, parted lips, “Don’t.”
Rory can be such an ass. But this isn’t it. This is anything other than it. My heart flies up to my throat as I watch the interplay between the pair of them, bonded by skewed infatuation and recurrent teasing. As cruel as others may see it, this is Rory’s way of flirting with Danny — and Danny knows it.
When Rory prowls soundlessly toward Danny, Danny’s eyes flare wide open. When Rory leans forward, his attention turning to Danny’s pulsating cock, Danny doesn’t once blink, his mind furiously committing Rory’s closeness to memory for the rest of time.
When Rory reaches forward and lifts Danny’s length experimentally between his fingers, that’s the moment Danny shuts down. Every particle of his sweet, loving brain seems overloaded at once, and all he can do is stare helplessly at Rory’s curious fingers.
“So angry,” Rory murmurs, a fingertip tracing the large vein that winds from the tip of Danny’s cock to his curls. “Sored. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have guessed you stole someone else’s dick and took it as your own.” Lazily, his fingers trail up and down Danny’s stiff length, under the guise of inspecting it, under the guise of curiosity — but we know each other. We know this is bullshit. We know Rory’s planning to get Danny off.
My throat has turned astonishingly dry.
It may be the ultimate tease, one final act of bullying. But the bully never usually compromisesthemselvesin the act. The bully never leans forward with interest, slowly jerking off his victim’s cock. The bully never does it in front of three other witnesses who can’t believe their eyes.
Bullies don’t do that.
They don’t.
Finlay’s breath staggers against me, fingers digging into the bones of my shoulders. I sit woozily on top of Luke’s cock, which is only now giving its final, dying twitches. And Luke tilts his head to the side, his expression glowingly calm, as though everything following on from his orgasm is entirely natural and wholesome and good.
I’m not sure itisgood. I think part of it is some twisted kind of dare, conjured by Rory’s ever-twisting mind.
