Work Text:
Rhys looks up at Jack, eager and stretched out beneath him.
“Look, I’m not saying that I think it’s weird you want to fuck me, but two of me at once? I mean, I’m not going to say I haven’t fucked him by himself before, but whatever.” He shrugs. “I’m hot, who cares. We’ll do it.”
***
Walking through the corridors of the building is easy- Jack struts about and Rhys follows at his left, and people avoid them as they pass. Jack somehow seems to remember exactly where the doppelganger’s apartment is without the use of a map. According to Athena, Jack had been somewhat ‘familiar’ with his doubles, but especially this one. Allegedly, that anyone knew Timothy’s name at all was evidence of that, but it was probably more the fact that they’d both been seen covered in bruises and bite marks whenever they spoke.
It’s Rhys that rings the doorbell, face schooled into something professional and clear.
“Don’t look so strung up, sweetheart.” Jack grins across at him, elbow braced on the side of the door. “He’s here to fuck you, not negotiate a business deal with you.”
“Aren’t those things usually the same, with you?”
Jack raises a brow. “Uh, I think you mean you. When have you ever fucked someone that wasn’t your boss? ‘Sides, simmer down. I’m doing you a favour.”
Rhys coughs and avoids his glance.
“Good point.”
When Timothy fails to open the door after a full minute, Jack makes a disgruntled sound and digs a little data drive from his pocket. He winks, then rams it into a little hole at the side of the door- the door makes a groaning noise, the gears splitting apart.
“Don’t kick the door open. Use your hands.”
Jack kicks the door open.
After they’ve burst open, Jack struts through the threshold like he owns the place, puts his hands on his hips and smirks. "Hey, me."
To be fair, there's a very good chance that he probably does own the place.
Timothy's head snaps up, darting around in shock. "H-hey, Jack," and then he peers curiously at Rhys.
It is suddenly abundantly clear that this is not the carbon-copy clone that Jack had talked about. Stood in the middle of the room, Timothy wrings his hands as he glances nervously between them, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot. Rhys has never seen Jack look anything approaching this nervous; Jack barely knew the meaning of the word.
Timothy finally catches his eyes proper, and Rhys smiles. "I'm Rhys."
At that, Timothy's eyes widen, and Rhys has to soothe down a groan. So, Jack had told him what they'd be doing today. Just not that he'd be doing it with Jack's PA, which probably meant he'd told all kinds of tall-stories concerning what Rhys was like in bed.
"Yes," he says, trying valiantly not to put his head in his hands at the way Timothy's pupils are already as blown as Jack's and his gaze is thrumming with nerves, "I'm that Rhys."
"Oh," and then he's glancing anxiously at Rhys' mouth, and Rhys deliberately licks his lips- he’s not surprised when Timothy’s eyes dart away from his mouth and he blushes.
Rhys whirls on Jack, crosses his arms and scowls. "You told him about that time we got caught, didn't you?"
"Hey, pumpkin, it doesn't work like that. It's only getting caught if you're embarrassed that you were blowing me under the table. What is there to be embarrassed about, anyway? You're hot, I'm... Me." Jack grins. "'Sides, clandestine dick sucking? He's into it. He's me."
And Rhys can't deny that they certainly look alike, right down to the grey at his temple. Same eyes too, though Timothy doesn't have the mask- his jaw is as sharp and angular as Jack's, eyebrows just as high and severe. He's darting his gaze back and forth between them, looking a little more relaxed.
"Oh, so this is- oh. Am I...?"
Jack takes a step forward and plants his hands on Timothy's shoulders.
"You're domming. For him." He flings a hand roughly at Rhys. "With me."
His eyes widen and his posture slams up, suddenly tightly strung. "You're kidding," He says, eyes as big as saucers and smile building on his lips.
"Alright, babe, don't get cocky." He takes his hands off of Timothy with a jolt, and moves to start unbuttoning his jacket. Timothy looks over at him briefly, but then focuses his gaze back over at Rhys.
"So, uh. You're going to submit to us." Rhys raises an eyebrow and gives him a genuine smile at the stutter. It was sweet, really, maybe a shade of how Jack would have been... Before. He's almost awkward, but not quite, and an awful lot more docile than the people Rhys has been meeting recently.
"To me," calls Jack. "You’re gonna submit to me.” He makes an irritated noise, huffing out a breath. “Here's how it's going to work: I'm gonna Dom you both. You," He points at Timothy with a curled up smile, discarding the jacket over a chair and moving to undo the clasps of his waistcoat. "You, handsome, are gonna Dom him,"
And then there's something stirring in Rhys that is all-too familiar, something dark.
"And you, honeybun, you are just going to take it. That clear?"
Rhys smiles around the purring beast.
"Crystal, Jack." He murmurs, and grins when he hears Timothy's mumbled assent to his left.
"What are we playing with today?" Rhys asks, hands going to his own heavy jacket and shrugging it off.
Jack cocks an eyebrow. "Good question, cupcake. Other than the collar, we've got rope, chains, probably some cuffs hanging around somewhere-"
"Rope." Timothy interrupts abruptly, then blushes when he seems to realise what he's done. Interrupting Jack was clearly a no-go for him too, judging by the way he screws his face up and darts a look at Jack. "I- we can use the rope, right?"
Jack doesn't look angry, though. Instead he has an eyebrow cocked, grinning with something predatory.
"Yeah, we can use the rope. Feeling a little excited tonight, huh, handsome?"
Timothy looks at Rhys sheepishly and gives a jerky nod.
Timothy doesn't look at Rhys like Jack does. His relationship with Jack is settled into control and ownership and worship, and Rhys was absolutely fine with that- more than fine, in fact. But this false clone looks at him with something crossed with respect and attraction, something a little less gilded power and a little more human. Timothy's eyes dart up from his now bare chest to his eyes, to his lips and back.
"That'd be one way to put it, yeah."
***
By the time Jack is shed of his clothes, Rhys and Timothy are long-nude. All Timothy had been wearing was a threadbare yellow sweater and a pair of loose jeans, and since he yanked it over his head and folded it they've been staring at each other from across the room.
Timothy was handsome. Timothy was Jack, but tender and soft at the edges, not achingly sharp like Jack was.
Unlike Jack, Timothy doesn't have the mask.
Timothy doesn’t stand like Jack, either- Jack stands with his legs wide apart and shoulder squared out, but Timothy only ticks half of the boxes. His legs are wide and hips held strong, but his shoulders have nothing of the deep-strung gravitas that clings to Jack.
...Timothy licks his lips a lot.
Like. A lot, and Timothy seems to do it very deliberately when he’s caught Rhys’ eye.
"Goddamn, do I have to do everything around here?" They both jolt in tandem, snapping over to look at where Jack is picking up a ball of rope from a bag and dropping his pants onto the table. He looks up and sighs, hands on his hips and finally out of his shirts and too-tight jeans. "Just kiss him, handsome, he'll love it."
Timothy takes a step forward and wraps his arms around him, and it feels achingly familiar to those quiet moments with Jack. They're just staring at each other, mouths so near and breath hot on skin.
"Hey," breathes Timothy, and then Rhys kisses him.
It isn't that kind of brutal biting kiss of Jack, it's smooth and soft and lazy, curling around in wisps of smoke and sticking tight to the back of his tongue. Timothy's tongue swirls around his, but before he knows it they're putting on a show, Timothy's hands at the back of his neck bending him over just-so, Rhys' own hands a scrambling line of motion across his back.
It isn't sharp, but it is open mouthed and dirty, tongues on show and lips wet with it. When Rhys opens his eyes to glance at Jack, he catches Timothy’s eyes instead. He winks, grins a little, then digs his hand deep into Rhys’ scalp.
“Ahhn,” he groans out, winking back to Timothy and deliberately shoving their bodies closer, hands clawing their way up to clutch at his neck, bringing him closer. His mouth is warm, hot and wet and soft- no biting, nothing but the gentle graze of Rhys’ reaching tongue on teeth and the gasping warmth of a body on his.
Every movement is a feverish calculation, Timothy bringing his thigh between Rhys’ legs and then leaning them both back so Jack can see them both in full.
Absently, Rhys notices that Jack is smiling, but he’s busy with the tense grip that Timothy has on the small of his back and the way Timothy has his fingers wrapped and pulling at the back of his head. Rhys groans out again, louder, but keeps his head to Timothy’s shoulder as he starts to drag out kisses against his neck-
“Oh,” and suddenly Jack is behind him, hands on his arms and rope in hand.
“Don’t get used to him, honeybun. He’s mine.” Rhys isn’t even sure who he’s talking to- they both groan out, tongues feverish and lips desperate, limbs tangling. The only reason Rhys is still upright despite the thigh between his legs is Jack’s strong grip behind him, pushing his arms together and binding them tight.
The kiss finally breaks, Timothy pulling his leg back and Rhys sagging back against Jack with a sigh.
“We’ll call that a warm-up, huh, kids?” Jack doesn’t sound jealous, just amused- Rhys smiles at Timothy, and he grins back, breathless with swollen lips and wide-blown pupils.
Jack shifts and props his hands on Rhys’ shoulders, only to whirl him around and pluck out the collar from his pocket. It’s an offering, a chance to back out- Rhys appreciates it even though it’s clear he’s nearly gagging for it, and smiles and nods.
Jack is achingly careful, sure but somehow delicate as he wraps the thing around his neck. The silver of it is comforting, a constant across it all, a symbol of ownership. The snap into roles is almost instantaneous, and Rhys drops his shoulders down and finds his lips parted again.
“Good boy,” Jack puts a hand to the back of his neck, and he finds himself nearly overbalancing as he sighs and leans in. The slow dragged warmth makes him forget his hands are tied- the weight of the rope is nothing, but suddenly he feels boneless and pliable under Jack’s touch. He teeters back and forth at the displaced heaviness.
Jack steadies him, palms firm and strong.
“Knees, baby.” And Rhys drops, straight down onto the plush carpet.
It’s a familiar curl of not-so-forbidden pleasure, the ache of submission and Jack’s broad hands at his head again.
But then Jack’s patting his head and walking across the room towards Timothy, and Rhys can abandon his need because if one Jack was amazing, then two Jacks-
Timothy just lets it happen, moving with Jack’s hands as the other man grabs him. Jack bites into him, and Rhys knows from experience that it hurts, that that was half the fun, but Timothy just leans into it. Timothy kisses Jack back, wraps his arms around his neck and tries his very best to keep up.
God, it looks debauched, forbidden and dark- Jack kissing Jack, Jack’s hands on himself- They’re kissing open mouthed, and if he’d been putting on a good show that had nothing on this. It’s something so cloying that he can almost taste it, Jack’s mouth licking up into Timothy’s and grinning, smirking as he drags a hand up his body and wrenches out a shiver.
Rhys suddenly feels so warm, staring with wide eyes as something rushes in his ears. They look like something from his fever dreams, built of hot muscle and deep sighs, and Jack is clawing up the back of Timothy’s shirt, panting and grinning like a big cat with a flicking tail.
“C’mere, pumpkin,” Jack says, but when Rhys starts to rise up he makes a torn noise deep in his throat. “No,” he growls, “Crawl.”
Rhys drops back down.
He clambers, legs too long to quite fit under him gracefully, but by the time he’s over at the pair it hardly seems to matter. They’re still kissing, tongues writhing together wetly, but when Rhys tugs at Jack’s ankle it breaks abruptly, the attention of them both suddenly lasered onto him.
“H-hey,” he breathes, gasped out at the painful friction of knees on carpet and the sight of them towering above him.
Jack gives him a grin, the hinges of the mask glinting in the dimming light. After a glance at Timothy, he drops to his haunches next to Rhys and croons in his ear.
“Put your mouth on him, baby.” When Rhys can only look at him in a daze, he brings their mouths together in a deep and biting kiss, but all-too-quickly Jack is pulling away again. “I understand you’re overwhelmed, sweetpea. If I were surrounded by two of me, I would be too. But I’ve gotta say,” The croon turns to a growl, dripping with something sly and malicious.
A hand at his hair that is too tight, wrenching, stinging with the force of it.
“Disobey me again and you’re going to be disappointed.” But then the croon is back, breath puffed against his air and Rhys closes his eyes to: “Suck him. Now.”
And suddenly it’s all Rhys can think about. His mind makes a jumble of ‘yes-okay-please’, and instead focuses on the sudden roll of want in his gut for something filling him.
Timothy’s cock is hard already, jutting out at his hips, and Rhys wastes no more time. He careers forward, opening his mouth wide and almost gasping with it.
He rolls Timothy’s prick in his mouth, and groans around it as Jack places a hand at the small of his back and squeezes. The vibrations must carry through, because Timothy’s hands find his shoulders and squeeze, and when Rhys looks up he’s biting his lips together tightly.
Rhys takes him whole, swallowing as much as he can and sliding his tongue against it. His mouth is propped open so wide that it’s barely seconds before he’s drooling, spit strings thick and sticky down his chin.
At Jack’s encouragement, he licks stripes up and along it, tracing the veins of the side that look so much like Jack’s. As if on a tremulous, thrumming cue, when Rhys groans out in tandem with Timothy’s gasps Jack starts talking.
“Look at you go, baby, taking him whole, just like that,” Jack’s hand snakes up to the back of his neck, resting in his nape and soothing at something deep in Rhys. He jolts around the restraints, relishes the tight bite into his flesh. He’s keening out before he realises what’s happening, purring around the cock that sits hot and heavy in his mouth. He sucks at him desperately, making and breaking suction with a loud and wet pop, preening at the soft noises above him.
It sounds like Jack if Jack were… docile.
“God, you’re so good for me, huh? You want cock so badly baby, you’re hard just from suckin’ dick,”
Timothy’s muscles jump as Rhys moves to brace himself against his hips, licking around the head and relishing the idea of a Jack that just purred around him, a tabby instead of a tiger. At the unsteady movement of his hips to get desperate friction against Timothy’s leg, Jack’s hand clenches. His blunt nails dig in hard, and Rhys reels back off of Timothy’s cock, blinking.
“Ask first,” he growls, and still digging in harshly into his neck. Rhys throws his head back and shuts his eyes tight, gasping out hot breath at the sensation.
“J-Jack, please.”
“Please what?”
“Please let-” he groans out, feels the presence of Timothy next to him and needs to get back to it, “Please let me touch myself, Jack.”
Jack tuts and shakes his head, one hand ghosting dangerously close to Rhys’ untouched dick.
“That’s not what you were doing though, was it, sweetpea?” He jerks his head further back and Rhys almost sobs, the snapping tension of it flooding him. “What were you doing?”
“I was-” Rhys gasps out, Timothy stepping forward into his space and pinning him further back into Jack, “I was- I don’t know, I don’t-”
“You were rubbing yourself against him, baby,” Jack is suddenly above him, not stood but curled around him with sharp thumbs digging under his cheekbones. “Like an animal, huh? That what we should call you? Little bitch in heat?”
“Nnngh,” Timothy is stood behind him, knees jammed into his back and prick nudging at the crook of his shoulder, and if he only turned he could-
“No. Ask. I will not tell you again.”
The order of it thrums, sings and sets him swirling, words drummed out from him and wrenched with all the breath he’s got.
“Nnnngh- oh, please, Jack, let me- let me suck him, let me- let me-” he shudders, and Jack’s hand traces the base of his cock, “H-hahh,” his breath is thick and fast and taken from his chest. “I need, I- let me get off, please, Jack-!”
Jack’s hand is at his cock, really, this time, tensing up and down in short strokes as he beckons to Timothy to crouch behind him.
“Look at this,” and Rhys tries to look up but Jack is talking to Timothy instead, so he drops his eyes and lets the feeling of Jack’s long fingers on him swirl in his head. “Look at him. My personal toy, and he’s begging for you.”
Jack uses his nails, and Rhys moans out and wrenches his shoulders back, jamming and squirming against the restraint. Jack just holds him, and he feels Timothy press a little closer behind him, body tight against him and hands coming to tentatively rest at his forearms.
“Insolent little fuck, aren’t you baby? All quiet until you get in the bedroom, then you’d sell your soul for a cock, right?” A pause, dripping with something Rhys can’t quite make out but swirls with the heat in his abdomen, “Go ahead, you can touch him.”
“Y-Yes, sir,”
Jack’s hands are a too-tight vice on him, and Timothy’s hands are coming around to grip at his chest, sharp nails dragging over his nipples. The noise he makes is strangled, dredged and tossed between these two men with big hands, palms on him and bodies covering him-
“He asked for you, you know. Specifically, he asked for us. I said, “What do you want?”, and he said, “I want to writhe on your cocks with my arms tied around my back.”
Rhys can’t make out his expression because he’s too busy tossing his head at the way his fingers are at the slit of his dick, and he doesn’t get the chance to argue with Jack because can feel Jack’s other hand ghosting up to where the collar sits and Timothy is pinching at him, and it’s all too much and so good-
“Please,” As Jack’s fingers grasp around the loop at the collar he gasps, eyes rolling up and his prick twitching and thrumming against Jack’s too slow palms.
“You want my cock, baby? You want our cocks inside you?”
Timothy’s hands still and grip and tense at his chest.
“Yes,” he breathes-
- and then Jack is dropping his dick and hauling him up, carrying him to the sofa as if he weighed nothing and placing him back down in a single fell swoop. He feels Timothy settle behind him, his big hands resting on Rhys’ flanks.
“Work him open,” the roll of a draw opening and a smack as Timothy catches a bottle of lube, “and you,” Jack pulls him up to his knees and turns him, ass pressed up and presenting to Timothy, face nearly jammed into the cushions. Jack props him up to relieve the pressure on his chest, face instead smashed into his thighs as he sprawls spread-eagle on the armrest.
“Suck me,” he orders, and Rhys thinks ‘yes’, and opens his mouth.
Taking Jack deeply is easy. He’s a more familiar beast, thrusting up into his throat and grinning down on him. When tears form in his eyes at the way he can feel it all the way into his throat, he wipes them away with the tips of his thumbs and then thrusts harder, and it’s a race to keep up with it. Rhys turns his tongue in knots and groans, and he’s doing so well, until-
Timothy’s fingers sit lightly at his entrance, cold and uncomfortable- his first finger slips in easily, and Rhys gasps around Jack’s cock in a way that makes him grunt.
“Good boy,” he groans, and Rhys moans out in response.
Another finger and it starts to burn, the pull of muscle jerking him away from Timothy and into Jack, swallowing him down as best he can. With his arms bound he’s only propped up by Jack’s arms at his chest and the shoving ache at his ass.
“Yeah, baby, you’re so good,” Jack’s breathing is sharper, his prick heavy on Rhys’ tongue. It’s all he can do to maintain eye contact as Timothy slips another finger in, and he moans out at the ache.
“Shh, shh,” One hand at his hair smoothing it down, the other iron-forced and propping him up, letting him bob up and down even as Timothy’s long fingers hit him up to the knuckle. He groans and bucks away, weight of the arm at his back forcing his spine to arch.
Timothy takes out his fingers, and he has a split-second moment of loss, a strange pause when he feels too open and too exposed. But then Timothy is ramming his fingers back in, and he groans and gasps at the heavy burn, fingers scissoring and opening him-
He hollows out his cheeks and tries hard not to shriek as the hot digits catch his prostate, and suddenly he’s not groaning at the burn, he’s groaning at the way Jack is bucking into his throat at the same time as Timothy jams his fingers in and out, a co-operative force that Rhys hadn’t expected.
Timothy manages to hit him with a blunt nail and he yells, muffled and desperate against Jack’s thick cock, eyes rolling up and-
Then Jack is pulling him off his dick. He can barely support himself- leaning back into his haunches only forces Timothy’s hands that much deeper, and then he’s almost teetering forward into Jack’s space and trying so hard to hold back the gasping pressure at his ass and failing. Beads of spit and precum drop from his mouth, and when Jack drags a hand over it only to force it back through his lips he sucks eagerly, tracing his tongue over the knuckles and groaning when Timothy hits his prostate again-
Jack is smiling, teeth on show and grinning as Rhys gasps around his fingers, held up only by the force of one hand at his chest. When Jack takes his fingers out and rests his hands on his face, Rhys leans into it, neck on show and whole body warm and too-sensitive.
When Jack braces and turns him around, manhandling him on a whim so he’s facing Timothy and the sweet pressure at his ass is gone, he goes easily, but can’t hold back his bereft whine.
Timothy kisses him around his moans, tongue deep in his mouth, and as Jack’s hand trace around his hole it’s all he can do to avoid biting down and screaming-
“Lift him up, handsome.”
They break the kiss, and for a brief second Timothy’s head butts against his own and he sighs out, Jack’s fingers suddenly deep inside him, and then suddenly gone, an aching reminder of the fact that he’s at their mercy-
“I said, lift him up,” and Tim gives him a look filled with something like trepidation, and then hauls Rhys up, further into Jack's space, back pressing into the planes of his chest and mewling at the force.
And Rhys doesn't understand; maybe because he's too busy focusing on Jack's hands, one clenching at his prick and the other digging sharply into the socket of his arm, or maybe because he's so hazed by the sensation of two Jacks, above, beneath and below him, force and blunt pressure setting his nerves alight.
He does not expect the sudden thrumming force of Timothy ramming him down, and he certainly does not expect the tremulous thunderstruck groan as Jack suddenly forces in his cock, and thrusts so deeply into him he sees stars. The burn is something ungodly, blunt head of Jack’s cock forcing into him. He can’t hold back his groans, deep-wrought and wrecked, tossed ashore as Rhys feels himself open around Jack and something tight clench around him. His cock is pulsing, so near from the clapping, cracking thunder of it, Jack’s hands at his cock and Jack’s big dick in him and Jack watching him and licking his lips from in front, he’s so near-
“Oh, no no, pumpkin, none of that.” Jack’s hand drops his prick and he sobs. “Gotta fit a whole extra dick in that pretty little hole, first, baby. You don’t get to cum until I do.”
“Hhh-ngh,” He tries to shift his hand against the bindings to his aching cock and is instead given taught pulled rope and a sob.
“Okay buttercup, I get that you’re feeling real insolent tonight, but if you cum before us I’m not letting you get off for a month.”
“Nnnghh-no-oh,” Timothy’s hands are at his hole, already too full with Jack, smoothing around and tracing and in a single fluid movement Jack pulls out and then they both push in.
“Ah!” He stretches around them easily, two fingers and then three, Jack’s cock pounding into him, making something in his chest rattle and groan out.
The pressure of it builds, fingers in him and gritted teeth and his whole body swaying and bucking into Jack’s hard thrusts, begging in words that don’t seem like words- Timothy’s cock is in front of him, bobbing between spread knees and he wants, he wants so desperately.
“I want- ahh! H-aanh, ah-”
“Yeah, baby? What do you want?” He clenches tight around them, head reeling and tongue loose with over-spilling sensation.
“Hnngh- fuck, I-” Jack’s cock stills and he sobs, Timothy’s hands still moving around the ring of muscle as if he might break, too light, too delicate.
“What do you want? Tell me, honey, I’m gonna hear you screaming for it either way.”
And Jack must nod to Timothy because suddenly he’s being whirled around, Timothy leaping back and suddenly Jack is beneath him, dick still big and hot inside him as Timothy gets back onto the cushions and puts a hand to his neck and-
“C’mon, sweetheart. We want to hear you, baby.” It’s Jack’s voice sprung from Timothy’s mouth, sweet and warm as the hand on his neck and the thumbs cradling up at his cheekbones-
Jack, dark-hard-deep and growling up from beneath him with hands in his hair gripping tight and wrenching.
“Tell us, bitch.”
“Y-your cocks, please, in me, in me-! I, please, J-a-a-ack, fuck please-”
He’s wrenched down, pulled by the hair and falling into Jack’s chest with a gasp of breath, cock still lodged inside of him and throbbing-
Timothy’s hands had been deft and light and teasing, but that’s nothing compared to this- the blunt head of it shoving up against his hole and for just a second Jack slows enough to let him in, and it’s all too big, too tight, too stretched against him. Overwhelming, an aching, splitting, bite and Rhys feels like he’s going to be wrenched into two.
“Fuck.” It spills from him, comes from a different place than that hazy desperation, instead tapping at his nerves where he’s ripping apart at the seams, hands clenching tight against his elbows at the rope. His eyes scrunch tight, and they both slow to a stop inside of him.
“Still with us, doll?”
“Just- wait,” he forces it out, too preoccupied with trying to loosen up against the hands at his hair and blunt-force-pressure that is far too big. But the hands at his neck are soft and firm, Jack’s other hand running fingers through his hair. At his front, Timothy puts hands up to his face and cups his cheekbones, pulling his face up from where he’d clenched it down. He loses himself in it, swaying backwards into Jack and not minding very much as the metal of his arm bites into his skin.
When Jack cants his hips up, the burn has gone, and then Timothy jolts forward and Rhys is screaming out, everything sending jolting sparks of pressure up through him.
“Please,” He says, then devolves into something without speech- every time they move, one of them jolts against his prostate, and he can feel everything, all of them, Jack above him and below him and inside him.
Suddenly they’re kissing over him, Rhys’ knees pressed back and head lost in something deep and thunderous, the sound of skin on skin and the need for something at his dick but he can’t, he’s got to be good-
Rhys groans out, every breath a moaning accolade to this, to this feeling. Two Jacks, big around him and in him, so big in him.
Jack is groaning in tandem with him, Timothy mumbling out moaning breaths and he can feel them thrum together and the slide of tongue on his neck. He tries to grab a hand up and struggles against the restraint, sobbing out and leaning into the sensation. It’s a tangle, tongues and teeth and lips everywhere, one second wrenching his head around to get at Jack, the next Timothy sucking his tongue and he groans out at that, too, until the whole room is an orchestra, playing out beat by beat the way his heart is racing and his nerves are firing with ‘Jack’ and ‘please’ and ‘thank you, oh god, thank you-’
Timothy cums first with a strangled groan, the pulse of it against his prostate and Jack’s thick cock enough to set him screaming again, and Rhys feels the bloom of warmth in him with something like trepidation. One set closer, one step closer, and he was so near, all he needs to do is clench down tight and groan and have Jack cumming in him, and then-
As Timothy pulls out, Jack hoists him up and whirls him around again- he goes easily, lets it happen and revels in the way Jack just moves him, now perched up and riding him, tensing friction of Jack’s cock still inside him driving him wild and building up on some precipice deep inside of him-
“Oh, you wanna cum, baby?” He grunts, thrusts and growls beneath, “You want it bad?”
“Y-yeah,” Timothy’s tongue is suddenly on him from behind, sucking at his shoulders and nipping and he’s so near- a hand on his cock and he’d be over, he’d be ready and begging and cumming. He’s shaking with it, back and forth like his jagged heartbeat is enough to make him fall- Timothy’s hands are on him, steadying, but he can’t lean back into them because he’s busy bearing down, tensing as much as he can against Jack’s thick cock inside of him.
He tenses, clenches, anything to get Jack off- he thrusts down, meets Jack’s strokes in juddering time and pleads, shedding words over him.
“Please Jack, please- cum in me, please, cum inside me-”
Jack’s hands claw at him and he feels something hot flood into him, the sensation of being filled, Jack and Timothy both as Jack groans with something deep and guttural and bucks-
When he pulls Rhys off, Rhys makes a tortured noise at the way it all drops out of him, thick and sticky against his thighs.
“Oh,” he murmurs, shrugging off Timothy’s hands and dropping forward onto Jack’s chest, face smashed into him with his ass up and presenting. “Oh, please,” But Jack doesn’t move. “Please, Jack, I- I waited, please, I was good-”
“Hey, handsome.” Rhys bites back a whine at being ignored, the thick pulsing of his cock so near to rutting at Jack’s hip, “Make him scream.”
Timothy’s hands are on him, Rhys jerks up and shouts at the slightest touch-
“P-pleeeease,” He groans out at the way Timothy’s hands are twisting, sliding over the slit and grasping at his balls. “Oh, Ah- I- I need it, thank you-”
Jack wrenches at his hair, he sobs at the way it stings and his cock pulses around Timothy’s thick fingers-
“You were a good boy, weren’t you, Rhys? Good little cock-slut, waiting your turn like a good toy.”
“Uh-huh, Yeah, yes, I was, I was, I’m-” He scrunches his eyes up and sobs, not enough friction, it isn’t enough-
“Squeeze him.” There’s a silence, a pause filled with nothing but Rhys’ shaking, moaning breaths, and then- “Now.”
The smoothing, too-loose grip at his dick goes tight, and he can feel it building up so close and tight that when Timothy jerks him he screams out and-
It’s release, relief in something like tossing ecstasy, head back and muscles jumping out, shuddering back and forth and screaming out thank-yous and desperate groaning as his world locks down into his muscles and he cums.
His breath is still coming fast when Jack lifts him, props him up on the cushions and smooths his hair back with something a little like tenderness but a lot more like ownership.
“Good boy.” And Rhys smiles up at him, offering his neck and relaxing as heavy palms rest there.
“We’re-” at the noise of Timothy’s voice, they both jerk around. “We’re doing that again, right?”
Rhys smirks at Jack, grins wider when he sees a cocked eyebrow and shark-smile.
Because well, of course they were going to do it again.
Duh.