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sexyinaratkindaway · 9 months

Text

Married Couple Bullies Talk Show Host (GONE WRONG)(GONE SEXUAL)

Rating: E

Fandom: QSMP

Tags: Trans Male Character, Trans Roier (Video Blogging RPF), Trans AgenteMaxo | Maximus, Threesome - M/M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Strap-Ons, Pegging, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Live Streamed Sex, gordinho gostosinho, Penis In Vagina Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Begging, Dirty Talk, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Praise Kink, Light Angst, Feels, max gets kinda in his head a lil bit at times ngl, Creampie, Breeding Kink, roier and his ridiculous dirty talk, Double Penetration, Double Vaginal Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Vaginal tearing, Mild Blood, Felchingimplied aftercare, Tender Sex, Painplay, Nipple Piercings, Tongue Piercings, genital piercings

Summary: Welcome, one and all, to a very special late-night edition of Gordinho Gostosinho. We hope you brought tissues.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49258489

Full text under the read more!

Roier had tasted like liquor and strawberry bubblegum and black coffee. Then he turned to his husband, saw little more than a sharp grin glinting at him under moonlight, and kissed him, too; Cellbit tasted like liquor and black coffee and strawberry bubblegum. It was a unique combination, but somehow they managed to make it work.

That, or he was so dizzy under their assault, a tongue in his mouth jostling his piercing and teeth on his throat, that his taste buds had just decided to quit.

A hand was making its way down his torso now, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand if the nimble fingers slipping under his thin little black turtleneck to fumble one-handed at his belt were Roier’s or Cellbit’s, and then it didn’t matter because the belt clinked open and those fingers were shoving, shoving under cotton to plunge inside him, one and then two, with a sick squelch that sang shame in his ears. Roier gasped out pleased laughter against his lips, swallowing his drawn-out groan.

“Holy shit, gatinho, he’s so fucking wet already. Were you waiting for this, Maxo? For us to get our hands on you?”

“Mm,” Maximus said, and whatever else he was going to say got caught in his throat under the bite of sharp fangs and the crooking of fingers inside him that made him see stars and melt back in Cellbit’s arms, made his legs twitch around Roier’s hand and his hips buck into it.

Roier chuckled again.

“Man, look at him, Cellbo, he’s so…” The fingers inside him scissored open, rough and quick enough to sting. A thumb sought his cock to hook on the black metal barbell and swirl mean circles around it until he was gasping for air and all pain was forgotten, “So… Loose, and wet for us… Fuck, it’s like he was made to take cock, I want to see you fuck him full of your jizz so much I think I’m going crazy.”

Maxo felt himself hiss and clench at the filthy words, but he wasn’t the only one; around his skin, Cellbit groaned, his hands around Maxo's hips tightening, already too much when on the brink of an orgasm.

“Maybe next time,” he hummed, low and scratchy, “Maybe we can fuck him live during his show, eh? Put the gostoso back in gostosinho.”

That was too much. Maximus’ body shook with the force of his orgasm, vision going white; with any more presence of mind, he’d have been ashamed of how loud and high pitched his scream was.

When he came back to, it was to Cellbit’s voice in his ear, low. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” “Euh,” was all that made its way out of Max’s mouth, mind working furiously through the post-orgasmic haze to form words and failing, and above him, the couple shared low little chuckles.

"That sounds like an amazing idea, gatinho," Roier said. "We'll need to get back to that one of these days."

- - - - -

The next day, gone the haze of intoxication, Maximus was convinced that the previous night’s tryst would stay just a moment’s mistake, that the men’s words were just words, and that they would not get back to that.

They did get back to that.

Extensively.

Every time he glanced at the group chat Cellbit had expressly created for the purposes of arranging this thing, his belly started doing flips, and he wasn’t sure it was in an unpleasant way. Roier was… very descriptive in his texting, and even Cellbit’s almost clinical messages about precautions and preparations and safewords made his mind cloud with the sensual haze of possibility, staring at him, mocking, from the bright screen of his communicator as he got dressed for tonight’s show. He did up his vest, tightened his tie, and for once forewent the suit jacket. It was getting too hot for that, even on chilly summer nights. It would have just ended up carelessly torn off and thrown somewhere to be forgotten, anyway. No point in it.

He shuddered to think about having to let go of his turtlenecks and puffy overcoats.

He stared at the texts to not look at the men staring at him, perched together on an armchair just outside of camera range. Cellbit and Roier’s gazes were so heavy he could feel them on his skin, and he was hit by the irrational need to roll his sleeves back down from where he’d rolled them up on his elbows; even that little bit of skin on display, the hound wrapped around his right forearm, the rings around the fingers of his left hand, carved of sturdy wood and rare metals, the dusting of hair on his skin, felt like too much.

‘That’s a nice tattoo,’ Roier had told him once, lightly, ‘does that mean you like barking in bed?’

They’d laughed about it, in the moment.

Right then, though, Roier looked like he wished he’d brought a collar and leash to clip around Max’s neck.

Some other time, perhaps.

“Alright,” he said, when he finally deemed the knot of his tie tight enough that he couldn’t keep busying himself with it without choking and dying, “Here’s how this is gonna go. The theme song is gonna play, and then, when I introduce you and call your name, you two are going to join me on the couch.”

The couch, tonight, was the only thing in frame; his desk and chair had been pushed out of the way and the couch had been pulled into centre-frame, under the display screen where comments from their loving—though sometimes heckling was more appropriate—audience scrolled by. There were a few bottles of water hidden behind the couch, and the big bag of supplies Roier and Cellbit had brought. He’d seen, peeking inside, a very big bottle of lube, what looked like a ream of condoms(they had, like, one dick and a half between the three of them! What were all those condoms even for?!), and, funnily enough, a bag of gluten free white chocolate and raspberry granola bits, hiding who knows what else. Roier was packing tonight, he’d seen the bulge, but the man had always been one for going above and beyond.

He loved white chocolate and raspberries.

Finally, as Max pressed the button on his remote that made the opening theme start, Cellbit spoke.

“You are still absolutely sure about this, right?”

“Yes,” Maximus said too quickly, and cringed internally at how his voice cracked with something like anticipation. “I want to do this, I do.”

“What’s your safeword?”

They’d texted about that, too. The first suggestion had been ‘Forever’, and Maximus had shot it down immediately, stricken by an inconsiderate fear that he might call either of his lovers by the wrong man’s name and accidentally derail the whole scene.

“It’s ‘Duck’.”

Innocuous enough.

Cellbit nodded, but Maximus didn’t see him; he was marching resolutely towards the couch to go settle on it, just in time for the last notes of the song to ring out.

Showtime.

The roar of pre-recorded applause filled the studio, and Maximus put on his most winning smile, something thankful in the pit of his belly for the sunglasses hiding away his shifty eyes and flushed cheekbones.

“Welcome back, folks, to a very, very special late-late-night episode of Gordinho Gostosinho! Some of the more eagle-eyed among you have probably noticed something different in our usual setup! We won’t be needing our usual desk where we’re going tonight.”

He found himself gulping down too-warm air, eyes flitting to the couple staring at him with three pairs of too-focused eyes, and before he could lose all his nerve staring at the possessive hand gripping Roier’s thigh, he looked back to the camera, “Tonight, I will be joined by two exceptional guests, who will be co-hosting the show and,” he tried to put as much sultry anticipation in that single word as he could, licked his lips for good measure, “and lead tonight’s, um, activities. Please, everyone, put your hands together for Cellbit and Roier!”

The lovers entered frame to thunderous applause to settle comfortably at his sides. Roier’s hand immediately found its way to his knee, and soft lips and a scratchy beard were pressing a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi, Maxo,” Cellbit murmured against him, coy, before turning to the camera with a smile, “and good evening, everyone. We’re very happy to be here to give you all an amazing show with the help of our pretty host. Isn’t that right, guapito?”

Roier nodded, suddenly too close, cheek pressed against Maximus’ but still staring at the camera with a sly smile, his hand tightened on his knee., “Yes, gatinho. Tonight, you’ll all get a show you’ll never forget.”

As if to underline that point, fingers found Maximus’ chin and he was pulled into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, a tongue that tasted of too-bitter coffee shoving its way into his mouth like it wanted to be in his throat, and he melted in Roier’s kiss, even as calloused fingers brushed along his cheeks, his hair, tickling at the knot of his headband, running down his throat as Cellbit spoke, low and filthy but loud enough to rumble through his brain and be picked up by the microphones in the room.

“Tonight,” he was saying, “my husband and I are going to fuck the shit out of our Maximus here. We’re going to fuck him until he’s crying, until he’s screaming, until he’s begging for relief, and we’re going to do it before your very eyes.”

The messages on the display behind them were running by lightning fast, but Maximus didn’t have time to look at them, because Roier did something very clever with his tongue, and the hand on his knee had travelled to his thigh and was prying his legs open with help from Cellbit, holding his other leg still, and he groaned something quick and sugary in Roier’s mouth, arm flying to wrap around his neck.

“See?” Cellbit piped up, a grin in his words that Maximus could hear. “He’s already singing so prettily for us. Chat is going to keep rolling, up there. Who knows? If we see a suggestion we like, we might just do it. I hope you enjoy the show.”

Finally, finally, Roier let go of Maximus’ mouth and let him fucking breathe, embarrassed of the high whine that left his lips, vibrating past the hands brushing along his throat.

“Keep your mouth open,” Roier murmured, and, obediently, his lips remained ajar. “Show them your tongue.”

He did. Distantly, he worried about drooling all over himself and his lover. There were hands on his cheeks, holding him still with his mouth open and tongue lolled out, before turning him towards the camera. Then there were fingers in his mouth, pulling on his tongue, thumbing at his stud, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and take a deep breath as to not twitch out of the hold he was in, or, worse, let out any embarrassing sounds.

“Look at him,” Roier was saying to the camera, pulling on the piercing, digging a finger and then two inside to push his tongue down. “That is a pretty, pretty mouth. Can’t wait to get to use it.”

Cellbit was undoing his vest, one button at a time, to slowly, slowly pull it off his shoulders into a slate grey pool of cotton on the couch, and then he leaned in to nibble at his neck, leaving a few bruising kisses and a tickling of stubble that made him moan.

“Would you like that, Maxo?” he asked, but he was looking at the camera, not at Maximus. “Would you like us to use your mouth? A guy like you, I’m sure you’re good with that tongue. Studded for his pleasure, huh?”

Another little yank at his piercing, and Maximus swallowed a whine, nodding, furiously.

Roier grinned, like the Devil. “And who would you rather service first? Me, or Cellbit?”

Oh.

Now, that was a difficult question.

Maximus was stuck, metaphorically, between a rock and a hard place: between Roier, so handsome in his bright pink tee and black slacks, hiding a slender body and jagged top surgery scar and a dusting of dark hair going down the length of his torso and blossoming into a cloud of curly hair hiding the prettiest, prettiest pussy Maximus had ever had the pleasure of eating, and Cellbit, pale and lean, pretty face and fluffy hair, purring behind him, a conspicuous hardness pressing on his hip from under dusty pink linen.

Even if he had had it in himself to choose, Roier was literally holding the tip of his tongue in his fingertips. He hummed out a pleading little noise, and didn’t know whether he was asking for freedom to talk or freedom from choice; Roier leaned in to kiss him again and let go of his tongue. His head was spinning: he was hot, sweaty, that fucking tie felt like a noose; he stuttered something uncomprehensible, uncertain, and both men chuckled something dark.

“Well, he’s obviously undecided,” Cellbit said, and Maximus could feel him finger his headband until it came loose and tug at the hair tie until his bun fell apart in dark, slightly greasy sheets around his face. “So how about we leave it to our audience? Can we get a poll in the chat while we finish stripping him?”

Roier snickered, slipping a finger in the knot of his tie to pull it loose and throw it into a vague pool of bright pink in the direction of the back door. Finally Maxo could breathe; the first whiff he took in was of the sugar on Roier’s breath, the pine on his sweat, the ashy deepslate powder that stuck to Cellbit like a second skin, and it all was so much he was dizzy with it. He turned back towards Cellbit, chasing lips on his; a harsh hand knotted in his hair and pulled him back, and Roier’s voice was dangerous when he spoke in his ear.

“What is it, Max? Speak up, what do you want?”

“I… I, um,” he gulped, trying to work through the shapes of letters. He would be damned if he lost his ability for human thought this early in the night. “Can I have another kiss?”

“Ask it to the camera.”

Delicate fingers on his chin turned him towards the camera. He stared straight in the lens.

“... Can I have another kiss?”

Roier grinned at him, giving him the tiniest of pecks, before Cellbit guided his head to turn, and took him into a kiss, sweet and deep and filthy.

Roier nibbled at his throat and started on the buttons of his shirt, one at a time, slow and torturous. Maximus, busy as he was getting kissed stupid by Cellbit, by his too-rough tongue exploring his mouth like it was a puzzle to solve, suddenly remembered he had hands. Distantly, he found himself thumbing at his rings. He looked down at his left hand, at the rings on his ring finger; one, beautiful, banded with zinc and hammered steel, a thin ring of andesite glazed in the middle; the other of sturdy coconut, pretty swirls carved in the wood and filled with redstone lacquer.

Before he could think himself into a freakout, he brought that hand up to grasp at Cellbit’s nape, the other went to knot in Roier’s hair, who was uncovering more and more of his skin, his chest, his body hair, and every inch of bare skin was a kiss, was nipping, hickies, teeth and a scorching tongue, on his clavicle, down the middle of his chest, and then the shirt was open and being pulled off of him by four hungry hands, leaving him almost bare and shivering. Roier stopped his kissing for just a moment to run his hands up his sides, the soft fullness at his hips and waist, up and up around him to unclasp his bra—one handed, holy shit—and toss it away, kneading at his tits, rubbing both his pierced nipples between thumbs and forefingers, and Maximus moaned in Cellbit’s mouth until he had to gasp out for air.

“Now, these are some nice tits,” Roier said, only half to the camera, “Some real nice tits you’ve got, Max.”

He cupped his hands around them, fillinged his palms with them to squeeze them together to show to their audience; the dragon curled over his heart, stretched and distorted under his movements.

“And look at these nipples,” Roier said, again, louder., “I barely touched them and they’re already nice and puffy for me. You’re too easy.”

He bent over to suckle one of them in his mouth, tongue running over the sensitive little nub and jostling the barbell; Maximus was so fucking sensitive, it frankly felt unfair, and all the hands running all over him, stripping him bare, quick and efficient, were not helping. Off came his shoes, his socks, his belt; his slate grey slacks were pulled off of him until he was bare and shivering under the hungry eyes of the camera and of his lovers, shielded only by thin black briefs, cotton soaked with arousal.

Cellbit, behind him, thumbed at the arms of his shades. “Can we take these off you, Max?” he whispered in his ear, and Maximus shuddered and flinched away, choking back a little fearful whine. Cellbit seemed to get the message and backed off; he glanced back at the screen, the chats sweeping by like trains, and let out a pleased noise.

“The poll is over! Thank you all so much for voting!” He sounded very excited. “It seems they want to see him suck you off first, guapito.”

Roier squealed out an excited kind of half-laughter, knotting a hand in Maxo's hair.

"Oh, I can't wait."

He grinned, and bent down to lay a peck on Maximus’ lips before letting go of him and getting up, giving the camera a show as he stripped off his slacks. Max tried to focus on the black fabric slowly uncovering creamy, tan skin, but there was a hand making its way between his legs; Cellbit was holding his knees spread open, and every once in a while, a finger brushed against the little bulge in his boxers, jostling the barbell on his cock, making him twitch and gasp.

“Look at him,” he was whispering in his ear, something dreamy and too tender in his voice that made Maximus’ skin crawl. “Isn’t he the most remarkable man you’ve ever seen?”

Roier was handsome, for sure. Maximus could think of a few more remarkable men than him, blond hair and oil-stained, black-polished fingertips, but he was biased; and to be fair, so was Cellbit.

Then Roier turned back, and bright pink plastic was staring back at him from between long legs. “Oh,” Maxo breathed out. He’d forgotten about the strap-on.

“Like what you’re seeing, Maxo?” Asked Roier, something sly in his too-wide grin. He wiggled his hips, and his cock followed the movement, swaying in this almost hypnotic way, a bright blur of pink in the warm air of the studio. Maximus nodded, eager; he could already feel his mouth watering, even as Roier climbed back on the couch to go sit on the back of it, legs falling open and cock millimetres from Maximus’ face.

Before he could lean forwards and get the first taste of silicone, Cellbit had knotted his hand in his hair and was pulling his head away. From how this night was going, it seemed it was going to be a recurring theme.

“Do you like what you’re seeing, Max?” he asked. “Tell us.”

Maximus glanced at the camera, then back up at Roier.

“I like this. A lot.” An expectant silence followed, and Maximus knew exactly what else he had to say to appease. “Can… Can I suck your cock, please, Roier?”

Roier grinned something sharp and dangerous. He ran his fingers along the black straps and the rings, wrapped a hand around the base of his cock to sway closer.

“Yes, you can.” he said, “Dig in.”

Cellbit pushed his head forward, gently, until his nose was bumping against the strap on and Maximus opened his mouth on instinct, letting it slip between his lips.

The first thing Maximus felt was the overwhelming flavour of strawberry. Then clean plastic, cool against his scorching tongue. He bobbed his head a couple times, deep, deep, as deep as he could go at the beginning of the night when his heart wasn’t fully in giving a blowjob yet; he enjoyed the tickle of plastic against the back of his throat, before pulling off to give that pretty cock the thorough attention it deserved. He gave a few broad laps to the tip, making sure to jostle his piercing against the plastic and make it very clear to the cameras, planted a long line of wet kisses up and down the shaft, crooning under Roier’s scrutiny; he tried to bring his hands up to touch, be it gripping at Roier’s thighs or pulling him closer by the straps, and found Cellbit holding his wrists still behind his back.

“No touching just yet,” he whispered in his ear, buttery. Maximus immediately succumbed to the order, crossed his wrists together, and dove back in.

He wanted to do a good job. Desperately.

He did not stop to analyse this sudden, desperate need to please, so he just opened his lips and got lost in the addictive feeling of silicone sliding down his throat.

Roier, above him, finally moved: he fisted a hand in Max's hair and started moving, a minute twitch of his hips that told of choked down need. Slowly, he pulled him off his cock until it was resting on his lips; he ran a thumb along his bottom lip, plump and slick with abuse, eyes wavering with lust.

"So pretty," he murmured, too low for the microphones to pick up, sliding back home, "Forever doesn’t know what he’s missing out on."

"I could call him," Cellbit said, low Portuguese swirling in his brain, free hand making its way back between Maximus’ legs. "I think he’d love to see you like this."

Now, Maximus didn’t know what it was that made him gag and choke, that made tears well up at the corners of his eyes; it could have been Roier’s strap bumping unexpectedly against the back of his throat, or it could have been Cellbit’s fingers slipping under his boxers to tug at his cock, thumb at the piercing; it probably was the thought of Forever seeing him like this.

Belatedly, deliriously, he remembered Forever’s words after his interview, after the cameras had stopped rolling. I’ll do my best to save your show, he had said, I love it, I never miss an episode.

He pictured it, who knew how many faceless viewers with hungry eyes fixated on Roier and Cellbit taking all their pleasure from Maximus, and Forever among them, laid in his bed, fist flying around his cock, eyes trained on a screen. On him. He tried to be aroused by the image, and not disgusted at himself for being an easy slut.

Before he could dwell on those thoughts, Roier was pulling him away, away, off of his cock by the hair, a panicked jerk of his arm and a worried glint in his eyes that betrayed the aloof twist of his lips.

He didn’t ask him if he was alright, but a hand was placed on his cheek, another one running down his throat as if trying to check for phantom injuries, one of his wrists suddenly free. This thoughtful care was nice, but…

“You alright, Max?” Cellbit was whispering in his ear, and he couldn’t take it. He reached to his own face, took his glasses off to toss them on the floor, uncaring of cracks in delicate glass, and dove straight back in around Roier’s strap, took it deep deep deep between his lips until his nose was buried in the curly hair on his belly and the cold leather of the straps, until he was gagging for it, on purpose this time. Roier seemed to take the hint, if his hand tightening on his hair to pull him in was any indication, and the moment passed; Cellbit’s hand wandered on his jaw to guide his face off and on the strap, and they were back on the grind.

Roier’s hand in his hair was slow, thorough; no matter how much Maximus wanted to choke on the silicone until all his thoughts were mush, the push and pull motion, the sting in his scalp, the clockwork rhythm of the strap-on filling his throat before pulling out kept him infuriatingly present. He needed more. More, more, more, more than the heady weight of silicon in his throat.

He pulled off Roier’s cock to nuzzle it, slick with spit as it was, look up at Roier with his best puppy eyes, and, oh, fuck, he’d taken off his shades. Roier’s face was blurry, but in full colour, and it just felt distressingly earnest to look at him without the shield of his lenses.

Focus, Maximus. Eyes on the prize. You are here for a reason, and that’s to go mad with sex, and getting emotional at the beginning of the night will not do you any good.

So he blinked the wetness from his eyes, took a deep breath, called his voice back from his throat.

“Can I eat you out, Roier?” He said, buttery smooth for the camera even if he felt like a mess, tone tilting up in laughter, “I wanna know if your pussy also tastes like strawberries.”

His words startled laughter out of Roier, but he seemed to relax into the bite.

He grinned, fangs on full display. “Careful what you wish for, Maxo.”

But he was pulling and loosening straps, not so much that he was removing the harness, but enough to pull things aside to uncover his cunt, glistening with arousal, puffy and red and ready for Maximus’ mouth. It was calling his name.

He dove in close, to slot his mouth against that pretty, pretty pussy to give his first lick to live flesh. Roier, above him, quivered and gasped when the piercing on Maxo’s tongue made contact with his cock, puffy and pink, he pulled him closer by his hair until he was buried in his cunt face first, lapping desperately. He gave a few deep, thoughtful laps, revelling in every twitch of Roier’s hips as his piercing caught on tender skin, dove low to suckle bruising kisses on delicate, flowery lips and dip his tongue inside, taste sweet arousal and bitter musk from the source, planted a hot line of kisses back up to return to his cock, and up and down and up and down, and he knew he was doing good, because Roier above him was making the sweetest of noises, and because Cellbit, draped behind him, was twitching, something hard poking him from under soft pink linen. His hand was still on him, and it resumed its slow movement in his boxers, slow circles all over him that kept threatening to make him lose his rhythm, and, every once in a while, made him groan, drawn-out sounds vibrating through Roier’s folds; every sound made Roier groan in return and thrust against Maximus’ mouth, made his fingers tighten on his hair, made stuttered praise drip, drip, drip out of his mouth.

“You’re so good to me, Max,” he was saying, “God, your mouth, fuck, your tongue, I, ah–” another groan when he dipped his tongue inside him to stay there, nose pressed up against his cock. He fucked him deep and leisurely with his tongue, shaken by the occasional groan—shit, Cellbit was pulling on his cock almost cruelly now, every tug bordering on just the right side of painful, groaning filthy, filthy nonsense in his ears, instructions on how best to please his husband.

“You’re being so good,” he said. “Listen to him, you’re doing that to him; fuck him deeper so he can really feel it, really rub your face into him, nibble on his lips—he really likes that.”

It was, admittedly, difficult to focus on the words, not to mention understand the Portuguese, given all the stimulation going on around him; still, Maximus did his best, and his reward was Roier bucking and arching in his mouth, words melting into sobs, and then, sudden, musky wetness drip-drip-dripping in his mouth, down his chin and bare chest, warm and tickling.

Roier melted down, breath punching out of his body so suddenly he almost toppled backwards off the backrest of the couch he was sitting on. He managed to save it by sliding back down into the seat, legs falling open. His cunt was twitching, puffy, shining with slickness and spit; it made Maximus want to bend down and suckle the last of Roier’s orgasm from his skin until he was shaking with a second, a third, a fourth orgasm. He didn’t get the chance, because Roier was pulling him in by the hair until their lips knocked together in a kiss, bruising and fierce. Roier groaned, tasting himself on Max’s lips, licked into his mouth like starved until Max was gasping for air.

“You were so good,” Roier said, “You’re so good at listening to instructions. You didn’t even try to move your hands again.” It was true. His hands, of their own volition, had returned to their rightful place, wrists crossed together behind his back, unmoving if not for the twitching of fingers, nails pressing indents in his palms. Cellbit whined in his ear.

He was still rubbing at his cunt, maddeningly quick, almost mindless, and he heard himself whine in Roier's mouth, "Fuck, fuck, Roier, Cellbit, wait, wait, I–I'm gonna cum–"

The reaction was immediate. Cellbit's hand pulled out of his boxers, and he wrapped his arms around him to pull him close, back flush to chest, Max's hands and Cellbit’s hard-on trapped between their bodies, and Roier, lazy, grinning, cat that got the mouse, nestled between Maximus' spread knees, trailing a finger up and down his too-tense, shivering inner thigh.

“Very good pets, both of you,” he said, "So good at following instructions. Gatinho, keep his legs spread for me, will you?'

Immediately, one of Cellbit's arms travelled down, fingers tightened around one of his knees to spread his legs to an almost uncomfortable degree, and there Roier’s fingers went, tugging on the hem of his boxers until they came off, falling to the ground in a damp pool of black cotton, and now Maximus’ cunt was quivering against fresh air, under the watchful eyes of both his tormentors and the camera. Roier pressed a button on the remote—wait, when did he grab that?—and he heard the camera zoom in towards him, probably trained on his cunt. Then, fingers again, pulling his too-sensitive lips apart until he could feel room-stale air on his hole.

“Look,” Roier was saying. “Look: he’s so wet and puffy already just from sucking me off, isn’t he just the prettiest?”

He blew on it, and Maximus hissed, hips trying to twitch away from the sharpness of cold air and failing, kept still by two pairs of strong hands. Cellbit’s fingers were twitching on his skin; he was getting eager.

“And so sensitive, too!” Roier cooed, delighted, looking at his cunt as it twitched and blinked. “I hope you haven’t forgotten that you gotta suck off Cellbo, as well, before you get your own good time.”

He hadn’t; it would have been hard to, given the bulge poking against his spine. He just shook his head at him, emphatic, and Roier laughed.

“Alright, alright, turn around for me.”

He turned around until he was facing away from the camera, and let Roier’s gentle hands lower him to a kneel on the floor, and he was naked, holy shit, knees bare on the fluffy rug—thank the gods he had had the presence of mind to put a rug down before this—cunt on full display for the camera, face to face with Cellbit and his erection.

“Hi,” he whispered, and hoped his little grin wasn’t too nervous.

“Hi,” Cellbit said back, bending down to kiss him. “Sorry about before. Your eyes are really pretty.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Maximus said, low against his lips. He didn’t dignify the compliment with an answer, only partly because Roier had fallen to his knees next to him, hands on his thighs and hips putting him in position. He pulled his legs spread open, placed a hand on the small of his back to push him in an arch, presenting him for his adoring audience, and Cellbit was unbuttoning his slacks. He had grey boxer briefs on, and the shape of his cock tenting them, the pearl of wetness at the tip that made fabric transparent, was… obscene. Even the smell was strong, from this up close, musk and clean sweat and hormones, and Maximus could feel his mouth water; then, slowly, slowly, Cellbit hooked his thumbs in his waistband to pull the briefs off, just low enough that his cock could spring free, and, oh, what a beauty. A hand carded in Maximus’ hair, soft, and he leaned down for that first little lick, same way he’d done to his husband.

Except, it wasn’t soft, cold silicone under his tongue; it was warm live flesh, skin catching on the barbell in his tongue, musky and addicting. Cellbit groaned above him, his hips twitched, his fingers tightened around Maxo’s hair, tugging, but not pulling. He let him get acquainted with the territory, first; let Maximus lick broad strokes up his shaft before wrapping his lips around his head to suckle on, and that was when the hands on his hair quivered.

Cellbit looked down at his husband, almost sheepish.

“Can I?” He asked, and Roier nodded, a brilliant grin.

“Go on, baby. Show our audience how well you fuck his throat.”

Cellbit moved immediately, and then there were hands on his cheeks, gently pulling him down, down, down, until his cock was nestled deep in his throat, and Maximus’ nose was buried in the cloud of wiry, dark hair around his base. He let himself be dragged up, slowly enjoying the throaty feeling of pressure being eased and an obstruction being removed. Cellbit pulled him off his cock until the heavy tip was resting on his tongue, and he gave a few long laps, making sure to dig the barbell on his tongue in the little dip where wetness gathered, for the second time that night.

Unlike before, what was now under his tongue was warm flesh, and Cellbit gasped out a scratchy whine, he bucked into him almost mindlessly, deep, deep, deep in Maximus’ throat until he couldn't breathe, his hands on his scalp tightened until they were hurting and then let go, apologetic.

"Sorry." He said, a little smile in his words.

But it wasn't aimed at Maximus; behind him, Roier tutted an amused noise.

"Don't break him just yet, gatinho. The night is still young."

Fingers were dancing around his cunt; he went back to lapping at Cellbit’s length, and when he felt fingers stretch his hole open again, this time he didn’t have a cock in his throat to gag around.

He gasped and hissed anyway when a warm pearl of spit fell on his cunt, Roier’s hands implacable on his hips and his cruel laughter high in the air. Fingers followed the saliva, gathering slickness by running all along his lips and hole, to go tug and rub at his cock, and then Maximus took Cellbit in his mouth again.

This time, he was ready for the dual stimulation of someone rubbing his cock and someone else thrusting in his throat; that did not make it less overwhelming, and he made sure to voice his delight in high, fluttery moans, made scratchy by his obstructed airways, for both his partners’ convenience and their audience’s pleasure.

Cellbit, at least, seemed very pleased with their current predicament, guiding Maximus by his hair in a brisk thrusting trot; his pale cheeks were stained red with blood flow, his hair had started falling out of the little half-bun he had it in, and he looked very attractive, all mussed up with pleasure. A new hand on his nape—Roier—pushed him down until his nose was buried in Cellbit’s bush again, and the man moaned.

“Less gawking, more sucking, Maxo.” Roier said, and Maximus wanted to laugh.

He didn’t, because Cellbit’s dick was still between his teeth, but started bobbing his head, following the lead of the two hands on his nape pulling him in a now punishing pace.

His throat hurt.

He felt good.

Cellbit’s hips stuttered. He said something to Roier, low, and Maximus didn’t really catch it, but soon he was being pulled off Cellbit’s cock, watching it bob in front of his face, a long fingered hand flying around it.

The camera zoom whirred.

Cellbit came with a groan, painting Maximus’ face white. Gentle hands on his chin turned him towards the camera, and he was past self consciousness, so he licked his lips, trying to get at a drop of cum.

“God, you’re a natural.” Roier’s voice was hypnotic, amazed, low, he leaned in to lick at a pearl of wetness under his left eye. Then, louder, “Take a look at this. He’s been delightful, hasn’t he? I think he deserves a little treat.”

Cellbit pulled him up on the couch, before dropping on his knees by Roier’s side. They manhandled him easily, spreading his legs until he could hook a knee on either of their shoulders, stretched uncomfortably wide. He could see himself in the little screen by the camera, dishevelled, sweaty, flushed from the tip of his ears to his shoulders, cunt flush and pink and swollen under a cloud of black, curly hair, piercing shining with slickness in the harsh studio lighting.

Four hands were on his cunt now, and it immediately became overwhelming; he was being pulled open, his cock was being tugged; then the cap of a bottle popped open, and sudden cold was all over him, mixing with his own slick to make everything glide smoother. Cellbit slipped a finger inside him, easy as air, and hummed, pleased.

“You're so open for us already…”

Another finger slipped in, and what before was scorching emptiness was now filled with warm, buzzing pleasure, though not enough, never enough. The man was saying something else, but Maximus didn’t really catch the words, because Roier had leaned down to wrap his lips around his cock and give a decisive suck.

Maximus’ hips canted and moved, seeking, seeking, and he was held back by two sets of strong hands around his hips, pushing him down on the couch. Cellbit’s fingers moved, so deep inside him he could feel them in his chest, and Roier’s tongue was lapping broad strokes on his cock before going down to join his lover’s fingers inside him, and his head was spinning.

He would like to blame the suddenness of his orgasm on the fact that he’d been excited and horny for this just about all week, or perhaps the unforgivable unfairness of four hands and a very enthusiastic mouth all focused on his cunt, wringing another orgasm out of him, and another, and another, and another, with no end in sight, utterly taken by the shivering euphoria, the lightning running from his nape to his fingertips to his cunt and back, the sudden and total inability to control his limbs or his mouth or his voice.

With every subsequent orgasm he could feel himself grow more slack and boneless, and as the pleasure melded in one long, continuous high-pitched note, his vision went blurry at the edges. He didn’t have it in him to look at the camera; he could just stare down at his tormentors, hand fisted in Roier’s short hair, and let himself be hypnotised by the pale, elegant fingers effortlessly thrusting in and out of his cunt, puffy and slick. He blinked, and felt his eyes sticky with tears, his cheeks wet.

“Please,” he heard himself croak out, and he was impressed he could still form words, nevermind maintain an appearance of coherent Spanish, “Please, please, no more of this.”

Roier nudged his piercing with his tongue, took it between his teeth to tug gently, and he shook with something between overstimulation and the ardent desire for more.

“Please,” he tried again, “Please, fuck, please.”

“Please, what?” Cellbit asked, sounding very smug.

It took a moment for Maximus to gather the presence of mind to string words together. “Please fuck me. I’m going crazy.”

Roier pulled off his cock with one last swirl of the tongue and straightened up, brilliant grin in place like he hadn’t just been sucking his cock like a man starved for the past… half hour?

“I’d be down,” he was saying, half to his husband and half to the camera. “He’s been very good tonight.”

He leaned towards Cellbit to kiss him filthy and slow and sweet and noisy, as if trying to sway him to be nice. As if he wasn’t the cruel, mean one.

Cellbit followed easily, hand never leaving Maximus’ thigh, melted in his husband’s kiss like he belonged nowhere else. It was hypnotic to watch.

“God, I love you,” Roier murmured against Cellbit’s lips, and Max’s heart skipped a beat with something like jealousy. “You fuck him first. I wanna see the two of you.”

Fuck, they were so sexy.

“How about you ride me, Max?” Cellbit said, and as he spoke he was already pulling him up to switch seats on the couch, to guide him on his lap. “Give our audience the best view.”

He found himself hovering over Cellbit’s lap, the flushed tip of his cock kissing his entrance near reverently, long-fingered hands around his hips holding him too tight. He was soaked, quivering, puffy; even the delicate brush of too-warm skin around his lips felt like too much; then, a slick thumb pulled him open, at the same time as something pushed the tip of Cellbit’s dick to rub along his folds, catch on his cock. Cellbit gasped at the touch of slick hands and cold metal, hands tightening around Maximus; and so did he, an arm flying backwards to wrap around his neck, the other reaching down to grasp at Roier.

“Fuck, you’re both so hot like this,” He was saying, looking to be having just the most wonderful time, hand wrapped around Cellbit’s cock to guide it with loose stokes to gather slickness and rub oh-so-sweetly at his rim. He had enough lube on his hand that every stroke was followed by a slick squelch. “So sexy, holy shit, I can’t wait to see you just dripping and swollen with my husband’s cum like you’re pregnant with it…”

Maximus didn’t have time to really ponder those words past the initial thrill of ownership-service-breeding-arousal that shot down his spine, because Roier had guided Cellbit’s cock to finally bury its head inside him; and Cellbit’s hands were pushing him down to take the rest of his length, take, take, take, let his insides stretch along with the intrusion. Cellbit’s cock wasn’t particularly long, or thick, but it gently curved outwards, and felt like it was pressing a needle against each and every single nerve ending inside him, a long line of fire that culminated against that little bundle of nerves that made him see stars. He keened when he felt Cellbit’s spongy cockhead poke something deep inside him, when his butt made contact with the top of Cellbit's thighs and he shivered and twitched inside him, groaned out a pretty nose, scratchy like a purr, with his forehead pressed against his shoulder blades. The man wasted no time pulling him up and then back down, hips rising to meet the movement halfway in a thrust that stole Maxo's breath away.

Even then, he couldn't just let himself fall away to arousal: that wasn’t what riding meant. So he fired up his thighs, and, finally, started bouncing. Cellbit keened again, chittery and pleased, hips jumping up to meet him in a steady rhythm, steadier than Max could keep with the aftershocks of orgasm after orgasm shaking his bones, and soon, the air was filled with the damp noise of skin hitting skin, plap-plap-plap, and the clicky noises of Cellbit’s pleasure, the long, drawn-out moans of Maxo’s, Roier’s murmuring praise, half aimed at them and half at the cameras.

“His pussy is so wet,” he was saying, dreamy. “Look, look, he’s so wet it’s dripping down Cellbo’s cock, makes you just want to…”

He leaned in to lick a slow, lewd stripe, from the base of Cellbit’s cock up and up to where it buried in his lips, up to lap at Maximus’ cock and then back down the way he came, slurping loud attentions around his husband that made him hiss and twitch, jostling Maximus every which way. A particularly deep, sinful thrust pressed Cellbit’s cock right against that delicious little spot inside him, and he cried out like electrified, hands flying to grasp at hair, at skin, at something.

That something ended up being Roier’s hair, pulling him close close close, and Roier laughed, bit down on his piercing to give a gentle tug; all rational thought flew out the window, probably because, at the same time, Cellbit’s hold on him changed, and suddenly he was pistoning his cock inside him, teeth scraping against his shoulder blades. The slapping got faster, and, distantly, Maximus found himself surprised at the secret strength hidden in Cellbit’s arms, enough to manhandle him with little effort, so forceful he could feel his tits bounce heavily. The camera was still whirring, and through the overstimulated tears in his eyes, he couldn’t really see where it was pointed, but it was easy to imagine what it was staring at: himself, sweaty and flushed and plump, his bouncing tits with their dusting of black hair, the glinting metal, the flowing ink, his cunt, red and puffy and wet where it met Cellbit’s cock, glistening with lube, with their shared arousal.

The mental image was enough to send a strike of arousal down his spine, and just like that, he was coming, clamping down around his lover’s cock.

Cellbit hissed out a curse, teeth sinking in the delicate crook between Maximus’ neck and shoulders, his claws dug ten little pinpricks of pain in his body, and now the thrusting was animalistic in its fervour, dragging delicious, overstimulating pain and pleasure up and down his walls; then two hands were snaking around him from behind, and there were hands groping at his tits again—Roier? When had he moved from between his legs?; rough finger pads swiped at his nipples before pinching and rolling, a slick noise of tongues meeting behind him, moans swallowed by an experienced mouth, and he was coming again, and this time, Cellbit was hot on his heels, pulling him down until he was fully sat on him, pumping spurt after spurt after spurt of hot cum deep, deep inside him. He gave a couple more shallow thrusts, fucking his cum deep inside before slipping out with a wet squelch. He could feel cum dribbling out of his hole, painting a puddle on the white carpet, and the wet tickling down his skin made him shiver.

The hands on his tits let go to travel up and up, cup his cheeks and tilt his face up until Roier was kissing him from above, keeping him distracted while his husband caught his breath.

Roier kissed like a madman, like he owned Max’s mouth; his tongue felt almost too long, and every movement made fangs graze his lips in this dangerously hypnotic way that made Maximus never want to be let go. They kept kissing, and kissing, Roier climbed back on the couch and got so, so close, and, shit, he’d taken his t-shirt off, and now they were both naked, save the strap-on still hanging securely by Roier’s hips. Maximus brought a hand down to wrap around plastic, found it dry and cool, differently shaped than before, humanlike, and the sole thought of having that inside him, stretching him wide and unyielding, made him moan with anticipation in Roier’s mouth. Roier, bless his heart, laughed against his lips, thrust into his loose grip and moaned an exaggerated, airy noise.

"Are you ready to take my cock, baby?" He licked inside his mouth before he could answer. "I can't wait to fuck you full, my gatinho already lubed the way for me with his cum, I can't wait to fuck you stupid…"

“You’re funny.” Maximus rasped out.

He was funny. Maximus had never fucked someone so… descriptive, before. It was fun. It made his cunt clench and twitch around empty air.

There were hands on him, manhandling him, pulling him down to lay flat on Cellbit's lap, legs spread around Roier's hips, perfectly framing the lilac plastic, bulbous and so lifelike, that was about to enter him. He looked up at Cellbit, found a pale chest and a pretty face looking down at him, smiling a reassuring smile, a gentle hand carding through his hair.

"He'll treat you right," he said. "He knows how to use that."

That, as it were, he had wrapped a hand around, and was guiding it to rub oh-so-slowly against him; gathering lube and slick and warm cum until it was glittering with wetness. He didn’t slide in immediately; just kept running the length along his folds, brushed against his cock like he had a personal vendetta against it, and Maximus had humiliated himself enough tonight to not be above some more humiliation.

“Please,” he rasped, a gasping, stuttered noise., “Please, fuck, Roier, please.”

He moved his arms, and he couldn’t tell if it was to grasp at Roier or Cellbit or the couch or anything else, but he couldn’t grab onto anything, because Cellbit took his wrists in his hands, gently pulled his arms up.

“Please what, Maxo?” He asked.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Please fuck me again,” he said. “I can’t go on like this.”

He said that, and immediately Roier started sliding in, inch by inexorable inch. It was cold, but after being stretched so deliciously by Cellbit's cock and the subsequent scorching emptiness, being filled to the brim and back by something just this side of too large was addictive, and he thrashed in Cellbit's hold, groaning out incoherent pleas, cheek nestled against his neck. He was murmuring praise against his forehead, Portuguese melding low into a single sound, and that, paired with the strong hands around his hips, the cock thrusting with clockwork precision inside him, were enough to lull his brain into shutting off; no thoughts, no problems, no codes or grief or loss, all forgotten in the hypnotic rhythm of bodies doing what they were engineered to do.

He gasped at a particularly sinful thrust, nerves alight with pleasure stemming from his core and running up his spine and down to his fingertips.

"Forever," he heard himself murmur against Cellbit's skin, too low for anyone but the three of them, and immediately his blood froze in his veins.

He'd just ruined everything, his brain was screaming, pounding at the cage bars of his brain, by calling one or both of his lovers by the wrong name.

He tried to focus on the fact that, before the night began, he had brought forth that very concern, and his lovers had listened to him and found a way to work around it.

They knew it was a possibility.

They wouldn't be mad.

He didn't need to brace for anything.

They're going to leave you, they'll hate you so much they'll just leave, because you're a disgusting piece of shit who is so delusional he can't even enjoy real sex.

Roier gave another thrust, so deep it ached, and Maximus was shaken out of his hurt by his tepid body draping over him.

"It's me, Maxo." He whispered, "It's Roier."

"I know it's you." Maximus said, and hated, hated, the teary, wet little noise that his words had become.

His arms were free, and he wrapped them around Roier's neck, and Roier came along, chest to chest, lithe form slotting nicely against Maximus' big body, hands curled on his thighs spreading him wide; he thrust home again and Maximus sobbed something incoherent again. There were hands wrapped around his chest from behind, and the Portuguese had switched to lilting, hesitant Spanish reassurances, curling oddly around the contours of Cellbit's mouth. He was sweet, and Maximus immediately felt like a piece of shit for calling him Forever.

There were lips on his face, kissing his nose, his chin, his eyelids, his tear-lined cheeks, and Roier leaned in as if wanting to bury himself under his ribcage and he brought his legs with him, folding him in near half so that his cock went deeper and harder, bruising against his cervix, a bittersweet contrast of violence and affection that made his head spin with pleasure, until he was coming again with a strangled gasp, untouched, wetness dripping down his legs, on Roier's thighs. He sighed, let himself enjoy the feeling of Roier's lips on his Adam's apple and the pleasant fullness inside him, shifting with their shared movements.

"Are you up for one last go?" Cellbit murmured behind his ear, Spanish again, so kind to him when he deserved none of it. "Remember your safeword?"

"Duck," he said. "It's 'Duck'. Yes, I can do it. Let's finish this."

If Cellbit was going to make the effort of Spanish for him, the least he could do was muster the energy to respond in English.

The man nodded behind him, and the three of them shifted and moved until Maximus was being sandwiched between the lovebirds. Something was poking him in the hip from behind, hard and warm, there were slick fingers pawing their way between his legs to tickle at his stretched hole, tap a rhythm along the strap-on already in there, travel up to brush his cock. He moaned a tired, wheezy sound, Roier swallowed it down, and his lips fluttered around the cock already in them, just enough that a finger could slip in, slick with lube, way eased by the cum already in there. One finger became two, a third one tickling at him, but already two fingers and a cock were a lot, even tired and overstimulated and loose as he was.

“Just… just put it in.” He said, surprising himself most of all. Roier gave a shallow thrust and almost made him forget his train of thought. “I can take it.”

“You sure?” Cellbit murmured, warm breath all a tickle against his ear, “You’re tight.”

“It will feel good for you. Put it in.”

Probably not the healthiest mindset to have, but whatever Cellbit heard in his pinched tone made him acquiesce, fingers slipping out of him to grab at his thighs and his cockhead rearing to take their place, rubbing up against his rim. Deliriously, he considered the cockhead pressed up against the plastic already inside him, just barely catching on his entrance, and realised, maybe this wasn’t the wisest of ideas.

Then the head popped in, quick like tearing off a band-aid, and it hurt, holy shit, it hurt, but white-hot pleasure flashed behind his scrunched eyelids, and despite the hurt he pressed back, seeking more, more, enough to shut away every thought in a tight little box and send it adrift in a sea of pure sensation. Cellbit hissed and stopped, probably spooked by the pained wail that had dripped down his lips; even Roier had stopped moving, pressing warm kisses against his collarbones just as fingers went down to rub at him, the spot where the three of them were conjoined, as if trying to soothe aching skin.

“More,” Maximus gasped, and he didn’t know who it was aimed at, but he cupped Roier’s face and kissed him again. “More, please, more.”

Slow, inexorable like the rising of tides, Cellbit sank into him, groaning breathless curses in broken Portuguese. Roier was bigger than him, but their combined girth made breathing difficult, the four hands on him almost enough to forget the edge of pain; when he bottomed in, they both whined desperate, overstimulated little noises, and it was up to Roier to shush them, butterfly-light kisses all over their faces, low praise, a hand rubbing gentle circles on Maximus’ hip and another scratching gently in the mess of Cellbit’s curls.

“Follow my lead.” He told him. “Let’s give them a show.”

Right.

The camera.

He forgot he was being filmed. Easy to forget, when you’re stretched to your limit on two cocks.

Roier moved, the slow drag of plastic guiding Cellbit to slowly thrust out, half-lifting Maximus off the couch, before they both slammed back in. Their rhythm was relentless and ruinous, and Max found himself clawing at Roier’s back, mouth fallen open and a dirge of whining moans resonating, and it took Cellbit seeking his mouth to claim in a kiss to shut him up, and even then, he couldn’t really kiss back, stricken by overstimulation.

He came easily, like air; all it took was Roier fingering at his cock, swollen and red, and he fell to pleasure, moaning too loud, cunt twitching weakly. Cellbit groaned, a tired, pleased trill, hips stuttering, uneven against Roier’s steely clockwork, and he slammed home one last time, deep as he could go, spilling scorching hot and sticky inside him. He slipped out, way made slick by his own cum, wrapped his arms around Maxo’s middle and rested his forehead against the back of his head, breath heavy.

Slowly, Roier slipped out as well, undid all the leather of his strap-on so he could sit comfortably on the rug, nestled between Maximus' legs.

His first lick to Maximus’ sore rim was together blessed relief and painful sting; a glance down revealed his tongue covered in a pretty mixture of white and red, swirling pink together. He cleaned him of cum and blood quick and efficient, muffling pleased little groans in his skin, and that, coupled with the low purring behind him, the growing exhaustion of the night’s activities, were making him drowsy.

With one last lick, Roier climbed back on the couch, settling on Maximus’ lap to kiss at his face, and Cellbit tried to grab him in the hug as well, long-fingered hands flitting along a lithe body.

“He’s only cum once,” He whispered in his ear, voice low making him shiver, “Let’s finger him, he’s teetering on the edge.”

Gentle hands took Maximus’ to guide them between Roier’s legs, and the man leaned back against the arm of the couch, knees falling open for the viewing pleasure of their audience.

His cock shone like a jewel from the dark cloud of his hair, and Cellbit’s low voice and firm hands guided Maximus to flutter along his lips, tug at his cock, and together, Maximus jerking him off, Cellbit sinking two fingers inside him like it was the natural place for them, soon had Roier writhing and squirting out pleasure, head thrown back with a groan.

Maximus was the one to grab the remote to the camera, sticky fingers and all, the camera zoomed in on his face, and he tried not to think about the fact that he probably looked flushed, sweaty, sleepy, and undone.

“Thank you for tuning in to tonight’s late night special edition of Gordinho Gostosinho.” Gods, his voice was shot. “I have been Maximus, and my associates are Roier and Cellbit. I’ll catch you next week, when we’ll be back to our regular scheduling, full of news, reporting, and fun. Goodnight, and goodbye!”

The camera clicked off.

Roier lifted his head from where he had left it dangling off the arm of the couch.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some cream on that tear of yours, then we cuddle.”

- - - - -

Elsewhere, a man half-laid in his comfortable bed, staring up at the ceiling. Blond hair, tips slowly fading red, fell in a halo on his pillow.

He glanced down at himself: remnants of stickiness on his chest, boxers askew, balled up tissues next to a cardboard box next to a sleek little tablet thing, lit up with the cheery image of an egg in a bright propeller hat, tangled up in wires.

He sighed.

#knight's notebook #qsmp #qsmp maximus #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #spiderbit #for those of u who follow me on ao3 and are wondering where the post about killing the sun went: i didnt post it i forgor.#ill make a post about it eventually

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