Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The thing about working in a sex shop, IV had discovered, was that eventually nothing surprised you. Not the rainbow display of silicone tentacles in the front window. Not the vibrating strap-ons with adjustable suction cups. Not even the twelve-inch glitter-infused werewolf dildo that had emerged just this morning from a suspiciously heavy shipment box with a thunk and a too-cheerful label: Fantasy Meets Function!

Currently, he was wrist-deep in a crate of assorted butt plugs – chrome-finished, jewel-backed, some even spun – and he was trying not to think too hard about what that said about the average customer’s pelvic floor.

Across the shop, III was rearranging harnesses on the wall, humming something low and sultry under his breath. The fabric of his top clung to his back with every stretch and twist. Red velvet jacket long discarded. Black jeans just tight enough to make IV’s soul ache. He watched III reach up for a higher hook, his shirt riding up to reveal the faintest sliver of skin above the waistband.

IV swallowed.

He knew it was a bad idea to pine after a coworker. His roommate, no less. But Christ. The way III moved, always a little too much hip, like he was dancing through every task. The way he laughed, loose and free, sometimes tilting his head back and baring his throat like an invitation. The way he would casually drape himself over counters or chairs or IV himself when he was tired – like he couldn’t imagine a world where his touch might not be welcome.

And IV let him, of course. Every time.

He’d tell himself he didn’t read into it. That he wasn’t completely fucked over someone who was probably just friendly and tactile by nature.

But then he’d have nights where he couldn’t sleep, body hot and restless in the dark, and his brain would serve him up filthy little scenes where III wasn’t just being friendly. Where those hands weren’t just grabbing his shoulder to get past him behind the counter, but pinning him down. Where that smirk meant yes, I know what you’re thinking, and I want it too.

IV always woke up breathless, aching, and guilty.

Being trans added an extra layer to his problems. Most days he felt fine in his skin – better now, after top surgery, after years of battling his dysphoria. But there was still a disconnect when it came to sex. He’d done stuff, sure, but always with a wall up. Afraid of being seen too clearly. Of being disappointed in his own body again. Of being wanted wrong.

So he kept his crush locked up tight, somewhere between ‘pathetic’ and ‘delusional’ and contented himself with stolen glances and too-long showers.

“Sorting the dragons again, love?” III’s voice broke in, teasing and warm.

IV glanced up to see him smirking across the shop, arms full of lace harnesses.

He flipped him off, half-heartedly. “Jealous you didn’t get to unpack this majestic bastard?”

He held up a monstrous dildo with suction base and glow-in-the-dark ridges.

“‘Jealous’ isn’t the word I’d use,” III drawled, but his grin said otherwise.

IV snorted and turned back to his task, lining up the butt plugs on the glass counter in a gradient of size and sparkle. His heart was still thudding, but at least his hands were steady.

And then – the doorbell chimed.

He didn’t need to look to know.

The couple had arrived.

He felt them enter. The shift in air pressure. The sudden scent of musk and something expensive.

He looked up.

Vessel strode in first, tall, elegant, his long black coat swirling like liquid shadow. He moved like he owned the place, and maybe the world. Every inch of him radiated controlled intensity, like someone who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed. His hands were gloved in black lace, his eyes dark and steady, and when he glanced around the shop IV swore it got quieter somehow.

Behind him came II, smaller, all edges and cool confidence. He wore black slacks and a button-down that probably cost more than IV’s rent. His sleeves were rolled with military precision. His gaze was sharp, flicking from shelf to shelf with surgical calculation.

IV watched them move through the store, deliberately, without speaking. They didn’t ask for help. They always waited for the perfect moment, just looking around and whispering, until they could corner either IV or III for ‘advice’.

So, IV watched them the way prey might watch predators circling – part fear, part fascination, all heat.

He couldn’t help the thoughts that crept in.

Vessel looked like the dom of the two – taller, broader, that deliberate calm. Like he’d command you with just a look, and you’d thank him for the privilege. But then there was II. Compact, intense, with eyes that never dropped first. The kind of man who made IV want to lower his own gaze just to breathe easier. There was something burning in him. Something that said I don’t need to be big to ruin you.

IV didn’t know which one he wanted more. Or which one terrified him more.

“You’re drooling,” III whispered suddenly, right at his shoulder.

IV jumped. “Jesus—!”

III was way too close, grinning like a villain with a secret.

“I was just making sure you didn’t forget how to blink. They’re hot, sure, but they’ll notice if you stare like that.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You were, and you still are.”

IV turned, heart hammering, and reached for the tray of butt plugs to clear the counter.

But it was too late, Vessel and II had already changed course and were approaching.

Vessel’s gaze was fixed on IV like he already knew what he had been thinking about.

“Evening,” he said, his voice a velvet glide. “Anything new in?”

IV’s mouth opened. And nothing came out.

He scrambled. Literally fumbled the tray of plugs, several of which rolled dramatically across the counter like they were making a break for it.

III bit back a snort. “We just got a shipment in,” he offered smoothly, indicating the myriad of plugs. “New vibrating line. Silicone base, very friendly.”

Vessel’s smile was slow. II reached for one of the plugs and turned it over thoughtfully.

“Friendly,” II echoed. “Is that a technical term?”

“You’d be amazed how far friendliness gets you in the right context,” III said, eyes dancing.

IV tried to recover. “That one has, uh, adjustable vibration patterns. One of our best sellers already.”

He saw the glance II and Vessel exchanged – amused and unmistakably pointed.

“Either of you tested them yet?” II asked, tone casual.

IV dropped the tray of remaining plugs.

Next to him, III wheezed silently, turning it into a cough. The blush blooming on his cheeks matched IV’s.

They had to be flirting.

And worse… IV was suddenly ready to throw every employee rule out the window for this couple.

Ten minutes and six plugs later, Vessel took back his credit card made of obsidian and murmured, “We’ll see you soon.”

They left like they always did, like nothing could touch them and the shop was just a playground for their indulgences. Maybe it was.

IV stared after them, still trying to reboot his brain.

“Well,” III said, leaning on the counter. “Either they’re starting a collection or they’re testing our limits.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You think I’m wrong?”

IV said nothing.

A moment passed. Then he noticed a folded slip of paper on the counter.

Black card. Gold ink.

He opened it.

10pm tonight. Golden Silk Bar. Dress accordingly.

III made a noise that could only be described as feral. “They want us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“They left a note, IV.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

III stood up tall, his eyes gleaming. “Lucky for you, you live with a gay man who owns seventeen harnesses and some very flattering mesh crop tops.”

IV sighed. “I’m going to regret this.”

III grinned, wicked and fond. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Chapter Text

Their apartment was small, cluttered, and smelled vaguely like lavender dryer sheets and incense, thanks to III’s obsession with ‘smell ambience’ – whatever that means. A few string lights were looped around the living room window, and somewhere in the background, a sultry playlist murmured low jazz and synth-pop.

Currently, III stood in IV’s bedroom doorway looking like sin.

He wore tailored black trousers that clung to his hips, cropped just enough to reveal those stupid checkerboard socks. His top was little more than a whisper of sheer mesh, half-tucked and clinging like a second skin. Glossy red lips, dark eyeliner, subtle blush swept just high enough to make his cheekbones criminal. His blonde hair was artfully tousled like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed.

IV gawked.

“You’re doing that thing again,” III said, one hip cocked, lips quirking.

“What thing?” IV asked, hoarse.

“The thing where you look like you’re about to pass out just because I got dressed.”

“It’s not just dressed. You look—Jesus, III, how are you allowed to walk around like that?”

III preened. “With great difficulty, if I’m being honest. These pants are very tight.”

IV swallowed and fought the need to glace at just how tight they were, looking away and tugging on the hem of his soft black t-shirt like it might magically turn into something more appropriate.

III strolled over and gave him a disapproving glance.

“Nope. Not tonight. You’re not hiding.”

“I don’t hide.”

“You hide under oversized cotton like it’s Kevlar.”

IV frowned, but didn’t stop him when III opened the closet and pulled out something cropped, half-sheer, and suspiciously like lingerie disguised as a top. When had III hidden some of his clothes in IV’s closet?

“I am not wearing that.”

“You are if you want to get free drinks and possibly railed into next week by someone named after a roman numeral.”

“You’re named after a roman numeral.”

III winked. “Exactly. It’s destiny.”

The crop top was sheer-black with little red velvet stars scattered across it. It hit just above IV’s waist and would definitely show his scars if he lifted his arms. His chest tightened.

III saw it, of course. He always did.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer now, hand cupping IV’s neck. “You don’t have to. But you look hot in this, and I think you should. You’ve worked your ass off to love your body. Let it love you back tonight.”

IV looked away. “I just don’t want anyone seeing me and thinking I’m—”

“What? Beautiful?” III stepped closer. “Because you are. Fucking devastating, actually.”

His hands found IV’s waist, adjusting the hem gently. One slid up IV’s side, warm against the lines of his ribs, over the faint silvery scars beneath the stars.

IV’s breath hitched.

III leaned in, whisper-soft. “You know I’ve been thinking about you, right?”

That rocked IV. “Wait—what?”

“Please,” III scoffed, fond. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up for weeks. You think I put on eyeliner at work just for the vibe?”

“I thought you just liked to look your best!”

“Baby,” III murmured, brushing a knuckle under his jaw. “I do like to look my best, just for you. You haven’t noticed I have to take breaks at work just to cool off after watching you chew a pen?”

IV blushed violently.

III grinned, then sobered slightly. “I figured… if tonight goes where it might go, I didn’t want there to be anything unspoken between us. I want you comfortable. With me, especially. No matter what happens.”

IV was still trying to remember how his lungs worked when III leaned back and added, entirely too casual, “Also, I think Vessel and II are going to absolutely ruin us. I’m not sure I could’ve confessed afterwards anyways.”

“Jesus Christ, III.”

The walk to Golden Silk was short, but IV would have remembered every second even if it wasn’t.

The night air was cool, brushing against his skin with a teasing chill. His arms prickled, not just from the temperature, but from the fact that III had linked their fingers together without asking. Like it was normal. Like they were together.

IV tried not to overthink it. Failed completely.

They reached the bar a little early – Golden Silk stood like an opulent cathedral, its doors glowing faintly gold under the flickering neon sign. Inside, it was all dark silks and glittering chandeliers, casting halos of warm light across the floor.

They slid into a booth tucked in the far back corner, their jackets draped over the back. The table shimmered faintly under the low golden light. IV exhaled slowly, trying not to fidget as he scanned the decadent room.

“I feel underdressed,” he murmured, watching patrons drift past in lace corsets, tailored dresses, high fashion clothes that likely cost more than IV’s kidney.

III looked him over with open hunger. “You are not. You’re the best looking man in this room.”

IV smiled shyly. “That’s because you haven’t looked in a mirror yet.”

Before III could fumble a reply, the atmosphere in the bar seemed to shift, and when IV lifted his gaze to the entrance his brain short-circuited.

Vessel and II entered like they owned the place.

Which, IV thought, they actually might, he had no clue what they did for work.

They commanded attention without effort. II’s dark eyes scanned the room and locked on their booth. A slow, pleased smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

They crossed the bar floor, stepping past admirers without so much as a glance, and came to stand at the table.

And then—

They didn’t sit across the booth.

They boxed them in.

IV was caught. II's thigh brushed his, warm and intentional. Vessel’s presence across the booth from him was like a shadow of something divine and dangerous.

“Thank you for coming,” Vessel said first, voice a soft drag across IV’s skin.

III was the first to recover. “Thanks for the invite. If you keep shopping at our store, we’ll start offering customer loyalty cards.”

II smiled, something sharp behind it. “We prefer more… personal rewards.”

Despite that undertone, the conversation, at first, stayed light.

They talked about the weirdest items the shop had sold – “The alien ovipositor dildo,” III declared, “It moans when you squeeze the eggs out.”

“The one that glows in the dark?” II asked, deadpan.

“That’s the one,” IV confirmed, proud.

Vessel tilted his head toward III. “And what did you think of it?”

III raised a brow. “I think it’d be fun at a Halloween party.”

Vessel smiled. “You’d look good glowing.”

That made III pause. Just a flicker, but IV caught it. The little hitch in breath. The quick glance downward. The soft tint of pink climbing his ears.

“Have you always lived in the city?” Vessel asked after a sip of something neat and amber.

“Me?” III asked, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Born and raised.”

“I’m surprised,” Vessel said smoothly. “You strike me as… worldly.”

“Oh, I’ve gotten around,” III said with a smirk. “Just not geographically.”

Vessel chuckled. “Noted.”

Meanwhile, II had turned his full attention to IV.

“You looked nervous when we came in,” he said gently, voice lower now, more intimate.

IV shrugged. “I just wasn’t expecting you to sit… there.”

“So close?” II leaned in a fraction. “Does it bother you?”

IV felt his cheeks heat. “No.”

“Good.” II's voice was a brush of silk. “You’re very easy to look at. I didn’t want to be far.”

That froze IV's heart, only to have it restart at a gallop.

“You look good in that top,” II added, quiet enough that only IV could hear. “It shows off your confidence.”

IV laughed softly, shyly tracing the hem. “It shows off my scars.”

II’s gaze didn’t waver. “They’re part of the confidence.”

It wasn’t just the words, it was how he said them, the steady heat behind them. The way he looked at IV like he saw him, not just his body. Like he knew something IV hadn’t said out loud. He felt like a candle being coaxed into a housefire.

Across the booth, Vessel and III were in their own rhythm.

III, still cocky but slightly more flushed. Vessel, all measured observation and effective praise. “You seem like someone who knows exactly how far to push.”

III smiled. “You mean bratty?”

“I mean confident,” Vessel said. “And yes, probably bratty.”

III’s leg bounced under the table. IV knew that bounce – it meant excitement.

After a lull, where IV’s mind buzzed too loud to focus on the conversation, III finally leaned forward with a smirk sharp enough to slice through the thick air.

“So,” he said, voice sugary and laced with mischief. “Are we going to keep pretending this is just a cute little double date, or do we get to the part where you tell us why you’ve been stalking our shop for three weeks?”

Vessel raised a brow, but didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked pleased.

II grinned, lazy and slow. “I like this one,” he murmured to Vessel.

Vessel tilted his head toward III. “We’ve made no secret of our interest.”

“Speak for yourself,” III teased. “IV thought you were just very committed to having the largest sex toy collection in Britain.”

That earned a low laugh from Vessel. II’s gaze flicked to IV, heat simmering just beneath the surface.

“Well then,” II said, “Let us be clear.”

He leaned in, voice low. “We want you both.”

Vessel nodded. “We’d like to invite you to our home. Tonight.”

IV made a strangled noise in his throat.

III’s grin sharpened. “Bold.”

“Optimistic,” Vessel replied, voice rich and smooth.

“Mm.” III took a sip of his drink, then let his head tilt back lazily. “And what’s your dynamic, then?” he asked, still in that flippant, cheeky tone. “Who wears the big boots in your little love nest?”

II’s lips twitched into something almost smug. “We both tend toward the dominant side,” he said coolly. “But I usually take the lead.”

IV coughed into his drink.

Vessel raised an eyebrow with a subtle pout. “Only because I let him.”

III made a show of fluttering his lashes. “What, neither of you found a good enough sub to share before?”

Something in II’s expression darkened, pleased but sharp. “Not one we’d keep,” he said softly. “Not until we found the right fit. Someone – someone’s – who could handle both of us.”

He looked meaningfully between IV and III.

The implication settled over the table, thick and cloying.

III didn’t flinch, but the pink that hit the apples of his cheeks was undeniable. Still, he rallied with a smirk. “And what makes you so sure I’m not a dom too?”

II smiled with his teeth. “Oh, you’re mouthy. But that’s not dominance. That’s a brat begging to be corrected.”

Vessel let out a low hum of agreement, and III’s bravado showed the faintest crack. He shifted in his seat, less performative this time, like he’d suddenly become very aware of the heat between his legs.

“You don’t know—” he started, then stopped when II tilted his head, gaze narrowing like a predator sighting prey.

“Don’t worry,” II said, low and dangerous. “You can still be on top sometimes. If you behave.”

III made a noise that might have been a scoff if it weren’t so breathless.

IV stared at the table, ears burning, heart pounding in sync with the heat building in his stomach.

When he dared glance up, Vessel was watching him with eyes like honey, full of strange affection and knowing hunger.

God help him.

“Shall we see how the night unfolds?” Vessel asked, tilting his head in a feline manner. “We’re very… generous with our attention. And I think you both deserve some.”

IV’s heart thudded. III made a pleased sound beside him, confidence reinforced, and patted IV’s thigh under the table.

“We’re in,” III said simply. Then turned to IV in a whisper, “Unless you’re not?”

IV’s throat was dry, but his voice was steady. “I’m in.”

III beamed at him, and II’s hand settled gently on his lower back, just above his waistband, warm and comforting.

Vessel stood. “Shall we?”

They rose together and walked toward the door. The night outside felt heavier now, like something was shifting in the air.

And IV couldn’t help but think, whatever happened next, nothing was going to be the same.

Chapter Text

Their apartment was like stepping into another reality.

IV’s boots clicked softly against dark wood floors, the air lightly perfumed with something spicy, a hint of amber and maybe leather. The hallway opened into a vast living space that was all opulence: black satins, grey stone walls, silver accents that caught the low lighting like scattered starlight.

It was modern, yes, but gothic in a way that felt curated. Dramatic. Every object seemed chosen for its elegance and weight. High shelves with old books. A long black couch with pillows shaped like thorns. Framed photos lined the walls depicting a myriad of shadowed cathedrals, moonlit cityscapes, and blurred silhouettes in questionable positions.

IV took it all in and immediately thought: We are never letting them see our place.

Their own apartment was a chaos of laundry, empty takeout boxes, tangled chargers, and whatever half-assembled projects III left around. This place looked like it had been built by gods and furnished by demons.

And yet, even here, there were little imperfections. A half-drunk glass of wine on the counter. A pair of mismatched coffee mugs resting on a side table. Tiny figurines tucked onto shelves – a delicate bat carved from crystal, a tarnished silver chess piece, a miniature jade fox. IV found himself playing a game silently: Vessel. II. Vessel. II.

Before he could assign ownership to a cat-shaped incense burner, II clapped his hands softly.

“Would you like the tour?”

IV blinked. “Oh—uh, yeah. Sure.”

Vessel smiled. “It’s not long. We keep most of the important things close.”

The tour passed through an elegantly minimalist kitchen, a den lined with music equipment, and finally, to a set of double doors that opened into the bedroom.

Bedroom. The bedroom.

IV stared.

The bed was absurd. Enormous. Draped in black and blood-red sheets, the headboard a delicate mix of curves and filigree. There were low shelves along the walls filled with books and objects too ornate to be just decorative. A chaise lounge in the corner. And above the bed: a mirror, trailing to the ceiling.

“Jesus,” IV whispered, “that bed could fit six people.”

“That’s not the plan,” III said, walking past him to take in the room, “but I love your optimism.”

Vessel laughed softly next to III. “It pays to be prepared.”

IV was about to make a sarcastic comment when he turned – and stopped.

Because Vessel was leaning in.

And kissing III.

It was soft at first, exploratory, Vessel’s large hand coming to cradle III’s jaw as if to steady him. III tried to meet the kiss with equal force, confident and cocky – but then Vessel deepened it, pressed him back a step, and III melted. Sagged slightly. Sighed into it.

IV’s mouth went dry. His whole body felt hot.

He didn’t even hear II approach. Not until the man's arms bracketed him from behind, one hand resting lightly around IV’s ribs, the other hovering just at IV’s hip.

A voice, low and sinful, curled into his ear.

“Would you like to see our toy collection?”

IV startled slightly, and II chuckled.

“The one we’ve amassed since the day we first saw you. You, looking all sweet and flushed behind the counter. And him,” a nod to III, now being thoroughly kissed, “with that dangerous little smirk. We had to start preparing.”

IV shivered.

II took his hand and led him out of the room, the sounds of soft kissing fading behind them as they turned into a side room. Another smaller set of double doors.

Inside, it was less a closet and more a boutique of filth and fantasy.

Shelves upon shelves of toys, restraints, leather, lace, silicone, velvet. Contraptions IV had sold. Others he only wished he’d sold. A St. Andrew’s cross folded discreetly in the corner. A spanking bench. Wall hooks hung with gleaming metal chains and whips and floggers.

“Holy shit,” IV murmured, stunned.

II turned to him. “Pick something for yourself.”

IV looked up.

“Really?”

“Yes. Anything you want.” A pause. “And something for III,” II added with a smirk. “Preferably something to help that mouth of his behave. Something that vibrates, perhaps?”

IV snorted – nervous, but thrilled. He walked the room slowly, fingertips grazing packaging and soft leather.

He passed a pair of matching mouth gags, definitely a contender. A chrome plug that caught the overhead light, too safe. Rows of precision-built vibes, we’re getting somewhere...

Then he saw it.

A deep maroon collar. Thick leather with a soft inside. Silver O-ring at the front.

He remembered this. Remembered the day they’d bought it. Remembered recommending it with a flushed face, stammering something about fit and comfort. Remembered their eyes, dark and full of intent.

He picked it up, breath hitching.

Further down the shelf, he spotted a vibrating cock ring. Simple. Unassuming. Vicious. He thought of how III would gasp desperately due to the overstimulation, how he’d look with flushed cheeks and trembling thighs.

IV returned to II, items in hand.

“This one,” he said, holding up the collar, “makes me feel… grounded. When things get intense. And I don’t mind being pulled around a bit.” He looked away, then added, quieter, “Or breath play.”

II’s smile was something between kind and wolfish. “Excellent.”

He took the collar and gestured for IV to lift his chin. Clasped it into place with practiced ease.

“We can talk about this more after tonight, if it’s something you’d like in most scenes,” II said, his knuckles brushing IV’s throat, soft and reverent. IV felt his knees threaten to go liquid.

“You should lose the clothes,” II murmured. “Keep the boxers. Let’s give them a surprise.”

IV hesitated, then stripped, slowly. By the time he stood in only his black boxers and collar, II had taken the cock ring and was rolling it between his fingers, examining it with a gleam in his eye.

“This will do nicely,” he said. “You’re very thoughtful.”

Then he reached for the doorknob, and IV’s stomach flipped as he trailed him back to the bedroom.

Since they’d been gone, nothing had calmed.

Vessel had III pressed against the headboard, kissing him like he was trying to steal his soul. One of Vessel’s hands had disappeared down the front of III’s pants and, based on the way III’s hips were twitching and his hands were clenched in the sheets, it was doing some damage.

They both paused when the door opened. Vessel’s eyes landed on IV and groaned.

Boxer-clad, flushed, collared.

“Fuck,” Vessel groaned, eyes dragging slowly over every inch of IV. “Look at you.”

III sat back, breathless and glassy-eyed. “Holy shit.”

II moved behind IV again, hands splayed across his waist. Slowly, he traced over IV’s skin, brushing nipples, sliding down his ribs, toying with the top of his boxers.

IV could only pant, barely holding himself up under the weight of attention.

II smirked against his neck, watching the other two from over IV’s shoulder. “You like the accessory he chose?” His hand crept up to the collar, fingers stroking it once, twice – then suddenly yanking.

IV gasped and stumbled forward, stopped only by II’s arm across his chest.

Vessel and III let out matching groans at the sight.

Then II’s free hand dipped. Down IV’s stomach, over his happy trail, sliding into his boxers. Fingers finding IV’s dick, slick and aching.

He stroked in small, slow movements. Teasing swirls and pulls that made IV’s knees buckle.

He released an involuntary moan.

From the bed, Vessel hadn’t stopped moving his hand in III’s pants, but now his rhythm matched II’s exactly, and IV could see the way III’s hips twitched in response.

Vessel watched II’s every movement. Watched the way he kissed along IV’s neck, open-mouthed and adoring.

II had always wanted a partner to collar, but Vessel had never been quite comfortable enough.

Now they had someone perfect for it.

II walked IV forward, slowly. Still teasing, still stroking.

They reached the bed, standing at the opposite side from where Vessel and III lounged in heated disarray.

“He picked something for you too,” II told III, voice light and teasing.

IV flushed deeply. III’s eyes lit up, curious yet wary.

Vessel helped III shift to the centre of the bed, pulling his trousers and boxers down with practiced ease.

III made a soft noise but didn’t fight it, “Eager much?”

II snorted at the comment and simply deposited IV right into III’s lap, whose hands instantly claimed his hips.

“Go on,” II whispered. “I think IV deserves some friction, no?”

IV hesitated only a moment before he began to grind, slow and tentative. Not quite on III’s cock – that was still under II’s care – but enough to make them both moan.

Then II reached down, using IV as a diversion, and slipped the cock ring onto III with a little flick of his wrist.

III gasped and looked up at IV like he’d been betrayed.

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” II said, oh-so-sweet.

“It vibrates.”

And he turned it on to the highest setting.

III tensed beneath IV, the sudden jolt of vibration surging through his body like lightning. He moaned loudly, hands clenched onto IV’s hips as if anchoring himself against the tide. His abdomen fluttered and tightened, providing the perfect firm plane for IV to grind against.

II leaned over, his voice both taunting and grounding, “Colour check, sweetheart. You know the system?”

“Green,” III gasped, hips jerking helplessly up. “Green—fuck—green, green—”

“Good boy,” II purred, satisfied.

From the foot of the bed, Vessel watched with something akin to reverence, his dark eyes taking in every twitch and gasp as the bratty facade crumbled away from III.

He shifted closer, claiming the space on the right of their tangled bodies. Cupping the back of IV’s neck, he pulled his forehead down to press against his own, murmuring, “Look how beautiful you are like this. We’ve wanted you for so long.”

IV’s breath hitched, his movements faltering for a moment under the weight of Vessel’s words. Then Vessel kissed him deeply, tongue slow and sinful, while his other hand trailed possessively across III’s tense chest, stroking over flushed skin as if claiming them both at once.

A satisfied smirk pulled at Vessel’s lips as he pulled back from the kiss, causally reaching into the bedside drawer with practiced ease.

His hand returned with a bottle of lube, which he wasted no time in clicking open and slicking his fingers.

Once done, Vessel didn’t hesitate. He trailed down past III’s trapped cock and balls, teasing the flushed skin of his taint before pressing a finger inside.

III shuddered, whining high and breathless as his muscles fluttered around the intrusion, cock jerking hard against his abdomen and IV’s ass. The combined assault of vibration and slick pressure had him trembling.

“Still feeling dominant, sweetheart?” II purred down at III with a smirk. Despite himself, III managed to stick out his tongue in defiance of the question, but the gesture wavered, more breathless whim than true challenge.

In retribution, II helped to guide IV’s boxers off, leaving him flushed and naked above III’s writhing form. He helped him line up, guiding III’s cock to IV’s entrance with a merciless smile.

As IV slowly slid down, taking him inch by trembling inch, III’s eyes fluttered shut and his mouth fell open in a strangled sound that could hardly be called a word.

“Fuck—fuck, IV,” he whimpered, fingers digging crescent moons into IV’s thighs. The warmth of being buried inside him, tight and perfect, short-circuited the remaining shreds of coherent thought.

II raised an eyebrow at Vessel. “He doesn’t look like he has anything bratty to say now.”

Vessel chuckled low, dark and fond, as he pulled his fingers from III’s now-prepped hole. In one fluid motion, he stripped and slid – with a little difficulty – underneath III’s vibrating form, sandwiching him between Vessel and IV.

With quick fingers, he guided himself inside of III, stretching him further around his thick length – the added buzz of the cock ring making the intrusion feel unholy.

III muffled a scream, a gorgeous, helpless sound, as his entire body trembled. IV, riding him slow and deep, found the rhythm Vessel set underneath and let himself be bounced forward with each thrust. The way the three of them moved together was something obscene and beautiful, like a perfect machine made of heat and pleasure.

From above, II coaxed IV forward again, rubbing his hands soothingly down his sides, then guided his cock to IV’s lips. IV blinked up, hazy with pleasure but eager, and wrapped his lips around II’s cock, sucking with soft, messy focus. He moaned around him, vibrations rumbling through his throat as III pulsed wildly inside him.

III was babbling now, a high, wrecked chant of pleas and nonsense, his body tensing and squirming under the weight of stimulation. “Please—please, I can’t—fuck—need to come, please—”

II chuckled darkly, pulling back from IV’s mouth just enough from him to speak. “Hmm. I think IV should decide when you come,” he said, clearly enjoying the way III jerked under that new information. He turned to IV with a mock-innocent smile. “So, sweetheart, do you think he’s earned it?”

IV, face flushed and panting, opened his mouth to say yes, but II’s hand snapped up and tugged sharply on his collar, yanking him off balance. The sound that left IV’s mouth was a stuttering, garbled moan, his eyes wide.

“Aww, that didn’t sound like a yes to me,” II tutted, smirking down at III. “Seems like you’re not off the hook yet, brat.”

Then, without warning, he pushed back into IV’s mouth with a groan, muffling anything IV might’ve said and leaving III squirming, desperate and wrecked beneath them.

In response to II’s sadistic actions, Vessel braced one hand against III’s side as he reached around to stroke IV’s dick with the other, his touch precise and demanding. He pressed his lips to III’s temple, but spoke up at IV.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” he whispered, dragging his fingers slowly up the length of IV’s arousal. “Shall we show III what obedient boys get? I want to see you fall apart, and I think he wants to feel it too.”

His thumb circled IV’s most sensitive spot as III let out something incoherent that sounded like agreement, and IV sobbed around II’s cock, hips twitching as an overwhelming pleasure tore through him. The vibrations from the cock ring, as well as Vessels fingers and soft encouragement finally tipping IV over the edge.

A startled, high moan ripped from his throat as he came, soaking both III and Vessel beneath him in a sudden gush of his release. The wet heat pooled across their bodies, slick and hot. IV’s body trembled with it, his muscles seizing as he clenched around III’s cock inside him and around II’s length in his throat. He nearly choked on it, overwhelmed by his orgasm, unable to process anything else.

II groaned, hips bucking forward slightly, but managed to keep control. His hands smoothed along IV’s hair, even as his cock twitched with the effort of staying composed, and he slowly pulled out.

Beneath them, Vessel let out a sharp, low moan, his rhythm faltering as the feeling of IV’s orgasm soaked through to him. III’s hole clenched in reaction, gripping him tightly, and Vessel’s restraint crumbled. He came with a breathy grunt, releasing deep inside III, his hands still stroking soothing lines down his sides even as the waves of his orgasm washed over him.

IV could hardly feel the way Vessels final desperate thrusts caused him to rock on top of III, he was too blissed out, his senses blurred and overloaded. III, on the other hand, could definitely feel it and looked undone, his flushed face screwed tight in desperate need, so close to the brink he was shaking.

With a look from II, Vessel slipped out from beneath the pile of bodies, giving him space.

II, having lost the warm press of IV’s throat, wasn’t feeling very patient. He pulled IV forward by the collar, making him slump down onto III, who was still hard inside of him and squirming in desperation.

The shift revealed III’s hole, still slick and leaking with Vessel’s come. II groaned at the sight, guided his cock to that ravaged opening, and pushed inside in one firm thrust.

The groan III let out was pure, unfiltered need. The sudden movement caused him to clench even harder, his hips bucking up instinctively, and he started babbling again, desperate nonsense tumbling from his lips.

Vessel leaned in, tapping IV’s cheek gently until he blinked his eyes open. "Time to answer the question, pretty," he murmured.

IV blinked through the haze, struggling to remember – then it clicked. "Yes—yes, oh my god yes—please let him—"

II grinned, sadistic and triumphant, as he immediately reached down and unhooked the cock ring from III.

And III, still buried deep inside IV, was finally allowed his release.

He came instantly, body locking up, legs trembling, mouth open in a silent scream. The muscles around II’s cock clamped down in waves, pulling II’s own orgasm from him with a harsh groan. He emptied into III with sharp, stuttering thrusts, their bodies locked in perfect synchrony. IV could feel III’s cock pulsing deep inside him as well, hot and thick as he spilled into him, the sensation tipping IV even further into blissed-out overstimulation.

For a while the room was filled only with breathless gasps, the scent of sex, and bodies still trembling and connected.

III lay boneless beneath IV, still twitching in aftershocks, his flushed skin streaked with sweat and come. Vessel stroked soothing hands down both of their spines, whispering something low and sweet into the curve of III’s neck. IV couldn’t make it out, he was floating somewhere on the edge of too-much, his body thrumming with exhausted pleasure.

II pressed a kiss to IV’s temple as he slowly pulled out of III who whimpered, too sensitive to do more. Vessel was already moving, steady hands lifting IV off of III and into his arms as though he weighed nothing.

“Let us take care of you,” Vessel said softly.

They were carried, cradled really, one after the other by Vessel to the ensuite bathroom – though bathroom seemed a poor word for the sprawling marble-tiled space and the jacuzzi-sized tub that steamed with hot, scented water.

IV blinked in disbelief at what was practically a swimming pool.

Before Vessel could place him in the water, II gently unbuckled the collar still snug around IV’s neck. His fingers were careful, almost tender, as he lifted it away. “You wore it so well,” he murmured, brushing his lips over the skin where the leather previously sat.

IV’s head sung at the praise, but he couldn’t form a coherent reply, so instead he let himself be guided into the tub. The heat hit him like a blanket and he sank into it with a groan.

Vessel helped III in next, supporting him until he was secure against the sloped edge of the tub. He looked like a wet, well-used doll, dazed and flushed but glowing all the same. IV caught his eye and they shared a loopy grin.

Once all four of them were settled – Vessel behind III, II with IV between his thighs – they sat in comfortable silence for a while. Fingers lazily traced skin, legs tangled, someone reached to wet a cloth and gently cleaned lingering mess from chests and thighs.

Eventually, II broke the quiet.

“So,” he began, voice still husky but soft. “We want to do this right.”

Vessel nodded. “We may have started this… unconventionally.”

“A bit,” IV said, wry and wrecked, and III snorted wetly across from him.

“But we want more,” II continued, brushing damp curls from IV’s face. “Dates. Dinners. Lazy Sunday mornings. You two are… exactly what we’ve been looking for.”

Vessel’s hand slid over III’s ribs, up to cradle his cheek. “You’re brilliant. Both of you. And we don’t just mean in bed.”

IV’s heart thumped hard in his chest. “You mean… like a relationship?”

“Exactly that,” II said. “If you want it.”

III, still half in Vessel’s arms, looked over at IV. There was a moment between them, unspoken but so loud. Months of pining, of shared nights and stolen glances, all leading to this ridiculous, perfect conclusion.

IV smiled, warm and wide. “Yeah. Yeah, we want that.”

III grinned back, eyes soft and hopeful. “Took us long enough.”

Chapter Text

The strange thing was how normal everything became after that first night.

No whirlwind of endless hookups, no sudden declarations of belonging, no instant shift into some grand poly arrangement. Just... a group chat. Daily memes. A surprisingly mundane stream of chatter about coffee brands, terrible Netflix shows, and whether IV could get time off work for weekend plans.

If anything changed, it was between him and III. But even that felt less like change and more like finally sinking into the shape they’d always been meant to fill.

The tension that had buzzed between them at work – the charged glances, the near-touches, the way they circled each other like magnets pretending not to pull – expanded, like they couldn't get enough of each other.

Now, when IV ducked into the back room to grab stock, he found III already there, leaning against the shelves with that lazy grin and arms open to pull him close. The stolen glances across the counter became kisses against the boxes of lube and feather ticklers. Quiet moments that left them breathless and smug when customers weren’t looking. Wandering touches under the excuse of reaching past each other became hands slipping into belt loops, fingers tracing the warm line of a waist just because they could, because nothing was stopping them anymore.

And at home, III would curl into him on the couch after work like it was the most natural thing in the world – a leg thrown over IV’s lap, head tipped onto his shoulder, humming soft nonsense under his breath. They moved around each other in the tiny flat like two halves of the same worn sweater, stretched and familiar and perfectly soft.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t madness.

It was comfort. Warmth. The quiet, steady certainty of something that had always been waiting for permission to be.

And, occasionally, the threat of public humiliation.

Like on Friday, when III had backed him against the glass counter with a wicked smirk, fingers slipping under the hem of IV’s work shirt, murmuring things about what he’d do with that vibrating plug in stockroom B, while IV tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

“Don’t you have price tags to print?” IV whispered, biting down a smile as III nosed at his neck.

“I’ve got better things to do with my hands,” III murmured back, fingers creeping under IV’s belt.

Neither of them noticed the customer standing politely at the till until they cleared their throat loudly, making both of them jolt apart like guilty teenagers. IV fumbled with the register while III wiped his mouth on his sleeve, grinning way too happily.

Their manager popped her head round the corner just in time to see the customer leave with raised brows and a knowing smirk. She crossed her arms, eyeing them both with the air of someone who’d been waiting for this.

“Ohhh. So it finally happened, did it?” she said, smirking. “About time. You’ve been making googly eyes at each other for months. Honestly, I thought I was gonna have to lock you two in the storeroom just to get it over with.”

III only grinned wider, slinging an arm around IV’s shoulders like he owned him. “You’d be doing the Lord’s work, boss.”

She shook her head with a sigh. “If you two are gonna dry-hump the counter, at least put a 'closed' sign up first. And stop scaring the customers off, they pay us for the toys, not to watch whatever this is.”

IV groaned into his hands while III chuckled, entirely unbothered.

But as their manager turned away, muttering about "horny idiots," IV caught the fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

It was that same night, lounging on the couch with III's legs draped over his lap, when the question finally popped up in the group chat:

III: ok but how are you both so loaded
III: you’re always sending dinner to the flat for us
III: what the hell do you do?? secret trust fund kids??

IV snorted, thumb pausing over the screen as Vessel replied.

Vessel: Not quite.
Vessel: We own a record label.

II: Not just own. Run, suffer for, pour our sanity into.
II: You two should come see the studio. Tomorrow?

Of course they said yes.

The studio smelled like old wood and fresh vinyl. Like in their apartment, sleek, modern lines met heavy drapes and rich gothic artwork crowded the walls. Ornate gold frames surrounded dark, brooding oil paintings. An iron candelabra perched unused on a shelf between a rack of cables and a battered amp. It was a strange, beautiful clash of past and present, like someone’s haunted mansion had fallen in love with a high-end recording suite.

Framed photos caught IV’s eye as they stepped further in – snapshots of bands he didn’t recognize, some caught mid-laugh or locked in sweaty performance, others posing stiffly in outfits decades out of date. The oldest pictures were curling at the edges, browned with age; the newer ones gleamed in fresh glass. Little moments, frozen forever.

But what struck him most wasn’t the wealth or the history, it was how domestic it all felt, just being here with them.

Vessel slid an arm around IV’s shoulders from behind, warm and solid, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of his jaw as if this were their kitchen and not a million-pound recording space. His fingers idly traced the line of IV’s collarbone, settling there like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Across the room, III slung an arm lazily over II’s shoulders, pulling him in until their bodies bumped. He ruffled II’s hair with rough affection until the man squawked and twisted away, batting his hand with no real heat, cheeks going pink. III only grinned wider, tugging him close again like gravity itself demanded it.

They looked more like boyfriends dragging their partners to work than industry sharks running a company.

IV felt a flutter in his chest – half awe, half warmth – as Vessel guided him gently further in, palm steady on his back. The quiet clicks of buttons and faint hum of electronics filled the space, but beneath that was something else. Ease. Familiarity. Like they’d all done this dance a million times before.

“Welcome to our little kingdom,” Vessel murmured, low in his ear. “What do you think?”

IV could only swallow and smile, heart thudding, as he reached up to cover Vessel’s hand where it rested warm against his collarbones, thumb brushing over the knuckles. “It’s amazing,” he murmured, eyes sweeping the room. “I didn’t think a place like this could feel so... lived-in.”

Vessel let out a happy hum, the low sound curling against IV’s ear. His thumb traced a slow line along IV’s throat, dipping to the hollow at the base like he was committing every inch to memory. “I’m glad you like it,” Vessel murmured, brushing a lingering kiss against IV’s temple. “We built it to feel like home.”

The gentle warmth of his words settled over IV, grounding him even as excitement thrummed under his skin.

“We mostly manage things these days,” Vessel said, leading them over to the heart of the room. A gleaming mixing deck stretched across a wide table, crowded with dials, glowing buttons, and sliding switches that glinted under the soft studio lights. Sleek black panels met rows of colourful LED displays that pulsed like they were breathing. Above the deck, racks of gear blinked quietly, and cables snaked across the floor in tidy, deliberate coils.

“But sometimes…” Vessel flicked a switch, and the speakers crackled gently to life, a faint hum filling the air. “We have side projects. Things that keep us sane.”

“Like this one.” II perched on the edge of the soundboard, tapping the trackpad of an open laptop. A beat filled the room – deep, thrumming percussion layered with shimmering synths and the faint wail of a guitar in the distance. It was moody, darkly textured, and strangely hypnotic.

“We’ve got a track that’s been driving us mad. Sounds good, but it’s missing something. Can’t land the right bass line,” II said, making a face like the very idea offended him.

III perked up immediately, his eyes lighting. “I used to play bass. Uni band days. We were shit, but I still remember my way around the strings.”

II grinned, wolfish and wide. “Oh, really? You’ve been holding out on us, sweetheart.” He gave III’s waist a light squeeze, enough to make him squirm and smack II’s hand away half-heartedly.

“Want me to take a crack at it?” III offered, pretending to toss his hair like a rockstar, though his grin was too crooked to be serious.

II leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk, pretending to appraise him. “Hmm. Let’s see if those pretty fingers can do something useful besides teasing your boyfriends.”

IV let out a soft laugh, cheeks pinking, while Vessel’s hand slid possessively along his side, warm and reassuring.

In moments, III was in the recording room, bass slung over his shoulder, fingers testing the strings with idle plucks that made the instrument hum against his chest. II ducked behind the drum kit in the corner, twirling a pair of sticks between his fingers with the casual ease of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

Through the pane of mirrored glass – it was one-way, IV realized – he and Vessel could see everything perfectly. Every grin, every glance, every playful shove. But from inside the recording space, III and II only saw their own reflections staring back.

III strummed a lazy chord, tapping the body of the bass as if reacquainting himself, while II gave the high-hat a quick flick, its faint shimmer cutting through the air. They were grinning like schoolboys caught ditching class, mouthing something to each other that IV couldn’t hear, the thick soundproofing swallowing every word.

IV pressed closer to the glass, watching as III stuck out his tongue at II in retaliation for some unheard tease. The bass settled into his grip like an old friend as he adjusted the strap and threw his weight onto one foot, striking a half-serious rockstar pose. II responded with a lazy roll of the sticks across the snare, a soft rattling vibration that IV could only see, not hear.

Vessel’s hand rested on IV’s shoulder, thumb stroking lazy circles into the fabric of his shirt.

“They’re cute like this,” Vessel murmured low against his ear. “Think they’ve forgotten we’re even watching.”

IV let out a breathless laugh, eyes fixed on the scene behind the glass. He could see the energy of the music building between them – II counting them in with a casual wave of his stick, III nodding in time, foot tapping on the padded floor.

A quick, silent rhythm spilled from II’s drums, just light practice strokes, all motion without sound to IV’s ears. III jumped in a beat later, his fingers idling over the frets, the bass vibrating under his touch. Whatever they were playing had no sound from this side of the glass, but IV could feel the pulse of it in their bodies. Loved the little shake of III’s head as II made some ridiculous fill that earned him a grin and a middle finger in reply.

“God, they’re such boys,” IV muttered softly.

Vessel chuckled behind him, warm and quiet. “Boys with very expensive toys,” he said, voice rich with fondness. His hand slid higher, brushing the edge of IV’s collarbone again. “And no idea they’re about to be our entertainment in more ways than one.”

IV shivered, eyes still locked on the silent, bright world on the other side of the glass – completely unaware of what was waiting for him on his own side.

“Let’s play a game,” Vessel murmured, sliding up behind IV. His hands settled on IV’s hips, firm but gentle, guiding him back until their bodies pressed together just right.

IV’s heart skipped, caught off guard by the quiet boldness of the invitation.

“A game?” he breathed, voice barely more than a whisper.

Vessel’s lips brushed the shell of IV’s ear, warm and slow, sending a shiver crawling down his spine. “How long...” He paused, letting the words linger, “...can I fuck you without them noticing?”

His breath feathered across IV’s skin as his fingers trailed teasing patterns along his waist, delicate and deliberate. “Both rooms are soundproofed. Thick walls, sealed doors. Not even a whisper escapes,” he murmured, voice low and intimate.

IV swallowed, the thrill of secrecy tightening in his chest.

“And,” Vessel’s hand slid around to rest just beneath IV’s windpipe, thumb brushing lightly over the pulse there, “this glass between us? One-way.” He smiled against his skin, amused. “We can see everything on their side... but we’re ghosts on this one.”

The confirmation of what IV had already guessed made his breath hitch, body flush with heat and anticipation.

Vessel’s touch became bolder, fingers tracing the lines of IV’s ribs, teasing his skin as if memorising every inch. “So, the question is... how long will they stay occupied? How long before they realize we’ve been absent for too long?”

IV’s pulse thundered, breath shallow, caught in the delicious tension between exhibition and concealment, desire and control.

Vessel’s hand dipped lower, fingers curling possessively, anchoring IV to the moment, to him. “You’re going to be my perfect secret,” he promised, voice dark and steady, “until the very last note.”

Before IV could even gasp, Vessel bent him low over the control table, the cool metal biting gently into his palms. Buttons and blinking lights gleamed beneath his fingertips – rows of expensive tech worth more than his entire flat – and here he was, about to be taken apart right on top of it all.

The mirrored glass ahead was still in his line of vision. On the other side, II continued to tap a steady rhythm on the drums, head tilted, fingers loose. Beside him, III plucked thoughtfully at the bass, mouth pursed in concentration. Both of them focused, oblivious, only their own reflections staring back. No clue what was happening just feet away.

A shiver ran down IV’s spine as Vessel’s hands smoothed over his hips, thumbs brushing teasing circles into the fabric of his jeans. Slow, deliberate. Like unwrapping something precious. His fingers crept to the button at IV’s waistband, popping it free with a quiet snap, then dragging the zipper down slowly, the sound loud in the hush of the room.

IV bit his lip as Vessel slipped a hand inside, warm fingers cupping him, stroking the sensitive swell of his dick with lazy, practiced touches that made his knees weaken. His breath hitched, hips rocking back greedily against the pressure, a soft, helpless sound escaping him as Vessel’s other hand found its way lower, fingertips teasing at his slick entrance in slow, circling strokes.

“Good boy,” Vessel murmured, low and dark against the shell of his ear. “So eager. Already grinding on me. You want this, don’t you?”

IV whimpered, head hanging low between his shoulders, grinding back desperately against the slow press of those fingers stretching him open, teasing and shallow. It wasn’t enough, it only made the ache sharper.

The mirrored glass gleamed in front of him, showing II and III’s safe, unassuming shapes. Vessel chuckled softly, the sound sliding over IV’s skin like silk. “Keep watching them,” he breathed. “Watch them while I play with you.”

He curled his fingers just so, dragging a ragged moan from IV’s throat, then gave his dick another teasing stroke, making him tremble and squirm against the control desk. Vessel groaned low behind him, his own patience wearing thin as IV rocked back hungrily against his hand.

“Look at you…” Vessel murmured, nipping at IV’s neck, voice gone rough with want. “So needy. Can’t wait, can you?”

With a soft curse, Vessel shoved down his own jeans, freeing his cock with hurried, quiet movements. The head of it pressed hot and thick against IV’s entrance as he lined himself up, pausing for one long moment to savour the stretch of IV trembling and open under his touch.

“Eyes on the glass,” Vessel whispered, voice low and commanding. “Watch them while I take you.”

And with one slow, merciless roll of his hips, he pressed inside, claiming every inch of space as IV gasped and arched under him, helpless to the slow, glorious pressure.

He gripped the table’s edge, knuckles white, body arched into a perfect curve as Vessel drove into him slow and steady, every roll of his hips purposeful and deep. The cool metal beneath his palms vibrated faintly with each thrust, the dimpled surface of the soundboard catching the tremble of his frame.

Beyond the mirrored glass, II and III kept playing, utterly absorbed. So oblivious.

Right in front of them, hidden, trapped, IV was being fucked open with deliberate care, his body rocking forward again and again into the blinking maze of buttons and dials. Each careful thrust from Vessel made the panel shudder beneath him, the switches clicking faintly under his touch.

Vessel leaned over him, chest pressed to his back, breath hot against the shell of his ear. “See how good you are for me?” he murmured, voice dark. His hand slipped around IV’s hip, finding his dick again with slow, maddening strokes. “They have no idea how gorgeous you look like this. How much you’re falling apart for me.”

IV moaned, soft and breathless, his forehead dropping to the cool metal as pleasure twisted deep in his gut. His thighs quivered as Vessel’s cock dragged in and out of him, each thrust slow, stretching him wide until he swore he could feel every thick inch.

“Keep your eyes open,” Vessel warned, giving a teasing snap of his hips that made IV gasp, his voice breaking in a sharp little whine. “Don’t you want to see them? Want to know what they’d do if they saw you like this... dripping, stuffed full, barely holding yourself up?”

A desperate noise caught in IV’s throat as he fought to obey, lifting his head just enough to see their silhouettes still grooving behind the glass, safe in their ignorance. His vision blurred, breath hitching as Vessel's fingers worked him in time with his thrusts – slow, firm, torturously good.

“You sound so sweet already,” Vessel purred against his neck, licking a slow stripe along the skin, making IV shudder. “How long before you’re loud enough to be heard through the sound-proofing? Hmm? How long until you can’t help but cry out?”

IV shook, a strangled moan slipping free as Vessel ground in deep, filling him perfectly, the pressure stealing the strength from his arms until his elbows buckled. His cheek met the soundboard, warm breath fogging the glossy surface as his body rocked helplessly beneath Vessel’s careful ruin.

“Already so close,” Vessel whispered, lips brushing the curve of IV’s jaw. “I can feel you trembling. You want to scream for me, don’t you? But you can’t. Not unless you want them to hear every filthy sound you make.”

Another slow thrust, another squeeze of his dick, and IV whimpered, louder this time, his control slipping, voice rising unbidden into the quiet room.

The soundboard rattled beneath him. Buttons flickered.

A switch flicked under his wrist.

And then—

Sound flooded into the recording studio.

High, breathless whines poured from the overhead speakers. Sweet, broken sounds of need, of surrender, of pleasure he couldn’t contain.

In the other room, III stilled mid-note, blinking up at the glass as if unsure of what he’d just heard. II’s sticks faltered, the rhythm crumbling into silence. Both of them froze, staring at the mirrored panel where they could see only their own reflections, not the debauchery hidden just behind the glass. But the sounds? The sounds left no room for doubt.

IV didn’t even notice. His cheek pressed to the cool surface, eyes glazed, mouth parted on another shaky, ruined moan as Vessel ground into him again.

“Oh… darling,” Vessel purred, the faintest chuckle curling in his throat. He stilled deep inside IV, hips flush against him, hands smoothing slowly down IV’s trembling sides as if to soothe. “Did you hear that switch click, pretty thing? Hmm?”

He glanced up, eyes glittering with dark glee as he met the glass, knowing II and III could hear every word, every helpless sound IV made.

“I think you just gave us an audience,” Vessel murmured against IV’s ear, rocking his hips just enough to drag a pitiful whimper from him – another soft noise that broadcast directly into the studio. His voice deepened, low and teasing. “What do you think they feel? Listening to their sweet boy… split open, fucked across the control table like something meant to be used.”

Another roll of his hips made IV sob into the soundboard, too far gone to care, heat flooding his skin as the humiliation curled delicious and dark in his gut.

“Look at them,” Vessel crooned, grinning against his neck. “They’re so quiet now. Trying to decide if they should keep listening… imagining what’s happening on this side of the glass.”

In the studio, II stood from the drum stool, head tilted, eyes sharp and dark as he stared at the mirrored pane. He slowly removed his in-ear monitor as if to be sure, jaw tightening when another soft moan crackled over the speakers.

III’s bass hung slack from his fingers, his chest rising fast, gaze flicking between II and the glass, lips parting as colour flushed hot across his cheeks. His body tensed like a string pulled taut, humming with restless heat, his thighs shifting as if he couldn’t get comfortable.

Vessel smiled wide, slow and wicked, his fingers splaying over IV’s belly as he ground in deeper. Drawing shallow thrusts designed to keep IV pinned, trembling, helpless.

“They know exactly who’s moaning for me. Wonder what they’ll do when we walk in after... when they see you all wrecked and soft.” Vessel whispered, voice honey-sweet and cruel in his ear.

IV’s vision blurred, tears prickling hot as Vessel fucked him slow and deliberate, every thrust wringing out more breathy, humiliating noises.

Behind the glass, II’s mouth quirked in dark smile, listening to Vessel’s taunts. Oh, there would be retribution later. III swallowed hard, fidgeting, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bass as he swayed faintly on his feet, helplessly aroused.

Vessel kissed the back of IV’s neck, grinning like the devil. “Such a good boy... performing so well for them.”

His grip firmed on IV’s hips, holding him down against the control table as if to keep him from floating apart entirely. Every languid thrust pressed him deeper into the buttons and blinking lights, making the deck rattle and whine under the strain, just like IV himself.

IV whimpered, the sound high and sweet as it crackled through the studio monitors – his shameful music played for II and III. His thighs quaked, spread wide and useless, the ache of fullness deep and constant as Vessel ground into him, slow and merciless, filling every trembling space inside him.

Vessel’s hand slid down, gentle and cruel all at once, fingers curling around IV’s neglected cock and stroked him in time with every lazy thrust.

“So pretty,” Vessel sighed, the smile in his voice unmistakable. “So fucking perfect like this. Falling apart... letting them listen while I make you mine.”

IV gasped wetly, eyes fluttering shut, nails scraping helpless across the soundboard as the pleasure twisted tighter, hotter, impossible to fight. He could feel the flush burning high in his cheeks, his chest, his ears.

“You’re going to come like this, aren’t you?” Vessel purred, teasing him faster now, stroking his cock in short, practiced pulls that made IV writhe. “Bent over the desk… while they listen… while I fill you up.”

“Ah—ah—please—” IV sobbed, helpless, his hips jerking back against Vessel’s cock, desperate for more, for the heat, for the shame. His vision blurred, breath catching in his throat, the world narrowing to the slick slide of Vessel’s hand and the slow, deep grind inside him.

“You can let go,” Vessel whispered silk-smooth, pressing a kiss behind IV’s ear, his teeth scraping just enough to make him shudder. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. Come for me, darling. Come for them.”

That broke him.

IV choked on a cry. High, wrecked, and shamefully sweet as he came hard against Vessel’s palm, his body clenching down in pulsing waves, the sound of his release filling the studio through the open speakers. The lights on the deck flickered with the tremor of his climax, the desk rattling beneath his arching spine as he collapsed helplessly across the cold metal surface.

“Ohh, you are divine like this,” Vessel groaned, hips jerking harder now, faster, chasing his own peak. His grip tightened at IV’s hips, dragging him back with every sharp, slick thrust until his rhythm faltered, stuttered. He growled low and deep, spilling inside IV in long, molten pulses, pressed flush and breathless against him.

The sound of their mingled gasps filled the space, echoing back through the speakers, reaching eager ears in the next room. Through the mirrored glass, II and III stood still, frozen, watching their own reflections while IV whimpered and Vessel groaned into the air.

“Good boy,” Vessel breathed finally, peppering soft kisses along IV’s nape as the shudders eased from his body. His hand slid up to IV’s chest, smoothing gently over his pounding heart. “So, so good… they’ll be dreaming about this for days.”

IV barely managed a soft, spent whimper, dazed as Vessel pulled him close and nuzzled behind his ear. “Still with me?” Vessel whispered, brushing gentle kisses along the nape of his neck, down to his shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re mine.”

IV swallowed hard, blinking slow, the haze of heat and shame beginning to thin into something softer, something bright and warm. He turned his head slightly, pressing his cheek into Vessel’s hand when it rose to cradle his jaw.

“Good boy,” Vessel breathed again, smiling. “Come on. Let’s fix your trousers, pretty thing. We can’t let them see you looking this deliciously wrecked... yet.”

With careful hands and soft hums of reassurance, Vessel eased IV upright, pulling him gently from the desk to help him dress. Zipping, fastening, smoothing the rumpled fabric like he was handling something precious. IV leaned into him, boneless and flushed, letting the quiet comfort settle over his skin like silk.

Vessel kissed his temple, straightening his collar with deliberate care. “There. Beautiful as ever.”

IV let out a small laugh, weak and breathless. “You’re evil.”

“Mmm. But you love it.” Vessel grinned, cupping his cheek for one last lingering kiss before guiding him toward the door.

Vessel walked into the recording room like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just utterly ruined IV against the soundboard, hadn’t broadcast his soft whines and shattered gasps into this very space.

IV’s legs wobbled as he stepped inside, and Vessel’s hand curled tight around his waist to steady him.

II grinned wide from the drum kit, leaning forward on his sticks. “Hope you recorded those sounds,” he teased, eyes flashing wickedly. “Those were the perfect high notes we’ve been missing.”

IV groaned, face burning hot, and buried it in Vessel’s chest to hide the furious blush creeping down his neck. His ears rang with the memory of his own voice pouring from the speakers.

III slung his bass aside with a smirk. “And here I thought this was going to be a boring studio visit.” His grin curled wider. “Best recording session ever, if you ask me.”

Vessel only laughed softly, holding IV close with pride. IV could feel the gentle rumble of it in his chest as the others chuckled, smug and satisfied.

IV sighed, cheeks flaming, but couldn’t keep the small grin from his lips.

Best studio visit ever.

Chapter Text

The bell above the shop door jingled softly as IV flipped the sign to Open, stretching his arms high over his head with a quiet groan. It was a Tuesday morning, so he expected the day to be nice and slow. For now it was just him, III, and the endless stream of new stock waiting to be unpacked behind the counter.

“Want me to grab the next box?” III’s voice called lazily from the back room, warm and teasing.

IV grinned to himself. “Sure. Let’s see what fresh horrors we get to peddle today.”

A moment later, III emerged with a cardboard box balanced on one hip, dropping it onto the counter with a flourish. “This one says ‘Premium Steel Kit’. Sounds fancy.”

IV slit the tape carefully, peeling the flaps open. Nestled inside were sleek black leather cases, each stamped with silver foil letters. He cracked one open, expecting the usual cuffs or plug set—

His breath caught.

Inside, resting against black suede, lay a full set of stainless steel sounding rods. Flawless, polished, gleaming under the shop’s lights like precise surgical instruments. Each one lined up in perfect order, slender to thick.

“Oh,” IV murmured, soft and stilted.

III leaned lazily over his shoulder, peering in. “Ah. The dick sticks.”

IV snorted, but couldn’t stop staring. His fingers hovered just over the rods, not quite daring to touch. A quiet ache bloomed in his chest, curious and longing.

“I’ve always wondered about these,” he admitted after a moment, thumb brushing the case’s edge. “But... y’know. Wrong plumbing.” He shrugged, small and self-conscious, and clicked the case shut. “Guess it’s just one of those things I’ll never get to try.”

For a while after, IV kept sneaking glances at the case every time he passed the counter. Even while ringing up customers. When a sleek older man came in asking for “something new, something daring,” IV shyly suggested the steel kit, and the customer bought it on the spot.

“Lucky bastard,” IV muttered under his breath as he slid the purchase into a gift bag. His fingers lingered on the empty shelf where the case had sat.

He stacked dildos. He stocked lube. He watched III restock the harness wall, legs on show in tight black jeans, blissfully unaware. All the while, IV’s mind spun in quiet loops: the feeling of cold steel, the slow press of something smooth and forbidden... the ache of wanting to explore, but having no way to try.

Until finally, when the last customer left and the door jingled shut, III turned from the display rack and caught him staring up at the almost-empty shelf.

“You’ve been mooning over those cases all day. Should’ve just kept one for yourself,” III grinned.

IV flushed. “Not much point, is there?”

III wandered over, slinging an easy arm around his shoulder. “Why not? Use me.”

IV blinked. “What?”

III shrugged, smiling warm and sure. “Try them on me. I mean it. You’ve been curious since you cracked that box. I’ve never done it either. We could... experiment.” He nudged IV’s arm with his elbow, voice low. “I trust you. Could be fun.”

IV stared at him, breath catching, surprise twisting into a slow, eager flutter.

“Really?”

“Really.” III squeezed his shoulder. “Explore as much as you want. Tonight, even. We’re free, aren’t we?”

IV felt himself grin, heart racing like a kid with a secret.

By the time they flipped the lights off, he could hardly stand the waiting.

III just smirked knowingly, dragging him by the hand toward home.

III’s bedroom felt warmer than usual. A heavy, clinging heat that settled against the skin. And that was saying something, considering the room was always a furnace, kept stiflingly warm because III had no patience for the cold.

Soft lamplight spilled across the sheets, catching on the polished steel rods laid carefully on a folded towel beside IV’s knees. Everything about the moment felt slow, deliberate, as if he were unwrapping something rare and precious.

III sat propped against the pillows, bare-chested, loose lounge pants pushed low on his thighs, legs spread in quiet invitation. His cheeks were slightly flushed already, more from anticipation than nerves, his breath calm but expectant.

IV ran his palm gently up the inside of III’s thigh, feeling the soft, warm skin shiver beneath his touch. His other hand cradled III’s cock, already thickening, the head flushed and wet with a pearl of precum glinting in the low light.

“You sure?” IV murmured again, thumbing delicately under the head, smearing the slick bead with slow, teasing strokes.

III let out a soft breath, smiling wide and lazy. “For the tenth time... yes. I’m sure. You’re too careful to mess this up, sweetheart.”

IV flushed, but grinned, feeling a quiet thrill stir in his chest. He leaned in, kissing the soft inside of III’s thigh, then the base of his cock, letting his breath warm the skin. Slowly, languorously, he pumped III in his hand, working him to full, aching hardness with gentle, circling strokes.

“Want you nice and hard,” IV whispered, watching III’s cock swell against his palm, flushed and eager. “So the rod slips in smooth.”

III’s breath hitched, hips shifting slightly toward IV’s hand as the pleasure built, warmth spreading down his belly. “Tease,” he murmured, grinning.

IV hummed, pleased, giving a gentle squeeze at the tip, watching precum bead again. “I want you leaking before you even feel the steel. Want you perfect for my experiment.” Another slow, steady stroke from base to tip, then a teasing thumb swirling over the head, smearing slick in soft circles.

III groaned softly, head falling back against the pillows, eyelids fluttering. His thighs shifted wider without thinking, offering himself up completely under IV’s careful attention.

Satisfied with the way III twitched in his grip, now entirely full and flushed, IV reached for the thinnest rod, already slicked with sterile lube making it gleam in the light. He held it up in the warm glow of the lamp, letting III catch a glimpse.

“Ready?” IV murmured, breath catching with quiet excitement.

III opened heavy-lidded eyes, smiling dreamily. “So ready. Just... go slow.”

IV kissed the inside of his thigh again, heart thudding low and eager as he positioned the rod’s tip at III’s glistening slit, fingers steady and reverent.

“Slow and careful,” IV promised softly, holding his breath as he began to guide the slender steel inside.

III’s breath hitched, body flinching faintly as his slit was pressed open, but then his head tipped back, a soft, broken little oh falling from his mouth. IV stilled, waiting, watching for the slightest discomfort.

“Feels... weird. Good weird,” III murmured, blinking down at him, face open, trusting. “Kinda cold.”

IV let out a breath of wonder, gently holding the base of III’s cock, thumb stroking his thigh. His own cunt was slick with arousal, but he ignored it for now, entirely focused on this – on the beautiful stretch of III’s legs, the tremor in his stomach, the little noises catching in his throat.

“Gorgeous,” IV whispered, easing the rod deeper with exquisite care.

III groaned softly, hands flexing in the sheets. "Shit... ah—ah!”

IV grinned, giddy with it. “You like it?”

“Fucking… mmh—love it,” III breathed, feeling his cock twitch around the rod it wasn’t meant to take.

By the time the rod was halfway in, III’s head had tipped back against the pillows, brows pinched tight, mouth slack and open as breath shuddered from his chest. His cock pulsed helplessly, flushed dark and leaking, a glistening drop rolling slowly down the shaft.

“Fuck... that’s—” III broke off, gasping softly, fingers curling in the sheets. His voice was breathless, wrecked in the most beautiful way. “Feels... deeper than I thought...”

IV smiled gently, warmth stirring low in his belly. “You’re doing so well, love... taking it perfectly.” His thumb brushed the tense skin at the base of III’s cock, soothing. “Just a little more.”

III gave a shaky nod, trusting and pliant, his thighs softening under IV’s hands.

But IV, sensing the strain in III’s face, the sharp edge of too-much-too-soon, paused. Instead of driving deeper, he slowly, carefully began to withdraw the rod, easing it out with steady, delicate control.

And that... that made III keen even louder, hips twitching as the smooth length dragged along the sensitive inner walls of his cock, sparking a hotter, rawer pleasure that made him jerk in IV’s hand.

“Fuck—IV—” III gasped, shuddering hard. His fingers scrabbled for the sheets, hips trying to follow the movement, to keep the rod from slipping free. “Oh, god... that’s worse... s’good—”

IV bit his lip, eyes dark and fascinated as he watched III squirm, every tiny motion magnified by the steel inside him. “Too much?” he murmured, voice low and teasing, but gentle.

III shook his head desperately, a broken moan slipping free. “No... no, just—keep doing that... slow... slow...”

Obediently, IV slid the rod back in with exquisite care, pushing it deeper this time, just a breath further, until it nestled nearly to the hilt. III sobbed softly, legs twitching wide, his cock hard and throbbing, leaking messily onto his belly.

IV began to build a rhythm, patient and precise. Drawing the rod out halfway, feeling the tension ripple through III’s body, then pressing it back in smooth and steady. Each stroke made III whimper softly, panting, torn between pleasure and the unbearable slow burn of sensation as the steel teased every nerve inside him.

“God, you’re perfect like this,” IV breathed, eyes fixed on the glinting rod sliding in and out of that flushed, stretched slit. “Taking it so sweetly... so deep. Look how well you’re handling it…”

III could only moan, shivering, lost in the feeling, his hips rising helplessly into IV’s touch, thighs falling wide open in surrender as the slow, torturous rhythm wound him tighter with every pass.

IV smiled, warmth and thrill blooming low and eager in his belly. He could stay like this forever, watching III unravel under his gentle, wicked hands.

After a long stretch of slow, torturous rhythm – pressing in, drawing out, letting III squirm and sigh and soak in every shivering inch – IV finally paused, brushing soft fingers along the length of III’s cock. It twitched helplessly in his palm, flushed and slick, pulsing against the warm air.

“Think you can take the next one?” IV asked softly, holding up the slightly thicker rod. Barely a millimetre wider, but enough to make III’s lashes flutter and his breath catch.

“Y-yeah,” III breathed, shifting restlessly on the sheets, hips rolling in silent invitation. “Please…”

IV smiled, warm and full of quiet delight, and leaned in to kiss the inside of his thigh before carefully withdrawing the slender rod. III gasped softly, thighs quivering as the steel slid free, dragging against the tender inner walls with a delicious, aching friction that made his cock jump in IV’s hand.

Without hurry, IV picked up the thicker rod and slicked it with lube until it was gleaming under the lamplight. He lined it up carefully, his thumb resting on the head of III’s cock, feeling the slight give of the sensitive flesh, the way it welcomed the cool steel with a trembling pulse. Gently, he eased it in, millimetre by millimetre, feeling the solid weight of the rod beneath his fingertips, sensing the pressure deep inside as it slipped past tight resistance.

III made a soft, broken sound, hips jerking, his cock heavy and flushed dark against IV’s palm. His chest rose and fell in shallow, desperate gasps, the muscles in his thighs flexing as his body fought the strange fullness and the slow, relentless stretch.

“So pretty,” IV murmured, voice low and reverent, brushing his thumb over the slick tip, smearing the glossy bead of precum. “My perfect little test subject... taking it so well for me.”

He slid the rod in the barest inch deeper, feeling the way III’s body tightened around the intrusion, the heat of him radiating through to IV’s fingertips even as the cool steel pressed firm and deep. III whimpered, the sound high and thin, hips flexing helplessly against the hand holding him so carefully in place.

“What does this feel like?” IV whispered, gently rolling the rod with an achingly slow twist, delighting in the soft, shocked gasp it pulled from III’s throat as his back arched, fingers twisting in the sheets as pleasure wound tight in his belly, every nerve strung taut with sensation.

“Oh… I’m guessing good?” IV breathed, smiling wide as III whimpered again, flushed and trembling under his gentle, patient touch.

IV kissed the curve of his hip, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of skin and arousal, letting his fingertips wander to the head of III’s cock. He teased gently, circling the slick crown with featherlight strokes while the cool steel rested deep inside.

And he could feel it.

Beneath the silky heat of III’s skin, firm and strange, the hard line of the rod pressed gently from within. An unnatural solidity where there should have been only softness and give. It fascinated IV, made his own breath catch as his fingers traced lower, gliding along the shaft and feeling the faint, subtle resistance of metal against the inner walls. Like touching both outside and inside at once.

The sensation must have been maddening for III – stretching him, filling him in a way nothing else could, strange and perfect and impossibly intimate. It showed in the way III’s thighs trembled under IV’s palms, the way his eyelashes fluttered helplessly against his flushed cheeks, mouth parted in quiet, hitched breaths. A pink bite mark bloomed on his lower lip where he’d tried in vain to keep quiet.

“You feel so full,” IV murmured softly, half in awe, thumbing lightly over the thick base of III’s cock and sensing the unyielding steel within. “So stretched... God, I can feel it through you...”

III whimpered, body arching toward IV’s touch, a helpless sound of pleasure breaking free.

IV smiled, glowing with quiet delight. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of III’s tip, fingers stroking gently as the rod remained deep, the faint metallic weight shifting slightly with every tiny movement III made. It was beautiful, watching him quake, feeling the impossible tension humming in his body, knowing he’d put that there.

“You’re close already,” IV teased gently, voice low. “Aren’t you?”

III gasped, hands scrambling for the sheets. “I—fuck—yeah, yeah, I—”

IV’s grin widened. His thumb found the sensitive place just beneath the head, circling it, slow and merciless, while the rod stayed perfectly still inside him.

III writhed, mouth open in a moan, body shivering.

“I wanna see you come with it inside,” IV whispered, voice warm against his thigh. “Don’t hold back. Let me see how pretty you are when you fall apart for me.”

That undid him.

With a broken gasp, III bucked into IV’s hand and came hard. His cock twitched violently, release flooding warm and wet through the rod, beading at the tip before spurting hot over IV’s fingers and splattering across his own flushed belly. His breath hitched on every spasm, body locking tight and then trembling loose, thighs quivering helplessly as the orgasm dragged through him in long, pulsing waves. Each fresh jolt made the steel shift the barest fraction inside him, teasing the tender, oversensitive channel until III whimpered softly, caught between bliss and unbearable sensation.

IV swallowed thickly, arousal pooling low and heavy in his belly, his own cock throbbing in time with his erratic pulse. He couldn’t look away, captivated by the way III writhed and shook, face slack with pleasure, chest flushed and slick with sweat, the muscles in his stomach fluttering weakly as he rode it out. His hands stayed gentle, stroking III’s trembling thigh, thumb grazing the soft, flushed skin just above the base of his cock where the rod still gleamed, motionless but heavy inside him.

III’s eyelids fluttered, mouth open in a soundless gasp as the last shiver rippled through him, his whole body giving a helpless jerk before sagging bonelessly against the pillows. His chest heaved, hair clinging damply to his temples, face open and bliss-soft in the warm lamplight.

“Holy shit...” he rasped at last, voice rough and loose, lips curling into a hazy smile. “That... was incredible…”

IV grinned wide, pride and want curling sweet in his chest as he trailed slow, lazy fingers down III’s thigh, feeling the fine tremors still running under his skin. Sweat cooled on III’s body in the quiet, the only sound their mingled breathing and the faint shift of sheets.

“You know…” IV murmured, eyes glinting with mischief as he let his gaze trail down III’s sated, wrecked form – the slick mess on his belly, the steel rod still resting obscenely deep inside, the faint pink flush marking the tops of his thighs. “I could take a picture. Send it to II and Vessel. Show them how good my test subject was.”

III huffed a weak laugh, eyes half-lidded. “Filthy little gremlin,” he murmured. But then he smiled soft and unbothered. “Go on, then. I don’t care. Let ’em see.”

IV blinked, surprised. “Seriously?”

III shrugged, still grinning. “They’d love it. And they’re probably wondering why the hell we didn’t message after work anyway.”

IV’s stomach flipped with excitement. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, careful to frame the shot: III sprawled boneless against the sheets, flushed and bliss-drunk, the faint gleam of the rod still halfway inside his flushed cock. Just enough to hint. Just enough to tease.

Click.

“Perfect,” IV hummed, sending the photo to the group chat without hesitation.

IV: III says hiii :)
[1 Attachment]

Their replies flooded in almost instantaneously.

II: Playing without permission?
II: Tsk.
II: You know that means you’ll both need to be punished.

Vessel: Such a lovely display.
Vessel: I do hope you were gentle, sweetheart.
Vessel: III looks deliciously ruined.

II: Next time, you ask.
II: Or better yet... let me watch.

IV snorted, giggling into the sheets. “Told you they’d like it.”

III groaned into his pillow, laughing softly. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

IV grinned wickedly. “Nope. And you love it.”

III sighed with mock suffering, but the flush creeping over his cheeks betrayed him. “...Maybe I do.”

The phone buzzed again.

Vessel: Next time, let us join.
Vessel: I promise to be very... thorough.

IV shivered pleasantly, grinning wide.

“Looks like someone just volunteered to be next,” he whispered, biting playfully at III’s shoulder.

III groaned again, but he was smiling. “God help me... what have you started?”

IV giggled, nuzzling into him, already dreaming up what their next ‘experiment’ might be. As the quiet settled around them, IV stroked his hand gently over III’s chest, tracing idle patterns, drunk on the glow of how thoroughly he’d unravelled him.

“Uh, baby...” III murmured, voice soft and hoarse. “You... you gotta take it out.”

IV blinked, momentarily lost in the sight of him flushed, blissed out, boneless in the sheets.

“Oh—shit. Sorry.” He sat up, suddenly careful all over again. His fingers steadied at the base of the slender rod, and slowly, gently, he began to slide it free.

III sucked in a shaky breath, hips twitching at the sensitivity of the withdrawal. “F-fuck... careful... ‘m tender...”

“I know, love. I’ve got you.” IV soothed him with quiet words, keeping the motion steady and smooth until the rod slipped free. He set it aside on the towel, wiping it clean with care before leaning in to press a kiss to III’s damp temple.

“Good?” IV murmured, smiling against his skin.

III gave a breathless, dreamy laugh. “So good. Best idea you’ve ever had.”

IV grinned, curling close beside him, stroking the curve of his thigh with gentle fingers. “Maybe next time... we try a bigger one.”

III groaned, tossing a limp arm over his face with a grin too tired to be anything but fond. “God help me. I’m gonna let you turn me into a real pervert.”

IV kissed his bare shoulder, glowing with delight. “Already there, baby. Already there.”

Chapter Text

What IV and III didn’t know was that II’s text about punishment wasn’t all a tease.

The next day started innocently enough: a slow, warm morning with quiet chatter over coffee at their favourite tucked-away cafe. Just the three of them – IV, III, and II – while Vessel was tied up handling some label business in town.

III lounged wide-legged in the booth, hair still messy from sleep, grinning into his cinnamon latte. IV perched beside him, nibbling the flaky edge of a shared croissant, still glowing soft and sweet after their night together. Across from them sat II, dark-eyed and unreadable as ever, nursing black coffee with the faintest curl of something dangerous at the corner of his mouth.

His teasing was light at first, casual pokes about how blissed-out III had looked in the photo last night and how IV wouldn’t stop smiling this morning. III only grinned wider, tossing his hair and letting the innuendos roll, while IV blushed shyly.

Then II set down his cup. The shift in his energy was quiet but sharp.

“That reminds me,” he said, eyes sliding between them with slow, lazy focus. “About the fact that you played without permission.”

III froze mid-sip. IV stiffened, croissant forgotten on the plate.

II’s smile deepened, smooth and dangerous, “You didn’t really think I was joking about punishment... did you?”

III gave a dramatic groan, flopping back in the booth. “God, really? You’re holding that against us? We didn’t even know it was a rule!” he whined, giving II his best pout. “We were just... entertaining ourselves! Like good boys.”

“Good boys don’t break rules, even when they don’t know they exist,” II replied smoothly, reaching for his coffee again, eyes glittering. “But now you do.”

He let the silence stretch for effect, then:

“Later, for your afternoon shift, both of you will be plugged and vibed. The entire time. No breaks, no turning them off... and no coming. You’ll stock shelves, ring up customers, keep smiling like nothing’s wrong, and not make a sound. Understood?”

IV swallowed thickly, heat curling low and deep, while III snorted, trying to mask the flush climbing his throat.

“Pfft. Easy,” III muttered, flicking hair out of his eyes. “I’ve had worse distractions on a Wednesday. Namely IV’s ass. You forget who you’re talking to, drummer boy.”

II only smiled wider – too calm, too knowing. “We’ll see how cocky you are when your hole’s stretched full and buzzing for six hours straight.”

That shut III up.

“We’ll go back to your apartment first,” II added smoothly. “I want to help you both... get ready.”

IV’s stomach flipped, part nerves, part excitement. III shifted in his seat, crossing his legs with a squirm, pulling at the neck of his hoodie.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” III grumbled, but his grin betrayed him.

“Of course I am,” II said softly. “Knowing you’ll be squirming all day? That’s my treat.”

They paid for their coffee in silence after that – though II noticed how often both boys squirmed in their seats, how their thighs pressed tight together, trying to stave off arousal at the thought of their ‘punishment’.

They went back to IV and III’s shared apartment first, just as instructed. The apartment was dim and quiet, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon light. In the living room, IV laid everything out as told: smooth silicone plugs, sized just right, the wireless vibes III had once mockingly called “his downfall”, and little tubes of lube lined neatly beside them. Laid out methodically like this, they looked like tools picked to ensure a very specific kind of obedience.

II stood by the door, watching them with that calm, controlling stare.

“Strip,” he said gently. “And kneel.”

Instantly, they both began peeling their clothes away, eager and unspoken in their obedience. III made a show of it, of course, he always had to. He peeled off his hoodie and black fitted tee like a stripper, ruffling his hair in the process, before kicking off his battered sneakers and shimmying dramatically out of his tight grey jeans. His boxers – red satin, completely unnecessary – clung stubbornly to one thigh, forcing him to bend and wrestle with them, ass in the air, legs spread just so. He threw IV a wink from over his shoulder as he finally slipped free, tossing the last scrap of fabric into a heap by II’s feet.

IV flushed, breath catching. He’d dressed soft today, like he always did, loose black shorts, nothing underneath, and one of III’s borrowed shirts that slid low over one shoulder. Taking them off took no time at all and, standing in the warm hush of their living room, his skin prickled with anticipation once he was fully exposed.

He knelt beside III slowly, letting their bare skin brush, and took a moment to really admire him. III knelt with perfect poise, long lines of muscle shifting beneath smooth skin, collarbones sharp, curls tousled and unruly. His cock hung heavy between his legs, already half-hard from nothing but the thrill of being told what to do. His back was straight, but his chin tilted defiantly despite the obedience.

Sensing IV’s gaze, III smirked but said nothing, holding his kneel just a little tighter. Letting himself be admired.

II crouched behind them then, a picture of soft focus, the curve of his mouth sly with anticipation. He took his time slicking his fingers first, warming the lube between his hands, then tracing slow, teasing circles around IV’s rim, watching his body shiver in response. One finger pressed inward, gentle but insistent, and then another, scissoring carefully, curling just so and earning a gasp that made II hum in approval. He murmured something low and soothing, voice velvet-rich, while his fingers worked IV open with patient devotion.

When IV was twitching under his touch and whimpering softly, he withdrew, only to replace the fullness with the first plug, cool and glossy. He pressed it in with slow, steady pressure, letting IV feel every inch as his muscles parted for it, wrapping around it greedily. A breathy moan escaped him, shaky and sweet.

Then it was III’s turn.

II slicked him up the same way, hands gliding over his thighs, coaxing him apart with gentle pressure. His fingers teased, dipping in and out until III was arching into the sensation, muttering curses through clenched teeth. When II finally slipped the second plug into place, III let out a deep, guttural sound, caught between relief and longing. III squirmed the moment the plug seated fully, rolling his hips with a huff. “God, you could at least buy me dinner first,” he muttered, casting II a bratty glance over his shoulder.

II only chuckled darkly. “Dinner’s after your shift. Maybe. If you behave.”

But he wasn’t finished yet.

He reached for the two slender vibrating eggs, both already humming faintly in his palm. The first he guided between IV’s thighs, sliding it carefully against his swollen cock, where his body was hot and flushed and dripping. He held it there for a moment, letting the tremor of the egg melt into him before nestling it into place inside his cunt.

The second one he brought to III, slipping it beneath the base of his cock until it sat flush against him, adding a silicone band to keep it in place. The vibration drew a quiet growl from III’s throat as his hips jerked reflexively.

When both were filled and trembling, II sat back to admire the result – two beautiful bodies open and aching for more, flushed and obedient under his touch.

“Good,” he whispered, lips curving into something dark and possessive. “Ready for the work day~”

They dressed carefully. IV shifting, adjusting, feeling the dual fullness with every movement. III squirming dramatically in his jeans, hissing under his breath as the plug settled deeper, the vibe humming low against him even before II pulled the remote from his pocket and gave them both a single teasing pulse.

IV gasped as III groaned.

“Just a taste,” II murmured, smug. “Plenty more where that came from.”

Their afternoon shift began like any other, at least to anyone not watching close enough. Customers wandered between shelves, soft music buzzed through the speakers, and the scent of leather and lube lingered in the air like always.

But under their clothes, heat simmered.

IV shifted behind the counter, trying to keep his thighs pressed together just right as the small vibe sat snug inside him, buzzing harsh pulses deep in his cunt at random intervals. Every time it switched on, his knees went a little weak, breath catching as the sweet, dragging sensation curled low and needy in his belly.

And across the shop, III was slowly coming apart.

He made a show of stocking the cock ring display, hips rocking in his tight black jeans, back arched so the plug inside him shifted with every move. His cock was trapped against the front of his jeans, the small vibe strapped snug to the underside of his shaft, tormenting him in gentle, rising waves. Worse, every time it spiked his body clenched hard around the plug, squeezing helplessly, milking out more sensation that made his thighs tremble.

IV glanced toward him, struggling to keep his own breath steady.

III flashed him a wicked grin, tongue peeking from his teeth.

"You look warm, sweetheart," III teased under his breath as they crossed near the harness wall. "Maybe I should drag you into the backroom. Help you out a bit…”

IV shivered, then shot him a warning glare. “Stop it. This is a punishment, we’re not allowed to come,” he whispered, blushing deeply.

"Some punishment," III murmured. “Maybe he’ll send me a real one if I make you squirm enough—”

As if sensing his words, the vibes in both of them buzzed sharply to life at once.

IV gasped, biting his lip hard as the sudden strength of the vibe pressed deep against that sensitive spot inside him. His cunt clenched greedily, slick dripping warm between his thighs as his knees buckled slightly. III choked, a strangled groan escaping him as the vibe strapped to his cock flared high, making his hips stutter forward. His plug shifted deep inside, tight muscle squeezing hard, milking it in helpless pulses.

IV grabbed the counter, cheeks blazing.

Their phones buzzed in sync.

II: I hope both of you are behaving, there’s 3 more hours of this.

IV whimpered, curling slightly, swallowing hard against the pulse of heat between his legs.

III smirked through a panting breath and shot IV a look of pure trouble.

“You’re gonna break first,” he murmured, sweat beading at his temple. “I can see it already. Poor little IV, all soaked and shaky behind the till... you’ll make such a mess before I do—”

IV gasped softly and grabbed his phone with trembling fingers.

IV: II, sir, he’s being a brat. Trying to make me fail. You should make him suffer instead.

A single reply blinked up:

II: Good boy for telling me. Watch this.

The remote shifted in II’s hand, far away in his apartment, and III folded.

His knees buckled, breath punched from his chest as the vibe on his cock surged to maximum. His hand shot out, grabbing a display shelf as his thighs shook violently, the plug grinding deep inside as his body clamped down hard around it, pulsing and helpless.

“F-fuck—IV—” he gasped, eyes wide and glassy. “He cranked it—oh, fuck—”

A customer browsing nearby at the lube wall glanced over, brow furrowing as they took in III’s trembling form. Their voice was low but clearly tinged with concern. “Uh—are you okay, man?”

III forced himself to swallow hard, cheeks heating as adrenaline and embarrassment tangled in his throat. He plastered on a shaky, almost convincing grin. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he managed, voice tight but steady. “Just—uh, pinched something. Old injury, you know how it is…”

The customer gave him a skeptical once-over but nodded, apparently buying the explanation. With a cautious glance back, they eased away down the aisle, murmuring something about checking out the new dildos.

III exhaled raggedly once they were out of earshot, fingers twitching at his sides as a flush of heat crept up his neck. The sting of possible exposure lingered beneath his skin, stoking the fires of his arousal.

IV giggled, barely able to breathe as his own vibe continued to buzz softly inside him, sending needy tremors through his slick, swollen cunt. His legs trembled behind the till, arousal thick and hot in his belly, heartbeat fluttering behind his ribs.

His phone buzzed again.

II: Five minutes on high for him. Yours stays low unless you misbehave too, pretty boy.

IV whimpered, thighs squeezing tight, II’s words not helping his continued arousal. The vibrator pulsed warm and slow inside him, coaxing him open with each languid throb, leaving him slick and trembling as his muscles clenched reflexively around the plug lodged in his ass.

Still bent against the shelves, III whimpered helplessly, hips jerking forward as the mercilessly high setting dragged him to the brink. The plug shifted maddeningly deep, his body clutching at it with every spasm, cock twitching and leaking a dark stain into his jeans.

"IV—turn it—turn it down—" he gasped as they moved near the toy cleaner shelf, trying to look like they were actually working.

IV grinned wickedly through his flush. “Can’t. II has the remotes. And he says you deserve it, brat.”

III swore softly, legs shaking as he pressed a hand to the wall for balance, the deep fullness inside him refusing to be forgotten for even a second. His cock throbbed painfully against the trap of his jeans, the vibe roaring and dragging him closer and closer with no escape.

III staggered behind the till, damp hair sticking to his flushed forehead, face wrecked and glowing, smile weak as he moved to check out a customer.

“Evil,” he rasped softly to IV. “You little snitch. Traitor.”

IV just beamed, still trembling slightly as he moved to the adjacent till.

“Not my fault you’re a brat,” IV whispered, brushing close, fingertips trailing over III’s hip. “II told you not to tease. You did. Now look at you.”

III groaned softly, sagging against him once the customer left. His thighs trembled, plug still firm and deep inside, cock aching and sore, soaked from the slow torture of trying to stave off his release.

“Wait ‘til we’re home,” he muttered darkly. “I’m getting both of you back.”

But the way he smiled, crooked and spent already, said he’d happily suffer like this all over again.

By the time their shift finally ended, both IV and III were wrecked. Shaky-legged, damp with sweat beneath their clothes, faces flushed and eyes blown wide from holding back for hours. The plugs and vibes had been relentless, teasing them with every tiny buzz and shift until they were strung out on the edge of release. But neither of them had come. Somehow.

II met them at his apartment door, dressed only in soft black joggers, smirking as they stumbled inside like sinners seeking forgiveness.

“Well?” II asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Did you behave?”

IV swallowed, cheeks pink, thighs pressing together unconsciously. “We didn’t come,” he whispered, proud and wrecked.

III groaned low in his throat, shifting miserably. “Barely. Plug’s still in. Vibe’s still going. You absolute bastard…”

II chuckled, dark and warm. “Good boys. I’m impressed. Thought for sure one of you would’ve broken by now, especially you…” His fingers hooked in III’s belt loop, tugging him close with a smile. “Such a needy brat. But you made it. You deserve a reward.”

Without waiting, II pushed III back onto the couch, making him sprawl open and helpless, panting on the cushions. Then he turned to IV, gaze softening.

“And you.” II reached, cupping IV’s face, brushing a thumb over his heated cheek. “Such a good boy. Did everything I told you. Snitched like I wanted. Kept that pretty cunt and your ass stuffed and warm for me all day.” His hand slid down IV’s front, cupping him through his shorts where he was slick and flushed, so sensitive he could barely stand the touch. “You deserve something sweet, don’t you?”

“Please,” IV whimpered, hips twitching. His cock ached, pulsing and wet with slick that dampened his thighs, so sensitive it throbbed under the lightest drag of II’s fingers.

“Take off your clothes, sweetheart. You’re going to ride that brat’s face properly. Sit on him. Let him make it up to you for being such a mouthy tease today.”

IV shivered, heart thundering in his chest as he fumbled with trembling fingers to strip down, shedding each layer until he stood bare – flushed, trembling, and burning with anticipation. The steady pulse of the vibe still hummed deep inside him, a constant low throb that kept his cunt slick and twitching, while the plug in his ass stretched him wide and full, making every breath feel like a tease.

He climbed onto the couch with careful, deliberate motion, thighs parting wide as he straddled III’s face, facing down the length of his body. From this angle, IV could see everything: the rise and fall of III’s chest beneath him, the flushed tip of his cock laying hard and eager on his belly, and just beyond, the dark, steady figure of II watching them both with quiet intensity.

A soft gasp slipped from his lips as he sank down slowly, the pressure inside him shifting with every movement, the vibrations stirring a fresh wave of heat in his belly. The moment III’s breath ghosted against him, IV whimpered, helpless, already on the edge.

III moaned the moment IV’s heat came close, hands clutching at IV’s thighs to drag him down, tongue greedy and hot as he lapped slow and flat over IV’s cock – long flicks that made IV gasp sharp and high, his tiny cock twitching helplessly against III’s mouth. Slick gathered fast, wet and messy as III dragged his tongue lower, teasing IV’s slit, sucking softly at the swollen lips until IV sobbed and rocked helplessly above him.

“Both holes, brat,” II reminded, voice low and commanding. “Give him a good reward.”

III groaned softly, hands sliding up IV’s trembling thighs before reaching around to hook a finger below the base of the plug still snug inside IV’s ass.

“Gotta get this out of the way first,” he murmured, voice low and thick with want.

IV whimpered, already shaking as III twisted the plug gently, easing it free with slow, teasing care. It slid out with a wet, obscene sound that made IV gasp, clenching around nothing as the cool air kissed his stretched, slick rim. He looked wrecked already – dripping and aching to be filled again.

III didn’t leave him waiting long. He dipped his head, tongue sliding in to lap slowly over IV’s twitching rim, savouring the taste of him. IV let out a broken sound, thighs trembling as he ground down against III’s mouth, helpless and desperate.

His cock throbbed hard where it was trapped against III’s chin, twitching with each slow, hungry lick. His cunt pulsed, slick and open, while his whole body quivered above III – riding his tongue with a wrecked rhythm, caught between relief and a mounting need.

II moved to kneel on the couch between III’s spread legs, settling there with calm intent. One hand braced on the curve of his hip, the other slid down to the base of the plug nestled deep in III’s ass. He began to work it with slow, deliberate care – twisting, teasing, drawing it out in gentle, stretching pulls.

III groaned low against IV’s cunt, his tongue faltering as the fullness inside him began to slip away. Each careful motion made his body twitch, hole clenching helplessly, fluttering around the plug as it slid free inch by inch. When II finally pulled it clear, III let out a broken moan, emptied and aching, muscles pulsing around nothing.

The absence left him open, sensitive, every nerve lit up and waiting for whatever II would give him next.

“Still so tight,” II murmured fondly. “Gonna open you up properly now, pretty thing.”

His slick fingers slid into III’s loosened hole, pressing deep, scissoring wide as III gasped against IV’s cock, mouth dragging greedy and wet over him, licking him raw and perfect.

IV sobbed, hips trembling, grinding helplessly onto III’s mouth. “F-fuck—II—he’s—he’s so good—” IV moaned, clutching at III’s chest, thighs clamping tight around his head.

II smirked, fingers twisting deep inside III’s ass. “Come for me then, sweetheart,” he murmured to IV, voice dark and coaxing. “Be a good boy. Let him taste you properly.”

IV gasped, the weight of the command hitting him like lightning, impossible to resist. Pleasure burst so sudden and blinding it stole the air from his lungs. He came hard with a strangled cry, his body arching as slick gushed out in thick, sweet pulses over III’s tongue.

His cock twitched against his mound, leaking and shuddering with every wave, while his cunt clenched tight and spasmed around the still-buzzing egg – until the pressure was too much. With a wet sound, it slipped free, forced out by the strength of his release, dropping past III to the couch with a soft, vibrating thud.

IV sobbed through it, high-pitched whines bubbling in his throat as his thighs shook uncontrollably around III’s flushed, glistening face. His whole body trembled, skin flushed and glowing, overwhelmed and undone.

III moaned greedily, tongue working slow and reverent as he licked IV clean, mouth wet and filthy with slick, lips shining as he chased every drop. He was drunk on IV’s sweetness, soft little noises spilling from his throat with each pass of his tongue, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

When IV finally went limp with overstimulation, chest fluttering with each shallow breath, III cradled him close for a moment, then gently shifted him up and off his face. He laid him down carefully against the arm of the couch, depositing him with slow, affectionate grace. IV melted into the cushions, boneless and blinking, his flushed skin glowing with heat and pleasure, thighs still twitching from aftershocks.

II watched them both, pleased. He slid his fingers deeper into III’s stretched hole, curling them just right to make him gasp. “And now you,” he purred, voice low and warm. “You’ve waited so long. You’ve been good. You deserve your treat. You're gonna ride me, just like I promised you good boys could.”

III let out a wrecked groan, dazed and desperate. His hips shifted instinctively, seeking more as II pulled him upright with eager hands. His cock throbbed against his belly, flushed dark and leaking, while his hole pulsed open, wet and twitching around nothing. He climbed into II’s lap with a breathless moan, body already trembling with need, ready to take everything he’d been promised.

II sat back on the couch, shucking his pants to his thighs and stroking himself slowly, waiting. “Come on then. You earned this. You get to be on top this time, but I still decide when you come.”

III whimpered, thighs trembling as he positioned himself over II’s cock, breath catching in his throat. With a long, broken gasp, he began to sink down, his body stretching wide around the thick heat of II pressing up into him. The fullness stole his words, replaced them with a wrecked moan as his hole clenched down tight, fluttering with every agonizingly slow slide.

By the time he bottomed out, his skin was flushed and damp with sweat, muscles quivering as pleasure bloomed hot and dizzy behind his eyes. He sat there for a breathless moment, impaled and shaking, his chest rising and falling in shallow pants as he adjusted to the ache and the bliss all tangled together.

II grinned up at him, hands firm on his hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as if claiming him. “There you go,” he murmured, voice thick with pride and want. “That’s it—take it all.”

With a subtle pull, he began to guide III into a slow, rolling grind. The motion made III gasp again, low and desperate, his head tipping back as he started to move in time with II’s rhythm. Every pass dragged delicious friction through his stretched hole, making him feel each inch anew, again and again.

III’s moans turned soft and helpless, his voice barely more than breath as he rocked on top of II – completely given over, consumed by the way II filled him so perfectly, the way their bodies moved like they were made for this.

IV lay sprawled beside them on the couch, still boneless and buzzing from his own release, cheek pressed to a cushion as he blinked through the afterglow. But his eyes were locked on them – on III straddling II, all flushed skin and trembling thighs, moving in slow, desperate rolls against the steady grip of the man beneath him.

It made IV ache all over again, the sight of it. III was so much bigger – taller, broader, his limbs shaking with the effort of holding himself up – but he looked absolutely wrecked, taken apart easily by the smaller man beneath him. II’s hands were firm on his hips, guiding him, controlling the pace, while III could only cling to the rhythm, every grind dragging a ruined sound from his throat.

IV bit his lip, eyes wide, heat pooling low in his belly again. There was something so intoxicating about the imbalance. How easily II handled him, how III, usually sharp and bratty, was now panting and pliant, riding like he couldn’t help it, like he needed to be filled.

His hips moved with urgency, like he was desperate to be used, to be ruined. And from where IV lay, every twitch of III’s muscles, every tremble of his thighs, every breathless moan was on perfect, filthy display.

He couldn't look away.

Until—

The front door clicked open.

Vessel stepped in, coat casually slung over one shoulder, eyes blinking slowly as he took in the scene before him. III bouncing slow and loose in II’s lap, flushed and trembling, utterly undone. IV collapsed against the arm of the couch, soft and beautiful and utterly spent, skin flushed and glowing with bliss. The air thick with heat and heavy breaths.

Vessel paused, a faint pout tugging at his lips. “Really?” he muttered, voice low and amused. “You started without me?”

II’s grin deepened, lips curving with teasing promise as he thrust up slowly into III, making him whimper, hips stuttering with the effort of keeping steady. “You were working, love,” he said smoothly. “Next time, stay home and play with us…”

Vessel sighed theatrically, peeling off his boots and padding closer, the soft curve of a smile warming his features. As he drew near, his eyes flicked down to III’s still-rigid cock, and then to the small remote balanced precariously on the nearby table – the one III had essentially forgotten was still controlling the vibe attached to his cock.

With a wicked glint in his eye, Vessel palmed the remote. “Looks like I can still have some fun,” Vessel murmured, mouth stretching into a deliberately mean smile.

He pressed the button gently, and immediately the vibrations on III’s cock surged, growing stronger and more insistent. III gasped, body trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed through him, hips bucking involuntarily against II’s steady thrusts.

Vessel’s grin widened as he adjusted the remote, cranking the intensity higher, then higher still, until III’s moans turned desperate and broken, riding the edge with trembling hands clutching at II’s shoulders. The small buzzing egg on his cock pulsed wild and relentless, coaxing out every ragged, ruined sound.

IV watched, breath caught in his throat, utterly entranced as III unravelled beneath them. His body a shuddering, desperate mess of pleasure, utterly consumed by the fierce torment of II’s steady thrusts and Vessel’s teasing control from the remote.

III’s hips bucked wildly, muscles trembling with the force of the pleasure crashing through him. His moans broke free in ragged gasps, voice cracking as he rode the edge, clenching and fluttering around II’s cock buried deep inside, every nerve alight with fire. His hands gripped II’s shoulders like anchors, skin flushed and slick, eyes squeezed shut as he tumbled over the edge, a shattered, beautiful mess of release.

Not far behind, II’s own breath hitched, muscles tightening as the overwhelming pleasure swept through him. With a guttural growl, he followed, thrusting deep, his cock pulsing hard inside III’s slick, stretched hole. Their bodies moved together, collapsing into shared release, hips rolling and trembling in sync.

“Next time you can go to the record label meetings,” Vessel murmured softly, voice thick with desire, “and I’ll stay home with our boys.” His gaze was hungry and full, drinking in the radiant glow of all three of them, spent and tangled.

IV couldn’t wait to find out what Vessel’s idea of a day in with them looked like.

Chapter Text

The weekend after, IV woke to soft gold light pouring through the apartment window in hazy stripes. The scent of linen and skin lingered in the sheets, and IV lay still, blinking slowly as the warmth around him registered.

They’d had a date night the evening before. It had been soft, surprisingly so.

No games. No teasing. No toys brought out of drawers. Just the four of them curled together on II and Vessel’s too-big couch, wrapped in throw blankets and each other, surrounded by the warm glow of twinkle lights and the comforting scent of takeout.

III had insisted on watching the worst movie he could find – some bizarre early-2000s vampire romcom that made no logical sense, which he’d called “culturally significant” while stuffing noodles into his mouth.

“Look at this man’s outfit,” III had said, scandalised, pointing at the screen with his chopsticks. “He’s meant to be undead, not unfashionable.”

“He died in the 1700s,” Vessel murmured from his corner of the couch. “Be kind.”

“He’s wearing leather flare pants. I can practically see his dick! I’m allowed to bully him.”

IV had laughed until he nearly snorted his drink.

At some point, II had tugged IV into his lap, arms wrapping easily around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. He didn’t say much, just hummed occasionally when IV whispered things about the plot, nodding along even when it made no sense. Every so often, IV would glance back and catch the smallest smile curling at II’s lips, quiet and unbearably fond.

III had eventually sprawled across all of them like a cat, long limbs tangled in their laps, his head pillowed on Vessel’s thigh. He’d pointed at the screen with dramatic sighs and given live commentary in a fake Transylvanian accent until Vessel started gently shoving popcorn into his mouth to shut him up.

“Yew wove meh,” III said around a mouthful, smug and comfortable.

“I put up with you,” Vessel replied, but his fingers were carding through III’s hair like it was instinct.

The touches had stayed warm and casual, nothing overt. No one pushed. No one even brought it up. By the time they’d crawled into bed, IV had expected more. Maybe some kisses with teeth, maybe someone's hand under his waistband. But nothing came.

They’d just held him.

Which made waking up swaddled in warmth no less disorienting.

IV shifted, and only then realized he was bracketed, trapped between two long, familiar bodies. Vessel was behind him, pressed close with a heavy arm slung over his waist, warm breath fanning softly over the back of his neck. In front, III was still and slow-breathing, one leg thrown over the mess of sheets at IV’s hip, their faces close enough for IV to count his lashes.

But—

“Where’s II?” he mumbled, mostly to himself, voice hoarse with sleep.

Vessel grunted behind him, nuzzling lazily into his hair. “He got a call.” His voice was rough and thick with sleep, muffled against IV’s skin. “That band we told you about – Red Nightmare? The singer thinks he’s a reincarnated fox spirit.” Another pause, a quiet yawn. “They demanded someone come talk label stuff at 5am. In person. Wouldn’t leave it alone.”

IV sighed. “And he went?”

“He always goes,” Vessel murmured fondly. “He’s better at saying no with a smile.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Then IV stilled.

Because as the haze of sleep started to clear, he became very aware of the way Vessel was shifting behind him, his hips rolling in slow, barely-there motions, the hard line of his morning wood pressing between IV’s cheeks through thin briefs. And in front of him, III stirred as if on cue, letting out a low, sleepy noise as he shifted closer, the shape of his cock dragging against IV’s lower belly through his worn pyjama pants.

Neither of them said a word about it.

Not at first.

It was like IV was a thing – a sweet, pliant body nestled between them, existing only to be touched. The soft, unconscious grind of two sleepy cocks against his body made him shiver, hips twitching, thighs trying not to part too willingly.

“He’s awake,” III muttered after a moment, one eye cracking open. He didn’t sound like he meant to stop.

“He is,” Vessel agreed, hips rolling a little deeper, dragging along the curve of IV’s ass.

IV whimpered, cheeks flushed, his little cock already stiff and aching where it pressed against III’s thigh. A dull pulse of need beat in his gut like a second heartbeat, heat slick and growing between his legs embarrassingly fast.

“You think he wants us to stop?” III murmured, dragging the backs of his fingers down IV’s side.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Vessel replied smoothly, nosing along IV’s neck. “II’s not here. Might be our only chance to be a little bad.”

“Think he’ll forgive us?”

“We can just say it was all IV’s idea,” Vessel suggested with a wicked smirk.

They were still talking around him, like he wasn’t really there, like he was just the warm thing they both happened to be rutting against. Vessel’s hand slipped up under IV’s shirt, fingers splaying over his chest, thumb brushing a nipple as he bit lightly at the shell of his ear.

“We could stuff him full,” he whispered, voice rough and dark. “Give him both of us at once.”

IV whimpered again, caught between them, hips twitching helplessly as their bodies rutted lazily against him. Two hard cocks pressing into his soft places, teasing him through thin layers of fabric that only made it worse. His breath hitched, the heat between his legs growing, need curling tight in his gut.

He tried to move – just a little shift of the hips, maybe roll onto his back – but Vessel’s arm held him in place, firm around his waist, and III’s thigh hooked further around his, keeping him exactly where they wanted him.

“Please—” IV whispered, already flushed to the ears.

That just made III laugh softly, low and mean.

“Please?” he echoed, shifting again to drag his cock against IV’s leaking mound. “Did you hear that, Vess? He’s begging and we haven’t even touched him yet.”

“Mm,” Vessel purred behind him, nipping at the edge of IV’s jaw. “So needy already. You really are easy without II around, aren't you?”

IV bit his lip, face burning.

“He spoils you,” III continued, one hand sliding down to rub slow circles over IV’s trembling inner thigh. “Talks all sweet, tells us not to break you. Guess he’s not here to save you this time.”

IV whimpered again, thighs squeezing, his little cock twitching against III’s thigh now. The teasing was brutal, but his body was betraying him, soaking wet and clenching down on nothing.

Vessel moved first. He pulled back just enough to tug IV’s briefs down to his thighs, exposing his wet cunt and twitching cock. He pushed IV’s leg forward gently, opening him up, then leaned up on an elbow, taking him in like something sacred.

“Fuck, you're soaked,” Vessel murmured, dragging two fingers through IV’s folds to gather slick before shifting higher. He pressed his thumb gently to IV’s cock, rubbing soft circles that made IV whimper, then slid the slick digits down to his ass. “You really like the idea of taking both of us, huh, love?”

At IV’s responding whine, Vessel pressed in with two fingers, slow and deliberate, letting him feel the stretch. His hole clenched down tight, fluttering with tension, and Vessel just held them there, letting him adjust before he began to move.

“So tight,” he whispered against IV’s ear. “Gonna need to loosen you up, sweetheart.”

He began to scissor his fingers, slow and deep, curling them with each motion, pressing against that sweet, swollen bundle of nerves that made IV tremble and moan with every pass. His body was already so soft for them, fluttering open with need. Vessel's pace was deliberate, watching the way IV's hips rocked back greedily into his hand, chasing the sensation.

Then came a third finger – worked in with teasing, shallow thrusts that made IV cry out, thighs twitching, legs falling wider apart. He whimpered as Vessel pressed deeper again, stretching him slow and steady, the warmth of him at his back making the whole thing feel inescapable.

“Doing so well,” Vessel murmured, kissing the side of IV’s neck, his voice like dark honey. “You can take more, can’t you? Gotta get you nice and ready for both of us.”

IV whined, head tipped back against Vessel’s shoulder, body shivering as his hole clenched and fluttered around the stretch. He was nearly mindless with the sensations already, lips parted as he writhed between their bodies.

III was still in front of him, watching with bright, greedy eyes, one hand stroking lazy circles over IV’s chest. His fingers slid down, thumbs brushing over his nipples in slow, purposeful flicks. When IV gasped, III leaned in and flicked one again, then pinched it just enough to make him jolt.

“You’re such a mess,” III said, voice full of fond mischief, eyes drinking him in. “Look at you, soaked already and we haven’t even started.”

His thigh was still pressed snug between IV’s legs, and with every little movement Vessel made behind him, each thrust of his fingers, IV was forced to rut against it. The friction was maddening. Each grind sent sparks up his spine, dragged soft, wet sounds from his parted mouth. The shame of it only made him hotter.

“He’s humping me,” III whispered with a delighted grin, glancing up at Vessel. “Like a bunny in heat. I’m not even doing anything.”

“Well I’m doing plenty,” Vessel said mockingly, curling his fingers deep and earning a cracked moan from IV’s throat.

He took that moment to let a fourth finger slide in, slowly, stretching IV full as he gasped, high and breathless, his hole spasming around the thick intrusion. He jerked against III’s thigh again, leaking and trembling, whole body tightening as the pleasure pushed him toward something he wasn’t sure he could handle.

“You want both of us?” Vessel asked again, voice warm and dangerous.

IV nodded frantically. “Yes—please—want you—”

“Say it,” III purred, brushing IV’s damp hair back so he could see his face twist with every movement of Vessel’s fingers. “Say what you want, properly.”

“Want you to f-fuck me,” IV whimpered. “Both of you, at the same time—please—please, fill me up—”

Vessel groaned and pulled his fingers free, enjoying the slight gape of IV’s hole as he did. He spat into his palm and stroked himself slowly, then shifted, nudging the head of his cock against IV’s stretched hole. He moved with maddening patience, pressing forward inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt, his hips snug against IV’s ass.

IV sobbed, shaky and full, empty cunt still dripping down his thighs, his cock twitching untouched against III’s skin.

“God, he takes it so well,” Vessel breathed, holding still to let IV adjust, hands soothing over his trembling hips. “You ready for more, sweetheart?”

Before IV could answer, III was already moving, stroking himself once, twice, then angling forward to press the head of his cock to IV’s slick entrance. It slipped in easily, his cunt wet and twitching, already greedy for more. IV cried out, caught between the deep fullness in his ass and the slow, thick push of III sinking inside him from the front.

The stretch was overwhelming, his whole body trembling as he was filled, entirely, by both of them.

“There we go,” III groaned, burying himself to the hilt and looking down at where they both disappeared inside him. “Fuck, look at him.”

“So good for us,” Vessel whispered, kissing along IV’s neck.

Slowly, they began to move – not fast, not yet, just allowing their bodies to push and roll in a rhythm that made IV feel like a thread being pulled taut between them.

Vessel moved slowly, deliberately, each thrust steady and deep, like he wanted IV to feel every inch, to memorise the shape of him. His hands stayed firm on IV’s hips, guiding, grounding, his breath warm against the back of his neck.

In contrast, III was less controlled. His thrusts came sharper, faster, hips slapping wetly into IV’s soaked cunt, the stretch sending jolts of pleasure through his belly every time their bodies collided.

The contrast was unbearable – Vessel’s heavy fullness rocking into him from behind, measured and unrelenting, while III fucked into the front of him like he was trying to draw every desperate sound out of his throat.

“Fuck,” III groaned, his head dropping forward, sweat slicking his curls to his forehead. “I can feel him— Jesus, I can feel Vessel’s cock through you. Right. Fucking. There.”

He pushed in deep as he said it, and IV moaned wreckedly, his thighs shaking, cunt clenching around III’s cock while his ass squeezed down tight on Vessel’s.

Vessel made a low sound of satisfaction and reached around IV’s trembling waist, hand flattening over the soft swell of his lower belly. He pressed there, gently at first, then firmer, and IV gasped, jerking in their grasp as the pressure made III’s cock feel even deeper.

“There you are,” Vessel murmured, voice all honey. “Right here, love. Can feel you breaching him.” He looked up at III, lips parted in something just shy of awe. “God, he’s taking us so well.”

“Can’t believe we waited this long,” III panted, snapping his hips harder, eyes dark and glassy. “Can’t believe II hasn’t let us have him like this.”

“He babies him,” Vessel agreed, dragging his teeth gently along IV’s jaw as he thrust in slow and deliberate. “We don’t have to.”

IV whimpered between them, his cock flushed and pulsing, untouched and aching. His cunt and ass fluttered helplessly around both cocks, so full he could barely breathe, pleasure burning like lightning through every nerve.

III leaned in and kissed him hard, biting his lips, swapping messy saliva, before pulling back just enough to whisper against his lips.

“You like being our little toy, don’t you?” he breathed, dragging his fingers along the underside of IV’s cock, not enough to give relief, just enough to make him cry out. “All stretched open, so fucking wet. You're shaking.”

“Tell us how much you like it,” Vessel whispered against his ear, rocking in deep again, slow and devastating. “Tell us you want more.”

“I—I want—” IV gasped, words breaking apart under the rhythm of their thrusts. “Want more—want both of you—please, please, don’t stop—”

They didn’t.

Vessel’s thrusts remained slow, rolling through him with unbearable fullness, while III’s picked up pace again, hips snapping, hands tight on IV’s waist as if he could pull him even closer. The sounds of them were obscene – wet, gasping, skin slapping against skin, IV’s breath catching on every moan and whimper he gave them.

They fucked him like he was theirs – just theirs – for now. Naughty and wrong and perfect.

Their rhythm grew rougher, deeper. The air in the bedroom was thick with heat and breath and the soft, choked noises IV couldn't stop making, his body wracked and trembling with every thrust.

He was falling apart.

Pinned between them, cunt gushing with every sharp snap of III’s hips, Vessel fucking into his ass like he owned it – he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. His thighs were shaking, slick dripping down his legs, his cock pulsing helplessly against the soft drag of III’s body.

Then Vessel shifted and slid one hand up, fingers curling under III’s jaw.

“Come here,” he murmured.

III leaned in instinctively, their mouths meeting over IV’s shoulder in a kiss that was messy and hot, all tongue and need and hunger. It was possessive, claiming. Vessel’s fingers in III’s hair, holding him close, his cock still buried deep inside IV as the two of them kissed like they could consume each other.

And IV – watching them through wet lashes, panting between them, their cocks stretching him full and deep – finally shattered.

His voice broke around a cry, sharp and high, and then he was shaking – really shaking – his whole body locking up before convulsing with pleasure so intense it felt almost too much to hold. A sudden gush of wet heat poured between them, soaking III’s belly and thighs and the sheets beneath, and IV sobbed through the release, overwhelmed and undone in a way he never had been before.

Everything stilled for a moment.

Then III pulled back from Vessel’s mouth, eyes wide with awe. “Holy shit.”

Vessel looked down where their bodies pressed close, the mess unmistakable. His mouth parted slightly.

“Oh, love…” His voice was low and reverent. He stroked IV’s back, gently, soothingly, even as a grin crept in around the edges of his expression. “Did we just make you squirt?”

IV whimpered, flushed to the ears, unable to answer except with a stuttering nod.

“That’s so fucking hot,” III whispered, honestly kind of dazed. His hands were still firm on IV’s hips, but now they were trembling. “You— God, baby, have you ever done that before?”

IV shook his head, boneless and breathless between them, his thighs twitching with aftershocks.

Vessel leaned in to kiss the back of his shoulder, murmuring with a smile, “Next time, you’re doing that on our faces.”

“Fuck—” III choked, the thought and the feeling of IV still squeezing around him tipping him right over the edge. He gripped IV’s hips hard and thrust deep one last time before coming with a moan against Vessel’s mouth, filling IV’s cunt in hot, desperate pulses, hips stuttering as he rode out the aftershocks.

Vessel groaned but held back, still moving, slower now. Deliberately edging himself even as IV and III collapsed between his arms, boneless and wrecked.

“How are you still hard after that?” III murmured breathlessly, half-laughing as he slumped against IV’s front.

Vessel kissed the side of IV’s neck, groaning low as his cock dragged slow and thick inside IV’s fluttering ass.

“Gotta savour it, he’s so fucking tight— God, he just milks me when he’s like this.”

“You could use him whenever, y’know,” III murmured to Vessel against IV’s temple, voice dark and sweet. “He’d let us. Wouldn’t you, pretty thing? Let us use you like a toy? Just keep you full all day, stretched open, messy and squirting…”

IV gave a broken whimper, too far gone to speak, his body trembling, still clenching helplessly around Vessel’s cock.

That did it.

Vessel groaned, low and guttural, and pulled III into another bruising kiss as he thrust deep and came hard, his cock jerking inside IV’s ass in thick, claiming pulses. His other hand trembled where it held IV's waist, his forehead dropping to IV’s shoulder as he spilled into him, possessive and breathless and undone.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the room filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the slow, shivery aftershocks.

IV lay sprawled in the tangle of damp sheets and sticky limbs, his body boneless and bliss-wrecked between Vessel and III. His eyes were glassy, cheeks stained with dried tear tracks, lips kiss-swollen and parted as he breathed through the soft aftershocks still trembling through his limbs.

Vessel was murmuring quietly to him, stroking a hand through his hair, whispering soft praise against the crown of his head. III, meanwhile, had rolled onto his side and reached for his phone with a wicked little grin.

“You look obscene,” he said fondly, snapping a lazy photo of IV’s flushed, utterly fucked-out face. “Can I…?”

IV blinked at him, too far gone to speak, but gave a vague, loopy nod.

That was all the permission III needed.

He angled the photo just right – catching IV’s tear-streaked cheeks, his pink, swollen cock nestled against III’s thigh, the thin trail of slick still glistening on his inner thighs.

Smiling like a cat who’d eaten a very expensive canary, III tapped out a quick message and attached the image. Then he tossed the phone aside and rolled back in, kissing IV’s cheek and reaching for a towel on the nightstand.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Vessel murmured, shifting to gently lift IV upright. “Let’s clean you up. You're shaking.”

“No wonder,” III said, voice soft as he moved to help, carefully parting IV’s legs. “We really wrecked him.”

Together, they cleaned him with warm, damp cloths and slow, reverent hands – wiping the mess from between his thighs, kissing his trembling hipbones, smoothing sweat-slick hair back from his face. III fetched water, held it to IV’s lips, watched him drink.

They were quiet as they basked in the heady feeling of aftercare – no rush, no guilt, just the soft gravity of touch and trust. When they’d wiped him down, bundled him in a clean hoodie, and tucked him against Vessel’s chest like a sleepy treasure, III finally flopped back into the sheets with a satisfied sigh.

Then, the front door slammed.

All three of them jumped.

“God,” III whispered. “We’re never gonna be allowed alone with him again.”

Heavy footsteps.

And then—

II barrelled into the room, coat half-off, keys still in his hand, chest heaving like he’d run the last six blocks.

His eyes swept over the scene in an instant – IV soft and pink-cheeked in Vessel’s arms, III sprawled nearby with a wicked grin, absolutely glowing with mischief, and the unmistakable smell of sex heavy in the air.

“Really?” he barked, breathless. “You couldn’t wait until I got back? It’s only 7am!”

Vessel looked up from IV, calm as ever, one brow arched.

“You were working, love,” he said smoothly. “Next time—” his lips curled into a slow, smug smile, “stay home and play with us instead.”

II didn’t move. His eyes were dark, locked on Vessel now, unreadable. And Vessel, still stroking IV’s hair with maddening calm, met his gaze with something just shy of a challenge.

Oh, this was dangerous territory.

Chapter Text

IV was going a little bit insane.

It had been over a month now since that first, fateful night they’d all shared together. And yet, somehow… II still hadn’t fucked him.

Sure, they’d done plenty of other things. Things that made IV shake and cry and come so hard he couldn’t remember his name. Things he loved. Craved. But every time he thought it might finally happen – every time the moment was perfect, every time he braced himself and hoped – he would always end up with III or Vessel, instead of II.

At first, IV hadn’t minded. He was fine moving slowly, knew that II was thoughtful, meticulous, careful in a way that wasn’t cold, just deliberate. But as the weeks passed, the unanswered ache started to feel like something else. Like maybe he was the problem.

A quiet part of him, one he tried very hard to ignore, whispered its doubts in the back of his mind.

Maybe he doesn't want me like that. Not all the way. Maybe it's… this body. My body.

It was stupid. He knew II loved all of him. II had never been anything but gentle, attentive, reverent even. He always touched IV like he was something precious. Always made sure he came first, sometimes over and over, without ever asking for anything in return.

But still. That little voice didn’t go away. The one that had lived in him for years. The one that twisted love into fear, and safety into suspicion.

What if the real reason II hadn’t taken him yet wasn’t patience… but hesitation?

What if II was just waiting for a way to let him down gently?

IV hated that he even thought it. Hated that somewhere, deep down, some buried version of himself still questioned whether he was enough.

And that’s when he decided he wasn’t going to wait any longer. If this was hesitation on II’s end, he’d face it and find a solution.

So today, he was taking action into his own hands.

The apartment was still quiet in the early morning light, golden streaks sliding over the hardwood floors as IV stood in front of the mirror, towel low around his hips, hair still damp from the shower. He stared at his reflection, taking slow, grounding breaths.

Today wasn’t just another hangout.

II had invited him to the studio, saying he needed a break from their ‘fiendish lovers’ and wanted some one-on-one time. That had been all IV needed to hear.

He dried off with meticulous care, taking time with every lotion, every product, his motions precise and almost ritualistic. He chose his softest, most flattering shirt – black, slightly oversized, but loose enough to pull down over one shoulder when he wanted to. His jeans were well-worn and snug across the thighs, hugging his ass just enough to be noticed without looking like he was trying.

And then, from the back of the closet, came the collar.

Maroon leather. Silver O-ring. The one he’d worn that first night, the one II’s fingers had tugged at as he’d kissed him into a whimpering mess.

He hesitated only a moment before slipping it on, fastening it snug against his throat. Obvious. Deliberate.

His cheeks were already warm when he pulled his hoodie over it, leaving the collar just barely visible, like a secret waiting to be noticed.

In the kitchen, II was finishing his coffee, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he rinsed out the other mugs. He looked infuriatingly good – button-down open at the throat, hair still damp from the shower, Vessels stolen rings catching the light.

IV’s stomach fluttered.

“Ready?” II asked, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile that made IV’s chest ache.

“Yeah,” IV said, tucking the hoodie tighter around himself to hide the way his hands were already trembling. “Let’s go.”

II handed him an umbrella with that same easy tenderness he always carried around IV, like he was something precious. And IV tried to let himself enjoy the moment. The soft brush of II’s knuckles against his hand. The way their shoulders bumped gently as they walked down the hallway, side by side.

But underneath it all, IV was simmering. His thighs pressed together as they stepped into the lift. His heart was pounding before they’d even made it out of the building.

Because today?

Today he was getting fucked.

The entire trip to the studio, IV kept waiting for it to happen.

A glance. A flicker of recognition. A small, sharp inhale as II finally noticed the soft maroon leather circling his throat.

But nothing came.

They walked through misty rain under their shared umbrella, II’s hand resting casually on IV’s back. They passed a bakery and stopped for pastries. They chatted about Vessel’s increasingly unhinged saxophone obsession.

Not once did II see the collar.

IV was losing his mind.

By the time they reached the studio he was practically vibrating with tension. It didn’t help that the air conditioning was broken, leaving the space hot and humid, unfiltered dust hanging visibly in shafts of light across the wide room.

They’d barely been inside ten minutes before sweat began to bead at the base of his neck. The hoodie clung to him, too thick, too warm, the collar sticking faintly to the skin beneath it.

“Jesus,” II muttered, tossing his canvas jacket onto a chair and already rolling up his sleeves. “It’s boiling in here. We’ll last an hour, tops.”

IV said nothing. Just swallowed, slow and tight, and tugged the hoodie up over his head. He tossed it aside, stretching his arms overhead like it was nothing, like the entire motion hadn’t been planned down to the second. He turned, casually, and caught II watching him.

It took exactly three seconds.

First, II’s gaze passed over his collarbone. Then it flicked down, paused, narrowed. The maroon leather caught the low light just so, the silver ring gleaming unmistakably where it rested at the hollow of IV’s throat.

Everything stopped.

IV’s heart skipped and then pounded like it wanted out of his ribs. He saw II’s jaw flex, subtle but sharp. Saw the way his fingers curled around the edge of the desk he was leaning against, knuckles whitening.

“That…” II said finally, voice low, measured, “have you had that on this whole time?”

IV shrugged, letting himself look as nonchalant as possible despite the way his pulse roared in his ears.

“Yeah,” he said, rosy cheeks betraying him. “Felt like putting it on.”

He watched II’s throat work around a swallow. That slow, assessing silence that followed said everything.

And then, very softly, II asked, “Are you trying to drive me insane?”

IV tilted his head, the buckle glinting with the motion. “Maybe.”

The tension snapped taut between them, hotter than the air, heavier than the sweat sticking to IV’s spine. II hadn’t moved yet. But something in his gaze had changed completely.

Oh, IV thought, nearly breathless. There you are.

II didn’t say anything right away.

He just stared at IV for one long, heavy moment until that familiar, cool calm settled back over him like a second skin. The sharpness in his gaze didn’t fade, but now it was tempered, focused.

Without a word, he turned and walked across the room, pulling the stool out behind his drum kit and settling down with the casual grace of someone who knew exactly how much attention he was commanding. He rolled his shoulders once. Adjusted the snare. Stretched his legs out.

His eyes flicked to IV again. Lids lower this time, lingering.

“I suddenly feel like practicing for a bit,” II said, tone deceptively light, “so be a good boy and come kneel.”

IV’s breath caught.

The request hit him like a live wire, hot and humiliating and perfect. His cheeks flushed pink, ears burning. Still, he moved.

Slow steps across the warm studio floor, limbs tingling. He dropped carefully to his knees in front of II, heart thundering. With some silent guidance from II, he shuffled forward until he was straddling his left shin, knees wide, inner thighs pressing to the hem of II’s jeans, his weight settled low against the arch of II’s foot.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable. Which, he suspected, was very much the point.

II didn’t touch him, not yet. He just looked down at him with that calm, unreadable expression, like he was making mental notes. Then—

He raised his foot. Just enough to tap the kick pedal.

The shift of motion, controlled and precise, forced IV’s hips forward, grinding him directly against II’s leg, the seam of his jeans catching right against where he was already sensitive. A strangled sound slipped from his throat.

II struck the pedal again.

And again.

A slow, deliberate rhythm. Every pump of the kick drum brought another roll of IV’s hips against his foot, humiliating and helpless and so much worse than he’d imagined. His cock throbbed where it caught on the hard line of denim, slick already dampening his underwear, thighs trembling.

“There we go,” II murmured, voice maddeningly calm above the quiet thump of the beat. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

IV couldn’t speak. He nodded, gasping softly, hips jerking without his permission. He felt feverish, his whole body suddenly attuned to the rhythm, rutting helplessly, thighs spread wide and aching.

II let the kick pedal pause.

His hand came down slowly, curling around the back of IV’s neck, firm and grounding.

“Then be good,” he whispered. “And stay quiet for me.”

II didn’t do anything more. Instead, he picked up his drumsticks.

The sharp click of wood in his hands sent a fresh thrill down IV’s spine. He stayed kneeling, straddling II’s foot, exactly where he’d been told, because that’s what good boys did. Because he wanted to be seen like this. Used like this.

And II, maddeningly calm as ever, started to play.

The rhythmic pulse of the kick drum began again, each thump lifting II’s leg just enough to jolt IV’s hips forward. The motion was relentless – steady, controlled, completely detached. IV was nothing more than part of the setup now. A needy, trembling passenger to the beat.

Every shift of II’s ankle ground hard denim against his sensitive core. His underwear was soaked already, clinging uncomfortably between his legs, and every drag across II’s shin only made him wetter. He whimpered, barely able to keep still, his hips rolling instinctively with the beat II played out.

II didn’t look down. Didn’t acknowledge him.

IV’s whole body burned with it.

The pressure in his gut was unbearable, hot and sharp and desperate, but all he could do was take it. Kneel and hump and whine through gritted teeth while the rhythm drilled into him over and over, vibrating through the floor, through his knees, straight into his spine.

It wasn’t until the eighth or ninth pass – when IV’s thighs were shaking and his cunt was leaking an embarrassing amount of slick – that II finally glanced down.

His eyes narrowed slightly. The smallest twitch of a smile ghosted over his lips.

There, on the hem of his jeans, was a dark, wet stain. Obvious. Indisputable.

“Really?” he said, pausing the kick pedal and letting the silence stretch. “You made a mess on me?”

IV looked up, flushed and breathless, lips parted in a soft whimper. “I—I didn’t mean to—"

II set the sticks aside.

“That’s not what good boys do,” he said, voice low. He leaned forward, fingers tilting IV’s chin up with practiced ease. “You want to act like my pet? Then you need to learn how to behave like one.”

IV shivered under the weight of that gaze.

“Take everything off,” II said softly, brushing a finger over the collar of IV’s shirt. “All of it. Then kneel back in position. Hands behind your back. Eyes on me.”

There was no hesitation in IV now, just heat and obedience. His fingers shook as he stripped quickly, baring himself inch by inch, collar remaining tight around his throat. When he knelt again, it was cleaner. Shoulders square. Back straight. The picture of desperate submission.

II leaned back, watching him with all the patience in the world.

“Do you think,” he said softly, tilting his head, “you deserve a punishment for making such a mess?”

IV’s eyes widened, then fluttered half-shut with a needy little moan.

“Yes,” he breathed, voice raw with eagerness. “Please, sir. I was bad.”

II huffed a quiet, amused sound, equal parts indulgent and dangerous, and reached for one of his drumsticks from beside the kit. He twirled it once between his fingers, then leaned in and trailed the tip slowly, deliberately, from the hollow of IV’s throat, down the line of his chest.

“Then hold still,” he murmured.

The stick passed over IV’s sternum, over his stomach, and lower, ghosting over the soft swell of his cock, twitching with anticipation. IV gasped, knees already threatening to slide apart, but II just smiled faintly, eyes gleaming.

“Lean back for me. Hands behind you. Keep those thighs nice and open.”

It was awkward. The cramped space between the drum kit and II’s spread knees left little room to move, and IV had to arch awkwardly, bracing his palms behind him on the floor to keep balance. But he obeyed, shaky and blushing as he was.

II’s eyes darkened with slow-burning desire as he watched every little shift, every hesitant tremble. When IV leaned back far enough, the smooth curve of his thighs and the entirety of his flushed cunt was now on show.

II reached out, trailing the drumstick in light, teasing strokes across IV’s inner thighs, the edge of his folds, circling the aching heat of his cunt without quite committing. IV whimpered, hips twitching with every pass.

Then, too suddenly, the tip caught somewhere far more sensitive than intended. His urethra.

IV jolted. Hard.

His whole body stiffened and then shivered, a sharp inhale dissolved into a choked, needy moan. His little cock twitched against his folds, a fresh pulse of slick smearing across his thighs.

II froze. Eyes flicked up.

“Shit—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t—” IV gasped. “Don’t be sorry.”

The air went still.

II stared at him, slowly taking in the way IV’s lashes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered in his chest. He looked… undone. Far more than he had just moments before.

II’s lips parted slightly. Realization clicking into place.

“…That’s what that was,” he murmured, more to himself than anything. “I thought, when you and III… That was your idea?”

IV nodded faintly, biting his lip. His gaze flicked down in shy confirmation. “III let me try it on him because I… can’t do it.”

II exhaled, long and low.

Then came a slow, crooked smile.

“You’re mistaken, love,” he said, dragging the stick gently back over IV’s smallest hole. “We’ll explore it later. Properly.”

IV’s breath hitched, hope and hunger colliding behind his ribs.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” II murmured. “Taking something in this little hole. Whatever I give you.”

IV nodded, dazed and desperate, thighs twitching around nothing.

And II? He just smiled, gaze gleaming with promise.

“But before that—" II snapped his drumstick sharply against IV’s inner thigh, “—you’ve got a punishment to sit through.”

The sharp thwap of impact jolted through IV’s skin, sending a sudden spike of heat up his spine that made him gasp and shiver. The stick wasn’t quite painful, but deliciously sharp and alive.

II’s strikes traced along the most sensitive curves of IV’s thighs, just beneath the crease where skin met muscle. The sudden bursts of sensation flared warm and bright, a teasing fire licking at his nerves with every soft snap. He targeted the tender spots close to IV’s hips and the delicate flesh where his legs pressed lightly against the floor, each snap stirring a delicious mix of sharpness and warmth.

“Good boy,” II murmured, tracing lazy circles with the drumstick along the tender skin where his last sting had settled.

IV’s breaths grew quicker, his body arching involuntarily toward the delicate bursts of sensation. The line between punishment and pleasure blurred deliciously.

II shifted focus, tapping slow, deliberate beats against the sensitive spots just inside IV’s sit spots – the soft, fleshy areas where every hit of the drumstick was a thrilling shock that made IV’s muscles tense and quiver. The stick’s tip traced teasing paths, each unexpected strike coaxing another breathless whimper from IV.

II’s voice dropped another octave, rough with amusement. “You’re enjoying this more than you should.”

IV’s only response was a breathless whine, fingers curling into the floor as he soaked in every teasing strike, every deliberate pause, every whispered praise.

II let the drumstick linger against IV’s heated skin a moment longer before slowly trailing it upward, the smooth wood sliding teasingly over every sensitive curve. The tip finally caught the silver O-ring of IV’s maroon collar, drawing a soft metallic click as it hooked just briefly.

With a firm but gentle tug, II pulled IV forward, anchoring him with a possessive grip at the base of his neck. His voice was low, laced with approval. “You sat through that like a good boy. Well done.”

IV flushed deeper, chest rising and falling with quick breaths, his body still trembling from the lingering sting and pleasure. The praise sent a delicious warmth pooling low in his belly. “Thank… thank you, sir.”

II’s hand dropped down, flicking a nipple before he spoke again, voice deceptively casual yet charged. “You deserve a reward, so… why don’t you take off my pants for me?”

IV’s eyes flicked up, a shy but eager spark shining through as he nodded, reaching carefully to undo the button and zipper of II’s jeans. His fingers trembled just a little, anticipation building with every slow movement.

With slow hands, IV pulled II’s jeans and boxers down to pool around his ankles, the bare skin of his legs and hips and cock now exposed to IV’s gaze. II stepped out of his shoes and the pooled fabric smoothly, then reached down to take IV’s hand, guiding him forwards.

“Kneel over this for me,” II instructed softly, nodding toward the drum stool. IV obeyed without hesitation, lowering himself so his chest pressed flat against the hard seat, the familiar scent of leather and sweat surrounding him.

II knelt down behind IV, his breath warm against the back of IV’s neck as his hands settled at IV’s hips. His fingers traced a slow path lower, teasing the edges of where his drumstick had bitten into IV’s skin.

“Well, well,” II teased lowly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Don’t you pink up well?” He gave one thigh a slow, careful squeeze, eliciting a soft gasp from IV.

His other hand moved higher, to the junction of IV’s thighs, his fingers teasing just along the edge of his soaked cunt. He murmured something soft, more breath than words, before gently pressing in with two fingers, scissoring them slowly, testing the give. IV whined, hips twitching as he relaxed around the intrusion, eager and ready.

II smiled against the nape of his neck. “You’re already so open,” he muttered, his voice low and hot. “Such a good little thing… greedy for it.”

Satisfied with what he found, he slid his fingers free and reached up, grasping the O-ring of IV’s collar and giving it a light, possessive tug.

IV gasped, breath catching, spine arching in response.

“Stay still,” II ordered, guiding his hips closer, his body bracketing IV’s from behind. There was a beat, just long enough for IV to tremble in anticipation, before II pressed in.

The stretch was deep, thick and overwhelming. IV moaned, his knees widening instinctively to take more, pleasure blooming sharp and sweet through his core.

II’s grip on the collar stayed firm, anchoring him as he sank deeper, deliberate and unhurried. Every inch was a reward. A promise. A claim.

“Mine,” II whispered, low and rough, right against IV’s ear. “Every inch of you.”

IV could only nod, voice lost to the heat curling through him.

The first few thrusts were slow and deliberate, II moving with precision, more focused on the feel of IV’s body adjusting around him than chasing any rhythm. His hands, steady and warm, slid down IV’s sides, grounding him, keeping him close. The tug on his collar had eased, replaced by a gentle palm between his shoulder blades.

IV couldn’t breathe.

Not in a bad way – just because what he’d longed for was finally, finally becoming real.

It hit him all at once. The ache he’d tried not to name. The worry he hadn’t dared voice, not even to himself. That maybe II hadn’t wanted him this way. Not really. That maybe love had limits when it came to bodies like his.

But it was never true, IV realized, his breath hitching as the warmth behind his eyes broke loose. A tear slid silently down his cheek, dripping onto the drum stool beneath him.

He didn’t even notice until II’s hand smoothed up his spine and gently cradled the side of his face, tilting it to brush a thumb just beneath his eye.

“Hey,” II whispered, his voice low and close. “You alright?”

IV nodded, though it came with a trembling breath. “Y-yeah. I just…” His voice wavered. “I thought— it’s stupid…”

He couldn’t finish.

II stilled behind him, still nestled deep, and brought one arm carefully around IV’s waist, holding him closer, fingers spreading protectively over his belly like a shield.

“Tell me,” he coaxed. “I’ve got you.”

IV bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to need to say it. But it rose up anyway, thick and shaky in his throat.

“I was scared,” he confessed. “That maybe you didn’t want me like this. That maybe… maybe it was too much. Or not enough. Or just— wrong.”

There was silence. Not cold, not hesitant. Just full, like II needed a breath to hold the weight of it. Then, the gentlest kiss to the back of IV’s neck. A soft exhale against his skin. And II’s voice, steady and warm, right against his ear.

“Nothing about you is wrong.”

His grip on IV’s waist tightened just enough to ground him. “You’re not too much. You’re not not enough. You’re you. And I want you. All of you.”

IV let out a shaky breath. His eyes fluttered closed.

Let himself believe it. Let himself feel it.

II rocked forward again, slow and sweet, as if every motion was a wordless echo of what he’d just said. A physical reassurance. A steady rhythm that told IV, over and over, you are loved, you are wanted, you are perfect.

Each movement was careful but claiming, soft but firm, like II was trying to memorise every inch of him from the inside out. And IV melted into it, into II, his whole body trembling with the tenderness of it, the intimacy, the sheer weight of being fully seen and still chosen.

He bit his lip to keep from sobbing outright as the sensation built, sharp and overwhelming in its gentleness. All the doubt he’d carried in silence dissolved with every stroke, replaced with warmth, connection, belonging.

And through it all, II stayed close. His hands never left IV’s skin. His voice never stopped murmuring soft praises, little reminders that IV was safe. Was his. Was loved, not despite anything, but because of everything.

Each thrust sent IV further into a warm, weightless place where he could just be. His body ached in the sweetest ways, but it was muted now, filtered through something softer. Something floaty. His fingers curled loosely against the seat beneath him, the tension melting from his shoulders as the rest of the world blurred into background hum.

He barely registered when little sounds left his throat – gasps, whimpers, soft pleas that weren’t even words anymore. Just the sounds of his tension finally releasing.

II’s hand was on his back. Still grounding.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he murmured. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

IV nodded without meaning to, eyes glassy and wide as he came apart, the tremble starting in his belly before cascading outward, wave after wave that left him boneless and blinking through tears he didn’t remember shedding. His body pulsed, fluttering around II as pleasure crested and spilled over, soft and full and loved.

And II, so in tune, so patient, followed only when IV had taken everything he could. He groaned low against IV’s neck as he pressed in deep one last time, holding there as stillness wrapped around them like a blanket.

Neither of them moved for a long, quiet moment.

Then II gently eased them apart, careful as he guided IV to sit back onto his strong thighs. The dazed, floaty look on IV’s face made his heart squeeze. He reached out, brushing damp hair from IV’s forehead and placed a soft kiss there.

“You still with me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

IV gave a sleepy little nod. “Mmhmm. Just… soft.”

“Yeah,” II smiled, wrapping an arm around him. “You did so good for me love. Time to get you home.”

He stood slowly, crouched again to help IV dress, each movement careful, unhurried. He bundled IV into his hoodie first, then his own coat over that, then cradled IV’s head against his chest as he gathered their things.

No teasing.

Just quiet devotion.

Just the kind of care that said: You let me see all of you. Now I’ll carry you home.

And he did.

Down the hallway, into the street, through the soft golden light of late afternoon. He kept one hand curled around IV’s waist the whole walk back, thumb brushing gentle arcs into his skin.

By the time they reached the apartment, IV was nearly falling asleep standing up, head tucked against II’s shoulder, the collar still gleaming faintly at his throat.

Chapter Text

III had been planning this for a week.

It started with a theory, one he’d whispered into IV’s neck during a late-night cuddle in their own apartment for once, barely holding in laughter as he proposed it like a conspiracy. “Vessel’s secretly a switch,” he’d said. “He acts all scary, but he’s dying to give up control. I know it.”

IV had only raised an eyebrow, noncommittal, and III had taken that as encouragement.

He let himself be patient, though.

It was any other night when he arrived at what might as well be their shared apartment at this point, key turning smoothly in the lock as he let himself in. The scent of something delicious wafted through the air, and he followed it to the kitchen, where Vessel was putting the final touches on dinner.

“Hey, you,” Vessel greeted, a warm smile spreading across his face as he turned to III. “I made your favourite.”

III returned the smile, feeling a genuine warmth in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, but his tone belied his words. He was touched by the gesture. II and IV were out – some cute little dinner date that III had absolutely, one-hundred-percent not been jealous of – so having Vessel dote on him felt nice.

Vessel just shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “I wanted to. Now, sit down and let me feed you.”

III obeyed, taking a seat at the table as Vessel dished up the meal. They chatted casually, the conversation flowing easily between them. III found himself genuinely enjoying the moment, the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal and Vessel’s care.

After dinner, III helped clear the table, their hands brushing as they worked side by side. Vessel’s touch was electric, sending a jolt of anticipation through III as he remembered his half-baked plan. But he pushed the feeling aside, determined to play the long game.

“I’m going to hop in the shower,” he said, voice casual as he headed towards the bathroom. “You’re not allowed to join.”

Vessel just smirked, a promise in his eyes. “No? You planning something special in there?”

III only grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he closed the bathroom door behind him. He took his time in the shower, letting the hot water relax his muscles and clear his mind. He knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it.

So now, armed with a stolen pair of fluffy pink handcuffs (technically on loan from the toy shop), III stepped out of Vessel and II’s steamy bathroom wearing nothing but a towel and a grin that spelled trouble.

Vessel was sprawled on the bed like he’d been waiting for exactly this.

Perfect.

He didn’t even blink as III climbed into his lap, just tossed his phone aside and leaned up into a kiss like he’d been hoping to be interrupted.

III returned it with fervour, though his confidence faltered slightly at the feel of Vessel’s hands sliding possessively up his hips. He didn’t want this to become a power struggle, or for Vessel to accidentally brush against his little surprise.

Thinking fast, III let his hands roam across Vessel’s chest, firm and purposeful. He pushed Vessel’s arms from his waist and guided them upward until they rested on the pillows above his head. Vessel’s muscles tensed beneath the touch, but he didn’t resist. A smirk ghosted across his lips, amused at III’s attempt to take the lead.

Then, with snake-like precision, III reached back, finger curling around the fluffy pink handcuffs he’d cleverly hidden in his towel, brandishing them like a weapon.

The metal clicked with a satisfying snap as he secured one cuff around Vessel’s nearest wrist. Vessel’s eyebrow arched slightly, a glint of surprise and approval in his eyes, but he made no move to stop III.

Caught off guard by the ease of it, III fumbled slightly, heart thundering in his chest as he fastened the second cuff to a slat in the headboard. The metal met wood with a sharp clink, and III let out a shaky breath. His hands were trembling, the rush of it all making his head swim.

The cuffs were locked. Vessel’s wrist was bound. And III was left kneeling above him, towel askew, chest rising and falling fast.

When he finally met Vessel’s eyes again, the look waiting for him made his breath catch. It was a predator’s gaze – intense, dark, amused. A slow, dangerous smile spread across Vessel’s lips.

“Oh?” he drawled.

III tapped a finger against Vessel’s lips. “Shhh,” he purred, breathless. “I’m in charge tonight.”

He braced for pushback. For some smug smirk or snide comment, maybe even a safe word if he’d read Vessel completely wrong. What he got was worse.

Vessel’s smile widened.

That slow, knowing kind of smile that said: You can try.

“Are you now?” Vessel said, voice like silk over razors. “And what exactly do you think that means, love?”

III swallowed and forced himself to stay in control. “It means you keep your mouth shut unless I say so. And that I get to do whatever I want.”

Vessel tipped his head, indulgent. “Whatever you want?”

“Whatever,“ III repeated, bravado clinging to every syllable, even if his knees felt like jelly. “Starting with you getting a taste of your own medicine.”

He trailed his fingers teasingly down Vessel’s chest, pressed kisses in their wake, feeling the steady thrum of muscle under his lips. Vessel didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched him with lazy eyes, the way a lion watches something small and naive try to play predator.

Still, III forged ahead.

He mapped Vessel’s skin like a territory he meant to conquer, muttering taunts as he went. “Always so quick to edge me and IV,” he murmured, breath hot against Vessel’s abdomen. “Let’s see how you like it.”

A low chuckle was his only reply, and it made III’s spine stiffen. He was the one in control now, not Vessel. So why did he still seem so damn smug?

That made it all the more satisfying when III settled between Vessel’s legs, tugging down the waistband of his loose joggers with a casual little flick, and a sharp breath slipped out above him. It was subtle but telling. A break in the mask.

III’s grin sharpened. Victory, sweet and heady, curled in his chest as his palms slid slowly along the strong lines of Vessel’s thighs. His touch was light, deliberate, like he had all night to take his time.

“Huh,” he murmured, dragging his nails back up with just enough pressure to make Vessel twitch. “Always figured a dom like you would be... I don’t know. Tense.”

His hands coasted inward, thumbs grazing dangerously close to the curve where muscle met hip.

“But these,” he added, voice lilting with mischief, “these are suspiciously relaxed. Almost like you’ve been waiting for this.”

Vessel didn’t answer, just watched him, still and unreadable, like a hatchet deciding whether or not to drop. But his fingers curled slightly against the headboard, a barely-there shift betraying tension beneath the surface.

III leaned in, brushing his lips along the inside of one thigh, barely touching. The warmth of his breath lingered. He mouthed a slow, deliberate kiss a little higher, close enough to make Vessel’s legs tense beneath him.

“Sensitive, huh?” he murmured, voice syrupy. “Didn’t think you’d squirm so easy.”

Vessel’s jaw flexed and his hips shifted ever so slightly, like a man fighting instinct, trying not to give in too soon.

III flicked his eyes up then, smiling like a devil. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this since that night I made IV whimper with nothing but my tongue.”

A vein ticked in Vessel’s throat as his breath hitched quietly.

III hummed in satisfaction, shifting slightly so he could nose against the base of Vessel’s cock, not quite touching where he wanted, but so close the air between them hummed. “And this,” he whispered, breath ghosting across the skin. “Always so mean with it. Always making me beg. Bet you won’t be so smug once I make you beg instead.”

He dragged a slow kiss up the length of it, then nipped lightly at the skin just next to where Vessel was already starting to leak, causing a shocked sound to escape from Vessel’s chest.

III paused again, allowing an evil smile to overcome his face.

“...Not so tough now, are you?”

His only response was a deliberately calming exhale from above, and the unmistakable sound of the headboard creaking as Vessel tested the cuff.

Unbothered, III kept his pace maddeningly slow. Tongue tracing idle shapes, barely teasing, just enough to frustrate. He hovered, lingered, denied. Let Vessel feel how close he was without ever giving him the satisfaction.

That was, until he felt it. A hand in his hair.

III blinked, confused. The cuffs were secure. Vessel was cuffed.

“Hey—” he started, but the grip in his hair didn’t let up. If anything, it tightened, guiding him forward, forcing him to take more than he’d planned. His lips parted in a gasp and that was all the opportunity Vessel needed.

“You forgot I only need one hand,” Vessel murmured, and the smugness in his tone was terrifyingly calm.

III’s eyes widened as realisation hit. He’d miscalculated. Badly.

His hands flew to Vessel’s thighs as he was pushed down even further, forcing a gag from his now stuffed throat. His eyes watered, but the sting wasn’t as unwelcome as he would like to pretend.

Vessel chuckled low in his chest, a sound that felt soothing and humiliating in equal measure. His hips lifted slightly, humping up into III’s mouth. III’s breath choked, but he couldn’t pull away. Instead, he bared his teeth in a last ditch effort, threateningly applying pressure to base of Vessel’s cock.

Vessel only responded with a low, dangerous sound. “Bite all you want, brat, it just makes me harder.”

And then he forced III down even further, hips moving in a slow, unrelenting press. III gagged again, eyes watering, but Vessel didn’t let up. He controlled every movement, every breath, his hand in III’s hair the only point of control.

After a couple rough thrusts, Vessel’s grip eased slightly, and he dragged III’s head back up, forcing him to meet his gaze. III’s eyes were blazing with defiance, his lips pressed into a thin line around the tip of Vessel’s cock.

“Had enough of being in control yet?” Vessel asked, his voice a low, mocking purr. “Ready to try being a good boy again?”

III glared at him, jaw clenched, but refused to respond. Vessel chuckled, a sound that was both amused and threatening.

“Cat got your tongue?” Vessel teased, hand tightening in III’s hair once more. “Or was it just my cock?”

He tried to force III’s head back down, to push himself back into III’s mouth, but he resisted. His lips remained pressed tightly shut, jaw set in a stubborn line. Vessel’s eyes narrowed in response, a dangerous glint in them.

“Open up, III,” he commanded, voice a low growl. “Let me in.”

But III didn’t budge. He kept his lips sealed, his eyes locked on Vessel’s, a silent challenge in his gaze. Vessel’s grip in his hair tightened almost painfully, but still, III refused to yield.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” Vessel murmured, his voice a low warning. “And you know I’ll always win.”

III’s eyes flashed, a silent ‘fuck you’ in his gaze, but still didn’t open his mouth. The tension between them was palpable, a charged, electric current that seemed to crackle in the air. It was a standoff, a battle of wills, and neither was willing to back down.

For a minute, they held that balance – III trembling with effort, Vessel unmoved, now almost amused by the whole thing. But then the tension broke with a sudden snap, the fluffy pink handcuffs giving out with a sharp sound as the plastic hinge cracked.

III gaped.

“Those weren’t mine!” he yelped, horror dawning. “I was gonna return them!”

Vessel just laughed. “You’re in trouble either way.”

Before III could respond, Vessel used the moment of surprise to his advantage, pushing III’s head down forcefully, using both hands now to shove his cock back into III’s mouth.

Vessel groaned and immediately began to thrust, hips moving in a steady, relentless rhythm. III’s hands flew to his thighs, gripping tightly as he was forced to take every inch. Vessel’s grip in his hair was unyielding, controlling every movement, every breath.

“You’re mine, III,” Vessel murmured, his voice thick with lust. “And I’m going to use you however I want.”

III’s body tensed, his throat working as he fought the urge to gag. But Vessel just thrust deeper, harder, his body taking its pleasure from III’s mouth. A low, unguarded sound slipped from him as he savoured the sensation of being so deep inside III’s throat.

With each thrust, Vessel made III more and more breathless and dazed. His vision blurred, lungs burning as he struggled to keep up with the relentless pace. Vessel’s cock hit the back of his throat again and again, each thrust more intense than the last. No matter how much he fought, III could feel his headspace slipping back into submission, his resistance fading with each forceful movement.

Above him, Vessel’s body tensed as he let out a guttural moan, hips moving faster still, more urgently. He pushed in one last time, slower now, body giving a subtle shiver before finding his release, cock pulsing as he spilled into III’s mouth. III’s eyes widened, but he had no choice but to swallow, his throat working as he took every drop.

Vessel’s grip in his hair eased, and he pulled III’s head back, forcing him to look up. III’s eyes were watery, breath coming in hiccupping gasps. His lips were swollen and red, soaked with cum, and there was a debauched, dazed look to his gaze. Nothing like the dominant figure he’d tried to paint before.

Vessel’s smirk deepened as he surveyed III’s used form. “If you want to play tie-up, brat, we can do a lot better than just handcuffs.”

In his dazed state, III offered little resistance as Vessel quickly retrieved a coil of rope from the bedside drawer. He moved with practiced ease, wrapping the rope around III’s wrists and securing them to the bedpost, then manoeuvring III so he stood facing out into the room, back against the post. III’s eyes fluttered, a hint of panic flashing across his face, but it was too late. The ropes were already tight, binding him securely.

Vessel continued his work, crisscrossing the rope over III’s chest, pulling it taut so that it lay prominently across his nipples. III gasped, back arching slightly as the rough hemp bit into his sensitive flesh. Vessel chuckled a low, dangerous sound.

“Comfortable, sweetheart?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

III’s response was a weak struggle as Vessel pulled another length of rope, this one wrapping around III’s thighs and pulling them apart. The final rope was reserved for III’s cock, lifting it upright against his lower belly, the pressure both uncomfortable and intensely arousing.

“Good boy,” Vessel murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. “Now, are you ready to be good for real, or do you still need a reminder of who’s in charge?”

III glared, trying for intimidating, but the dazed look in his eyes didn’t help. “I still had plans, you menace—”

“Oh, I bet you did,” Vessel crooned, his voice a low, mocking purr. “But you’ll like mine better.”

Vessel leaned down, his breath hot against III’s ear. “You’re all mine now, brat. Every inch of you. And I’m going to show you exactly how a true dom does it.”

III’s breath hitched, his body trembling slightly as the reality of his situation sank in. He was completely at Vessel’s mercy, bound and vulnerable, his body on display and ready for whatever Vessel had in mind. The ropes dug into his skin, a constant reminder of his submission, and the pressure on his cock was a tantalizing promise of the pleasures to come.

III couldn’t help himself. His hips began to move, a slow, rhythmic rutting motion as he sought friction against the rope. The hemp bit into his sensitive flesh, sending jolts of agonising pleasure straight to his core. His nipples, already hardened and sensitive, were abraded by the rough rope, adding to the overwhelming sensations.

Vessel watched with a mix of amusement and approval, his eyes darkening with lust. “Someone’s eager,” he murmured, voice a low, dangerous purr.

Feeling the heat of his gaze, III’s movements became more urgent, breath coming in ragged gasps. The friction was almost too much, the pleasure bordering on pain, but he couldn’t stop himself from chasing the sensation.

With a sudden, swift movement, Vessel lightly slapped the tip of III’s cock, causing him to cry out, body jerking at the unexpected contact.

“Don’t get too eager…” Vessel said playfully, his voice laced with mischief. “I’m still deciding what to do with you.”

III’s eyes flashed with a mix of defiance and desperation. “You’re a sadist,” he gasped, voice hoarse with need.

Vessel chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “And you love it, brat. Every agonizing, pleasurable second of it.”

But before he could act on his sadistic daydreams, II and IV entered the room.

II came first, sharp and striking in his usual black shirt, sleeves pushed up to reveal strong forearms. His jaw was set, mouth pulled tight in control, and his curls were mussed like someone had been yanking on them for a while. Behind him, he dragged a very flushed IV by the collar of his oversized hoodie, faded navy and stretched at the cuffs, the hood halfway falling off his head.

IV’s cheeks were pink, dark lashes fluttering as he blinked rapidly, clearly disoriented. His trousers clung low on his hips, drawstring askew, and his tousled hair gave the impression he’d just been roused from a very intense nap or a fever dream. They both froze in the doorway, twin expressions of shock blooming on their faces, clearly not expecting the sight of III tied up and Vessel hanging flush and used out of his pants.

“Well, well, well,” II drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like someone’s been naughty while we were away.”

Vessel, still pondering what to do with III, looked up with a smirk. “Oh, you know III, tried his hand at being dominant.”

II’s eyes gleamed with delight. “Is that so? And how did that turn out for you, brat?”

III glared, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Really well, thanks for asking.”

II chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “Oh, it looks like it went well. But I think I have just the thing to make sure you don’t try again.”

He turned to IV, who was watching the scene with wide, curious eyes. “I was planning on breaking out the sounding rods for you tonight anyway, love, so why not make it a special event?”

III’s eyes widened with dawning horror. “No, II, come on— anything but that! I’ve been waiting to see IV take his first sound!”

II just smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll hear every delicious detail. But you won’t get to watch. Not this time.”

Vessel chuckled, hand rising to stroke III’s cock over the ropes in some twisted form of comfort. “You brought this upon yourself.”

III renewed his struggles against the bonds, body tensing as he realised the futility of his situation. He was at their mercy, and there was nothing he could do but listen and imagine.

II and IV settled on the bed behind him, their movements slow and deliberate as they prepped for their show. III’s breath hitched, cock throbbing with need as he listened to the sounds of their preparation. The ropes dug into his skin, the friction against his cock and nipples a constant, aching reminder of his helpless state.

“Ready, love?” II asked, his voice a low, seductive purr.

IV nodded, eyes locked on II’s face, a mix of anticipation and nervousness in his gaze. “Ready.”

III strained further against the ropes as they began, breath coming in ragged gasps as he focused on the sounds emanating from the bed. The soft rustle of fabric, the occasional gasp from IV, and the low, seductive murmur of II’s voice were all the cues he needed to paint a vivid picture in his mind.

He imagined IV lying back on the bed, body tense with anticipation. II’s hands gentle yet firm as he guided the first slim, polished metal rod to IV’s entrance. IV’s breath hitched, a soft moan escaping his lips as the cool metal pressed against him.

“Easy, easy,” II cooed, his voice a soothing balm. “Just relax and let it in.”

III could almost see the way IV’s body tensed, the way his fingers clenched the sheets as he fought to relax. The sound of the rod sliding in, the wet, sucking noise as it breached IV’s smallest entrance, sent a jolt of pleasure straight to III’s cock.

“That’s it,” II praised, his voice thick with lust. “You’re doing so well.”

IV’s moans grew louder, more desperate, as II began to move the rod, sliding it in and out with a slow, steady rhythm. The sound of metal against flesh, the wet, sloppy noises, and IV’s ragged breaths were a symphony that III couldn’t escape.

He imagined the way IV’s body would arch, the way his hips would lift off the bed as he chased the pleasure. The way his face would flush, his eyes glazed with need and desire. It was a vision of pure, unadulterated lust, and III was a prisoner to it.

“More,” IV gasped, his voice hoarse with need. “Please, II, more.”

II chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “As you wish, love.”

The sound of a larger rod being prepared sent a shiver down III’s spine. He could almost feel the way it would stretch IV, the way it would fill him completely. The noises of IV’s pleasure, the way his body would writhe and buck, were a delicious torture that III couldn’t fully experience.

“Vessel, a hand please?” II asked, voice amused. “IV can’t seem to control his own thighs.”

Vessel, who had been the only person left in III’s line of sight, leaned down to kiss III deeply before moving to the other side of the bed. This left III alone, tied to the bedpost, only able to hear the sounds of IV’s pleasure and the low murmurs of II and Vessel’s voices.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” II encouraged, his voice full of lust. “You’re doing so well.”

IV’s moans grew louder, more desperate, as the next rod slid in and out with a slow, steady rhythm. III desperately ground and struggled against the ropes, seeking any kind of relief from the agonising pleasure of being able to hear but not see.

But the more he moved, the more the ropes dug into his skin, and the friction against his cock and nipples started to become unbearable.

Slowly, he could feel his headspace turning desperate, and not in a good way. The inability to see what was happening, to be ignored and left to his own devices, was a form of punishment he hadn’t anticipated. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the force of his emotions, no longer paying attention to what was happening behind him.

“Hnngg—I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” He finally gasped, voice hoarse with desperation. “Yellow, yellow, please yellow—”

Everything halted.

The room fell into a heavy, unnatural silence, only broken by III’s ragged, uneven breathing. Vessel was at his side in an instant, circling around to stand beside him. His hands rose to cup III’s face, thumbs brushing over flushed cheeks as his eyes roamed, searching for the source of his distress.

“What is it, love?” he asked, voice low and urgent. “What do you need?”

III’s eyes were wide and brimming, body trembling with the force of his emotions. “Out— outta the ropes and to be able to see IV— please,” he begged, voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

II, who had quietly and carefully worked to settle IV first, came to III’s other side, leaning up towards him with a gentleness that softened his usually sharp features.

“Hey, shh... it’s okay,” he murmured, brushing a hand over III’s shoulder. “You don’t ever need to apologize for having limits. Your feelings matter more than any punishment, especially one that was supposed to be safe and fun.”

III’s breath hitched, eyes filling with tears. “But I’ve ruined the scene now—”

II shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Scenes are about knowing your limits and communicating them, and you did that beautifully III. Nothing’s ruined.”

Vessel nodded in agreement, thumbs brushing gently against III’s cheeks. “We’re sorry for not communicating better, for not checking in. We’re here to take care of you, always.”

III took a deep, shuddering breath, body slowly relaxing as the ropes were untied. He was free, but the emotions swirling within him were still a tumultuous storm. He looked up at II and Vessel, a mix of gratitude and vulnerability in his gaze.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

II and Vessel gently guided III onto the bed, careful and unhurried, like handling something precious. They settled him beside IV, who was still flushed with arousal, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths – but even so, he shifted instinctively, wrapping his arms around III in a protective, grounding embrace.

III let out a soft, contented sigh, the tension easing from his shoulders as he curled into IV’s warmth, letting himself be held.

Vessel’s voice was soft as he asked, “Are you comfortable with continuing, III?”

III’s eyes fluttered open, and he took a moment to really consider it. “I just want to be close. And yes, we can continue.”

Vessel nodded, a tender expression on his face as he spooned III from behind, arms wrapping around him protectively. II, meanwhile, carefully peeled IV back off III, still ensuring they remained close together. He positioned himself between IV’s thighs, hands gentle as he resumed his previous ministrations.

IV’s moans filled the room once more, his body arching as II worked the small silver rod with skilled precision. III watched, eyes wide with wonder and arousal – the sight was so much better than he’d imagined. He reached out tentatively, fingers brushing reverently through IV’s folds, tracing the path of the sounding rod.

“Oh god,” IV gasped, surprised, body tensing as III’s touch sent him spiralling towards the edge. All it took was his fingers to edge upwards, circling IV’s cock in slow pulls before his orgasm crested, body shaking with the force of it as he cried out, voice hoarse with pleasure.

Breathing in ragged gasps, IV clung desperately to the moment, one he’d dreamed of experiencing for so long, riding the crest of his pleasure until it slowly began to ebb, leaving him soft and spent.

Vessel leaned in, breath hot against III’s ear. “Can I make you feel good, baby?”

III nodded, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he remembered his own arousal. Vessel’s hand wrapped around his cock, strokes slow and gentle, building the pleasure with each movement. He aimed carefully, ensuring that his release would land over IV’s thighs and pussy, marking him with his pleasure.

IV, still in the haze of his post-orgasm bliss, looked up at II with a searching look. “Don’t you need taking care of, too?”

II shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “No, love. I have pleasure enough seeing you both happy and below me.”

He carded his fingers through their hair, touch gentle and soothing. “You’re both such good boys.”

III’s responding smile was wide and content, eyes fluttering closed as he leaned into Vessel’s touch, who continued to jerk him gently, movements slow and deliberate, drawing out the pleasure until III was a trembling, gasping mess.

As III came, body convulsing with the force of his release, Vessel held him close, his arms a safe haven. His come landed in a hot, thick stream across IV’s pussy and thighs, milky liquid coating his skin and marking him in a testament to the intensity of their encounter.

II moved to join their sated cuddle pile, his body wrapping around IV as the room fell into gentle stillness, the air thick with warmth and the scent of sweat and skin. The earlier tension had long since bled away, leaving only a soft hum of affection and the steady pulse of breath between tangled limbs.

Vessel remained curled protectively around III’s back, arms looped around his waist, one hand splayed gently over his heart like he was holding it in place.

“You good?” he asked softly, voice just above a whisper.

III blinked slow, still coming down from both his climax and the emotional vulnerability of the whole scene. His limbs felt like seaweed, loose and shaky, but the knot in his chest had long since unwound. He gave a tiny, exhausted nod. 

Vessel chuckled low in his chest, his lips brushing against the nape of III’s neck. “Words please, love”

III turned his head slightly to meet warm eyes. “Green. Promise.”

II looked over, careful not to jostle IV, who let out a sleepy sigh against his chest. “That’s my good boy,” he murmured, eyes on III. “Thank you for calling yellow when you needed to.”

“I didn’t want to ruin it—”

“You didn’t.” II’s voice was firm, but gentle. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You let us take care of you.”

III flushed, his face turning into Vessel’s shoulder. “You’re gonna make me sappy,” he mumbled.

“You already are,” Vessel teased, fingers tracing slow, meaningless shapes along III’s stomach. “But it suits you.”

III yawned softly. “Next time I’m calling red just so you’ll all baby me like this again.”

“Next time,” II said smoothly, teasing, “you’ll be gagged.”

“Promises, promises,” III muttered, curling further into Vessel’s arms.

And with that, the last of the day slipped away, four bodies wrapped in the hush of love, sleep, and the safety of each other.

Chapter Text

At first, IV thought it was just a normal Friday.

He and III had shown up early to work, too early if you asked III, who was already grumbling about the cosmic injustice of being conscious before seven. Most sex shops didn’t even open before noon, but somehow they’d attracted the only clientele who believed in “the early bird gets the worm” – assuming, of course, the worm in question was a giant knotted werewolf dildo.

The morning air had a brittle autumn chill to it, crisp enough to sting the lungs, though the sun hadn’t properly cleared the rooftops yet. IV had a hot coffee warming his hands, and III had a chocolate bar clenched between his teeth, likely stolen from Vessel’s ‘secret’ cupboard, judging by the familiar wrapper and the smug defiance in his eyes.

They were giggling over some half-awake joke when the shop’s front door gave a familiar jingle upon their entrance, and their manager emerged from the back room.

She wasn’t dressed like someone gearing up for a retail shift. Her arms were folded across a chunky knit sweater, nails lacquered red, expression dangerously satisfied. A wicked little smile played across her face, and IV immediately felt the strange prickle of being set up.

“Oh good, you’re here,” she said brightly. “Now leave.”

IV blinked, caught mid-step. “Sorry?”

She gave a dismissive wave, like they were stray cats trying to get in her window. “You’re not working today. Or tomorrow, or the day after. Surprise long weekend. Now, out. Shoo.”

III stopped chewing. “Have you lost your mind or is this one of those weird social experiments where someone pops out of a bin with a camera?”

“Out!” she repeated, stepping forward with enough heel-clacking menace that they stumbled back over the threshold, caught somewhere between protest and disbelief.

Before they could get another word in, she shut the door in their faces with a decisive click. IV blinked at the painted glass, then turned to III, who just raised his eyebrows like: did we get fired without noticing?

That’s when IV noticed the car.

Parked across the street like a getaway vehicle in a heist film, sleek and suspiciously familiar. The passenger window rolled down with a soft electric hum, and there sat II, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose and an expression of pure, self-satisfied triumph.

“Morning,” he called. “Get in.”

IV stared. “You’re kidding.”

“You’re coming with us,” II said, like that was obvious.

IV’s stomach did an odd little flip, part surprise, part delight. “Us?”

The window rolled lower, and there, leaned over from the driver’s seat with both hands gripping the wheel like a child before a rollercoaster, was Vessel. He was grinning like a man who knew exactly what kind of chaos he’d signed them all up for.

“Surprise,” he said sweetly.

III let out a noise like a dying animal. “Oh no. No no no. I know that smile. That’s the ‘I’ve got something nefarious up my sleeve’ smile.”

IV choked on a laugh and opened the back door. “Too late, I don’t think we can out run him.”

They piled in, boots thumping against the floor mats, and the doors locked with a soft click as the car pulled away from the curb. It was warm inside, II had the heating on low, and IV leaned back into the seat, still gripping his coffee like a lifeline.

The silence didn’t last long.

“So what is this?” III asked, poking suspiciously at a bag between his feet. “Where are we going? And why didn’t we get any warning?”

“We’re going camping,” Vessel said brightly, like the word alone could sell it.

IV turned his head slowly, expression blank. “Camping.”

“Yep!” Vessel grinned. “Tents. Campfire. Woods. Maybe a lake.”

“Like… actual outside?” IV said. “With bugs?”

“Trees,” Vessel said, counting on his fingers. “Birds. Night sky. Nature.”

“Kill me,” III muttered, tugging at the door handle like he might fling himself out if it weren’t securely locked. “Do I look like I’ve ever set foot in the wild? I don’t even own shoes with grip.”

“You’ll be fine,” II said mildly, eyes on the road. “I packed for both of you.”

IV blinked. “Wait. You… went into our flat?”

“And packed your bags, yes.”

III stared in horror. “You touched my things?”

“I was very respectful,” II said calmly. “I brought IV’s black hoodie he loves and your favourite lube.”

III made a strangled noise. “My special drawer?! You rifled through my private adult curation?! I feel spiritually unclean.”

“You’ll thank me later,” II said smoothly.

Vessel, meanwhile, was beaming like a proud father. “Don’t worry, I supervised. And I made sure to buy you matching thermals.”

“Thermals?! I’m going to vomit,” III muttered.

IV could only laugh, sipping his coffee as the countryside began to roll by beyond the window. He could feel something bubbling beneath the surface of the moment, something giddy despite the way they were protesting. A weekend with the four of them, off-grid, off-schedule, and completely orchestrated behind their backs.

He wasn’t sure whether to feel nervous or thrilled.

Maybe both.

And judging by the bags in the boot, and the devious glint in II’s eye, this trip was only just getting started.

The ride passed in a blur – trees whipping past the windows, shadows dancing across the dash, the slow rise of something unspoken coiling in IV’s gut like a loaded spring.

There was a catch. He knew there had to be a catch.

II’s tone had been too smooth all morning, every response just a little too mild. And Vessel… Vessel had been squirming in his seat like a dog holding in a secret. Glint in his eye, lip twitching at the corners. Dangerous.

IV sat forward slightly as the road curved through a break in the trees.

That’s when he saw it.

The site, annoyingly, was stunning. A sleek wooden lodge nestled among moss-covered rocks, tall pines rising like cathedral pillars around it. Light filtered through the trees in soft gold shafts, dappling the deck and the gravel path like a movie set. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped like they’d been hired for ambience.

Further down the path, just out of the lodge’s immediate glow, sat a single tent. Neatly pitched beside a fire ring and a tidy stack of wood, like a punishment waiting patiently.

III leaned toward the window and squinted. “Please tell me that thing isn’t where we’re staying.”

II shut off the engine with a soft click. “Well. Not all of us.”

IV turned slowly in his seat. “Meaning…?”

“The lodge only sleeps two,” II said, utterly unapologetic. “So one of you gets to stay here, with me, and the other gets to be in the tent with Vessel.”

IV’s stomach tightened.

“I will not be forced to shit in the woods and sleep on foam,” III snapped, crossing his arms like a toddler refusing vegetables. “This is a hate crime.”

“The solution of who gets what,” Vessel said, finally turning around from the driver’s seat with unsettling brightness, “is a game.”

IV narrowed his eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Let’s say it’s… hide-and-seek,” II said, popping his door open casually, like playing hide-and-seek was normal at their big old age.

Vessel stretched, rolling his shoulders until his spine cracked. His grin was spreading wide now, almost feral. “I’m the seeker.”

“You both get a five-minute head start,” II added, climbing out and heading to the back. “Free reign of the woods, but whoever gets caught sleeps in the tent.”

Next Vessel’s knuckles cracked, then his neck. He looked insatiable.

“You better run fast,” he purred, voice dropping. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

IV’s blood went cold in the best way. A jolt of fear-turned-thrill surged through him, making his heart beat faster, skin prickle with tension. The kind of danger that made you alert. Competitive. A little turned on.

“You’re actually going to chase us?” he asked, only half disbelieving.

Vessel’s grin sharpened. “Track you,” he corrected, voice rich and low. “Hunt you down.”

“Oh, you’re fucking insane,” III muttered, even as he flung his door open and started sizing up the treeline like a soldier about to storm the beach. “I love that about you.”

IV stepped out after him, boots crunching gravel, already scanning for routes. The old creek bed to the left, maybe. Or the ridge behind the lodge, he could scramble up and double back, break Vessel’s line of sight.

But III was clever, fast, and had longer legs. He’d beeline for high ground and use the elevation to his advantage. IV didn’t have that. But he was leaner, quiet, and a better hider than runner.

“You ready?” II asked from behind the car, already halfway through unpacking. His voice was maddeningly casual. “Hope so, timer started the second you stepped out the car.”

IV’s head snapped around. “You what?”

“Tick tock~” II sing-songed, with all the cheer of a guillotine operator.

III caught IV’s eye with a mock-serious look, stepping closer like they were two soldiers sharing a final moment before war. “Just so you know,” he said gravely, “if you win, I’m never eating you out again.”

IV didn’t hesitate. “If you win, I’m never blowing you again.”

III recoiled like he’d been stabbed. “No fair!”

But IV was already jogging backwards, grinning. “Should’ve thought about that before making empty threats~”

Then they turned and ran.

Laughter burst from their chests as they bolted into the trees, dry leaves scattering underfoot, adrenaline snapping like wires through their veins. Behind them, Vessel’s voice rang out, syrupy sweet and bone-chilling:

“Ready or not~ Here I come!”

IV split off, ducking behind the first bend in the trail, chest heaving, a wild grin splitting his cheeks. Maybe sleeping in a tent was going to be hell, but god, this chase was going to be fun.

The forest swallowed him whole.

He plunged deeper beneath the towering pines, the canopy filtering sunlight into molten shafts that danced over the mossy floor. Every step pressed into a soft bed of pine needles, springy and muffling his footfalls. The air was crisp and alive, heavy with the scent of damp earth, pine resin, and a faint trace of woodsmoke curling lazily from somewhere unseen.

For a moment, he forgot the game altogether.

The birds overhead trilled in joyous bursts, leaves rustled in a gentle breeze, and somewhere close, a squirrel darted between branches. The forest felt like a sanctuary, wild and untouched.

IV’s breath slowed as he took it all in, filling his lungs with the cool, clean air, steadying the rapid beat of his heart. His pulse still hammered, but it was the kind of pounding that pushed adrenaline through his veins, not fear.

He couldn’t linger for long, though.

Vessel was coming for him.

He could still see the look on Vessel’s face – feral, almost rabid, a grin that didn’t just promise a chase, but that he would devour someone. Like a predator on the hunt, eyes gleaming with primal hunger. The way Vessel had cracked his neck, stretched his shoulders, already tasting the game – it sent a thrill racing down IV’s spine.

His pace picked up again, chest tightening.

He glanced back quickly, ears straining for any sound, but could hear nothing over the gentle whisper of wind through leaves. Good.

“Five minute head start,” IV muttered breathlessly, voice low in the quiet woods. “So fucking generous of him.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he kept running though, limbs moving with practiced ease, weaving through the undergrowth. Moss and ferns brushed his skin, roots threatened to trip him, but he dodged and pivoted, adrenaline making every muscle coiled and ready.

His mind flicked through possibilities: could he hide near the creek bed, where shadows were deeper? Or scramble up the ridge, then circle back? He wasn’t just running to survive, he needed to strategize.

He veered left, pushing between two tall ferns, and found a little dip in the terrain, where a fallen log arched like a ribcage over a soft hollow of moss. It wasn’t perfect, but if he curled in tight, he might—

A sudden crunch of twigs and leaves snapped behind him.

IV spun around, heart hammering in his ears.

But it wasn’t Vessel stalking out of the shadows, it was III, stepping from between two trees with that infuriatingly self-satisfied grin plastered across his flushed face. His curls were wild and dishevelled from running, cheeks glowing pink, but his eyes shone with mischief and smug triumph. Definitely too smug for someone supposed to be hiding too.

“What are you doing?” IV asked, nerves prickling his skin, but he didn’t step away. III wasn’t the threat here, not like Vessel was.

“Sabotage,” III purred, closing the gap between them with an easy confidence, crowding into IV’s space until their breaths mingled. “I told you I was going to win.”

“That’s not even playing fair,” IV protested, voice tight as III pressed him backward, the rough bark of the tree biting into his spine.

III’s grin widened, wicked and knowing. “You say that like there are rules, love.”

Before IV could react, III’s mouth crashed against his, fierce and demanding.

IV gasped, breath hitching sharply, his hands shooting out to grasp III’s hips instinctively. Tree bark dug into his back as his pulse spiked wildly, panic tangled with something hotter, more desperate.

III kissed like he was trying to unravel him, soft but urgent, tongue slipping in with greedy hunger, fingers pressing firmly against the sides of his throat, coaxing IV into light-headedness. A low, ragged moan vibrated from IV’s lips, stirring heat that pooled and tightened deep in his belly.

“Fuck—III—” IV tried to say, voice cracking, breath ragged and shallow.

“Oh no,” III teased, barely pulling back, voice dropping to a teasing sing-song. “I can’t stop for long. What if Vessel hears?”

As if on cue, a new crunch, closer, sharper, cut through the air.

Too close.

III’s lips brushed softly along IV’s jaw, sending a shiver trailing down his spine. Then, with a last wicked grin, III spun on his heel and bolted back into the trees, leaving IV standing breathless and reeling, his mouth tingling with the ghost of his kiss.

Pounding footsteps grew louder.

Vessel was coming.

“Shit,” IV breathed, chest heaving.

Adrenaline surged and he scrambled away from the tree, crashing through the underbrush with no real direction. His heart thundered in his ears, half from panic, half from how turned on he still was, the taste of III still slick on his tongue.

Heavy breaths sounded somewhere behind him, and he didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Vessel.

IV ran harder, tore through ferns, ducked under branches, his breath coming in ragged pants now. His thighs ached, lungs burning, and still he could hear him, closer now. Almost laughing, a deep, playful rumble echoing through the trees.

“Run, little rabbit,” Vessel’s voice called behind him.

IV yelped from how close it sounded.

He turned sharply, intending to throw Vessel off his trail, but his foot slipped on the soft mossy incline, sending him skidding.

And then a weight crashed into him from behind, arms strong and sure wrapping around his middle. They hit the ground in a tumble of limbs and leaves, Vessel laughing, the sound dark and triumphant as he pinned IV down flat, chest to the forest floor.

“Caught you,” Vessel growled against his ear.

IV groaned, squirming beneath him, cheeks burning with exertion and something filthier. Vessel’s breath was warm at the nape of his neck, his body heavy over IV’s, holding him completely still.

“I hate you,” IV gasped, breathless and trembling.

“You love me,” Vessel purred.

And IV couldn’t argue, not with his heart racing, skin electric, and the thrill of the hunt still fizzing in his blood.

Leaves and soil pressed cool against IV’s cheek, caught like prey in a snare. His arms trembled under him, elbows bent, chest heaving with effort and want. Moss clung damp beneath his fingers, and his knees dug into soft loam. Somehow, or maybe by Vessel’s design, he’d landed legs spread and ass up – exposed, waiting, already aching with anticipation. Every breath he took was thick with pine, wet bark, and the subtle trace of sweat clinging to his skin.

Vessel loomed, all heat and hunger, pinning IV in place with a weight that was brutal and perfect, hands gripping his hips in a way that made him feel owned, lined up and held there like Vessel was marking him with nothing but intent.

“Did you even try?” Vessel’s voice cracked on the taunt. “Or were you just waiting to get caught?”

IV’s mouth opened, ready to defend himself, but Vessel pressed down harder over him, and all that came out was a breathy sound close to a whimper.

The real truth was written across his skin – flushed and eager, cunt already slick, muscles lax now the chase was over. The only thing tethering him to reality was the damp press of the forest floor.

Trying again, IV could only choke out, short and breathless, “You’re fucking insane.”

Vessel leaned down, nose brushing IV’s neck, voice low and unhinged. “And you love it.”

IV gasped as teeth grazed his skin, not hard enough to break it, just enough to promise he could. His breath hitched, arousal flaring hot in his belly. God, he did love it. Vessel’s sharpness, and that wild, untamed glint in his eye like he wasn’t just playing a game. In this moment he was truly a predator, and IV his trapped prey.

“You could’ve gone after III,” IV panted. “He was the one who kissed me— distracted me—”

“You let him,” Vessel snapped. “You let him fuck up your chances, made it easy.”

And then he pressed in, still clothed, hips grinding against IV’s ass, cock hard and hot through his jeans. The pressure alone made IV jolt, a choked sound torn from his throat. His hands scrabbled in the dirt, mouth open, pulse thrumming like drums beneath his skin.

“Vess—fuck—”

“Quiet.” A growl. “Don’t beg unless you mean it.”

Clothing was pushed aside in fast, practiced motions. Vessel’s hands were rough now, still careful, still precise, but shaking with the restraint it took not to devour IV whole. He spat into his hand, slicked himself quick and crude, then lined up without ceremony.

IV barely had time to breathe before the pressure hit him, deep and unrelenting, stretching him open. He cried out into the forest floor, one hand fisting moss, the other scrabbling back for purchase as Vessel sank in, inch by devastating inch.

Vessel gave his own low groan and growled, “So wet for me already. You wanted this.”

IV whimpered into the forest floor, thighs spread wide, ass raised as he was slowly, relentlessly filled. The pressure built fast, pleasure sparking as his body opened around Vessel, cunt aching and hot as Vessel bottomed out with a grunt.

“Fuck, Vess—” he choked.

Vessel didn’t answer, just growled low and began to thrust, snapping his hips forward hard enough to make IV’s breath leave him in a rush. The rhythm was punishing, filthy, unstoppable. IV was helpless beneath it, rocked into the earth, every nerve alight.

Above him, Vessel was already panting like an animal, murmuring broken praises and filthy curses against the back of IV’s neck.

“Shouldn’t’ve let him touch you,” he hissed. “You’re mine. This pretty little cunt’s mine.”

“Fuck— fuck,” IV gasped, barely able to hold himself up under the intensity.

Vessel gave him no reprieve, rhythm sharp and brutal, each snap of his hips slamming IV forward just enough to remind him who was in control. His knees were slipping in the dirt, but Vessel held him steady, one hand locked on his hip, the other gripping the back of his neck, not choking, just anchoring him into a deep arch, cheek against mud.

“You like being hunted?” Vessel rasped against his ear, breath hot and wild. “You like being caught and fucked like this?”

IV couldn’t reply, could barely think. He wanted to crawl out of his skin and stay in this moment forever, lost in the scent of crushed leaves, the sting of twigs under his knees, and the way Vessel fucked him like the woods were watching.

He was reduced to feeling the slap of hips against his ass, the drag of cock through slick, the way Vessel curved forward and growled like he was claiming something long denied.

Every time IV clenched around him, Vessel fucked deeper, harder, like he was answering a challenge. The sounds were obscene – skin on skin, wet and raw, his own voice breaking with every thrust.

His fingers clawed at the ground as pleasure crested sharp and raw through his body, coiling tighter with every slap of Vessel’s hips. He was close, too close, and yet—

“Not yet,” Vessel hissed, as if he could sense it. “You don’t come until I say.”

IV bit down on a groan, cunt pulsing around him involuntarily. The feral command in Vessel’s tone only made it worse— or better. The lack of control sent him spiralling.

And still, Vessel drove into him like he had something to prove. IV could only take it, fucked into the dirt with bruises blooming beneath his skin and every inch of him on display.

He wanted this.

God, he wanted all of it.

The pinning weight, the aching stretch, the way Vessel used his body like it belonged to him.

IV gasped out his name, voice wrecked. “Please— please, Vessel, I—”

Vessel snarled. “You’re mine, say it.”

The hand pinning the back of IV’s head slid underneath their bodies, cruel and searching, fingers curling around IV’s neglected cock and stroking him in time with every harsh thrust.

IV’s thighs quaked, spread wide and useless, the ache of pleasure deep and constant as Vessel ground into him, now sharpened by the extra stimulation to his cock. It was all he could manage to choke out, “Ah— ah—! Y-yours, Vess! I’m yours.”

At the breathless confession, something shifted in Vessel, a low, guttural sound escaping him as his rhythm faltered. It was as if some feral part of him had been lying in wait for that moment, for IV to surrender fully. His hips snapped forward with a final, desperate thrust, burying himself deep with a broken groan, like the act of claiming had shaken him to the core.

The fullness, the heat, the weight of him, it made IV tremble, mouth open on a silent cry as Vessel gave one last stroke to his slick, sensitive cock. His climax crested, overwhelming, his whole body seizing in pulsing waves as he cried out against the forest floor. His muscles clenched tight around Vessel with each trembling surge, his release spilling hot between them. The force of it made Vessel groan low in his throat, hips jerking reflexively as his own cum was forced out, slick and uncontained, trickling in messy streaks down IV’s trembling thighs.

Still buried deep, Vessel let out a ragged breath, rocked by the sensation of IV fluttering around him, so helpless and spent and perfect. He pressed in harder, possessive and dazed, like he could somehow anchor himself there, keep the rest of him from slipping away.

“Don’t waste it,” he murmured, half growl, half plea, grinding in just enough to coax one last twitch from IV’s overworked body.

They stayed that way for a long moment, Vessel hunched over him, breath ragged in his ear. The wind rustled through the trees again, the canopy shifting overhead like it had witnessed the whole thing.

Slowly, Vessel leaned down and pressed a soft kiss between IV’s shoulder blades, tasting the cooling sweat beading there.

“Good prey,” he whispered, lips brushing IV’s skin. “I should chase you more often.”

IV could only laugh, wrecked and breathless, his cheek pressed to the forest floor.

“Next time,” he rasped, “I’m bringing bear spray.”

Vessel chuckled against him. “Wouldn’t help, I’d still catch you.”

IV knew he was right.

“You really are the prettiest thing when you give up fighting,” Vessel murmured.

IV huffed out a weak laugh. “And you’re a goddamn maniac.”

Vessel chuckled, low and warm against the curve of IV’s spine. “Still think I should’ve gone after III?”

IV let out a breath that was half laugh, half groan, eyes fluttering closed as the ache in his body settled into something languid. “No,” he muttered. “He’s got sharper claws than I do.”

“Mm,” Vessel murmured, pressing another kiss to the back of his shoulder. “Sounds like a good time.”

And IV believed him. Every bruised, aching inch of him knew just how much Vessel relished a little roughness, knew the thrill in his voice wasn’t idle. Vessel didn’t flinch from sharp edges, he leaned into them, blunted them with his own feral force.

Vessel didn’t move for a long moment, just breathed against IV’s spine, his weight comforting now instead of overwhelming. His nose nudged IV’s shoulder again, then the side of his neck, then lower, nuzzling in like a giant, satisfied dog curling around its favourite toy. IV let out a muffled, exhausted laugh, cheek still half-buried in moss.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, but his voice was soft, fond.

Vessel only hummed in return, broad hands drifting gently over IV’s sides, then up his back, then down again in slow, rhythmic passes. He wasn’t touching to arouse anymore, just to comfort. Like he couldn’t not be touching, like he needed IV under his palms to stay grounded.

“Smell like me now," Vessel whispered, sounding so pleased it was absurd. He rubbed his cheek along IV’s back, then pressed little kisses there, dotting them over sweat-slick skin with a sweetness that contradicted the brutal way he’d just taken him.

IV couldn’t stop the little shiver that ran through him.

“How am I the one with the collar? You’re a damn mutt,” he questioned, barely above a whisper, and Vessel made a delighted noise at the insult.

Then, without warning, he rose fully onto his knees. The movement made IV gasp as Vessel finally, slowly, slipped free of his body, a strange, empty ache blooming in the absence. Before IV could even catch his breath, Vessel gathered him up in his arms like he weighed nothing at all.

“Wha—hey—” IV yelped, legs dangling, head tipping back against Vessel’s shoulder. “You don’t have to carry me—”

“Not leaving you in the dirt,” Vessel said, matter-of-fact and quietly possessive. He nuzzled along IV’s jaw as he stood, like it was instinct. “Already claimed you here, I’m carrying my spoils back.”

IV’s cheeks flamed, but his body gave in completely, boneless in Vessel’s arms. He was too sore, too wrecked, and too blissfully content to argue. Some stubborn part of him might have resisted being hauled back like a trophy, but… another part, one that still trembled from the intensity of what had just passed between them, was deeply flattered.

They were still half-dressed, scattered with moss and streaks of dirt, IV’s shirt askew, jeans torn slightly at the seam from Vessel’s enthusiasm. He looked a mess, and felt even messier, but for once, he didn’t care.

The walk back through the woods was unhurried, quiet. Birds chirped overhead and the wind whispered through the trees, making the late-afternoon sunlight spill down in golden streams. IV could hear the soft crunch of pine needles under Vessel’s boots, and the slow, steady cadence of his breathing. He was humming something low and tuneless – not quite a song, more like a sound of satisfaction – and IV let his eyes slip closed, drifting somewhere between sleep and warmth.

They were just rounding the bend back into the clearing when someone crashed out of the trees ahead.

“Ha!” came III’s triumphant bark of laughter.

IV blinked groggily, lifting his head from Vessel’s chest.

III was sweaty, grinning, and entirely too pleased with himself. His shirt was half-unbuttoned and his curls a mess, but he had the smugness of someone who’d just won gold at the Olympics.

“Oh, someone got caught,” III sing-songed, hands on his hips as he took in IV’s utterly wrecked, mud-streaked state. “You poor thing. You even got carried back. What, did he break you?”

IV groaned and buried his face back in Vessel’s shoulder.

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” III chirped. “But not as much as I love this lodge bed I’m about to throw myself into. Sorry sweetheart, enjoy the bugs.”

He turned on his heel, already strolling toward the cabin like a king returning to his castle.

But Vessel just chuckled low in his chest, voice warm and sharp as flint. “I wouldn’t be so smug, little prince.”

III paused mid-stride, all at once suspicious.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vessel turned toward the lodge, still cradling IV effortlessly, and nodded toward the small mountain of gear II had stacked beside the front steps – several boxes with bold logos, some ominously heavy-looking cases that definitely weren’t IV or III’s weekend clothes.

“See all that luggage?” Vessel said, voice syrup-sweet. “You think it’s all mine?”

IV peeked up, and sure enough, II was standing in the lodge doorway, arms crossed, expression beatific in its smugness. He gave a slow, meaningful wave.

The colour drained from III’s face.

“No.”

“Mhm.” Vessel’s grin widened. “You may have won the lodge, but it looks like II brought some special toys for the winner.”

III’s voice cracked, staring disbelievingly at Vessel. “No.”

“But yes,” Vessel said cheerfully. “All packed just for you. And II looked very excited about them.”

III turned back toward the lodge in horror, watching as II stepped down the front steps with a deliberate sort of calm, the kind of calm that spelled doom.

“Fuck,” III whispered, eyes wide. “I traded the wolf for the devil.”

IV, still in Vessel’s arms, snorted against his collarbone. “You should’ve just stayed with me in the woods.”

“I was trying to sabotage you!” III cried.

“And now you get II,” Vessel said gleefully, adjusting IV in his arms like a trophy.

III didn’t run, but he did backpedal slowly toward the woods, as if trying to delay the inevitable.

“You have to be gentle! I won!” He called out to an advancing II.

“You say that like there are rules, love,” II smirked, wicked and smooth.

IV just chuckled, letting his eyes drift closed again.

Maybe he’d lost the game, but curled in Vessel’s arms, marked up and carried like he was something precious – IV felt more like a winner than anyone else.

Chapter Text

Despite what II’s wicked smile had implied, he hadn’t immediately dragged III back to the lodge-turned-dungeon.

No, that would’ve been far too merciful.

Instead, III was left lingering by the firepit, plate balanced in his lap, watching Vessel practically crawl into IV’s skin while pretending to flip skewers over the flames. Vessel fed him bites straight from the grill, murmured things against his ear that made IV blush to his roots, and brushed fingers over his thigh like they hadn’t already fucked just hours ago.

III might’ve enjoyed the scene under other circumstances, would’ve probably joined in, but tonight, all it did was twist something low in his gut.

He told himself he was annoyed, that he should’ve seen this trap from the start, but the truth was softer and sharper all at once. There was fondness there, even a kind of warmth that made his chest ache. Tonight he was II’s, sure, but that didn’t mean III wouldn’t milk this whole development for all it was worth later. He could already picture himself lounging smugly somewhere, teasing them until IV turned pink and Vessel got that dangerous glint in his eye.

But by the time dinner was finished, Vessel’s restraint had all but evaporated. He tugged IV to his feet without a word, grinning like he’d been waiting years instead of mere hours for this, and IV followed with a shaky laugh that cut off as they ducked into the nearby tent.

III stayed put, shaking his head with a rueful little smile, calling after them, “Try not to disturb the wildlife!”

II rose then, calm as ever, hands brushing slowly down his thighs like he, too, was shedding the last of his patience. “I’m going to shower and set up,” he said, tone smooth as honey but carrying that razor edge that made III’s breath catch.

He didn’t have to elaborate, III knew exactly what setting up meant.

III felt the weight of it settle low in his stomach as he watched II walk back toward the lodge, every step deliberate, unhurried, a promise in motion. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, too. At the door, II glanced over his shoulder, caught III’s stare, and let the faintest smile curl across his mouth.

“Take your time,” he called softly. “It’s always better when you come to me on your own.”

Heat prickled across III’s skin. It wasn’t a threat, not really, just a reminder that he had a choice, technically. He could sit here by the fire a little longer, let the tension build until it strangled him, or he could follow.

Either way, II would get what he wanted. He always did.

In the silent moment after II closed the door, the fire crackled louder, the woods hushed, and then—

A sound slipped free from the tent, faint, muffled, but enough to make every hair on his body stand on end.

Another sound followed, this one a cut-off gasp, undeniably IV’s, and III’s breath caught before he could stop it.

Heat crept up the back of his neck. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, staring into the flames like they might steady him. They didn’t. The noises from the tent just kept coming – low, broken sounds from IV and the unmistakable rumble of Vessel’s voice in between. Each one slid under III’s skin like warm honey, made him restless in his own body.

He stayed longer than he should’ve, pretending he could ignore it. Pretending his thighs weren’t pressed too tightly together, pretending his fingers weren’t twitching to do something about it.

Eventually, he let out a quiet, incredulous laugh, raking a hand through his curls. “Alright,” he muttered to no one, the words almost lost under the crackle of the fire and IV’s intensifying moans. “Enough stalling.”

When he stood, his knees felt loose, but his steps didn’t falter. The path to the lodge was short, lit golden by the lamps glowing in the window, and the sight sent a strange shiver down his spine.

By the time he reached the door, his heart was beating hard, not from fear exactly, more like anticipation stretched too tight to hold any longer.

Whatever II had in store, he was ready to meet it.

The door clicked softly behind him, and III stood just inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lodge’s warm glow.

For a moment, all he could do was take it in.

The place was… cozy, annoyingly so. A single room, but thoughtfully laid out, with polished wood floors, a plush rug underfoot, soft lamplight casting everything in honey-gold. The bed looked like something out of a hotel ad: big, inviting, and maybe just a little too springy for what III could only guess II had planned.

A grin tugged at III’s lips. Despite what was still to come, against all odds, he’d actually won this. The smugness unfurled in his chest like champagne fizz. He wasn’t the one who’d been hauled back through the woods by Vessel, he wasn’t sleeping under canvas tonight. No, he’d earned this.

He moved further in, trailing fingers along the back of a chair, the edge of the bedspread. And then he noticed it.

Something sat in the corner near the foot of the bed, draped with a dark sheet. It was large, almost too large to ignore. Boxy, but with a deliberately organic shape at the top, like it had been placed there with purpose.

III tilted his head, suspicion prickling.

“Oh, what are you…” he murmured under his breath, already crossing the room. He reached out, fingertips just brushing the edge of the sheet—

“Stop.”

The word was quiet, but it froze him like a wire snapped taut.

He turned slowly.

II had stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, skin still sheened with water. The only thing he wore was a towel slung low across his hips, one hand holding it loosely in place. He looked maddeningly calm, like he hadn’t just caught III snooping two feet from whatever that mystery object was.

III opened his mouth to make some excuse, but II just tilted his head, that slow, knowing smile curling his lips.

“Strip and kneel,” he said softly. “Right where you are.”

A flush crept hot up III’s chest. His first instinct was to make some joke, defy the order, but the weight of II’s stare pinned the words in his throat.

So he quickly flung his clothes from his body and sank down onto the rug, heart thudding, eyes never leaving II’s.

The rug was soft beneath his knees, but it didn’t stop III from feeling strangely exposed. His palms rested on his thighs, fingers twitching like they wanted something to hold.

II didn’t move at first. He just stood there in the doorway, watching.

Water slid from the tips of his hair, tracking down the long line of his neck, disappearing past the edge of the towel. His smile had smoothed out now, calm and unreadable. That careful, quiet expression he wore when he was deciding just how far he wanted to push someone.

When II finally stepped forward, it was slow and measured. Bare feet whispering against the rug. He circled once, deliberately, like a big cat getting the lay of its prey.

III swallowed hard.

“You were good today,” II murmured, low enough that it felt private. “You ran well. Didn’t let Vessel catch you.”

III huffed a short laugh, trying for cheeky but landing somewhere closer to breathless. “Yeah, no thanks to IV, he distracted me, nearly got me caught—”

“Oh, is that what happened?”

The question wasn’t harsh, but it cut through his words like a blade, clearly knowing the truth, shutting him up instantly.

II crouched in front of him, towel parting just enough to tease. His hand came up to brush hair back from III’s temple, thumb stroking over the flushed curve of his cheek.

“You won Vessel’s game,” II said softly. “So you get rewarded. But—”

III’s gaze flicked, unbidden, toward the large covered object by the bed. His stomach swooped.

“But?” he asked, quieter now.

II’s mouth curved in something not quite a smile. Rising, he crossed to the corner and hooked a finger under the edge of the sheet.

“Vessel’s not the only one that likes to play games,” II said mildly, glancing back over his shoulder. “And I think you’ll find mine don’t leave any room to cheat.”

Then, with one smooth motion, he whipped the cover away.

III’s breath stalled in his chest.

The lower half of the setup was a chest, broad and solid, bursting with so many drawers III had the unnerving thought that II might’ve actually brought his entire toy collection along for the trip. But it was the top half that made his stomach flip.

It wasn’t part of the chest at all, but a machine. Sleek and heavy, its polished frame catching the lamplight like something far too expensive to be brought to a cabin in the woods. With a flick of II’s finger, it came alive, a low hum filling the air. The sound was quiet, but it made the hairs at the back of III’s neck stand on end.

The attachment already fixed in place left no room for interpretation – glossy silicone, curved just enough to make III’s mouth go dry, proudly facing the bed.

“Oh,” III said faintly.

II came back toward him, towel riding even lower on his hips now, every line of him relaxed and smug. “Bought it special,” he said, voice soft and dangerous. “Figured my winner deserved something… thorough.”

He stopped right in front of him, close enough that III had to crane his neck to look up. That lazy, possessive gaze swept over him, and for a second, III felt like prey all over again.

“There won’t be any punishments tonight, seen as this is your reward, but I still expect you to kneel properly,” II ordered, tone velvet but unyielding. “Back straight. Hands behind you.”

III made a face but obeyed, adjusting on the rug with a little huff. “Bossy,” he muttered under his breath, but not quite quiet enough.

II’s mouth curved in a slow, dangerous smirk as he reached out, catching III’s chin between two fingers and tipping his face up until III was squinting into the overhead light. “And yet you listen, like the good boy I know is in there somewhere,” he murmured.

The warmth of the praise hit first, the good boy soft and low enough to make III’s chest go warm, but then came the other shoe, dropping in II’s next words:

“Now, let’s see how long you last.”

III’s heart gave a sharp kick as II stepped aside, moving with slow, deliberate grace back towards the chest. He crouched, pulled open a drawer, and slid out a tray with a kind of reverence like he was presenting fine wine instead of what was clearly an arsenal of weapons.

He set it down with a quiet clink and turned it so III could see.

A neat row of sleek silicone gleamed in the soft lodge light, lined up from small and almost innocent to utterly unreasonable. III’s breath caught as his eyes travelled along the row, snagging hard on the last one – wide, long, enough to make his thighs press together on instinct. It was absurd.

And then, as if his brain had a personal vendetta, his gaze flicked back to the machine, finally noticing its attachment was even larger. His stomach flipped over in a mix of dread and want, heat prickling low in his belly.

“No,” he breathed, half horrified.

II’s smirk deepened, slow and satisfied, as if he’d been waiting for that exact look on III’s face. “Oh, yes.”

“You’re going to work your way up, love,” II continued, his voice dripping with mocking tenderness. “Starting with this.” He held up the smallest dildo, and III felt a flicker of relief, quickly snuffed out by the reminder of the others.

II moved around behind him, slow enough to make III’s skin prickle. The slick sound of lube being worked between II’s fingers made him tense before he even felt the first touch. Then, cool, practiced fingers pressed at his rim, spreading him open with a slow, unhurried stretch that made his breath stutter.

“Relax,” II murmured, maddeningly calm, and pressed deeper.

III bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a sound, but the faintest whimper still slipped through when II crooked his fingers just right. It was nothing compared to what he knew was coming, but it was still enough to make his thighs quiver and his pride sting.

When II finally withdrew, III barely had a second to breathe before something firmer brushed against him, smooth, cool and slick from the lube. II didn’t push it in, not yet. Instead, he dragged it slowly up the inside of III’s thigh, letting it glide deliberately over sensitive skin before catching at the base of him, brushing just under his balls.

III glanced down and felt heat rise to his ears. Though it was the smallest of the lineup, in this position, kneeling with his back perfectly straight, it still looked much bigger.

“Ride it, sweetheart,” II said simply, one broad palm coming to rest on III’s hip while the other pressed the dildo’s tip against his rim. The pressure wasn’t enough to force him down, but the implication was there.

III hesitated for a beat too long, long enough that II’s hand tightened just slightly.

“Do you need me to do it for you, hmm?” The question was deceptively patient.

“No,” III said quickly, breath catching. His pride wouldn’t let him.

He sank down slow, inch by inch, until the toy was seated deep inside him. His throat worked around a sound that wasn’t quite a moan, wasn’t quite a whimper. It was already a lot, more than he wanted to admit.

“Good boy,” II murmured, and the rare words hit almost harder than the stretch. Fingers traced a lazy path up his spine, landing between his shoulder blades. “Now move.”

Easier said than done with his hands clasped behind him, his weight balanced strangely, his thighs already burning from holding himself upright. He rocked his hips experimentally, but the angle was shallow, frustrating, making him work twice as hard to get anything that felt good.

II, of course, noticed.

“Having trouble already?” The teasing lilt in his voice was enough to make III grit his teeth.

“I can do it,” he muttered, trying to find a rhythm, but the toy felt bigger with every slow rise and fall of his hips, as if it were testing his limits just by sitting inside him.

“Mm. You sound very sure of yourself for someone trembling like a leaf.”

“I’m not—” He cut himself off with a soft, humiliating whine as his body betrayed him, a spasm running through him that made the toy press even deeper.

II chuckled, low and warm. “Pretty thing. This is just the start. You’re going to make it all the way up that tray before I’m even halfway done with you.”

A shiver ran down III’s spine, half dread, half excitement. His legs were already starting to ache, and this was the smallest one.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to rock his hips again, slower, more deliberate this time. You can take it, he told himself, jaw tight. You have to take it. Otherwise he’s never going to let you live this down. This is a reward, goddammit.

II hummed behind him, the sound low and possessive, clearly enjoying the show. “That’s better,” he murmured, almost kindly, though there was an edge that made III’s spine stiffen. “But I still think you might need my help.”

III’s cheeks flamed, his pride bristling even as his body betrayed him, pulse hammering and thighs quivering. He sank down again, trying in vain to ignore the tremor of excitement that rattled through him.

And then II’s hand was back, firm and deliberate. One lubed-up finger slid inside him first, warm and insistent, stretching him gently. A second followed, pressing alongside the dildo still nestled at his entrance. III gasped sharply, a mix of surprise and the sharp, exquisite sting of sensation. He bit his lip, trying to reclaim some measure of control, but the fingers moved with a masterful ease, coaxing him wider. Every press, every rotation, sent shivers down his spine, and he couldn’t stop the small, helpless whines escaping his throat.

“Good, love,” II murmured, voice low and dangerous, vibrating through the curve of III’s ear. “You’re taking it so well.”

Heat pooled low in III’s belly, body trembling under the stretch, mind clouded between humiliation and a strange, overwhelming pleasure. He sank into the motion, muscles fluttering around II’s fingers and the toy, the contrast of fullness and friction leaving him dizzy.

And then, abruptly, II withdrew the dildo alongside his fingers. III sagged forward out of his kneel, gasping against the floor, a raw ache blooming where the toy had been, leaving him empty and quivering, desperate for more. The sudden absence made his body protest, every nerve humming with want. He looked down at the rug beneath his knees and froze at the damp spot already forming where his arousal had betrayed him, warm and sticky against the expensive fabric.

When II came back around, fingers still slick, III caught the sight of the towel wrapped around his hips, unmistakably taut with his own arousal, and his cheeks flamed hotter than ever. A heat both thrilling and humiliating rose in his chest as he realized just how exposed he was, body arching slightly without thought, muscles clenching, weeping into the rug with a desire he couldn’t control.

“Look at you,” II murmured, voice low and indulgent, trailing a hand into the tray for the next size dildo. “Already trembling and unable to hold your kneel…”

The next dildo was forced into him with slow, deliberate pressure. III’s eyes widened in shock as the sudden stretch took his breath away. He let out a sharp gasp, trying to steel himself. “Ah—! II, II, I’m not— ahh— can’t—” He trailed off, caught between protest and the haze of sensation already clouding his mind.

II’s hand came down sharply on his ass, sending a jolt of heat and pain rolling through him. III hissed, hips bucking instinctively. “Ah! Okay, okay—”

“Come on, sweetheart,” II’s voice was a low growl, authoritative and teasing at once. “Show me how much you want it. Ride it for me.”

III groaned, half in defiance, half in surrender. He tried to bounce in rhythm, but the combination of stretch, position, and II’s hand made his movements awkward and desperate. He’d been forced back into his painfully straight kneel, shoulders tense, hands clasped tightly behind him, leaving him off-balance. Each motion was a mix of pressure and pleasure, a sharp tangle in his chest.

“Such a good boy,” II taunted, pressing in with just enough force to keep him on edge. “So eager for me…”

II continued his torture, replacing each dildo just as III reached a sufficient stretch. Each size up made III’s breath catch violently. His hands dug into each other for stability, fingernails scratching burning lines as his body stretched wider, muscles trembling from exertion and overstimulation. “I… I can’t, it’s too much…” he murmured, even as he bounced, hips desperate to find a rhythm, body quivering.

“You’re mine right now,” II said, voice low, dark, and teasing. “You’ll take whatever I want.”

III let out a soft, unwilling whine, feeling his body wither as each thrust demanded more than he thought he could give. He resigned to letting the sensation wash over him, each dildo filling him more, each spank and press from II’s hand teaching him how little control he really had.

By the time II moved him onto the final dildo before the machine, III’s body was a trembling mess. Drool slipped from his lips, hips bouncing instinctively, fingers gripping his wrists as sweat beaded his forehead. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it, when he was finally about to release untouched, II’s hand tightened around his cock, deliberately preventing him from finishing, and III groaned, body aching with need.

“Not so fast, love,” II mocked, amusement lacing every syllable. “We’ve barely begun.”

The dildo was removed abruptly, leaving III empty and twitching, hips still rocking as if seeking the lost fullness. His body betrayed him, warm and needy, while the rug beneath his knees soaked with evidence of his leaking. He bit back a groan, trying to preserve a shred of pride.

II stepped around him, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with his own lust. “So wide open… so ready.”

III let his head fall forward slightly, cheeks flushed, as II teased him with four slick fingers, sliding them into him with zero resistance. He whimpered, breath shaky, body trembling from exhaustion and overstimulation, feeling every inch of II’s control.

“P-Please, sir…” III murmured quietly, letting his voice be swallowed by the haze, aware that any defiance had melted entirely under II’s expert hands and his own craving for release.

“Up you get then, sweetheart,” II commanded, his tone laced with that sadistic softness that made III’s stomach swoop.

III tried to rise, but his knees wobbled the moment he put weight on them, and the world tilted for a second. His thighs quivered, body slick with sweat, head full of static.

“III,” II said sharply, bracing a hand against his shoulder, “give me a colour.”

“Green, sir,” III slurred, breath hitching.

II’s gaze softened briefly, a flicker of relief in his eyes before he huffed a short, quiet laugh. “You’re a sight, aren’t you?” His mouth curved, not unkindly, but with that smugness that meant he was about to enjoy this far too much.

I’m fine, III told himself, even as his legs nearly buckled again. Totally fine. Just a little… fucked. Okay, a lot fucked. Perfect time to let him put me on the terrifying murder machine.

“Come on.” II’s voice gentled, his hand steady and warm as he guided III over to the bed.

III let himself be steered, too tired to resist, though some last scrap of pride made him grumble under his breath, “Could just… bring the machine to me, y’know, would save some effort.”

II gave him a look that was fond and cutting all at once. “If you can talk you can walk, brat.”

He maneuvered III until he was lying back on the bed, ass hanging just off the edge. The sight that greeted him when he tilted his head nearly made him sober up on the spot.

The machine loomed over him, humming low like it already knew what was coming. The dildo mounted to its arm was monstrous, gleaming in the low light, casting a shadow that seemed far too big to be real. III’s mouth went dry.

“Oh,” he said weakly, then, “I think I’ve changed my mind.” He tried to scoot back but II’s hand was already on his hip, pushing him into place.

“Stay.” II’s voice was calm but brokered no argument.

I hate him. I actually hate him. I’m in love with him but I hate him.

His feet were lifted and placed firmly on the stand bracketing the machine, spreading him wide. A pillow was slid under his lower back, forcing his hips to tilt up and leaving him open and vulnerable. The tip of the dildo brushed against his hole, slick with lube and warm from the machine’s motor, and III couldn’t bite back the little noise that escaped him.

“Sensitive already?” II murmured, one brow raised, clearly amused.

III scowled at him. “You’ve literally already had me on five different dildos,” he sassed, before his expression melted into something more uncertain as the machine gave a soft whir when II adjusted the controls.

“II,” he pleaded, voice mostly whine.

“Relax,” II said, stroking a hand down his thigh. “You can take it. I’ll make sure of it.”

The first push was slow, agonizingly slow, so deliberate that it almost felt worse than being taken fast. III’s breath punched out of him, his back arching off the pillow as the stretch grew wider and wider.

“Ohh—fuck—”

“Breathe.” II’s voice was steady, almost gentle, though his hands were firm where they pinned III’s ankles and hip. “Don’t fight it.”

III tried, he really did, but the sensation was overwhelming. The size, the way it kept pushing, deeper and deeper, it was too much. He writhed against II’s grip, every instinct screaming at him to get away, to shut his legs, to push the intrusion out, but II didn’t budge.

“Stay still,” II ordered, calm but with an edge of command that made III freeze. “Let it fill you. Good. Just like that.”

He’s actually going to kill me, III thought wildly, nails digging into the sheets. I’m going to die like this. Death by fuck machine. There are worse ways, but still—

Another slow push and III let out a broken, high-pitched sound, not quite a moan, not quite a sob.

“That’s it,” II said softly, watching him with a mix of pride and cruel satisfaction. “Good boy. Take it all.”

The machine began to pull back, then drive in again with the same measured pace, a relentless rhythm that left III no room to think. His body strained against the pillow, sweat slicking his chest and temples, his cock hard and aching and untouched.

“God—II—please—” he panted, unsure if he wanted it to stop or go faster.

II’s fingers dug into his hips, holding him still as the machine worked him open, each stroke a little easier, a little deeper. “You can beg all you like,” he said mildly, “but you’re not getting out of this. Not until I say.”

III groaned in desperate pleasure, every smart remark he wanted to make dissolving on his tongue. The sound of the machine filled the room, obscene and unrelenting, and all III could do was take it.

II leaned forward slightly, brushing damp hair back from III’s face with one hand, almost tender. “Knew you’d look beautiful like this,” he murmured, and something in III’s chest twisted sweet and hot.

But then the machine’s hum deepened, and the tempo changed, driving faster, harder, in a merciless pound. The dildo slammed into him in a rhythm that stole the air from his lungs, each thrust dragging a strangled sound from his throat.

“F—fuck!” III choked, his hands scrabbling at the sheets, at anything, as his body jolted on the bed. With every piston-like thrust, his body was rocked upwards, hips only forced to stay level by II’s firm grip.

“That’s it, love,” II praised, voice low and deliciously cruel. “Let it use you.”

III wanted to say something snarky, something sharp, but all that came out was a broken moan that made II’s mouth curl further around a grin. His body betrayed him, clenching around the relentless stretch, shuddering each time the dildo bottomed out inside him.

“II—!” III tried, before another thrust made him gasp so hard his vision went white.

The pace climbed higher, each thrust sharper, faster, harder, until III’s whole body was a live wire of sensation. The pressure built quick and hot in his gut, unbearable, unstoppable, until it snapped.

He came with a strangled cry, his cock spilling over his stomach, streaks of white splattering his chest and even up to his throat. He barely noticed that his own voice had gone hoarse from the moaning.

But II didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow the machine.

Instead, II’s thumb rolled the remote dial a fraction higher, the mechanical whir turning meaner as the dildo practically became a blur.

III sobbed, the aftershocks of his orgasm sparking through increasingly overstimulated nerves. “II—II, wait—”

“You can come as many times as you like,” II cut in smoothly, his eyes gleaming. “But we’re not finished until I say so.”

A rush of something dark and hot curled through III’s chest. Fear, yes, but so sharp-edged it felt almost like arousal.

God, if you’re listening, I promise to behave if you get me out of this alive. Okay, that’s a lie, but still—

The machine fucked into him without mercy, slick sounds filling the room as if mocking him. III couldn’t hold back the noises tearing out of him, half-pleas, half-moans, each one making II’s expression grow more intent.

And then II moved, palming the remote in one hand, thumb hovering over the controls like a threat, before climbing onto the bed. The towel he’d been wearing hit the floor with a soft swish, and suddenly he was there, straddling III’s hips, his cock hard and gleaming with pre-cum.

III’s hazy brain tried to process too many things at once – the relentless thrusting, the sweat rolling down II’s chest, the new weight of him so close. His mouth dropped open, a helpless whimper escaping.

II ground down deliberately, letting his heavy cock drag against III’s stomach. “Surprise, baby,” he said, his tone rough, dark. “I have another treat for you.”

“Holy fuck,” III breathed, eyes going wide. The heat of II’s body against his felt like torture, especially as his own cock was trying to rise again despite what his refractory period dictated.

It took III a moment to register what he was feeling where II’s ass pressed against him – something solid, unyielding, not the softness he expected. Realization hit like lightning.

“You—” His voice cracked, past delirium. “You have a plug in?”

II chuckled, and the sound rolled over III like velvet and smoke. “Of course. What kind of reward would this be otherwise?”

Something primal flared in III’s chest. The thought of being allowed to be inside of II, to fuck him, something that had never been offered before, made his cock twitch back to life, shamefully eager.

But the machine was still fucking him mercilessly, each thrust short-circuiting his thoughts, and any pretence that it would be III doing the fucking crumbled under the relentless pace.

“II— please,” he panted, his voice wrecked, shaking his head against the pillow. “I—I won’t be able to—enjoy it—like this, I can’t even—”

His complaint dissolved into a desperate, high-pitched whimper as the dildo bottomed out hard enough to make his toes curl.

II leaned over him, one palm braced by his head, the other stroking absently down his trembling, cum-soaked chest. His breath was hot at III’s ear when he spoke.

“That’s exactly the point, sweetheart,” he said softly, almost lovingly, though the cruelty threaded through his tone made III shiver. “You only get to fuck me when I know you’re completely at my mercy. When you can’t think, can’t control yourself, only then will you earn the privilege.

Something in III’s chest gave way at that, a soundless, dizzy rush of arousal washing over him.

He’s going to break me, III thought, shuddering as another orgasm threatened far too soon. And I think I want him to.

With a wicked grin, II leaned back on his haunches, one hand reaching behind him. There was a sharp, obscene pop as the plug slid free, a slow drizzle of lube following it, glistening on II’s fingers. He held them there for a moment, deliberately letting III feel the mess dribble down onto him, letting the sensation settle deep in his fogged brain.

III’s mouth fell open, and he felt his cock twitch painfully against his stomach. The thought of II open, glistening and ready, hit him like a blow to the chest.

“Oh, fuck…” he breathed, though it came out a whimper.

II smirked, clearly pleased with the reaction, before lining himself up and guiding III’s aching cock against his entrance. The heat of II’s body was dizzying, almost unbearable in III’s over-sensitised state.

“Hold on tight,” II warned, voice dark with promise.

Then he dropped.

The force of it knocked the air out of III’s lungs. II sank down in one fluid motion, impaling himself all the way to the hilt, and III howled an unrestrained, guttural sound that barely sounded human. His hands shot out to clamp around II’s waist, fingers digging bruises into soft flesh as if he could anchor himself against the pleasure threatening to rip him apart.

“Holy— holy fuck—” he babbled, hips jerking helplessly upward, trying to fuck back despite the machine already pounding him mercilessly from below.

But the rhythm was not his to control. The machine set the pace, unrelenting, fucking him deeper and harder into II’s slick heat with every piston-like thrust. All III could do was take it, his head thrown back, his mouth falling open on broken sounds.

II didn’t give him an inch of mercy. Instead, he began to move, riding III with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips that matched and mocked the machine’s pace. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on III’s chest, smearing through the streaks of cum already drying there, his fingers trailing up to tweak one nipple, then the other.

When III flinched, II’s mouth curled into something cruel and delighted, and he pinched harder.

“Ahh—!” III cried out, his back arching off the bed. The sharp jolt of pain shot straight through him, only to melt into something molten and hot, blurring with the pleasure until he couldn’t tell which was which.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?” II mocked, his voice syrupy with amusement. “Thought you wanted to fuck me. You can’t even hold still.”

III wanted to argue, wanted to snap back with something smart – You’re the one bouncing on me like a slut, sir! – but the words tangled in his throat as another thrust from the machine had him gasping instead.

The machine didn’t slow. Neither did II. The room filled with slick, wet sounds, the mechanical rhythm of the machine and II’s grunts and III’s helpless moans blending into something obscene.

The pressure coiled tight, faster than he expected. Too soon. Too much.

“II—!” he gasped, words slurring as if his tongue was too heavy. “Stop— if you don’t stop I’m—gonna—”

II laughed, low and cruel, never slowing. “Then come,” he said, almost sweetly. “It won’t stop me using you.”

The words detonated inside III’s chest, leaving him shuddering, clenching, spilling again in a weak, desperate orgasm. Hardly anything came out this time, just a hot dribble that II greedily rocked against, letting it smear out between them.

“Pathetic,” II purred, not with disdain but with a kind of dark reverence. “Already spent and I haven’t even gotten my fill yet.”

III could barely think anymore. His body felt boneless, trembling with overstimulation, but II wouldn’t let up. He kept riding, faster now, chasing his own high, each bounce forcing III’s softening cock to rub inside him, milking every last drop he had left.

When III finally slipped free, soft and spent, II simply shifted higher, straddling III’s chest. His cock was flushed dark, glistening with pre-cum, and III could only blink up at him with glassy eyes.

“Look at you,” II said, stroking himself harshly as the machine kept up its punishing rhythm. “So fucked out and pliant. You look good like this. Tell me—” He angled his cock toward III’s face, smirking. “Was it worth it? Dodging Vessel’s little game in the woods, just to end up here like this?”

III could barely form words, but he forced a shaky grin, voice hoarse and thready. “It’s always worth it,” he rasped. “To be with you.”

That seemed to please II. His smirk softened just a fraction, and he reached down, dragging his slick fingers through the mess on III’s chest before pushing them past III’s lips.

“Open,” he commanded.

III obeyed, sucking on II’s fingers as the machine kept pounding him, drool leaking down his chin as the taste of himself filled his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut, lost in the humiliating sweetness of it, barely even hitching a breath once he felt the flood of II’s come start to spurt past his fingers, down III’s throat.

When II was finally spent, his free hand reached for the remote, his thumb hovering. “Think you’ve had enough for tonight?” he teased, his tone playful and dangerous all at once.

III could only nod weakly, still sucking on II’s fingers.

“All right then.”

II pressed a button, sending one last vicious burst of vibration through the toy buried deep inside III before the machine slowly wound down, leaving him empty but still twitching.

II climbed off him and crouched low, brushing damp hair from III’s forehead with surprising tenderness. “You did so good baby,” he murmured, almost kind now.

After the brutal intensity of what II had just put him through, III was more wreck than man, and he probably would have passed away into the void without II insisting that they clean up.

Surprisingly strong arms scooped him up under the arms and waist, guiding him to his feet. III’s knees wobbled embarrassingly, and he clutched at II’s forearm to stay upright, the remnants of sweat and lube making his skin tacky.

“There we go,” II said, softer now, steadying him like he weighed nothing despite III towering over him.

III groaned as his feet touched the floor, thighs trembling still from his time on the floor. His entire body ached in the most obscene way – stretched, used, buzzing – and the thought of taking even three steps made him whimper.

“You trying to kill me?” he croaked, voice hoarse from moaning and shouting.

II’s mouth quirked into something smug. “If I were trying to kill you, you’d still be on the bed.”

“Free me from this lunatic,” III muttered, seemingly talking to the ceiling, and shuffled toward the bathroom on legs that barely worked.

II just huffed a laugh and steered him forward, half-carrying him until they crossed the threshold.

The bathroom was gorgeous – dark stone tiles, backlit mirrors, one of those rainfall shower heads big enough to drown under. III’s eyes landed on the gleaming shower stall and he made a low, pitiful sound.

“No tub?” he asked, half whining, half praying. “II, I’m not sure I can stand long enough for a shower.”

II chuckled, and this time it was genuine, warm, and maybe a little too pleased with himself. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Before III could argue, II guided him into the wide, glass-walled shower. The tiles were warm under his bare feet, heat radiating up through his sore calves. III didn’t even try to resist when II pointed toward the floor.

“Down.”

The command was soft, but III felt it like a jolt down his spine. He sank instantly, knees kissing tile, then let gravity take the rest. His body sprawled sideways until he was lying flat on the floor, cheek against the heated tile, arms flung out like a crime scene chalk outline.

“Oh, yeah,” he sighed, every muscle unwinding at once. “This is it. This is my grave.”

II’s low chuckle rumbled from above him, the only warning he got before the shower came alive with a hiss.

A sheet of hot water cascaded from the rain head, drenching him in seconds. Steam filled the enclosure almost instantly, curling around them, and III let out an undignified moan as the spray pounded over his back and down his legs, washing away the lube and sweat and cum.

“Bliss,” he mumbled into the tile, too gone to care how pathetic he sounded around mouthfuls of water.

He didn’t even move when II crouched next to him, soft hands combing through his wet curls, tugging them gently. It was too soothing, too intimate, and it made something warm bloom in III’s chest despite himself.

“You look good like this, so fucked out for me,” II murmured.

“Yeah, yeah.” III cracked one eye open, just enough to give him a crooked, exhausted grin. “Remember: You break it, you buy it.”

That earned him a low laugh and a brief kiss pressed to his temple.

But then II stood, towering over him again, reaching for something on the wall with a look that was far too innocent to be real.

“You wanna see what modifications I made to the shower jets?”

III’s eyes flew open— and then he groaned dramatically, already trying to crawl toward the edge of the stall with all the grace of a wet cat.

“Please, god, no.”

Chapter Text

So, it turns out their weekend trip hadn’t just been some elaborately romantic getaway – it had also been a soft landing for some bad news.

On their last morning in the woods, over coffee and pancakes, II and Vessel had finally told them the truth. They’d be gone for the entirety of next week, off to LA for a last minute label meeting with their most successful band. The sort of thing they couldn’t miss, and something neither III or IV could come along for, no matter how much they pouted.

At first, it wasn’t so bad.

Yes, their flat felt emptier without II’s habit of knocking once before letting himself in, or Vessel’s sudden appearances at two in the afternoon to make tea and hum to himself – but III was still there, always IV’s constant.

He still leaned on the kitchen counter with his coffee every morning, hair sticking up, somehow, in only three distinct directions. He still called him angel before they walked to work together. Still texted him dumb memes on the breaks they didn’t share.

So Monday, IV almost convinced himself he was fine.

But then Tuesday… Tuesday had edges.

He hadn’t realised at first how high he’d been floating all weekend, how completely Vessel’s voice had gotten under his skin, calling him good boy in that warm, heavy tone that made his chest ache. He’d carried that tone home with him like a talisman, had slept with it still humming in his ears. And at first it had been a comfort.

But now, in the quiet of their absence, it felt more like a phantom ache.

His body still thrummed faintly from the scene, little aftershocks running through him whenever he shifted in a seat or tried to lift a heavier box of toys at work.

By Tuesday afternoon, that hum wasn’t grounding anymore, it was hollowing. Each hour seemed to carve a little more space out of him until he felt stretched too thin.

III didn’t notice. Or maybe he noticed but didn’t know what it truly meant.

“Oi, space cadet,” he teased when IV burned their dinner that night. “You miss them that bad already?”

IV tried to laugh, but it came out sounding strained. “Yeah. Guess so.”

III grinned, undeterred. “Could’ve fooled me. I thought you were auditioning for Worst Chef in Britain. This carbonised lasagna is a war crime.”

“It’s not that bad,” IV muttered, poking the edge of the pan, which crackled ominously.

“It’s practically radioactive, love,” III said, deadpan, then looked up at him with a grin that could melt the harshest winter. “I’ll still eat it for a fiver though.”

IV smiled faintly. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

III said it lightly, but there was warmth behind it – that steady, familiar kind of warmth that IV usually found grounding. Tonight, though, it didn’t stick. It just bounced off the edges of whatever was hollowing him out inside.

He turned back to the sink, scraping the solid mass of lasagna into the bin… then throwing in the tray for good measure, too. “Guess I’ll order us takeaway instead.”

III leaned his hip against the counter, watching him. “You good, though?”

IV nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Tired’s fair. You spent the weekend getting absolutely railed in the woods,” III said, smirking. “And after II’s brand of torture, I’m not sure I could function either— and that’s assuming I had cooking skills to begin with.”

IV gave a weak huff of laughter. “You don’t need any help making food worse, III.”

“Hey!” III gasped, hand over his heart in mock offence. “That was the part where you were supposed to say, ‘Nooo, my beautiful, handsome, dazzling III, you’re so good at cooking.’ Now you’ve lost massage privileges, mister.” He punctuated it by poking a finger into IV’s chest.

IV managed a small pout. “Didn’t need ’em anyway.”

“Right, sure.” III grinned, clearly unconvinced. “You say that, but I’ve seen corpses livelier than you this week.”

That earned a soft snort from IV, but it died quickly, fading into a tired sigh.

III hesitated, eyes flicking over him. “Hey,” he said, voice softening a little, “I was kidding, angel. You sure you’re alright?”

IV moved to rinse some already clean dishes, keeping his gaze down. “Yeah. Just feels… quiet. Without them. The time difference makes it hard to talk.”

“Mm. You miss Vess fussing over you, huh?”

He smiled faintly. “And II bossing everyone around.”

“And me, being the only competent one in the relationship,” III added, grinning.

“That’s pushing it.”

“Excuse me,” III said, mock-offended. “I am the emotional glue that holds this poly disaster together.”

IV actually laughed this time, a small, real acknowledgment of how true that really was.

III looked absurdly proud of himself, and for a while, the mood lightened. They ate their takeaway on the sofa, III rambling about some customer who’d come in when IV was on his break, yelling at III about how lube should be ‘complimentary’ with every purchase. He gestured dramatically, miming the customer’s expressions, and IV tried to follow along.

But halfway through, his focus slipped. He was nodding and smiling at the right beats, but the warmth he usually felt around III, that easy, fizzy feeling, wouldn’t catch. Everything inside him felt one degree removed, like he was watching himself from somewhere slightly to the left of his own body.

III filled the silence for both of them, spinning stories and cracking jokes until IV was smiling again, at least on the outside.

When they went to bed, III was the last to flop down, half on top of IV, wrapping himself around him like a koala. “You smell like smoke,” he murmured into IV’s neck.

“From dinner?”

“From hell,” III said dramatically, muffled against his skin. “We’ve forsaken the kitchen gods with that lasagna, now we’ll surely burn for all eternity.”

IV smiled again, small but genuine. “You’ll live.”

“I’ll live,” III echoed, already dozing. “‘Cuz we’ll be there together.”

He was asleep not even a minute later.

IV lay awake long after. The room was dark and still, and he could feel III’s weight warm against his side, his breath soft and steady. Normally, that would make him feel safe, anchored.

Tonight, it only made the emptiness inside him more obvious.

He stared at the ceiling, the same thoughts circling like moths around a flame: They’ll be back soon. Stop overthinking. Whatever this is, it can wait until they’re back.

But his brain refused to listen.

Wednesday morning, he woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. His body felt heavy and cold, his head fogged. He stood in front of the mirror for too long, staring at his own reflection until it blurred. The tired shadows under his eyes. The faint bruises at his hips, the ones Vessel’s hands had left.

They should be fading by now, shouldn’t they? He brushed a thumb over one, feeling the ache still living under the skin. Was he healing too slowly? Or maybe he didn’t want them to fade at all, maybe part of him wanted to keep some proof that it had happened. That Vessel’s voice really had gone soft and low against his ear, that he’d really desired him so carnally.

He sighed, pressing his palms against the cool edge of the sink. Was he supposed to miss them this much?

Work that day felt like a role he wasn’t good enough to play. He smiled when customers smiled, made his usual customer service jokes that landed half a second too late.

III was his usual self, bright and loud and flirtatious, flitting from one task to another like he ran on a different kind of energy. He still bumped IV’s shoulder when they passed, still winked when their eyes met across the counter.

But each small kindness only made IV’s stomach twist tighter. III made everything look so easy – the charm, the confidence, the affection. Everyone adored him, even strangers. It wasn’t jealousy exactly; it was more like standing just outside a circle of light and trying not to think about the encroaching cold.

By the time they closed up the shop, IV’s chest ached with it.

And that was when the other thoughts came creeping in, the ones he’d been dodging for days.

II planned the weekend so Vessel would catch me.

So he could have III to himself.

So he could… have the one he really wanted.

It infected him like static through his limbs, a low, insistent hum that wouldn’t shut off.

He knew it wasn’t true. Of course he knew. II wasn’t like that, he wasn’t calculating or deceptive. He’d seen the way II looked at him, touched him, held him. He could still remember every time II played with his hair unprompted, the quiet affection in his voice every time he called IV “sweetheart.”

Those weren’t lies.

And yet… the thoughts clung to him anyway.

Because maybe it didn’t have to be malicious to hurt. Maybe II just wanted different things, better things, things that only III could provide. Maybe IV was always going to be the quieter choice – softer, less exciting, the one who could be spared.

He thought about the scene again, about Vessel’s voice rough with praise, about how wanted he’d felt in that moment.

If Vessel had the choice, he thought, staring down at his dinner, would he really have picked me?

He wanted to say yes.

He wanted to believe it.

But the uncertainty of his own thoughts felt too loud to argue with.

The next day, IV called off sick. He mumbled something about a headache and not sleeping well again, but all he could really focus on was the slow, creeping chill working its way up to his heart.

III gave him a look that lingered a little too long, but still didn’t truly see.

“You’re really leaning into the whole lonely-housewife aesthetic,” III teased eventually, trying for lightness as he adjusted his collar in the hallway mirror. “You gonna start wearing one of those silk robes and gazing out the window like you’re waiting for your sailor to come home?”

IV huffed a laugh, half-hearted. “Maybe I will. Get myself a martini and some pearls while I’m at it.”

“Perfect. I’ll bring flowers on my return,” III said, stepping in close enough to drop a kiss on the top of IV’s head. But he didn’t straighten right away, just lingered there, hands on IV’s shoulders, thumbs brushing once in a small, grounding motion. “You know your sailors are always gonna come home to you, right, love?”

“Of course,” IV said automatically. He tried to smile, but it came out thin. “And I’ll always be here waiting for their return.”

III studied him for a moment longer, then he exhaled and tapped IV’s nose gently. “Don’t do anything scandalous while I’m gone, yeah?”

IV forced a little smirk. “No promises.”

III gave him one last searching look, then grabbed his jacket and keys. “Alright, alright. Rest, drink some water, and— if you burn the place down trying to make soup, make sure you haunt me.”

The door shut behind him with a cheerful jingle of keys, and IV’s smile fell almost immediately.

The echo of III’s footsteps down the hall faded, and IV was left with the hum of the refrigerator and the faint creak of pipes; sounds that felt too loud in the sudden emptiness.

He pulled a blanket over his head and just… stayed there.

You’re being dramatic, he told himself. They’ll be back in a few days. Everything will be fine once they’re back.

But the more time passed, the more that little voice in his head changed shape – quieter, sharper.

You only got caught by Vessel because II was always going to go for III.

That’s who he really wanted, really wants.

You were just second best.

IV squeezed his eyes shut, face buried in the couch cushions, trying to press the thoughts out of his skull by sheer force. His heartbeat thudded dully in his ears, matching the slow, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

It wasn’t about III. It never would be. He loved III – God, he adored him – every smirk, every eye roll, every half-insult that made him laugh anyway. He loved that II and Vessel loved him too, that the four of them could exist in this strange, warm, sprawling thing together. That was supposed to be the point.

But every time he thought about II choosing him, really wanting him, the memory felt fragile, like a glass ornament he was holding too tightly, terrified he’d crush it.

What if II only wanted him when it was convenient?

When no one else was around.

When it didn’t mean choosing.

The thought burned.

IV shifted under the blanket, restless and uncomfortable in his own skin as the chill slowly working through his limbs intensified, turning everything jittery. Was it supposed to feel this cold, without them?

The remnants of the weekend still thrummed faintly inside him – the echo of Vessel’s voice in his ear, the weight of hands on his hips – but it hadn’t felt grounding for a while now.

He kept replaying that stupid moment before the game started: watching II’s eyes cut towards III, the glint of challenge there, that faint smirk when III darted into the trees. At the time, it had been nothing, a teasing, playful gesture. But now, twisted through the fog in his head, it looked like intent.

He’d already decided.

IV’s stomach turned. He tried to push it away – what did it matter, anyway? He loves you, he’s said it a hundred times – but every rational thought was answered by something meaner.

He loves you, sure. But maybe just a little less.

He rolled onto his stomach, shaking now, clutching the blanket tighter, as if that could keep the thoughts out. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid.

And yet.

Why was it so hard to hold onto what he knew? Why did logic slip through his fingers the moment he reached for it? Why did every breath feel heavier than the last?

His eyes burned. The blanket was damp against his cheek, though he wasn’t sure when he’d started crying.

He thought about that day in II’s studio, the first time they’d really been together. How terrified he’d been that II truly wouldn’t want to touch him, all of him. The scars. The parts of his body that didn’t match the map it was supposed to follow. He’d been convinced II would pawn him off again, somehow.

Instead, II had been patient. Steady. Whispering you’re perfect until IV had believed it.

Almost believed it.

And now here he was again, tearing himself apart over nothing, because his brain refused to let him believe the things he’d already been shown.

Anger bubbled low in his chest – not at II, or Vessel, or even the silence filling the flat. Just at himself. For being this fragile. For needing so much. For being the one who cracked himself open so easily.

He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be the soft one, the good boy, the one who didn’t make problems where there weren’t any.

But the more he tried to shove the feeling down, the more it rose up, heavy and aching, pressing against his ribs until he could hardly breathe.

By the end of the day, he still hadn’t eaten. The blanket cocooned around him felt like both armour and chains, but it did little to quell the icy feeling now rooted inside of him.

His phone lit up on the coffee table every so often, III’s messages glowing like little pieces of normal life he couldn’t quite reach.

III: did you eat angel? need me to bring food?
III: stop ghosting me, i’ll come kick your ass.
III: i’m getting chinese okay?

He couldn’t bring himself to answer. His hands felt too heavy, fingers frozen stiff, his throat too tight.

Everything was dull. Flattened. Even his heartbeat didn’t sound like his own anymore. Just a quiet, steady thud that reminded him of how empty everything suddenly felt.

III came home to find IV still in the same hoodie he’d left him in that morning, curled up on the couch like he hadn’t moved all day. The curtains were half-drawn, the air heavy with the stale scent of untouched coffee. A half-eaten bowl of cereal from that morning sat on the table, milk dried into the edges.

III paused in the doorway, keys dangling from his fingers. “Feel any better?” he asked softly.

IV blinked up, slow, eyes unfocused. “Yeah,” he said automatically, the word falling flat, papery. “Just tired still.”

III didn’t believe him, but he also didn’t push, not yet. Instead, he set down his bag and moved through the quiet with practiced ease, like he’d done this a hundred times before. “C’mon,” he said lightly. “Up. Kitchen. I’m reheating the good Chinese, and you’re my ‘don’t let me burn the place down’ supervisor.”

IV made a weak sound of protest, but let himself be pulled up. His limbs felt heavy, like someone had replaced his bones with wet sand.

In the kitchen, III busied himself with containers and chopsticks, humming some half-tune under his breath. The microwave beeped, too loud in the silence.

Not for the first time that week, III felt something twist in his chest at the way IV just… sat there, staring into nothing, shoulders drawn in like he was trying to fold himself smaller.

“You’re brooding,” III said finally, gentling his voice. “And don’t deny it, I can practically hear the storm clouds.”

IV tried to laugh, but it cracked halfway out, more breath than sound. “Maybe.”

That was enough to make III cross the kitchen. He stopped in front of IV, stepping between his knees, tilting his chin up with two fingers. “Talk to me, baby.”

For a long moment, IV didn’t. His jaw flexed. His eyes looked everywhere but at III. And then, in a whisper so quiet it barely made it out: “I think I miss them too much.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” III smoothed his thumb over IV’s cheekbone. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“It feels bad,” IV admitted, the words tumbling out on a shaky breath. “Like I don’t… I don’t know who I am without them right now. And I— I keep having these stupid, bad thoughts. I know they’re not true, but I can’t stop.”

III’s chest gave a sharp, protective ache under a sudden realisation. He brushed IV’s hair back from his face, pressed a kiss to his temple. “Okay,” he murmured. “That sounds like more than missing them. That sounds like a drop, love.”

IV’s whole body went rigid. “No,” he said too quickly. “No, I’m fine, I can— I just need—”

“Hey,” III interrupted gently, catching his hands before he could fidget them to pieces, feeling the slight tremors there. “You’re five seconds away from internally combusting. This isn’t just missing them, angel. This is your body forgetting how to come down without them.”

IV’s throat worked, eyes wide and wet. “I don’t want to bother them,” he said, too fast, panic creeping in at the edges. “They’re working, they’re busy— they’ll feel bad—”

“They should feel bad,” III said softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not because you’re a burden, or because it’s their fault, but because they love you. Because they’d never forgive themselves if they knew you were feeling like this and they didn’t help.”

IV shook his head, tears threatening to spill. “What if they think I can’t handle them leaving?”

“Newsflash, angel,” III murmured, thumb swiping away the first tear that broke free. “Neither of us can handle them leaving. I’m just an amazing actor.”

That earned a breathy, wet laugh, before IV sagged forward, finally giving in. His forehead pressed to III’s chest, breath catching in soft, uneven stutters.

III just held him, one arm around his shoulders, the other rubbing slow circles into his spine. “There you go,” he whispered. “That’s it, let it out.”

IV didn’t sob, exactly, it was quieter than that. It felt more like a steady leak of sadness, one he didn’t have the energy to stop. His fingers bunched in III’s shirt, gripping tight like an anchor against the burning emotion and numbing cold battling inside of his chest.

It wasn’t until the tension in IV’s shoulders started to give that III reached for his phone, still holding IV steady with his other arm.

“Gonna call them,” he said under his breath.

IV’s head jerked up immediately, eyes wide, voice breaking. “No— please, don’t—”

“Shh.” III pressed a kiss to his temple. “Just let me handle it, love.”

IV’s hands twisted tighter in his shirt, trembling, but he didn’t try to stop him again. His body sagged with exhaustion, too spent to fight, too raw to think straight.

III stayed standing between his knees, one arm still curved around him, feeling the faint tremor that hadn’t yet left IV’s body. He’d gone very still now – not calm-still, but heavy-still, the kind that made III’s chest tighten with worry.

He unlocked his phone with one hand, thumb hovering over II’s contact. “Calling them,” he murmured again, quiet but sure.

This time, IV didn’t protest. He just buried his face further into III’s chest and stayed there – a small, trembling shape trying to make itself smaller.

II picked up after barely two rings.

“You better not be calling me to brag about the toys you used at work, III,” came II’s low drawl, sharp but warm with amusement. “Because you know that’s gonna get your ass spanked when I’m back.”

Normally, that would have earned him a cheeky laugh. III just swallowed, glancing down at IV, who made a faint, wounded sound against his ribs.

“Hey,” III said quietly, tone stripped of its usual teasing. “I need you to listen, alright?”

Immediately, II’s tone shifted, all humour gone. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s IV,” III said, and even saying the name made him feel the full weight of how small and curled-up the boy was against him. “He’s… bad, II. Really bad. He hasn’t eaten much since you left, he hasn’t left the house except for shifts, and he called off today.”

There was a pause, dead air that buzzed in III’s ear.

“I think—” III swallowed again, kept his voice low. “I think he’s been in drop for days and just didn’t tell anyone. I only put it together tonight because he… he’s so far under now. I don’t think this gets better until you’re home.”

IV let out a faint whimper, mortified at hearing himself talked about, but too wrung out to lift his head.

“Is he with you right now?” II’s voice came sharp over the line, clipped in a way that meant he was fighting to stay calm. The kind of tone that usually made people stop in their tracks.

“Yeah,” III said quietly.

“Can you put me on speaker?”

III did as he was told, holding the phone out just enough so that IV could hear. II’s voice came through the speaker, lower now, still firm, still controlled, but with an edge of something raw beneath it.

“IV,” he said, carefully. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

IV froze, shoulders tight. The sound of II’s voice, calm and steady and gentle, nearly undid him on the spot. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt sandpaper-dry.

“I… I don’t know,” he managed finally, the words breaking halfway through as a shiver racked his body. He hated how small he sounded. “I just— I can’t stop thinking—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

There was a long pause. When II spoke again, his tone hadn’t changed – if anything, it got softer. The kind of tone that didn’t ask for obedience, just made it feel safe to give.

“Alright,” he said. “Good boy for trying for me.”

The praise hit like a blow and a balm all at once. IV’s eyes burned, his chest tightening until he could barely breathe.

“We’ll come home today,” II continued, voice steady in a way IV wasn’t.

That made IV look up fast, panic sparking in his voice. “No— you don’t have to— I’m fine, I swear—”

“IV.” The single word stopped him cold. II’s voice wasn’t raised, but it left no room for argument. “Not up for debate. Most of our work is done anyway, so Vess and I will get the next flight out.” A pause. “You stay with III, be good for him, eat something if you can. We’ll be there soon.”

There was something in II’s voice then, not frustration, but fear, tightly folded beneath the authority. IV heard it, and felt shame all the way down to his bones for being the cause. He nodded before remembering II couldn’t see him. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Good,” II said quietly. “That’s my boy.”

The line went silent except for the faint sounds on II’s end – footsteps, maybe Vessel’s voice in the background – and III quickly realised they’d stay there all day unless someone hung up first.

“See you soon, II,” he said softly, then clicked the call off, not waiting for a reply.

For a moment, they just stayed there in the quiet. The flat felt heavy, as if the air itself had thickened with everything IV hadn’t said. III could still feel the tremor in IV’s shoulders where they pressed against him, the heat of his skin betraying his boiling emotions.

“Come on, angel,” III murmured, coaxing gently. “Up you get. You’ll feel better after a shower.”

It took some convincing, quiet reassurances, a steady hand at his back, but eventually IV let himself be guided to the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the apartment, a soft, constant hush that almost felt like breathing.

When he came out again, hair damp and face flushed from the heat, III handed him one of Vessel’s old t-shirts, oversized and soft from years of wear. “There,” he said, trying for lightness. “See? Practically home with us already.”

IV managed a faint hum of agreement but said nothing more. He looked so small then, sinking into the centre of III’s bed, curling in on himself until he could tuck under the blanket III pulled over him.

III settled beside him, pulling him gently close until IV’s head rested over his heart. The steady rhythm of it seemed to help as his breathing evened out, slow and shallow, until sleep finally claimed him.

But, what neither of them knew was, halfway across the world, that quiet phone call had just set something, or someone, unravelling.

“II?” Vessel’s voice came from across the hotel room, steady but laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

II didn’t answer right away. He was standing by the desk, phone still in his hand, staring down at it like it might start ringing again if he blinked. The hotel air-conditioning hummed, far too loud.

“II.” Vessel crossed the room, the shift in tone sharp enough to make him finally look up. “Talk to me.”

“IV’s in a drop,” II said simply.

For a moment, Vessel didn’t seem to understand. Then his expression shifted, confusion giving way to horror so sudden it made II’s chest ache. “What?”

“III called me,” II said, still calm, though his fingers were white around his phone. “Said IV hasn’t been eating, has been getting worse every day. He sounded… bad. We need to go home.”

Vessel didn’t hesitate. He was already moving, crossing to the wardrobe, pulling out their suitcases with a kind of focused force that made the zippers rattle. “How soon can we get out?”

“We’ll get whatever’s the next available flight,” II said. “I’ll call while you pack.”

The words barely left his mouth before Vessel was throwing clothes into bags,  not folding, not checking, just moving. The calm precision that usually defined him was gone, replaced by an almost frantic energy that made the room feel smaller by the second. The soft thud of shoes, the rustle of fabric, the sharp exhale every time he remembered something else to grab.

“He was fine when we left,” Vessel muttered, mostly to himself. “He was fine. He was smiling. I thought Sunday would’ve been enough time—” He broke off, shaking his head hard, like he could physically dislodge the thought. “I should’ve known. I shouldn’t have—”

“Vess.”

The single word was low, steady. II had crossed the room now, closing a hand around Vessel’s wrist before he could wrench the suitcase shut.

Vessel froze.

II’s thumb brushed slow circles against his skin. “You’re doing good,” he said quietly. “We’re getting home. That’s what matters right now.”

Vessel’s throat bobbed. “This is my fault.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” Vessel’s voice cracked, the second fracture in his usual composure. “I planned that weekend. I pushed the game. I— he’s dropped because of me. Because I didn’t think. I left him right after—”

“Vessel.” II’s tone sharpened, but not cruelly, just enough to cut through the spiral before it could gain momentum. “Stop.”

Vessel blinked at him, chest tight.

“Listen to me,” II said, stepping in closer until they were nearly chest to chest. “He’s not broken. He’s just hurting. And we can fix that, but not if you start tearing yourself apart before we even get there.”

For a long moment, Vessel didn’t speak. His jaw flexed, eyes glassy, the muscles in his neck working as he tried to swallow back whatever threatened to spill out.

“I should’ve noticed,” he whispered finally. “He was— he looked so happy, I thought he was fine.”

II’s hand moved up to his face, thumb brushing beneath his eye. “You couldn’t have known,” he said softly. “He probably didn’t even know. Drops sneak up on you, that’s why we stay close after scenes, remember? You were with him the whole day after. That’s not failure.”

Vessel’s breath shuddered out of him, eyes darting away like he couldn’t stand the understanding in II’s gaze.

II caught his chin, made him look. “Right now, he doesn’t need guilt,” he said. “He needs you grounded. He needs us both grounded. So breathe, love. Pack our stuff. I’ve got the flights sorted.”

Vessel’s shoulders rose and fell with one shaky inhale, then another. He nodded once, small but real.

“Good,” II murmured, rocking up on his tip-toes to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now let’s go home to our boys.”

By the time they stepped into the hallway, bags zipped and lights off behind them, the veneer of calm had mostly returned. But II could see the tension in Vessel’s hands, the way his fingers twitched like he was reaching for something that wasn’t there, anxious.

And as the hotel door clicked shut, the only thing either of them could think about was how far away home suddenly felt.

When II and Vessel finally came through the arrival gate hours later, the contrast between them was almost startling.

Vessel looked wrecked. Not physically, he was still immaculate in his dark hoodie and flowy black trousers, but something in the way he moved was off. Too slow. Too careful. Like every step was being measured against the weight in his chest. His jaw was tight and bottom lip swollen from where he’d been chewing it raw since III’s call.

II, by contrast, was all controlled momentum – calm, composed, purposeful. The kind of calm that had gravity. He scanned the crowd once and found them instantly: III leaning against a pillar, IV folded small into a lounge chair behind him, as though trying to disappear.

II crossed the distance without a word and crouched in front of IV, lowering himself until they were level.

“Hey,” he said softly. His hands came up to cradle IV’s face, thumbs brushing just under tired eyes. “Look at me, angel.”

IV’s lips trembled, but he did.

“There you are.” II’s voice gentled even further. He pressed a kiss to IV’s forehead, then shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over his shoulders, tucking it close around him like armour. “We’re going home, and then we’ll figure out exactly what’s wrong, okay?”

Vessel had stayed back, letting II take the lead, but when IV’s watery gaze found him, something in his face crumpled.

“Sweet boy,” Vessel murmured, voice roughened by the flight and something far deeper. “I didn’t mean to leave you like this.”

IV shook his head, started to say it’s not your fault, but Vessel was already kneeling, pressing his forehead gently against IV’s knee in wordless apology. His shoulders shook once, just enough for III, watching above them, to understand with a small, cold shock that Vessel wasn’t just comforting IV. He was slipping too, guilt dragging him toward his own kind of drop, stripping away the last of his composure.

“Hey.” II’s voice cut in low and steady. He was gathering their bags, but his eyes flicked to Vessel’s bowed head. “None of that. Home first. Breakdown later.”

Vessel drew a long, shaky breath and nodded, keeping close as they made their way toward the exit. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to explain. Just matched his steps to IV’s, a silent apology in every careful stride.

The drive home was quiet.

Not tense, exactly, just the kind of quiet that made III’s skin itch, like the silence itself was pressing down on him. He sat in the back with IV, one arm looped around him, letting the rhythm of the car and the weight of IV’s head on his shoulder do most of the comforting. Every now and then, he’d adjust his hold or trace a slow line down IV’s arm, small reassurances he didn’t have words for.

Up front, Vessel sat beside II, head tipped back against the headrest, eyes half-closed. He looked like he was holding himself together through force of will alone. His hands were still in his lap, unusual for how touchy he usually was, and when the streetlights caught his face, III could see how tight his jaw was from grinding his teeth.

If II noticed, he didn’t comment. His hands stayed steady on the wheel, his focus unbreakable, the calm eye at the centre of all their storms. The steady rise and fall of his breathing filled the car, grounding them all by proxy.

When they finally pulled up outside II and Vessel’s flat, II was out first, unlocking the door before anyone could fumble for keys. His movements were quiet, efficient, the kind of gentle authority that didn’t invite argument – not even from III, who usually made a point of teasing him about it.

“Bedroom,” II said simply, holding the door open, and they obeyed.

III ended up perched against the headboard, knees drawn up, feeling like he’d wandered into a space that suddenly wasn’t his. Too casual, too loud in his own skin for how heavy the air had gotten.

II solved that without a word, guiding IV to the bed, easing him down until his head came to rest in III’s lap. IV didn’t even try to resist. He just folded in on himself, breathing shallow against the soft fabric of III’s old jeans.

Then II turned to Vessel. The man who usually filled any room he entered now looked small, shoulders bowed, sharp edges dulled by exhaustion and guilt. II’s touch was careful as he coaxed him down too, letting Vessel settle in close against IV’s front, forehead tucked to his chest like he needed the proof of life beneath his ear.

“Good,” II murmured, the word equal parts command and reassurance. He slipped in behind IV last, spooning him carefully, one broad hand curving over his waist, anchoring them all together.

III stayed still, one hand drifting into IV’s curls, combing through with slow, steady strokes until the trembling eased.

No one spoke. The only sound was the quiet tangle of their breathing, uneven at first, then gradually finding the same rhythm.

Then II broke the silence, voice low but firm, the kind of tone that said I’m here, we’re not leaving until this is fixed.

“Alright, angel,” he murmured against the back of IV’s neck. “Talk to me. What happened?”

IV swallowed hard, throat thick. All week the thoughts had been clawing at him, huge and heavy and cruel, but now they felt so small in the space between II’s steady voice and Vessel’s quiet breathing.

II’s thumb drew slow, grounding circles at his hip, Vessel’s hand was warm against his ribs, and III’s fingers moved through his hair in patient, soothing rhythm. The cold that had settled deep in him finally cracked, thawing under the steady heat of their presence.

All of it coaxed him closer to speech.

“It was fine at first,” IV whispered finally. “Just… the quiet. The flat felt too big without you two dropping in all the time. I thought it was just that.”

“Mm,” II hummed, soft and encouraging.

“But then… it started to feel like I never came down from the weekend. Like— like I was still in that scene with Vess, except you weren’t there anymore and—” He cut himself off, breath shaking, jitters returning.

Vessel’s hand twitched against him.

“You needed more time,” II said gently, finishing for him. “More aftercare. More space to process.”

IV nodded, miserable. “Yeah.”

“And then?”

IV hesitated, then forced it out. “And then I started thinking… about you. About how you planned it so Vess would catch me and you could be with III instead. How… maybe you didn’t really want me there.”

That made III still, his hand frozen in IV’s curls. He hadn’t realised the drop had cut so deep. Vessel flinched, pain carving through his features as he drew IV closer, as if he could block out the thoughts by holding him tighter.

“Angel,” II said after a long pause, voice so steady it made IV’s chest ache. “Look at me.”

IV turned slightly, just enough to catch the shine of II’s eyes in the dim light.

“You remember our first time together?” II’s tone softened, that quiet surety returning. “In my studio? You told me you thought I might not want you because of your anatomy.”

IV’s breath caught. “Yeah.”

“What did I tell you then?”

“That you wanted me exactly as I was.”

“And I meant it,” II said, his hand firming over IV’s waist, warm and sure. “I wanted you then. I want you now. The weekend wasn’t about getting away from you, it was about giving you something I knew you’d like. Being chased and caught. Being seen.”

Something cracked open in IV’s chest at that, and a small, wounded sound slipped free before he could swallow it down.

“You are wanted, love,” II whispered, forehead pressing briefly to the back of IV’s shoulder. “Every second. By all of us.”

Vessel stirred then, still pale and struggling with his own emotions. “I should’ve known better than to leave you alone right after a weekend like that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realise it would hit you so hard—”

IV shook his head, pressing his cheek into the crown of Vessel’s head. “No. That’s not on you. You did everything right, Vess. I loved it. Every bit of it.”

Vessel’s breath stuttered, the tension in his shoulders only loosening marginally.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” IV went on, steadier now, bolstered by the simple warmth of their presence. “Should’ve told you I was crashing instead of pretending I could deal with it.”

That earned him a tiny, wrecked laugh from Vessel, who dipped to kiss over his heart. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, voice thick. “But very lucky I’m too tired to argue.”

IV gave him a faint, tired smile. “Just don’t feel guilty. Please.”

“I’ll try,” Vessel said, and for the first time since III’s call, believed it might be possible.

II smoothed his palm once more over IV’s hip before glancing up at III. “You’re quiet.”

III shrugged, a little sheepish. “Didn’t realise how bad it was. I just thought he was sulking ‘cause you two were gone. I didn’t know it was this.”

“You did exactly the right thing by calling me,” II said simply.

That seemed to ease something in III, something he hadn’t even realised was building. He let his head tip back against the headboard, exhaling hard.

IV had gone loose-limbed between them, his voice barely more than a mumble when he said, “Just wanna be close to all of you. All the time.”

That made II glance over IV’s shoulder toward Vessel. Whatever passed between them was silent, but mutual, a look that said we’ve been thinking the same thing for a while.

II pressed a kiss to IV’s shoulder, voice low and deliberate when he said, “Then move in with us. Both of you.”

The words hung there a moment, soft and unexpected.

III blinked. “Sorry, what now?”

II’s lips curved. “You heard me.”

IV’s head lifted, eyes wide and wet, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it,” II said, thumb stroking gentle reassurance along IV’s side. “You already live here half the week anyway.”

Vessel huffed a laugh, the sound cracked but finally genuine. “Be warned,” he said, voice still a little rough, “I will lock you up like Rapunzel. Windows barred, tower secured.”

III gave an exaggerated gasp. “Finally, someone who appreciates me enough to commit a felony.”

“Not you,” Vessel muttered.

“Rude. I’d make a fantastic hostage.”

“Debatable,” II said dryly.

III rolled his eyes but smiled wider. “Look at us, we’re gonna be one big, emotionally stunted domestic nightmare. I’m so excited.”

That pulled a soft laugh out of IV. He tucked himself further into Vessel, hiding the smile spreading against his skin.

“See?” III said, smug now. “Already thriving in our new dysfunctional family home.”

II gave a quiet hum of amusement, reaching up to rest a hand on III’s leg in silent thanks. Vessel only sighed, long and slow, like some piece of him had finally unclenched.

For the first time all week, the air didn’t feel too heavy. The walls didn’t feel too quiet. There was no distance left to fill, just warmth and the steady rhythm of their breathing, tangled together as something whole again.

Chapter Text

IV had expected chaos when they’d all moved in together.

He’d pictured four toothbrushes fighting for dominance on the sink, Vessel’s endless mugs of tea breeding like rabbits across every surface, and III’s socks migrating into II’s meticulously organised drawers like invasive wildlife.

But that came later.

The morning after they’d agreed – the morning after II had said move in with us, both of you – everything still felt a little dreamlike.

IV woke to the soft clink of II in the kitchen, the hum of the kettle, and the smell of butter and toast drifting under the bedroom door. Morning light pooled across the sheets, warm against his bare skin.

His body felt heavy but content, the way it always did after coming out of a drop – like he’d been emptied out, scraped clean, and then filled with something gentler. Vessel’s arm was still looped around his waist, fingers tracing idle circles into the dip of his spine in a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

IV didn’t move. Couldn’t, really, with Vessel’s hold. His bladder had other ideas, but he held it off for as long as possible. His limbs felt boneless, his chest thick with that floaty ache that came after being so deeply seen, so thoroughly cared for.

When he did finally stir, unable to ignore his needs anymore, Vessel’s nose bumped against his clavicle. “Don’t move,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “You’re fragile.”

IV smiled faintly. “You say that like you won’t resort to biting me if I disobey.”

Vessel hummed, smiling faintly. “Only because you look edible.”

The door creaked open, and II’s voice cut through, fond and firm all at once. “You’re both getting breakfast before any biting happens.”

IV turned his head slightly, blinking toward the doorway.

II was there, barefoot and soft in a worn t-shirt, holding a tray that had one plate piled with precise toast triangles, another with two perfectly poached eggs, and the chipped blue mug IV had claimed months ago. It was the only one in their collection that didn’t look too perfect to ruin.

He crossed the room and set it on the nightstand, brushing his knuckles through IV’s hair, thumb pausing at his temple. “Eat,” he said, tone slipping into the calm authority that always seemed to ground them all. “You’re still pale.”

IV obeyed, because it was easier to listen than argue, and because his stomach suddenly remembered it was empty. Vessel grumbled something about being replaced by carbohydrates as IV wriggled himself into a seated position, but refused to let go, tucking himself closer as IV ate.

The first bite of toast melted on his tongue, all butter and salt and comfort at once, and IV felt himself moan softly.

“Don’t leave me for toast,” Vessel sulked, nosing further into IV’s skin.

“Never,” IV murmured back, voice barely above a whisper.

When III appeared a few minutes later, hair damp from a shower, shirt obviously stolen from Vessel and one sock missing, he paused in the doorway and grinned like he was taking in his favourite view.

“Do I get breakfast too,” he asked, “or do I have to earn it?”

II didn’t even look up from watching IV chew. “Sit.”

III flopped onto the bed, stretching out like a cat. “See, that’s the problem. You say that, and I want to obey, but my mother always said ‘respect is a two-way street,’ and you never listen to my orders.”

Vessel reached out and smacked his thigh lazily. “Stop talking before he makes you cook your own.”

III gasped in mock offence, rubbing the attacked skin. “Wow. Hostile energy in this flat. Can’t imagine living here constantly— it’d be stifling.”

But his grin gave him away.

II finally glanced up from the tray, arching a brow. “Then it’s a good thing we haven’t moved you in yet.”

III made a wounded sound. “Rude.”

IV tried to swallow his laugh but failed, the feeling bubbling soft and warm in his chest. Vessel’s grip tightened briefly, happy to be hearing the sound again, a reminder that that IV was safe, that they were together.

For a moment, IV just sat back against him, letting the easy noise of them fill the air – the clink of his cutlery, the scrape of toast as III stole a piece from his plate, the quiet rhythm of shared space already forming around them.

It wasn’t chaos yet. Not the toothbrushes or the socks or the mugs.

But it was coming.

And somehow, IV thought, he couldn’t wait.

The actual move took place a few days later, once Vessel had reluctantly reined in his pampering instincts and II had decided IV was steady enough not to faint halfway through lifting a box.

Of course, that didn’t stop Vessel from hovering.

He followed IV from room to room like a particularly attentive shadow, stealing boxes out of his hands with an offended scowl every time IV so much as bent his knees. “You can supervise,” he said firmly. “You’re very good at pointing.”

“I’m fine,” IV protested, though the smile in his voice betrayed him. “You’re making me feel useless.”

“Good,” Vessel replied. “Then the system’s working.”

Which was how he and III ended up wrestling the heavier furniture while IV stood to the side, watching with his arms folded and the kind of expression that suggested he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or intervene.

Currently, they were struggling underneath his bookshelf.

“I’ve got it,” Vessel grunted, trying to manoeuvre it through the doorframe, shoulders flexing beneath his shirt.

“You’ve absolutely not got it,” III shot back, straining on the other side. “Tilt it, you brute— no, the other way— Jesus, you’re going to crush me!”

“I’m going to do worse than that if you keep talking,” Vessel growled.

II passed by with a box under one arm, expression flat. “You two are aware it comes apart, right?”

Silence.

Then III said weakly, “In our defence, that feels like cheating.”

II didn’t even slow down, muttering about them “dying of incompetence” on his way past.

Vessel swore under his breath, and III started laughing so hard the bookshelf nearly toppled onto him again.

By the time everything was moved in, Vessel and II’s once immaculate flat looked like a battlefield.

Boxes towered in the hallway, half of the furniture was in the wrong rooms, and III had somehow managed to lose his left shoe between the stairs and the kitchen.

Unpacking turned into its own kind of chaos.

III immediately retreated to the master bedroom to ‘organise’ his things, which turned out to be code for merging his special drawer collection with II’s closet full of toys and implements.

“We’ll never have to buy anything from the shop ever again,” III said cheerfully, stacking vibrators like trophies. “We could open a museum.”

II pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already have most of these.”

III blinked. “Uh, well, we can use duplicates for… emergencies?”

“Keep them,” Vessel called from the hallway, carefully ferrying IV’s cacti into the spare bedroom newly claimed by him and III. “One set for the playroom, one for travel.”

III’s face lit up. “See? Finally, someone who respects the art of preparedness.”

II shot him a look. “How about I prepare your ass for a beating?”

By afternoon, the place had transformed from chaos to… lived-in chaos.

IV’s books lined one wall, carefully stacked by colour until III swooped in and deliberately swapped a few around “for visual intrigue.” Vessel’s instruments had migrated closer to a window in the living room, cables coiling like lazy snakes, and II had somehow found time to re-alphabetise the spice rack with III and IV’s new additions.

III tried his hand at decorating, which mostly involved scattering fairy lights in the most awkward of places, adding a framed photo of himself to the mantle, and leaving a glittery cushion on II and Vessel’s sensible grey sofa.

He was finally thwarted when II found him halfway through trying to hang a disco ball in the hallway.

“No,” he said simply.

III turned, pouting. “It’s tasteful.”

“It’s tacky.”

“It’s sparkly joy in a house full of repressed men.”

II took the disco ball out of his hands and set it on the counter. “Sparkly joy stays in your room.”

III muttered something about “aesthetically fascist doms” but obeyed, retreating to string the ball above his bed instead.

IV couldn’t stop smiling.

The noise, the clutter, the small arguments that never quite turned sharp, everything felt too big for one day but just right for them.

By evening, the four of them were sprawled across the couch, surrounded by the smell of takeout and the hum of the city outside. Boxes still lingered half-unpacked in the corners, a tangle of fairy lights blinked unevenly on the far wall, and there was glitter on the coffee table that no one could quite explain.

IV sat curled between Vessel’s legs, a cushion pressed to his chest, eyes half-lidded but content. Vessel’s hand rested loosely on his thigh, thumb tracing idle circles, possessive even in relaxation. III leaned against II’s shoulder, trying to feed him fries and getting swatted away every time.

The chaos IV had imagined had materialised, but it had come with something softer, still ridiculous, still loud in its own ways, but steady underneath.

Home, he thought, wasn’t what he’d pictured.

It was this.

The laughter, the warmth, the mess.

And the quiet, grounding certainty that when he woke tomorrow, he’d still be here, and so would they.

It took IV three weeks after they’d moved in to admit to himself just how much the woods had rewired him.

The memory lived under his skin like a low-grade fever. Vessel’s weight pinning him into the leaf-littered earth, the stretch and burn of surrender, the air gone thick and wild around them.

The idea of being prey had stopped being a joke somewhere in the middle of it all, stopped being something he shrugged off when Vessel growled it into his ear, and had become something alive, electric, a pulse that beat through his entire nervous system.

He’d come home from that weekend bruised and glowing, and though the drop had hit him hard afterwards, the glow hadn’t faded. If anything, it had sunk in deeper, coiling somewhere low in his spine, waiting.

He’d tried to shove it down, to pretend it was just a fleeting thrill, but the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

New deliveries at the shop were never a surprise.

IV loved the ritual of cracking open crates, the scent of cardboard and packing straw mingling with the faint tang of incense that always lingered in the back room.

It was his sanctuary, a place to sift through sexual oddities and trinkets, to let his imagination wander.

Usually, he’d rummage for something to make III smirk or Vessel raise an eyebrow, but mostly came up empty handed. Today, however, as he pried open a crate tucked in the corner, his heart stuttered, and his ears burned hot enough to rival the shop’s ancient radiator.

He was alone, thank fuck, hidden from the customers’ curious glances and, more importantly, from III’s brazen, knowing stare.

If III were here, catching the flush creeping up IV’s neck, he’d be done for. Probably bent over the nearest table before he could blink, III’s teasing voice in his ear, What’s got you so worked up, baby?

IV shivered at the thought, his thighs pressing together instinctively.

Nestled at the bottom of the crate, beneath a layer of tissue paper, were twenty cock sleeves, their packaging gleaming with an almost otherworldly sheen.

Sleek silver and green designs swirled across the boxes, each one embossed with a full moon and a howling wolf silhouetted against it. The word KNOTTED was printed along each in bold, elegant script, as if daring him to look away. IV couldn’t.

His breath caught, fingers hovering over the nearest box, the air suddenly thick with the scent of his own arousal.

He wasn’t a stranger to cock sleeves. Hell, he’d spent plenty of late nights scrolling through websites, curiosity piqued by the idea of them, wondering how they’d feel if his body were different.

In his fantasies, he always imagined himself big enough, thick enough, to make them redundant.

But these… these were something else entirely.

The silicone gleamed under the fluorescent lights, promising a stretch, a fullness, a knot that made IV’s cunt clench with a sudden, desperate ache.

He picked up a box, the weight of it grounding him even as his pulse raced.

The description on the side was clinical but tantalising: Textured ridges for enhanced sensation. Tapered knot for intense stretch and lock-in experience.

IV’s mind spiralled, painting vivid images of being stretched, filled, claimed.

His breath hitched, slick already pooling beneath his jeans, his body betraying just how badly he wanted to know what it felt like to be knotted.

Halloween was just around the corner, wasn’t it? The perfect excuse – a night of chaos, costumes, and indulgence.

IV’s lips curled into a shaky smile, his fingers tightening around the box.

He could already see it – himself in that Little Red Riding Hood outfit they’d just got in stock, all satin and lace, with Vessel, II, and III circling him like the wolves on the packaging, their eyes glinting with hunger.

He told himself it was just a costume idea. A cute couple’s thing. Red Riding Hood and her Big Bad Wolves.

No one would suspect anything. It was simple, thematic, fun. Totally normal. Nothing remotely loaded about it.

Except for the part where his stomach did a slow somersault every time he thought about it.

So, he started with Vessel, because that seemed safest.

They’d already brushed the edges of this whole predator-prey thing, and Vessel was always amused when IV tried to play things off as casual.

“Hey,” IV said one evening, leaning against the kitchen counter while Vessel loaded the dishwasher with the kind of focus that made even mundane chores look ritualistic. “What if we did, like… Red Riding Hood and the Wolf for Halloween? You’d look hot in ears.”

Vessel didn’t look up right away.

He set a plate carefully into the rack, then turned, leaning a hip against the counter. The corner of his mouth quirked. “Would I now?”

“Yeah.” IV’s voice cracked halfway through the word. “Like, uh, hot hot.”

Vessel dried his hands slowly, deliberately, the air between them tightening with each quiet swipe of the towel. “And you’d be Little Red? Basket, cape, the lot?”

IV swallowed, trying for nonchalance and failing. “It’s called a theme.”

“Mm.” Vessel stepped closer until IV’s back hit the counter. His thumb found IV’s chin, tilting his face up. “And what happens when the wolf catches her, hm?”

“I—I guess we’ll find out,” IV said too fast, pulse thrumming against Vessel’s hand.

Vessel’s grin deepened, slow and sharp. “You’re a terrible liar.” Then he brushed his mouth against the corner of IV’s lips, brief enough to feel like a tease. “Fine. I’ll wear the ears.”

IV’s knees nearly gave out, but he’d done it. One down, two to go.

With II, it was a completely different kind of danger.

He caught him in the studio, late afternoon light glinting in his hair, label papers spread around him like a halo of half-finished lyrics and beat notes.

“Hey,” IV started, lingering in the doorway. “I, uh, have a costume idea.”

II didn’t look up immediately. “If III’s roped you into suggesting his glitter princess idea again, the answer is still no.”

“No glitter,” IV said quickly. “Just… thought it’d be cool to do Red Riding Hood and the Wolf.”

That earned him a glance.

II’s glasses slid down his nose as he looked over them, mouth twitching. “You want me to be Red Riding Hood?”

IV blanched. “No! God, no— I meant— me as Hood, you as a wolf.”

II set his pen down, slow enough to make IV’s skin crawl with awareness.

“Ah,” he murmured, in that tone that meant he was smiling without showing it. “You sure this isn’t about being chased again?”

IV’s ears went pink. “It’s a costume, II.”

“Of course it is,” II said mildly, returning to his notes like nothing had happened.

But IV didn’t miss the smirk ghosting across his face.

And then there was III.

IV found him sprawled out on the sofa, half-asleep and watching a horror movie on mute.

“Let’s do matching costumes,” IV said, dropping onto the cushions beside him. “You, me, Wolf and Hood. Don’t tell the others, it’s a surprise.”

III blinked at him blearily, then grinned. “Wait, I get to be the wolf?”

IV hesitated. “…Yeah? Unless you wanna be Hood?”

III’s grin widened mischievously. “Nah, getting to see you look like a slut in a cape? Say no more, I’m in.”

IV groaned into his hands. “Why do you make everything sound like a porno?”

“Because everything is a porno if you believe in yourself,” III said, kicking his feet onto IV’s lap.

“Christ,” IV muttered.

III nudged him with his foot. “You’re blushing. That’s adorable, I bet you’ve already got the cape hidden somewhere, huh?”

IV buried his face in a cushion. “Go to hell.”

“Too late,” III said cheerfully. “I already live here.”

IV sent a pillow sailing straight for his face.

October 31st arrived with a sky the colour of bruised plums and a chill that made the windows sweat. The flat smelled like pumpkin spiced candles and cologne, something sharp and musky, pilfered from Vessel’s shelf by III.

Music thumped low from the living room, III’s playlist, aptly titled SEXY SPOOKY CHAOS, setting a pulse that matched the nervous throb in IV’s chest.

Everything was perfect, except for one small, catastrophic detail.

The Red Riding Hood costume at their store had sold out. Everywhere.

Apparently, it had gone viral two weeks earlier, which IV would have known if he’d spent less time fantasising about being cornered by wolves and more time checking stock levels.

Now, every vaguely red scrap of fabric in the city had been snapped up.

He’d tried three other stores, a last-ditch click-and-collect order, and even tried bribing their own manager to order more in. No luck.

Which was how he’d found himself inside Velveteen Dreams, the lingerie boutique III swore he’d never set foot in again after being banned for ‘testing’ the display bralettes.

What he’d gotten was… not a cape. It wasn’t even red or technically a costume.

IV had locked himself in the bathroom twenty minutes ago, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out, simply staring down at the bunny lingerie he’d panic bought.

He’d tried it on once before, alone, and almost backed out the moment he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

The stockings were sheer enough to make him blush, white cotton clinging tight to his thighs, the garter straps drawing neat little lines that framed the soft dip of his hips.

The under-bust corset gleamed opalescent in the low light, satin laced tight enough that every breath came shallow and careful, his chest rising and falling like he was trying not to give himself away. It cinched him in beautifully, his pecs still visible, skin catching the soft amber glow of the overhead light.

The complementary heels, tall and glossy, made him stand straighter than he ever had in his life.

And then there was the tail. The stupid, perfect, fluffy tail, stitched right above the curve of his ass onto the thong, swaying when he turned and making it impossible to take himself seriously.

He’d added the ears himself. Soft, floppy, white satin things that framed his face and somehow made everything worse.

For a long, stunned moment, he just stared into the mirror again.

It was overtly feminine, ridiculous even, and yet… he didn’t feel wrong in it. Not here. Not in the quiet safety of their flat, their home, filled with people who truly saw him.

IV knew they’d still watch him with hunger no matter what he wore, even if it was a nun’s habit. It wasn’t about the outfit. For them, it was only about him, and that knowledge always bolstered his confidence.

He looked down right sinful, in the most innocent way imaginable. Like prey dressed up for its own hunt.

His fingers shook as he fastened the final piece into place – his maroon leather collar. It looked stark against his all white ensemble, and the silver tag he’d added glinted under the bathroom light.

BUNNY.

It felt like a brand, a claim, a truth.

On the counter, a velvet pouch held a bottle of lube and three of the knotted sleeves. Those, too, had sold out fast, but IV had been obsessed enough that first day to quietly check three out before they ever hit the shelves, and to make sure III never saw him do it.

IV grabbed the pouch, its weight grounding him, and took one last look in the mirror. His reflection stared back, flushed and wide eyed, a bunny ready to be devoured.

He opened the door.

The living room was a den of wolves.

Before him stood three identical costumes of soft grey ears, clawed gloves, and clip-on tails swaying with the suggestion of movement. Each of them also wore a tailored black shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal flashes of throat and collarbone, the glints of skin catching in the low amber light.

They turned as one.

Vessel’s eyes were rimmed in dark liner, his gaze sharpened to a predatory gleam. III’s lips were painted a soft, dangerous red, like blood on snow. And II didn’t need makeup. His gaze alone was enough to pin IV in place, a quiet, edged hunger behind it.

The music faded into nothing.

IV’s voice was smaller than he meant it to be. “There’s been a—uh—change of plans.”

He stepped forward, the heels forcing his hips to sway, and three sets of eyes tracked the movement like predators sighting prey.

The air thickened, heavy with want.

“You’re the big bad wolves,” he said, throat dry as he clutched the velvet pouch. “And I’m… just a little bunny who wandered too far from the path.”

Vessel made a sound, half growl, half laugh, and took a step forward. II’s hand shot out, catching his wrist, but his own eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the iris.

“Easy,” II murmured, voice low, but his gaze was fixed on IV’s collar, the tag, and the way the leather stretched over his neck.

III just stared, mouth slightly open, and whispered, “Holy fuck.”

IV’s courage flickered, but he pressed on, pulling a sleeve from the pouch to reveal the thick, knotted base with a shy flourish. “I got these too,” he said, voice cracking. “If… if you want. We don’t have to—”

Vessel was across the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of IV, hands gentle but firm on his hips, thumbs brushing the edge of the corset. “Sweetheart,” he said, voice rough as gravel, “you think we don’t want to knot our bunny?”

II stepped up behind him, fingers tracing the collar, the tag, the delicate line of IV’s throat. “You’ve been planning this,” he said, soft and dangerous. “Hiding it from us. Naughty.”

III circled to the side, rubbing a floppy ear between two fingers. “You want us to hunt you, hm? Want us to chase you down and—” He glanced at the sleeve and grinned sharper. “—knot you stupid?”

IV’s knees almost buckled.

Vessel steadied him, grip growing tighter, more feral by the minute.

“Colour?” II asked, voice steady, the anchor in IV’s storm.

IV’s laugh was shaky, overwhelmed. “Green. So green. Please—”

“Then kneel,” II ordered, low and calm, threaded with that quiet authority that left no room for hesitation.

IV obeyed without thought, but the movement was anything but graceful.

His balance wavered, thrown off by the unfamiliar height of the heels and the tight pull of the corset biting into his ribs with every breath. Vessel helped to guide him down gently, still kneeling himself, one steadying hand at IV’s hip until his knees met the floor.

But that was all the softness IV would get tonight.

II’s hand fisted into Vessel’s hair, dragging him back upright with deliberate control. The sound that tore from Vessel’s throat was half a growl, half a gasp, and it sent a shiver straight through IV’s chest.

When he dared to look up, the sight that met him stole every thought from his head.

They loomed over him, all sharp lines and hunger, the ambient lighting catching on their unbuttoned shirts, the curve of their throats, the suggestion of fangs in their smiles.

Wolves, his wolves, every inch of them ready to devour.

“I think we might need some help getting those on, bun,” II said, voice rich with amusement.

His tone was lazy, almost playful, but his gaze burned with the same precision he used for everything, from command to touch. The weight of it was enough to make IV tremble.

His hands shook as he fumbled for the bottle of lube, the cap giving a soft, betraying click that cracked through the quiet like thunder. He poured a slick ribbon into his palm, watching the gel catch the light before spreading it between trembling fingers.

Then, he lifted a sleeve with both hands, slick fingers spread tantalisingly around the knot, and offered it up to Vessel first.

“Can I prepare you, Sir?” he asked, remembering himself enough for manners, though his voice was barely more than a breath.

Vessel’s eyes darkened, hunger flashing bright behind the eyeliner. He gave a small, pleased nod and began to unbutton his trousers slowly, deliberately, every movement a measured tease.

IV’s heart pounded in his chest, lungs straining with each shallow breath as he shuffled closer, the corset squeezing tighter with the motion.

He felt dizzy from it all. The scent of them, the heat, the sheer closeness. It was almost too much. If II hadn’t taken control, he thought hazily, he might’ve bolted like a real rabbit.

He slicked his fingers again, the cool gel spreading over his heated skin, and reached out to wrap them around Vessel’s cock. His touch was careful at first, teasing up a slow rhythm as he worked the lube along the shaft, every movement drawing a breathy sound from Vessel’s throat.

By the time IV reached for the sleeve again, Vessel was fully hard, tip flushed, and the weight of him was heavy in IV’s trembling hand.

The silicone sleeve was warm and pliant, glistening with lube as IV coated the inside liberally. The knot at the base was thick, almost daunting, but he swallowed his nerves and guided it carefully over Vessel’s length.

The slick, obscene sound of it stretching into place filled the room, and Vessel hissed between his teeth, hips twitching as his hands tightened on IV’s shoulders, grounding himself.

“Fuck, bunny,” Vessel murmured, voice low and wrecked, thumb brushing the curve of IV’s clavicle before fisting himself lightly over the knot. “You’re gonna be ruined when I get my hands on you.”

IV flushed crimson, mouth opening without sound, too overwhelmed to form a reply. Instead, he turned to start on II, his movements shy but obedient.

II’s trousers were already undone, his smirk soft and knowing. “Come here then, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice like velvet.

IV’s hands, still slick, cupped his cock easily. He worked the lube along II’s length in slow, deliberate strokes, the motion steady now as his trembling shifted into focus.

II’s breath stuttered, composure slipping just slightly as IV slid the second sleeve into place, the knot seating perfectly at the base with a final, firm push.

“Careful,” II breathed, head tipping back, fingers brushing through the soft bunny ears as if to steady himself. “Don’t make me finish before we start.”

IV turned to III last, who was practically vibrating with impatience, fingers twitching as if he might pounce at any moment. His grin was all sharp teeth and mischief.

IV reached for the lube bottle again, realizing with a flustered jolt that the thing was practically empty from how overzealous he’d been before.

He squeezed out what was left, the slick coating his fingers before he wrapped them carefully around III’s length. The lube made his touch slip and slide, every movement drawing a low, delighted groan from III.

“Fuckkk,” he hissed, voice breaking as IV tugged the last sleeve down over him. The wet sound that followed filled the space as the knot settled into place with a lewd schlik.

IV rocked back on his heels, heart fluttering, task complete.

His thighs trembled beneath the tight pull of the garter and stockings, satin panties clinging damply to his core. He could feel the ache between his legs, the slow, heavy pulse of want that made it hard to breathe.

His vision swam for a second, dumb bunny brain kicking into full force as he blinked up at them, dazed and eager for direction.

II caught the look immediately.

His smirk was slow, indulgent, and far too knowing. He stepped closer, one loafer-clad foot pressing teasingly between IV’s thighs, nudging right against the swell of his cock.

The pressure made IV gasp, eyes going wide.

“Where would you like to do this, bun?” II asked softly, his voice the perfect blend of command and care, sweet on the surface, dangerous underneath.

“I don’t mind, Sir,” IV managed, the words trembling but sincere.

II’s grin deepened.

And that’s how IV found himself bent over the back of the couch, corset cinched even tighter by the angle, fluffy tail pointing toward the ceiling like an offering.

His stockings were tugged down just enough to bare the tops of his thighs, the garters stretched taut and biting firmly into his skin. He was forced onto the very tips of his toes, even with the height of the heels, and his calves trembled as he tried to keep his balance.

Vessel was behind him, the slick tip of his knotted cock pressing against IV’s cunt, teasing his entrance in slow, deliberate circles that made IV’s thighs quiver and his breath hitch in shallow, needy gasps.

He pushed back instinctively, hips canting in a desperate plea for more, the fluffy tail of his thong brushing against Vessel’s abdomen like a taunt.

“Patience, bunny,” Vessel murmured against his ear, hot breath tracing a shiver down the sensitive shell.

One broad hand held possessively under IV’s neck, fingers curling just enough to keep him upright. The angle forced IV’s back to arch unnaturally, ribs heaving against the tight cinch of the corset, ass raised high and exposed over the back of the couch.

Vessel’s other hand drifted down to his little cottontail, fingers curling around the soft fur with deliberate mischief. He tugged sharply, pulling the thong string taut between IV’s slick folds, the teasing pressure drawing a sharp gasp from him.

IV felt every inch of himself on display, utterly vulnerable.

“We gotta savour this, baby,” Vessel continued, voice low and rough, transfixed. “I mean, look at you… all dressed up like a gift, just for me.”

Yet, despite that warning, despite the patience he’d promised, Vessel pressed inside in the very next breath.

The stretch was filthy. A slow, inexorable burn that melted into molten pleasure as Vessel pushed in, inch by torturous inch. The sleeve’s textured ridges dragged mercilessly against IV’s inner walls, catching on every sensitive ridge and fold, filling him so well it bordered on overwhelming.

IV could only moan, high and broken, fingers digging into the couch cushions until his knuckles went white, the fabric bunching under his grip as his body adjusted to the invasion.

Vessel didn’t stop, didn’t pause, simply fed himself deeper with a low groan that vibrated through IV’s spine, until the thick knot at the base pressed flush against his entrance, a promise of what was to come.

“Please,” IV gasped, voice cracking, almost undone at the mere feel of the knot against him.

He needed it inside, so utterly, so viscerally, that the ache of wanting became all-consuming.

Vessel’s hips snapped forward then, animalistic and unrestrained, a primal thrust that buried the knot deep like a claim. It locked them together, impossibly thick inside of IV, pressing against every sensitive spot with brutal, unyielding pressure.

IV’s cunt clenched around the sudden intrusion, muscles spasming of their own accord, and heat rolled through him in a blinding wave. He came instantly, squirting, slick spilling over Vessel’s thighs, soaking the couch beneath them, as a high, keening sound escaped his lips.

His toes curled against the glossy heels, hips trembling, chest heaving, utterly undone at simply being so full.

“Fuck, you just got so tight,” Vessel groaned, his voice raw and wrecked, hips grinding in tight, savage circles to keep the knot seated deep, each roll dragging the ridges over IV’s walls in a rhythm that had him sobbing with overstimulation.

Vessel’s clawed gloves dug into IV’s hips, the faux talons leaving faint red crescents on pale skin, anchoring him as Vessel leaned over his arched form, chest pressing hot and heavy against IV’s back.

The position was perfect. IV bent and helpless, Vessel caging him in like prey caught in a trap, his wolf ears brushing IV’s floppy bunny ones with every grind.

“That’s it, bunny,” Vessel praised, breath already ragged against IV’s ear, one hand sliding up to tangle in the satin bunny ears, tugging just enough to arch IV’s neck further, exposing the maroon collar and its gleaming tag.

“Taking me so well. Feel how full you are? That knot’s not going anywhere. Gonna keep you stretched and bred just like you need.” He punctuated the words with a particularly deep grind, the knot shifting inside IV, tugging at his entrance without pulling free.

IV keened, high and desperate, his body rocking forward with the force of it, the corset creaking softly as his pecs heaved, nipples hard and aching against the warm air.

Vessel’s free hand roamed greedily down the curve of IV’s spine, over the fluffy tail to palm his ass, spreading him wider to watch the way his cunt fluttered and clenched around the sleeve.

“Good boy,” Vessel rasped, voice dropping to a feral rumble, hips snapping again in short, punishing thrusts that made the knot bully against IV’s insides, somehow already rebuilding that coil of heat which had snapped mere seconds ago. “My perfect little prey, so wet for me, dripping like you were made for this. Gonna ruin you for anyone else, bunny. You’re mine to knot, mine to fill.”

II scoffed from somewhere behind them.

“He’s not just yours, you greedy bastard,” II tutted, voice smooth and amused as he and III materialised together into IV’s tear-blurred view. He’d almost forgotten they were even here.

III dropped onto the couch first, sprawling back against the cushions with lazy, predatory grace, thighs spread wide, the knotted sleeve jutting obscenely from his open trousers. One clawed hand wrapped around the base, stroking himself in slow, deliberate pulls. His red-painted lips curled into a wicked grin, eyes glittering as he drank in the sight of IV bent over the couch, Vessel still locked deep inside him, hips rolling in shallow, possessive grinds.

II kneed up in front of IV with far more control, the sleeve on his own cock also gleaming wet and heavy.

“Open up, bunny,” he commanded, fingers threading into IV’s sweat-damp hair and tugging his head back until the maroon collar bit into his throat. “Make yourself useful for both of us.”

IV’s mouth fell open instantly, lips slick and trembling, a broken whine vibrating in his chest.

He was already so far gone, cunt still clamped around Vessel’s knot, slick dripping in steady pulses down his thighs, but the sight of II like this, composed and hungry, and III lounging there, stroking himself with lazy confidence, sent a fresh surge of heat pooling low in his belly.

He wanted this. Needed it. The ache in his jaw, the burn in his throat, the way his breath would stutter and catch. It was everything he craved.

II guided his cock past IV’s lips with agonising slowness, the silicone surrounding tasting faintly of lube and II’s own salt. IV moaned around it, tongue pressing eagerly against the underside to trace every ridge as it slid deeper.

The shaft filled his mouth inch by inch, heavy and unyielding, pressing down until drool pooled at the corners of his lips. The knot eventually bumped against his mouth, thick and impossibly wide, and IV’s lashes fluttered, a full-body shudder rolling through him.

III leaned forward then, one clawed hand sliding along the corsets hem to pinch a nipple between gloved fingers, rolling it slowly, sharply.

“Look at you,” he purred, voice low and delighted. “Already drooling for it. Greedy boy.”

II’s grip tightened in IV’s hair, grasping the floppy bunny ears for leverage too. He thrust shallowly at first, letting IV feel the knot press and retreat, teasing the rim of his lips until they were swollen and slick. III’s fingers never stopped twisting, tugging, flicking, each touch sending sparks straight to IV’s cock.

Then II pushed harder.

IV’s breath hitched, a strangled whimper vibrating around the silicone as the knot stretched his lips painfully wide. His jaw burned, muscles straining, tears pricking at his eyes.

III leaned in closer, breath hot against IV’s cheek, and traced the bulge in his throat with a single claw, slow and admiring. “Fuck, you can see it,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Taking him so deep. Good bunny.”

“Relax,” II murmured, thumb stroking the stretched corner of IV’s mouth, smearing drool and lube. “Breathe through it. Let me knot your pretty throat.”

The combined praise sank into IV like honey, his moans muffled and desperate as II forced the knot past his lips with a slow, relentless push, eventually locking behind his teeth.

Adrenaline coursed through him. IV’s airway was nearly blocked, each shallow inhale whistling through his nose, every exhale a shaky tremor that barely released enough carbon dioxide from his lungs.

III groaned, low and wrecked, other hand abandoning his own cock to cup IV’s jaw, thumb pressing against the bulge in his cheeks where II’s knot sat heavy.

“Jesus, look at that,” he breathed, stroking the outline like he could feel II pulsing inside.

Drool spilled in thick rivulets down IV’s chin, dripping onto the couch in messy strands. III caught a drop on his finger and smeared it across IV’s lower lip, then leaned in to lick it away, teeth grazing the stretched skin.

IV’s vision blurred, the lack of air making his head swim in that perfect, floaty way, every sensation heightened until the world narrowed to the stretch in his mouth, the knot in his cunt, and the hands exploring his skin so brazenly.

II’s lips parted in a soft groan, composure cracking as he watched IV choke and whimper around his knot, eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing ocean blue, chest rising and falling in sharp, uncontrolled breaths.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice ragged with awe, fingers tightening in IV’s hair as his hips gave a shallow, involuntary roll. “Look at you taking it. So greedy for my knot in your throat. You’re made for this, made to be stuffed full and used until you can’t think.”

II forced himself to hold there, hips still, until IV’s eyes began to roll, then pulled back just enough for one desperate gasp before thrusting in again.

The knot caught and released with each slow drag, stretching IV’s lips over and over.

III’s fingers returned to IV’s nipples, pinching hard enough to make him sob around the intrusion, then soothing with soft circles that made his cock twitch against the rough couch material.

II couldn’t look away.

His gaze was fixed on IV’s wrecked face – his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips stretched wide, and the bunny ears flopping with every shudder.

The sight alone was enough to make his cock twitch inside the sleeve, precum beading at the tip.

“That’s it,” II praised, voice trembling with restraint, thumb still stroking IV’s jaw. “You gonna let me ruin this pretty mouth, hm?”

III leaned over again, breath hot against IV’s ear. “Bet you can feel them both, can’t you?” he murmured, claws raking lightly down IV’s chest. “Vessel knotted in your cunt, II knotted in your throat… You’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you? From being used.”

IV could only whimper, the sound choked and wet, his body arching deeper into Vessel’s grip as another wave of slick gushed from his cunt.

He was lost in sensation – mouth knotted, throat claimed, nipples aching – every breath simply a merciful gift from II’s steady hands.

From behind, Vessel’s hips stuttered as he ground deep one last time, a low, animal growl rumbling from his chest.

His knot seemed to swell impossibly thicker inside IV’s cunt as heat flooded the sleeve, thick and copious, trapped behind the silicone barrier, but IV could feel it – the phantom warmth, the pressure, the way Vessel’s cock jerked and spilled as if he were truly filling him to the brim.

The pressure, the claim, the way Vessel’s release throbbed against his walls… it was too much.

IV’s vision whited out.

A broken, high-pitched cry tore from his throat, muffled around II’s cock, body seizing as he came. His cunt clenched hard, spasming in waves around Vessel’s locked knot, slick gushing in another sudden, messy flood that soaked down his own trembling thighs in warm rivulets.

Vessel’s clawed gloves dug deeper into IV’s hips, anchoring him through the aftershocks, holding him pinned until the last shudder rolled through them both.

“That’s it,” Vessel rasped, voice wrecked, forehead dropping to the sweaty curve of IV’s corset-clad spine. “Good cum-bunny.”

He stayed locked for a moment longer, savouring the clench of IV’s walls around the knot, then eased back with deliberate care. The knot tugged at IV’s rim, stretching him lewdly before slipping free.

IV whimpered at the sudden emptiness, cunt fluttering around nothing, aching and oversensitive.

III was already moving.

“My turn,” he snarled, greedy and bright-eyed, rising from the couch in one fluid motion.

Before IV could even catch his breath, III’s hands were under his arms, hauling him up and away from the couch, away from II’s steady weight in his mouth.

II let him go with a soft huff, content to let III have his way for now, simply watching the strings of drool and lube stretching and snapping between them as IV’s mouth left him.

III spun him, lifting him clear off the couch like he weighed nothing, and dropped him onto the thick rug in the centre of the room.

IV landed on his back with a soft oof, corset riding up, stockings bunched down to his knees, fluffy tail crushed beneath him and bunny ears askew.

His heels scraped against the rug as III shoved his thighs apart, spreading him wide, the slick-soaked thong pulled to the side to bare his swollen, dripping cunt and engorged cock.

“Look at you,” III crooned, voice dripping with hunger, kneeling between IV’s legs. “Already fucked open and begging for more. Greedy bunny.”

He dragged his tip through IV’s folds, teasing, always teasing, coating himself in the mess Vessel had left behind. IV keened, hips bucking, trying to chase the feeling, but III held him down with one clawed hand splayed over his lower belly, thumb pressing just above his cock.

“Nuh-uh,” he teased, eyes glinting. “You don’t get knotted until I say. You’ve gotta earn it.”

He pushed in slowly, relentlessly, letting IV feel every ridge, every inch, until the knot kissed his entrance and stopped. IV sobbed, thighs trembling, cunt clenching desperately around the shaft.

III only pulled back and thrust in again, shallow and maddening, the knot bumping but never breaching, over and over until IV was a writhing, pleading mess, tears streaking his temples, voice hoarse from II’s throat-fucking.

“Please,” IV gasped, hands scrabbling at the rug, bunny ears flopping with every jerk of his head. “III, please, knot me, need it—”

III’s grin was feral. “That’s it, beg for me.”

Above them, Vessel had moved to kneel at IV’s head, sleeve now free but still slick and heavy with his release. He dangled the tip over IV’s dazed, tear-streaked face. “Open up, bun,” he murmured, voice rough. “Don’t waste it.”

IV obeyed without hesitation, lips parting, eyes hazy and trusting.

The first drip of come hit his tongue, and IV moaned, swallowing the salty treat greedily. A second spurt followed, but Vessel angled higher, the slick ribbon arcing across IV’s cheek and catching in his lashes before dripping into his sweat-damp hair.

Vessel groaned low at the sight, and gave up on precision entirely. He moved the sleeve in slow, deliberate circles, painting IV’s flushed face in messy, possessive stripes that slid down the curve of his jaw, pooling in the hollow of his throat above his collar.

At the same moment, III snapped his hips forward, and the knot finally slid in, stretching IV indecently wide, locking deep.

IV’s back arched off the rug, a broken scream ringing free as III’s rhythm turned instantly brutal, hips slamming, the knot tugging but never pulling free, bullying IV’s walls with every thrust.

The pleasure crested sharp and sudden, and IV’s vision blacked out, body seizing as he came hard for a third time, cunt clenching and slick gushing in a fresh flood.

III followed with a guttural snarl, hips stuttering, cock pulsing as he spilled inside the silicone, trapped heat flooding IV’s senses. He ground deep, riding it out, until they were both trembling, wrecked and tangled together on the rug.

“Good bunny,” he whispered, thumb brushing a streak of come from IV’s cheek. “Took us all so perfectly.”

IV could only whimper, dazed and floating, come and tears and slick painting him in their claim, the taste of Vessel still thick on his tongue, III’s knot pulsing deep inside him.

And yet, as his gaze refocused on II, still hard and ready, he found he only wanted more.

So, they took turns like that for hours, chasing him from couch to rug to bed, knotting him again and again until his thighs shook, his voice gave out, and his body was a trembling, slick-soaked mess.

Later, much, much later, IV lay sprawled across the master bed, utterly wrecked.

His stockings were torn at the knees, corset unlaced and hanging loose, bunny tail and ears both sitting askew. Only the maroon collar remained properly in place, sat snug around his throat, the BUNNY tag glinting faintly in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the heater kicking on and the distant howl of wind outside.

Vessel stirred first, still half in costume, wolf ears tipped forward, dark liner smudged around his eyes. He knelt beside IV and brushed a damp lock of hair from his forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice soft, a stark contrast to the growl from earlier. “You still with us?”

IV managed a weak nod, throat raw from their knots and his own cries. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice barely audible. “Just… floaty.”

II returned from the bathroom then with a warm cloth, settling on IV’s other side. He worked with slow care, wiping away the sheen of slick from IV’s thighs, the touch gentle and grounding.

“You were incredible,” he said quietly, sincerity threading through every word. He cleaned the corner of IV’s mouth and pressed a kiss there, tender and sure. “So perfect for us.”

At the foot of the bed, III propped himself up on one elbow, his grin softened by exhaustion, though his eyes still sparkled with mischief. “We didn’t break you too bad, did we?”

IV let out a rough laugh, wincing at the pull in his muscles. “Not broken,” he managed, voice slurred with fondness. “Just… thoroughly used.”

Vessel chuckled low, reaching for a bottle of water on the nightstand, uncapping it and holding it to IV’s lips. “Drink,” he said gently, supporting IV’s head as he took slow sips, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. “Good boy.”

II finished his careful cleaning, then reached for a soft blanket, draping it over IV’s trembling frame.

“I’m going to take this off,” he murmured, fingers brushing the collar. “Okay?”

IV nodded, and II carefully unfastened the collar, setting it aside so the BUNNY tag caught the faint moonlight.

Even though it wasn’t an official, gifted collar, IV’s neck still felt bare without it. But II just massaged the tender skin gently, easing the faint pressure marks left behind.

III slid in close, the blanket rustling as he tucked himself against IV’s side.

“Who knew the secret to turning you into a fountain was a good knot?” he teased, laughter threading through his voice as his fingers toyed idly with the edge of the blanket. “You looked like you were gonna float right off the bed at the end there.”

“Didn’t,” IV murmured, half-smiling. “Still here. With my wolves.”

Vessel smiled, easing down on IV’s other side and pulling him gently against his chest. His fingers traced slow circles on IV’s back, avoiding the rug burns from III’s turn.

“You’re always safe with us,” he said, voice steady, a promise. “We’ve got you.”

II remained in aftercare mode, grabbing a small jar of soothing balm from the nightstand, something they kept for nights like this.

He scooped a bit onto his fingers and began massaging it into IV’s thighs, easing the soreness from being spread so wide for so long.

“This okay?” he asked, checking in, his cerulean eyes soft with concern.

“Feels good,” IV sighed, melting beneath the touch. The balm was cool, fragrant with lavender, and II’s hands were careful, working out the tension without pressing too hard.

They stayed like that for a while. Vessel’s heartbeat steady under IV’s cheek, II’s gentle hands soothing his aches, and III’s warmth anchoring him from the side. The room smelled faintly of lube, sweat, and pumpkin spice, but it was the closeness of their bodies, their breaths syncing, that made IV feel whole again.

“Anything else you need, bun?” III asked, his voice muffled against IV’s neck where he’d nuzzled in like he couldn’t get close enough.

IV thought for a moment, his mind still hazy but slowly grounding. “Just… stay,” he said softly. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Not going anywhere,” Vessel promised, his lips brushing IV’s temple. “You’re stuck with us.”

II chuckled, finishing with the balm and wiping his hands before lying down, pressing himself against III’s other side. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow,” he teased, voice warm. “But we’ll take care of you. Like always.”

IV smiled faintly, sinking beneath the weight of their bodies, and drifted towards sated oblivion under the watchful eye of the Halloween moon.

Chapter Text

The days after Halloween settled over their shared flat like warm honey, impossible to move through without tasting sweetness on every breath.

IV woke each morning pinned beneath III’s sprawling limbs, the taller man’s thigh wedged possessively between his own, an arm locked across his ribs as though III’s sleeping brain had decided IV might dissolve if not physically anchored.

Sunlight the colour of burnt amber slipped through the gap in the curtains and painted soft gold across III’s cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the faint constellation of freckles that only appeared after too many hours in the weak November sun.

IV lay still for a long moment, heart thumping slow and stupid, and let himself stare. To take a second to just look. To memorise everything he’d already seen a thousand times, because III never got any less pretty, especially with his face smushed into the pillow, mouth parted, breathing soft and even.

Then, once IV finally wriggled free, an act akin to escaping a boa constrictor, the flat would already be humming with quiet life. He’d find Vessel already brewing tea at the kitchen counter, barefoot, spine curved in that lazy early-morning slouch that made his joggers ride low enough to reveal the sharp cut of his hips.

Steam curled from the kettle in delicate spirals, carrying bergamot and clove, maybe, or the ghost of last night’s incense still clinging to his skin. The overhead light caught the fine silver rings on his fingers and turned them into shiny, glinting moons.

He didn’t turn when IV padded in, but the moment IV was within reach a broad hand slid around his waist and tugged him close, pressing IV’s back to Vessel’s bare chest with the absent certainty of habit. Vessel’s lips then found the hinge of IV’s jaw, open-mouthed and sleepy, teeth grazing just hard enough to remind IV whose marks still bloomed faint purple beneath III’s stolen hoodie.

“Morning, darling,” Vessel murmured, and IV felt the words settle behind his sternum like a second heartbeat.

Some things had not calmed since Halloween.

If anything, they had calcified into ritual.

Vessel’s cock sleeve, for instance, now lived in the top drawer of the bedside table like it belonged there, and the man in question reached for it with the same unthinking ease most people reached for their phone.

Some days it happened slowly.

If they had ended up in the same bed, Vessel would kiss him awake, fingers already slick with lube, and work IV open on lazy strokes until he was trembling and wet and begging. Other mornings it was faster, IV bent over the kitchen counter before tea had finished steeping, Vessel’s palm between his shoulder blades, the blunt pressure of the knot forcing him open in one slick, relentless push that punched the air from his lungs.

Either way, the result was the same, the knot catching, locking them together while Vessel rocked in shallow, maddening pulses that never quite gave IV enough friction to come. Vessel would finish inside with a low, satisfied groan, then stay buried deep, arms wrapped around IV’s chest, lips brushing the shell of his ear while he murmured praise that felt like hymns.

You take me so beautifully. Feel how full you are, darling. All mine.

IV would stay there, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering uselessly around the knot, the weight of Vessel’s come and the silicone both heavy inside him, and feel claimed down to the marrow.

Some mornings he leaked all the way through breakfast, thighs slick, the crotch of his joggers darkened. Vessel seemed to enjoy the way IV squirmed, the way his breath hitched every time he shifted on the stool and felt the remnants of that impossible stretch all over again.

III, when he finally emerged, eyes still puffy with sleep, would take one look at IV’s flushed face and the faint tremor in his legs and grin like the cat who’d stolen the cream.

“Again?” he’d ask, voice syrupy with fake sympathy, and Vessel would answer by sliding a proprietary hand over the nape of IV’s neck, thumb stroking the warm leather of the collar that never quite came off anymore.

“Someone has to keep our bunny full,” Vessel would say, mild as anything, and III would laugh and steal the last of IV’s toast while said bunny hid his burning face in Vessel’s shoulder.

But beneath the lazy, knot-drunk domesticity, something else had begun to prowl.

II watched.

II had always been bold with his staring, brazenly so, those sharp eyes catching everything, undressing everyone, calculating the world three steps ahead.

But now, the quality of it had sharpened into something predatory.

IV would be reaching for a mug and feel the weight of that stare settle between his shoulder blades like a physical touch. He would be laughing at something III said and glance up to find II perfectly still in the doorway, one hip against the frame, gaze fixed not on IV’s mouth or his hands or the way his shirt rode up when he stretched… but on the hollow of his throat.

On the place where maroon leather sat snug and almost constant, the silver tag catching stray shards of light whenever IV moved.

BUNNY.

IV was starting to develop an actual fear response.

He could feel the want radiating off of II in waves, could see it in the way his fingers flexed against his thighs, in the slow drag of his tongue across his lower lip when the tag flashed.

It was only a matter of time before something snapped, IV simply hoped it wouldn’t be his neck.

The first time he’d earned the privilege of riding II after the new tag appeared, much to III’s theatrical jealousy, he had expected, hoped, that II would snap. That he would fist the leather and drag IV down into a bruising kiss, would use the ring like a handle the way Vessel sometimes did when he bent IV over the arm of the couch.

Instead, II had laid beneath him like a king on a throne, hands laced behind his head, biceps flexing with lazy dominance, and did nothing but watch.

IV had been trembling, knees spread wide over II’s hips, palms braced on that strong chest, rolling his hips in slow, desperate circles that dragged II’s cock along every sensitive spot inside him. The tag swung with every grind, a tiny silver pendulum of BUNNY—BUNNY—BUNNY— flashing in the low light of the bedside lamp.

II’s eyes tracked it with the singular focus of a starving thing.

His pupils were blown wide, lips parted just enough to show the white of teeth, but he didn’t move. Didn’t murmur praise. Only stared as if the sight of IV riding him, collared and tagged and dripping slick down his thighs, was a feast he intended to devour one careful bite at a time.

IV had come twice like that, shaking apart on II’s cock while II watched the tag dance, watched tears prick at the corners of IV’s eyes, watched the O-ring glint in mocking silver with every helpless clench of IV’s cunt.

When II finally flipped them, pinned IV to the mattress and fucked him in three brutal thrusts, his hand had hovered over the collar, fingertips ghosting the leather, before curling into a fist at the last second, knuckles white against the sheets instead.

Afterwards II had kissed him soft and slow, tasting of patience, and whispered against IV’s lips, “Soon.”

IV hadn’t known whether to whimper or sob.

And so the days slid by in a haze of warm moments, of Vessel’s knot locked deep while III traced lazy patterns over IV’s stomach and teased him about waddling during their afternoon shift, of II’s gaze tracking the swing of that little silver tag like a promise and a threat.

Domestic bliss, IV thought, floating somewhere above his own body while Vessel rocked into him one more time and the knot caught and held.

Domestic bliss, he thought, thighs trembling as II’s eyes burned holes through the leather at his throat and the word BUNNY flashed like a neon sign.

Domestic bliss, he thought, as he woke a week later feeling… wrong.

Not pain or danger-wrong, just unmoored, fuzzy at the edges. Like someone had unpinned him from the world and left him drifting.

His fingers went straight to his throat before his eyes were fully open.

Nothing.

Bare skin. No leather. No weight. No grounding pressure that told his nervous system everything was fine.

After such a long stretch with it on, the absence hit like vertigo.

He began to scramble out from under III’s octopus limbs with a desperation that startled even him. III stirred, mumbling something sleepy and sweet, long fingers instinctively curling around IV’s wrist.

When all IV could manage was a babble about his neck— wrong— too light— III only hummed, slid his palm up to cradle IV’s throat, and murmured, “C’mere, sweetheart… lemme be your collar for a minute…”

The touch was warm and steady, his thumb stroking over IV’s frantic pulse, grounding him just enough to breathe. It helped. A little. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what his body was begging for.

IV let out a thin, broken whine and pulled away to pad down the hall, barefoot and shivering even though the flat was warm.

He made his way down the hallway on silent, panicked feet, breath coming shallow and too fast, vision tunnelling the way it did when the world got too loud and too bright and too much.

The master bedroom door was ajar.

Inside, the air smelled of sleep and skin and the faint trace of II’s expensive cologne. Vessel was sprawled across the bed, breathing slow and deep, but II himself was nowhere to be seen.

IV didn’t know if that was good or bad.

He dropped to his knees the second he crossed the threshold and started pulling open drawers with shaking hands. II’s drawers, the nightstand, the little lacquered box where the collar usually lived.

The clatter of belt buckles and loose change sounded too loud in the quiet room. His fingers scrabbled under the bed, nails scraping wood, chest tightening with every second the leather didn’t appear.

He was spiralling.

He could feel it happening, the edges of his vision tightening, thoughts scattering like startled birds. He needed the weight. Needed the bite of it against his throat. Needed to be put back together before he floated away entirely.

He never even heard II enter.

One moment he was alone in his frantic search, Vessel’s tiny snores his only companion, and the next, a warm, solid presence settled behind him.

II didn’t speak, simply slid one broad hand to the back of IV’s neck, thumb pressing firmly into the hollow there, fingers curling possessively around the sides, and IV’s entire body sagged as though someone had cut every string holding him upright.

The relief was sharp, but it still wasn’t quite right.

II drew him backwards, slow and deliberate, until IV’s back met the warm wall of his chest. An arm banded across IV’s waist, anchoring him fully.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” II murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice low and sleep-rough. “In for four… hold… out for six. There you go. Again.”

IV obeyed without thought.

The counting, the warmth, the steady pressure of II’s thumb stroking that one grounding spot just below his hairline – it dragged him back from the edge inch by trembling inch. When the panic finally loosened its claws, IV realised he was still shaking, small shivers rippling through his shoulders and thighs.

II didn’t rush him, just tucked IV in against his chest, letting IV hide his face against him.

II pressed a kiss to his temple. “Better?”

IV managed a tiny nod, then a broken whisper. “Collar— need it.”

II pressed another kiss into his hair. “I know. I know what you’re looking for. And I’ve actually got… a surprise. Was gonna wait till the perfect moment, but—” He squeezed IV’s hip affectionately. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

That got IV blinking up at him, dazed and hopeful.

II guided him gently toward the bed where Vessel was finally stirring, one arm flung above his head, the sheet tangled low around his hips.

When IV’s weight dipped the mattress, Vessel made that low, rumbling mrrph? sound that lived somewhere between question and purr. Without opening his eyes he reached out, palm sliding over IV’s bare thigh and tugging until IV folded forward into the cradle of his body. Vessel’s skin was warm, and the scent of him curled around IV like a blanket.

II left them like that for a moment, IV half-draped across Vessel’s chest, Vessel’s fingers drawing idle circles on his hip, while he crossed to the wardrobe.

The box he brought back was small, matte black, and lined with deep crimson etchings.

II knelt in front of him, presenting it with both hands the way someone might offer a ring. When he opened the lid, a new collar gleamed against the silk pillow like it had been waiting its entire existence for this exact morning.

Rich, oiled walnut-brown leather, hand-stitched in black thread so fine it looked like handwriting. The silver O-ring was heavier than the one on the maroon collar, solid and cool, catching the low light and throwing it back in soft shards. It smelled faintly of leather polish and something greener, like crushed pine needles after rain.

IV’s breath caught so hard it hurt.

II lifted it with both hands, reverent.

“IV,” he started, voice leaden with burning intensity, “will you do me the honour of letting me collar you? Not just for a scene or for play, but for every day. Because you’re mine to take care of, mine to steady, mine to love until you never have to wake up untethered again.”

The words cracked something open inside IV’s chest. He hadn’t known how long he’d been waiting to hear them, hadn’t known how much he needed them, until they were spoken aloud in that quiet, steady voice.

Tears came fast and hot, spilling over before he could stop them, a soft choking sound escaping his throat. Vessel snapped awake instantly, arm tightening around IV’s waist, pulling him in, eyes darkening with protective instinct.

“What’s wrong?” he growled softly.

But IV was already reaching for the collar with trembling hands. “It’s— it’s for me,” he sniffed, voice wobbling embarrassingly. “It’s— he— II—”

Vessel blinked once, then twice, slowly parsing the scene. When he understood, his entire face melted into sleepy, fond pride.

“Of course it is,” Vessel purred, pressing a kiss to IV’s shoulder. “You’re ours, after all.”

“I need it,” IV whispered, already leaning forward so II could put it on him. “Please, please, I need it now.”

II rose up on his knees, cupped IV’s jaw in one warm hand, and brushed the tears away with his thumb. “I’ve got you,” he said, a truth and a promise.

He brushed IV’s sleep-tousled hair aside, and laid the new collar against his throat. The leather was cool at first, then quickly warmed to IV’s skin. II’s fingers were steady as he slid the tongue through the buckle, pulling it snug, exactly enough that IV felt the constant, perfect pressure of it.

The buckle clicked home with a sound like a key turning in a lock.

IV exhaled, long and shaky, as though he’d been holding that breath for years. The world righted itself. Gravity returned. The bed solidified beneath his body. Every frantic atom in his mind sighed and went quiet, finally sliding back into their proper places.

II removed IV’s bunny tag from the nightstand, clipping it onto the new O-ring first. The familiar jingle made IV shiver, especially as Vessel hummed in approval and thumbed the metal gently, as if testing its weight.

“And,” II added, reaching into his pocket, “because I like being thorough—”

Then II produced the second tag from his pocket.

It was heavier, a dark titanium, the letters engraved deep and bold:

PUPPY.

IV’s regained breath stuttered out of him again in a soft, broken whine.

II’s eyes were dark and serious, shining with something fierce and tender all at once. “You’re Vessel’s bunny,” he said quietly, hooking a finger under IV’s chin and tipping it up so their gazes locked. “But you’re gonna be my pup. My good, sweet boy who obeys so beautifully when he’s given what he needs.”

He fastened the new tag beside the first, and the two discs settled against IV’s throat with a delicate chime.

BUNNY and PUPPY.

Two names, two claims, one perfect circle of leather binding them together.

Where IV’s headspace had slipped negatively before, now it softened at the edges, something inside of him turning warm and floaty and content. His shoulders dropped. His spine softened. The last knots of panic unwound and drifted away, leaving only the steady thump of his pulse beneath the new collar and the knowledge, bone-deep, that he was seen. Owned in the gentlest, safest way.

His eyes went glassy and distant, lashes wet. A soft, involuntary noise slipped from his throat, a half-whimper, and Vessel answered it with a low, pleased rumble, pulling IV closer until his cheek rested over Vessel’s heart.

II brushed a thumb across IV’s lower lip, watching the way IV’s mouth parted for him without hesitation, the way his pupils had blown wide and trusting.

“We’ll christen it properly later,” II promised, voice rough with affection. “But for now… I think it’s a perfect day for something else.”

IV blinked up at him, pliant and fuzzy. “Wha… what do you want?”

“I want,” II said, helping IV slide off the bed and onto his knees, “to have my pup underfoot all day, where I can reach him when I need to.”

Vessel stretched like a big cat, slow and pleased, watching IV settle onto the floor like he belonged there. “Kitchen?” he rumbled, already amused.

II grin was slow and wicked. “Kitchen.”

And so began a morning IV would later remember only in warm, drifting fragments, little snapshots of sensation more than concrete memory, like a dream he had lived inside.

IV followed them down the hallway on hands and knees, the cool hardwood kissing his palms softly. Each shift of weight made his new collar settle heavier, the walnut-brown leather already warmed to the exact temperature of his pulse. The two tags tapped gently against the silver O-ring with every breath, creating a delicate, constant chime that sent tiny thrills straight to the centre of him.

The kitchen smelled of coffee and brown sugar, the kettle still sighing steam where II had abandoned it earlier to check on IV’s frantic rummaging. Now, he moved through the space with his usual quiet precision, measuring loose-leaf tea for Vessel, slicing pear and mango with the same deliberate care he used when laying out toys.

Every so often, though, he paused, reached down without even glancing, and offered a piece of fruit between two fingers.

IV crawled forward each time, knees whispering over the floorboards, mouth already opening before he reached II’s hand. The fruit was cool and sweet, and II’s fingertips were a warm counterpoint, brushing the flat of IV’s tongue for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary, then retreating with a murmured, “Good pup,” that sank straight into IV’s bones and melted them.

Vessel had claimed a counter stool the way a lion claims a sun-warmed rock. He sat with his long legs dangling, bare feet swinging lazily, tearing pieces from a sticky cinnamon bun. When IV’s gaze drifted to him, hazy and pleading, Vessel’s eyes softened into liquid amber.

He held out a morsel on his open palm and IV went to him without thought, tags chiming softly as he crossed the floor. He knelt up between Vessel’s thighs, hands braced on the stool rungs for balance, and took the sweet bite carefully between his teeth.

Vessel’s thumb followed, sweeping a stray crumb from the corner of IV’s mouth, lingering against his lower lip. “That’s it, bunny,” he rumbled, voice still rough with sleep and something deeper. “So gentle and perfect for us.”

IV’s lashes fluttered, the praise pooling low in his belly, thick and golden.

He would crawl to whichever of them spoke. No hesitation. No thoughts beyond go, kneel, serve.

He fetched when he was told. A wooden spoon carried delicately between his teeth because his hands felt too far away, too complicated; Vessel’s favourite mug ferried across the floor between careful palms, because the ceramic felt too cold between his teeth.

Each small task was a gift and a tether. Each success earned him a stroke through his hair, a murmured “good boy,” a gentle tug on the O-ring that made his spine loosen another impossible degree.

Between commands, he simply existed.

When the kettle clicked off and the kitchen filled with soft steam and softer quiet, IV was back at II’s side, folded onto his knees. He laid his cheek against II’s bare thigh, taking in the warm skin, the faint dusting of hair, the steady flex of muscle beneath, and wrapped his arms loosely around his own waist as though hugging the feeling to himself.

II’s hand descended without ceremony, carding slow, rhythmic fingers through IV’s hair. The motion was endless, soothing, claiming. Every pass dragged IV deeper into that velvet quiet where thoughts dissolved and only sensation remained – the weight of the collar, the faint ache in his knees, the twin tags brushing II’s thigh with every breath, like tiny bells announcing his surrender.

Vessel slid down from his stool at some point and leaned over the back of II’s chair. One large hand settled on the nape of IV’s neck, thumb tracing the upper edge of the leather, feeling the heat of it, the pulse beneath. His fingers found the O-ring and tugged once, gentle but certain, and IV melted forward with a soft, broken exhale, forehead pressing harder into II’s thigh.

“Look at him,” Vessel murmured, voice low and awed, as though IV were a miracle he still couldn’t quite believe in. “Look at our pretty thing.”

II’s hand never faltered in its steady stroking. “Ours,” he agreed, the single word rough with possession and pride.

IV floated.

There was no other word for it. The world had softened at every edge, colours bleeding gently into one another, sounds muffled and distant except for the twin heartbeats above him. His own pulse thumped slow and obedient beneath the collar, perfectly in time with the hands that owned him.

A puppy for II, loyal and eager, content to be stroked and fed and guided.

A bunny for Vessel, soft and sweet, ears metaphorically pricked for the next whispered praise.

Now he had both, and neither label felt like a cage.

They felt like wings.

Somewhere far away, III’s footsteps padded closer and paused in the doorway, breath catching audibly at the sight. But IV barely registered it. He was warm, he was weightless, he was exactly where he belonged.

The tags chimed once more as he breathed, soft and perfect.

He was entirely theirs.

Chapter Text

III woke to an empty bed and the muffled, dreamlike clink of metal on metal drifting faintly down the hallway.

He lay there for a long moment, blinking up at the ceiling, hair in his eyes, the sheets still warm where IV had been. Late-morning light oozed through the gap in the curtains, painting soft, lazy stripes across the duvet. His body felt heavy and languid, a pleasant ache still resting low in his lips from last night’s… activities with IV.

Speaking of IV, III vaguely remembered waking at some point, fumbling to soothe something for him, but it was all too hazy, far away.

He barely bothered with a pair of joggers and a sleep shirt before padding barefoot into the kitchen, fully expecting to find IV curled on the sofa or raiding the fridge in one of Vessel’s stolen shirts.

That was not, in fact, what he found.

IV was on his knees in a shaft of winter sun, with new collar of rich walnut leather, and two silver tags flashing like twin stars against his throat. He crawled with the slow, liquid grace that only came when he was very, very far down – shoulders loose, spine soft, eyes glassy and fixed on II as though II were the only fixed point in the universe.

When II offered a slice of apple between two fingers, IV leaned forward and took it with careful lips, tongue brushing II’s skin, the softest hum of gratitude vibrating in his chest. Vessel leaned against the counter, one hip cocked and arms folded, watching with lazy satisfaction.

The scene seemed so serene, so normal. Perfect with just the three of them.

Something… twisted in III’s chest.

It wasn’t jealousy, exactly.

He loved this for IV, of course. Loved seeing him adored, cherished, unravelled into nothing but breath and devotion under hands that knew exactly how to hold him together. But this particular shade of softness, this hazy, obedient, head-empty worship, was a language III had never learned.

He could wreck IV beautifully, could make him sob and beg and laugh through overstimulation until he forgot his own name… but he couldn’t give him this. He couldn’t be the one to lower him into that warm, quiet sea and keep him floating there for hours.

Nor could he drift into that place himself, not fully, not even for Vessel or II. He was always balanced on the knife’s edge of tension, needing to say something, to do something, just for the extra attention. Softness like this was a tide that could never quite drag him in.

So… why did it hurt, seeing them deep in a scene he hadn’t even known was happening?

In the kitchen, on a random Thursday, no less.

III’s stomach twisted again, sharp and hot and ugly. A feeling he didn’t have a name for and didn’t want to examine too closely. He couldn’t think of anything to say, just staring from the lip of the doorway, an invisible barrier he didn’t quite know how to cross.

IV noticed him first, blinking up from II’s knee with those huge, blown-out eyes, lips wet and parted, cheeks flushed the colour of rose petals.

A slow, dreamy smile curved IV’s mouth, and III’s heart performed a complicated lurch.

“Morning,” he managed at last, the word brittle on his tongue. “So this is what we’re doing today?”

Vessel’s brow lifted in a slow, lazy question, maybe hearing the edge in his voice, maybe not.

“Good morning, love,” II said mildly, but he didn’t even glance up. His fingers kept combing through IV’s hair in that steady, hypnotic rhythm that made something in III’s chest twist hard enough to hurt.

III’s jaw locked so tight his teeth creaked.

He didn’t decide to be awful. And, yes, he knew he was being awful, but that awareness lived somewhere outside himself, somewhere too distant, too powerless to reach in and stop the way he was moving now.

His actions were simple reactions, like how a match flares when struck.

It started small.

When II told IV to hold still with his knees apart, back straight, palms resting on his thighs, III drifted past with exaggerated nonchalance and bumped his hip into IV’s shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance.

IV swayed, tags chiming softly, a tiny confused furrow appearing between his brows as he tried to correct himself.

“Easy, pup. I’ve got you,” II murmured, his hand settling instantly at the nape of IV’s neck, steady and soothing. “Try again.”

Over IV’s bowed head, II shot III a look sharp enough to cut glass, but at least it was a look.

Later, when IV crawled off to fetch Vessel’s favourite biscuits, custard creams, III moved faster. He reached the kitchen first, plucked the packet out of the drawer for himself, and shoved the jammy dodgers into IV’s waiting mouth instead.

“He told me he wants these ones, bun,” he chirped, bright and nonchalant, showing just a little too much teeth.

Vessel accepted the jammy dodgers without comment, set them neatly aside, and sent IV back into the kitchen with a soft, “Almost, baby. Try again.”

When IV crawled back in, cheeks flushed pink with effort and embarrassment, he eyed III with growing uncertainty. All he could manage was a helpless, wounded whine as III ate his way through the entire packet, one slow, pointed biscuit at a time, before handing him the empty wrapper and giving his head a patronizing little pat.

It still didn’t get the reaction he’d been itching for.

Not that III even knew what reaction he wanted. All he knew was that every soft word of praise given to IV slid under his ribs like a hook, tugging him tighter, making him twitchier, more strung-out, more desperate to prove… something.

He just had no idea what that something was.

“That’s perfect, bunny. So still for us.”

III rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

“Good boy, pup. Mouth open, yes, just like that.”

III made a theatrical gagging noise and flopped across the kitchen island for attention.

Truly, he didn’t want to stop IV’s scene. Not really. He just wanted, needed, to be seen. Needed someone to look at him the way they were looking at IV, as though he were the only thing in the room worth tending. Needed to prove that he still mattered when IV was soft and perfect and collared and everything III suddenly, stupidly, wasn’t.

He hated how small it made him feel.

He hated that he couldn’t stop.

Every time IV faltered, every tiny wobble, every confused blink, II’s voice dropped into that low, velvet register and coaxed him back down, gentle and patient and maddeningly calm.

And every time, III’s skin felt tighter, his chest hotter, the brat in him clawing harder to get out.

Look at me, look at me, look at me—

He didn’t know how to ask for what he needed, so he settled for misbehaving like a child who had never been taught the word please.

He wasn’t jealous.

He was terrified.

Terrified that the thing they had all found this morning was something III could never give, never share, never touch. Terrified that this relationship, for all its vastness, might still have corners he didn’t fit inside.

So he poked and prodded and snarled, because if he was loud enough maybe no one would notice how quietly he was breaking.

By evening, the flat had fallen into that particular hush that only arrives when the sun is bleeding out of the sky and no one quite wants to disturb the way the day is quietly dissolving.

The living room carried the faint, comforting scent of whatever Vessel was cooking for dinner, and the lamps were turned low, pooling warm amber light that stretched long, soft shadows across the carpet.

IV was still drifting, bare knees brushing the rug, new collar catching the lamplight every time he moved. He had been perfect all day, despite III’s efforts, soft and pliant and eyes glassy with that gentle, trusting vacancy that made him look younger, breakable, something to treasure.

Into the quiet, II murmured, “Can you get me some water, pup?” and IV had raised from his knees for the delicate task, taking the glass in both hands as though it were made of spun sugar, cradling it against his chest.

III stood in the doorway, in an almost mocking echo of how he’d found them that morning, arms folded so tightly his nails carved crescents into his own skin. Whatever lived inside him now had been pacing for hours, an animal rattling the bars of his ribs, scraping at his lungs, filling him with something too hot, too restless, too large to name.

He told himself he just needed to nudge one last time. Just enough to remind them he was still in the room. Just enough to be seen.

He stood.

He stretched, slow and theatrical.

He put one foot out, nothing anyone could prove was deliberate.

IV’s feet caught.

The glass tilted with his body, and water fanned outward in a perfect, glittering arc, catching the lamplight in fractured rays as it rushed toward the floor. Then, as IV jerked in a panicked overcorrection, the spill snapped backward against the rim of the glass and splashed onto his face instead, sluicing in cool rivulets down his chest and to his bare thighs.

The shock of it forced the glass from IV’s frozen hands, where it hit the thick rug with a muted thud, bounced once, and shattered as it met the unforgiving hardwood. 

IV froze mid-breath.

The sound that left him was tiny and panicked, uncomprehending.

“I—I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking on every syllable. His shoulders curled inward, knees hitting the floor as his hands fluttering uselessly for the glass, as though he could gather it back together through sheer desperation. “I messed up—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—I didn’t—”

II crossed the room in three strong strides, each one cracking like thunder in the sudden silence. He dropped to his knees in front of IV, careful of the glass, and cupped his wet, devastated face between steady palms. “Hey. Look at me.” II kept his voice soft, but sharp enough to cut through the panic. “Breathe, pup. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

IV tried. His chest jerked with failed breaths, tears mingling with the spilled water on his cheeks as he battled the sinking certainty that he’d done something wrong.

II’s gaze lifted, slow and deliberate, to fix on III.

What he saw there wasn’t anger.

It was worse.

Disappointment.

III felt it like a physical blow, something blunt and merciless slamming straight into his sternum. His stomach dropped so fast he tasted metal, and in that instant he finally, finally, snapped out of whatever cage he’d been rattling inside all day.

“Nothing that happened just now was your fault,” II said, quiet enough that it might’ve been meant only for IV, if not for the unwavering way his gaze stayed pinned to III.

Vessel stepped out of the kitchen in the same heartbeat, drawn by the sharp clatter of the fallen glass. One glance at the scene and he was already gathering IV into his chest, his broad hands moving instinctively to rub warmth back into cold, soaked skin.

“Shh, darling. You’re safe. You’re good. The glass doesn’t matter.” He pressed kiss after kiss to IV’s temple, shielding him from the chill, from the sting of humiliation, from everything except the steady, enclosing safety of his arms.

III stood rooted to the spot, guilt rising like bile, suddenly wishing he could take the whole day back.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came. An apology felt too small, too late, tangled behind his teeth. IV wouldn’t hear him anyway. He was folded small in Vessel’s lap now, face hidden against his throat, fingers clutching fistfuls of hoodie like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

II rose from his crouch, the air around him still and dangerous.

He was furious, III could practically taste it in the air, but he still took a careful moment to take stock of the situation.

IV was trembling, breath still hitching into Vessel’s neck; III himself looked cracked wide open, every nerve scraped raw; Vessel’s eyes were dark with protective worry; and II himself was in no headspace to deal with this calmly.

Punishing III properly, right now, would shatter them all.

II saw it. Weighed it. Voiced it.

“I cannot punish you properly right now,” he said quietly, eyes on III, “It would not end well for any of us.”

III swallowed hard, nodding, eyes burning.

“So,” II continued, stepping forward and tilting III’s chin up with two fingers, “we’ll take the simplest route.”

His fingers left III’s skin. The absence burned like a brand.

“Bedroom,” II ordered. “Now.”

Vessel rose with IV cradled in his arms, the smaller man’s wet cheek pressed to his collarbone, breath still coming in shaky little hiccups. II walked ahead, spine straight, every footstep measured, and III followed like a man walking to the gallows he had built himself, guilt and terror and a desperate ache all tangled so tightly in his chest he could barely breathe.

They crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, which remained shadowed and warm despite the November chill. The bed was an ocean of black satin and blood-red pillows, and the low lamps painted everything in deep golds and bruised purples. Usually, this gave everything a cozy atmosphere, but right now, the room pressed in on III, all that warmth curdling into something heavy and airless.

II didn’t speak again, he simply pointed to the floor at the foot of the bed.

III sank to his knees without being told twice, the rug soft against his shins, a mercy he didn’t feel he’d earned, and the weight of what he’d done settled even heavier across his shoulders.

Ahead of him, Vessel laid IV gently in the centre of the mattress, peeling away soaked clothes with murmured reassurances. IV curled into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut, still deep enough into subspace that the world was only soft edges and gentle hands.

II stood over III, arms loose at his sides, his eyes deep pits of emotion.

The silence stretched until III’s pulse was roaring in his ears.

When II finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, and it still cut straight to the bone. “You didn’t just trip him, III. You reached into the safest place he has and you shook it, on purpose. You could’ve seriously hurt him.”

III’s throat worked, but no words came.

II crouched, bringing them eye-level. His gaze was steady and heartbreakingly calm as he ordered, “Look at me.”

III did so timidly.

“You and I are going to sit right here,” II continued, soft and inexorable, “and you are going to watch Vessel put our boy back together. You are going to see exactly what you tried to break. And then when he is warm, and dry, and smiling again, we are going to talk about why you thought hurting him was the best way to ask for love.”

III’s eyes burned, and a single, traitorous tear slipped free.

II brushed it away with his thumb, the gesture tender despite his anger and disappointment.

“Stay.”

In the time it took II to make things unmistakably clear for III, Vessel had already folded himself around the trembling puddle that was IV, shielding him like something precious and fragile.

III stayed kneeling, raw and aching, while II crossed to the bed to murmur low, precise instructions to Vessel. Then, II turned to an open drawer, his movements measured, almost ceremonial.

He sifted through its contents with deliberate fingertips before selecting a cage.

It was cold, gleaming steel, unapologetic in its design and built to look severe, meant to be felt as much as seen. When II returned to kneel before III, he did so with the same quiet focus he used when tuning his drums or weighing out tea leaves.

The metal looked impossibly small in his hands, catching the low lamplight like a threat and a promise all at once.

III’s breath stuttered. “Sir—”

“Shh.” A soothing sound, gentle yet devastating, more than III deserved. “You made a mess of something gentle today. You can sit and watch while it’s rebuilt.”

The cage was cold as it closed around him.

II’s fingers were warm, almost jarringly so in contrast, as one hand steadied the base of III’s cock and the other slid the ring behind his balls with deliberate care, the steel settling into place with a soft, final snick. The click of the lock was quieter than his heartbeat, but it rang louder than anything else in the room.

II’s palm rested against III’s hip for one grounding second, a soft nudge. “Sit comfortably.”

III’s knees folded outward before the command finished leaving II’s mouth. He sat on the rug, caged and aching, the carpet suddenly rough where he had thought it mercifully soft, and the weight of the steel a constant, humiliating reminder: there is no pleasure for you in this.

And then, with II still quiet at his side, he watched.

Vessel moved like divine worship made flesh. He scooped IV up as though the smaller man weighed nothing, settling him across the bed so IV’s back rested against the plush pillows, collared throat tilted toward the ceiling, legs falling open in helpless invitation. Vessel splayed one palm over his sternum, thumb stroking the hollow just beneath the new tags, applying an extra, grounding pressure.

IV melted. The last tremors of distress bled out of him on a shaky exhale, replaced by that soft, dazed glow that only came when he felt utterly, perfectly safe. His head lolled against the pillows, his eyes fluttered shut, the silver tags rose and fell with each slow breath.

Vessel knelt between his spread thighs, hands sliding up the soft insides of IV’s legs with the same worshipful attention he gave rare vinyl. His thumbs traced the creases where thigh met groin, pressing gentle, grounding circles until IV’s hips lifted in wordless plea. Vessel’s mouth followed in slow, open-mouthed kisses along the tender skin, teeth grazing just enough to make IV gasp, tongue soothing every tiny hurt away.

When Vessel finally licked a broad, deliberate stripe up the centre of IV’s cunt, III felt it in his own spine.

IV’s back arched, a broken, grateful sound spilling from his throat. Vessel hummed approval, the vibration dragging another whimper out of his bunny, and sealed his mouth over IV’s cock.

He didn’t rush. He never wished to rush when IV was like this. He licked slow, lazy figure-eights, pausing to suck gently, to flick the tip of his tongue in quick, fluttering pulses that made IV’s thighs tremble and close instinctively around Vessel’s head.

Each time IV tried to rock down for more friction, Vessel’s hand pressed harder against his sternum, just enough to remind him who held him, who decided when he was allowed to chase.

III couldn’t look away.

He watched Vessel’s dark head moving between IV’s legs, watched the way IV’s fingers scrabbled for purchase on the bedsheets, watched tears of overwhelmed pleasure gather at the corners of IV’s eyes and spill over when Vessel slid two fingers inside him and curled them just right.

He watched IV come the first time on a soft, shocked cry, hips jerking helplessly, cunt clenching around Vessel’s fingers while Vessel kept licking, gentle and relentless, drawing the orgasm out until IV was sobbing with it.

The second climax built slower, deeper.

Vessel’s tongue never stopped it’s long, slow laps that turned into tight circles, then back again, until IV was shaking so hard Vessel had to brace him fully, one arm locked across his chest, the other hand splayed low on his belly, feeling every shudder.

When IV finally shattered again, it was quieter, a long trembling exhale that sounded like surrender, thighs clamping around Vessel’s shoulders, toes curling against the sheets, his tags chiming softly as his chest stuttered.

III’s own cock throbbed uselessly in its cage, a dull, punishing ache that matched the one behind his ribs.

He had wanted to be seen.

Instead, he was being forced to watch.

And the sight of IV, flushed and tear-streaked and utterly cherished, coming apart on Vessel’s tongue, burned itself into III’s memory like a brand.

This was the gentleness he had tried to break.

This was the love he had been too afraid to ask for.

And now he knelt in the ruins of his own making, caged and silent, while Vessel pieced their boy back together with slow, careful hands, and II stayed at III’s side, an undeserved comfort he didn’t dare lean into.

The guilt tasted like copper.

The longing tasted like salt.

III broke the way a wave finally breaks against rock – suddenly and inevitably.

One moment he was sat rigid, caged and burning, the next his shoulders caved inward, breath hitching on a sound that was half-sob, half-gasp. Tears welled so fast they blurred the room into watercolour streaks of gold and shadow. They hit the rug in heavy, silent drops before he even realised they’d escaped.

“I didn’t—” His voice splintered. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him, I swear, I just—” The words tangled, ugly and raw. “I felt so fucking left out, like there was this— this whole world the three of you were living in and I was on the outside looking in, and I got scared and stupid and—”

The confession tore itself out of him in pieces, each one sharper than the last.

II was there before the next sob could crest. He leaned into III’s space with fluid urgency, one broad hand sliding to cradle the back of III’s skull, the other cupping his jaw. Their foreheads met, warm skin to warm skin, and II’s steady exhale ghosted across III’s wet cheeks.

“Hey,” II whispered, low and certain. “Breathe with me.”

III tried. It came out ragged and trembling, but II waited, patient as stone, until the frantic rhythm slowed and the tears thinned to silent tracks.

“I know why you did it,” II said quietly. “And I need to take some blame, too, for not correcting you all day. But it wasn’t okay, love. You know that.”

III nodded against II’s palm, the movement small and helpless as the tears continued to run. “I know. I know.”

II brushed a thumb through the salt on III’s cheekbone, gentle enough to bruise. “So you’re going to fix it.”

III’s eyes lifted, red-rimmed but hopeful, to where IV now lay curled against Vessel’s chest. IV’s face was flushed rose, lips parted and swollen, eyes still glassy with pleasure, but soft now. Safe. The distress from earlier had been kissed and licked and praised out of him until only warm, drifting trust remained.

“How?” III whispered, voice barely a thread.

II’s smile was small and tender. “Not with words.”

He guided III forward with the same hand that had locked the cage minutes ago, until III knelt between IV’s lax, trembling thighs. IV looked down at him with those huge, hazy eyes, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in shallow, wondering breaths.

“Go on,” II murmured, fingers threading gently through III’s hair. “Show him.”

What followed was not punishment.

It was absolution.

III leaned in and pressed his mouth to the soft, wet heat Vessel had already opened so thoroughly. The taste of IV, salt and slick and Vessel’s lingering spit, flooded his tongue, and III made a broken sound against him, a trembling whimper. Vessel’s big hand settled between III’s shoulder blades, not pushing, just resting, feeling every shudder.

Their hands on him felt like permission and guidance both.

III licked into IV with slow, deliberate strokes, soft and desperate at once. Every swirl of tongue, every gentle suck, every careful press of lips was an apology.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.

When IV’s hips tried to rock, Vessel held him still with a low rumble of praise. When III’s rhythm faltered, II’s fingers tightened in his hair, steadying, anchoring.

IV came apart again on III’s tongue, a long, deep, trembling unravelling that left him boneless and gasping. III didn’t stop until II’s hand lifted him away, until IV was limp and glowing and smiling that small, dazed smile that meant he’d been loved past language.

Only then did III let his forehead drop to IV’s thigh, breath sawing in and out, tears and slick shining on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against warm skin, the words raw and shaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

IV’s fingers found his hair, clumsy and tender, stroking once, twice. Forgiveness without words.

II’s hand slid to the nape of III’s neck and squeezed, gentle and proud.

“Good,” he said simply. “Now we’re done for the night.”

He rose from the bed and extended his hand to III.

For a moment, III only stared at it – such a quiet, simple, steady offer – before placing his own trembling hand in II’s, the cage still locked around him, his heart still cracked wide open.

II’s fingers closed around his with warm, certain pressure.

He led III into the bathroom, and they returned together with soft cloths, moving in silent tandem to clean IV’s tear-damp face and sticky thighs, then to gently wipe the slick from Vessel’s chin.

Vessel himself leaned into III’s touch without hesitation, without a flicker of anger or disappointment, and the simple trust of it nearly undid him all over again.

“Let’s go to bed,” II murmured when they were done, his voice worn down to something bone tired.

III nodded, exhausted too, hollowed out, but lighter than he’d been all day.

They moved together, four bodies in orbit, until they were tangled in the centre of the big bed – IV half-draped across Vessel’s chest, III curled small against II’s side, the cage a cold, quiet weight between his legs and II’s arm locked around his waist like a promise.

No one spoke.

The tags on IV’s collar gave one last, sleepy jingle as he nuzzled closer to Vessel.

And in the dark, III let himself cry the rest of it out. It was silent and cleansing, safely held between the three heartbeats that had already forgiven him before he’d even asked.

The cage stayed on, not in cruelty, but in silent consequence.

A reminder, gentle and constant. You are loved enough to be corrected.

And tomorrow, when the lesson had settled, it would come off again.

But for tonight, III slept collared by arms instead of leather, and that was more than he’d ever needed.

Chapter Text

The next morning, III awoke to the faint, dreamlike haze of winter light filtering through the gap in the curtains, a pale gold that made everything look half-unreal, like the room was still suspended in the quiet aftermath of last night’s storm.

He blinked once, twice, his mind thick and slow, thoughts sticking to the inside of his skull. The sheets were a warm, heavy cocoon around his legs, slightly damp with the salt of tears and sex that hadn’t quite aired out overnight.

His body ached in that deep, bone-weary way that came from releasing something raw – eyes gritty and swollen from crying, throat scraped tender, muscles trembling from holding open every part of himself and finding, to his horror and relief, that they’d still wanted him after.

And then there was the cage.

It was still locked around him, steel unyielding and somehow colder than the morning air, a deliberate, constant pressure that pressed into the soft skin of his inner thigh when he shifted. He could feel the ring behind his balls, the bars biting gently as his cock tried, traitorously, to swell at the memory of last night’s forgiveness.

The cage had stayed on through aftercare, the quiet murmurs and soft cloths and the way II had held him like something precious even while the steel stayed locked. He’d fallen asleep like that, raw and exposed, the cage a quiet punishment that had felt both merciful and merciless all at once.

Now, as consciousness trickled back in, he became aware of the body behind him, solid and warm and… unmistakably aroused. The grinding was slow and deliberate, almost lazy, the hard line of II’s cock sliding across his cheeks with a patience that bordered on cruelty.

Deeper, something inside III moved. Two fingers, no, three, buried to the knuckle, curling and scissoring with the slick drag of lube that definitely hadn’t been there when III had passed out. Every gentle twist brushed that spot inside him, the one that made his hips twitch forward unconsciously.

III’s breath hitched, a low, involuntary moan slipping out before he could stop it, ragged and needy. His body responded before his mind could catch up, ass pushing back into the touch, greedy for more even as the cage stopped any real arousal cold.

His cock stirred weakly against its confines, swelling just enough to press painfully against the steel, the bars biting into his shaft, the ring tugging at the soft skin behind his balls with every tiny jerk. The restriction was maddening, a dull throb that built and built without release, leaving him trapped in a haze of frustrated want, hips rocking uselessly, the cage clinking softly with each involuntary thrust.

He was already stretched open, slick and ready, and the knowledge of how carefully II had prepped him while he’d slept made his face burn hotter than the shame of the cage.

II’s chest was a warm wall against his back, one heavy arm slung over III’s waist, fingers splayed possessively over his stomach like he was holding him together.

“Morning, love,” II’s voice rumbled low against the shell of III’s ear, warm breath ghosting over the fine hairs at his neck, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

The grinding didn’t stop, if anything, it deepened.

What had started as careful, almost stealthy friction while III slept now turned deliberate, unapologetic. II’s hips rolled with lazy, possessive insistence, the thick line of his cock dragging slow and heavy between III’s cheeks, smearing a hot, slick trail of pre-cum that cooled instantly in the morning air and made III shiver.

III swallowed hard, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. “How— how long have you been…?”

“Fingering you?” II supplied, voice infuriatingly casual, as though he weren’t three knuckles deep and scissoring lazily, stretching III open with the same patient precision he used to tune a snare drum. “Long enough to feel you start pushing back in your sleep.”

The fingers inside of him twisted, slow and deliberate, curling just right to turn III’s spine liquid. A helpless, cracked moan tore out of him before he could bite it back. His hips jerked forward on pure instinct, chasing more, but the cage was merciless, trapping every pulse of blood before it could become anything useful.

“Fuck,” he gasped, the word muffled into a pillow, damp with his own breath. “II, I— the cage—”

“Stays on,” II said, soft but absolute.

His free hand slid up III’s side in a slow, claiming drag, until it splayed possessively across his chest. A thumb brushed one nipple, slow circles that made III’s breath stutter, then pinched just hard enough to spark white behind his eyelids. “You don’t get out until we’ve talked. Until I’m sure you’ve learnt your lesson and remember who you belong to.”

III’s heart stuttered, a mix of anticipation and dread curling in his gut alongside the building arousal.

He twisted his head, needing to see II’s face, needing the reassurance of those steady eyes. The room was still dim, but the faint winter light caught on II’s cheekbones, the sharp cut of his jaw, and the soft fall of hair across his forehead.

He looked calm. Devastatingly calm. Like forgiveness and punishment were the same coin to him, and he was simply deciding which side to show first.

Then III’s gaze flicked instinctively to the other side of the bed.

IV and Vessel were still tangled together, a peaceful knot of limbs, soft with sleep. IV’s cheek was pressed to Vessel’s chest, lips parted, his new collar rising and falling in time with his slow breaths. The twin tags caught the faint morning light, glinting softly.

Vessel’s arm lay heavy across IV’s waist, fingers curled loosely over the curve of his hip, as if even unconsciously he needed to keep his boy close.

The sight punched the air from III’s lungs all over again.

Guilt, hot and sour, surged up his throat.

“About… about yesterday,” he started, voice cracking like thin ice. “II, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t— I never wanted to hurt him. I just—” His breath hitched, tears already stinging. “I felt so left out. Like you three had this whole soft, perfect thing and I was… loud and wrong and on the outside looking in. I—I got scared. Stupid. But I swear I didn’t want to hurt him.”

II’s fingers stilled inside him, just for a heartbeat, then resumed their slow, deliberate rhythm, curling just enough to make III’s thighs tremble.

The gentleness of it had more impact than any harsh punishment.

“I know,” II murmured, lips brushing the shell of III’s ear again, breath warm and steady. “I saw it yesterday, the way you were poking at him, trying to get a reaction. But… it wasn’t about him, was it? It was about us… about feeling like you didn’t fit.”

III nodded, the motion jerky, tears slipping free to soak the pillowcase. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. I saw him so soft, and you and Vess just… holding him there, and I— I wanted to be included. But I didn’t even know in what way, or how to ask. So I… I ruined it instead.”

II’s hips rolled forward again, cock sliding hot and deliberate between III’s cheeks, the blunt head nudging teasingly at his stretched rim without pushing in. The fingers inside him scissored wider, a slow burn that made III’s back arch and his breath catch on a whine.

“You didn’t ruin it,” II said, voice steady, the words sinking into III’s skin like balm as he turned his head again, just enough to meet II’s piercing gaze. “You rattled him, yeah. But he forgives you. We all do.” A pause, deliberate. “But next time you feel like you’re on the outside, you use your words, brat. You come to me. You come to any of us. We’re here for you too.”

The tears came faster now, relief and shame braided so tightly he couldn’t tell which was which. “I will,” he whispered, voice splintering. “I promise. I— fuck, II, please—”

“Please what?” II’s voice dropped lower, a teasing edge creeping in as his fingers curled again, brushing a spot that made III’s hips buck.

“Please fuck me,” III gasped, the plea torn out of him like it had been waiting behind his teeth all night. “Need you inside me. Need to feel you.”

II’s answering chuckle was dark and warm. “Alright, love,” he murmured, nipping the lobe of III’s ear. “Since you asked so nicely.”

With that, he withdrew his fingers, slow and deliberate, letting III feel every inch of emptiness before the blunt, slick head of his cock took their place.

The stretch was immediate, searing, perfect.

II pressed forward in one long, unhurried glide, claiming every inch like it had been waiting for him since the moment III had fallen asleep.

The burn bloomed hot and sweet, forcing the air from III’s lungs in a silent, open-mouthed gasp. His back bowed, spine arching back into II' smaller body as he bottomed out, hips flush to his ass, the thick heat of him seated so deep III could feel it behind his navel.

“Fuck—yes,” III breathed, the words ragged, barely audible.

His eyes slammed shut, lashes wet against his cheeks, as the overwhelming fullness sank into every nerve.

The cage laid uselessly between his thighs, metal clinking softly with the tiny, aborted jerk of his hips. Beneath, his cock continued to strain, swollen and desperate, but the steel refused to yield. Every pulse of blood was punished, every throb trapped, turning pleasure into exquisite, aching denial.

II didn’t move at first.

He simply stayed buried, letting III feel the throb of his heartbeat inside of him, letting the silence stretch until the only sounds were the soft rustle of sheets and the soft, even breathing of the two bodies beside them.

IV’s cheek was still pressed to Vessel’s chest, one arm flung across his waist, and Vessel’s fingers twitched in his sleep, curling protectively over IV’s hip.

They looked untouched by the debauchery happening inches away, bathed in the pale winter light, beautiful and utterly at peace. The sight only made everything more intense, the vulnerability of being fucked like this, so close to them, the reminder of what he’d almost broken.

The contrast carved III open.

Then II began to move in slow, deep rolls, each thrust grinding against that sensitive spot inside of III, building the pleasure without letting it crest.

Helpless sounds were forced from III’s throat, high and broken, swallowed immediately in his desperation not to wake their unconscious audience. He bit down on his own forearm to muffle the next whine, teeth sinking into skin hard enough to leave marks, but the vibration still hummed through his chest.

II’s hand clamped gently but firmly over his mouth anyway, palm warm, fingers splayed across his lips, thumb stroking the apple of his cheek.

“Shh,” II whispered, lips brushing the shell of III’s ear. “You don’t want to wake them, do you? Take it quietly like a good boy.”

III’s answering moan was a fractured thing, swallowed by II’s hand, his body trembling as he forced himself into stillness. The effort made everything sharper, the slick drag of II’s cock, the wet sounds muffled by their joined bodies, the way the cage rocked with every thrust and bit just enough to keep him on the knife-edge of need.

II fucked him like that for what felt like hours.

Slow, grinding strokes that never quite gave him the speed he craved, each one nudging III’s prostate until he was shaking, tears leaking silently from the corners of his eyes, dripping onto the pillow. Every time III’s hips tried to chase, II stilled him with a hand on his hip and a warning press of teeth to his shoulder.

The restraint was its own torment.

III could feel every inch of II inside him, could feel the pulse of his cock, the heat, the claim, and still he was denied even the simple mercy of friction against the cage.

“Look at them,” II breathed, voice rough with restraint and something dangerously tender. His next thrust was deeper, harder, forcing III’s breath out in a silent sob. “See how peaceful they are? That’s because of you, too. You helped fix it last night. You’re part of this, III. Always.”

The words cracked him open wider than any thrust could. “II— close— please—” the raw sounds caught behind II’s palm, tears spilling faster now, guilt and gratitude and love braided so tight he couldn’t tell where one ended and the others began.

“You can come if want,” II growled, hand sliding down to cup the cage, pressing the metal harder against III’s trapped cock. “But I don’t think you can. Not like this.”

II’s rhythm began to falter, breath going ragged against III’s neck. His hand slipped from III’s mouth to fist in the sheets, knuckles white, hips snapping forward once, twice, grinding deep. With a low, stifled groan against III’s shoulder, he came, pulsing hot and thick inside of him, heated spurts that III could feel in every clench of his denied body.

All III could do was tremble as the warmth flooded him, leaking quickly out and around II’s cock, but the cage held him mercilessly half-hard and aching, pleasure coiled so tight it felt like agony.

But, underneath, he recognised that the torture was a reminder of his ability to submit, his need to atone.

II stayed buried for a long moment, chest heaving against III’s back, lips brushing soft kisses along his shoulder, the nape of his neck, the shell of his ear.

“Good boy,” he whispered at last, voice hoarse with spent pleasure and something infinitely gentle. “You took that so well.”

He pulled out slowly, inch by inch, letting III feel the drag, the sudden emptiness, the slow trickle of cum down his thighs. III whimpered, soft and broken, but didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb II’s plans or the sleeping bodies beside them.

II pressed one final kiss to III’s shoulder, then settled back against the pillows, arm curling possessively around III’s waist once again.

Then a soft, sleepy voice cut through the haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” IV’s voice was soft, thick with sleep, barely more than a murmur as his eyes fluttered half-open.

His lashes cast long shadows across his cheeks in the pale morning light, and his hair was a wild, tousled halo against the pillow. Confusion lingered in the slow blink of his eyes, but as his gaze drifted downward – taking in III flushed and trembling, the cage gleaming between his thighs – it sharpened into something unmistakably hungry.

Vessel slept on beside him, completely undisturbed, one heavy arm flung across IV’s waist like an anchor, fingers curled loosely against the soft skin of his hip. His face was buried in the warm crook of IV’s neck, the rise and fall of his broad chest pressed rhythmically against IV’s side, warm and solid and utterly oblivious to the charged air mere inches away.

II’s chuckle was low and fond, a rumble that vibrated through his chest and into III’s back where they were still pressed together.

“Just giving our love a little morning reminder,” he said, fingers trailing idly up the sensitive inside of III’s thigh. The touch was light, almost lazy, but deliberate, smearing the cooling mess of cum across heated skin, leaving glistening trails that made III’s breath hitch and his oversensitive nerves spark. “But now that you’re awake, pup… want to help finish what I started?”

IV’s pupils blew wide, the last dregs of sleep evaporating in an instant. A flush crept up his throat, blooming pink below his collar, and he pushed up slowly on one elbow, careful not to jostle Vessel. The movement made the sheet slip lower on his hips, and he leaned over III with a smile that was equal parts tender and cruel, lips curved softly but eyes sharp with intent.

Damn, III thought dimly, heart stuttering in his chest, he looks exactly like II when he does that. Scary.

“Yeah,” IV whispered, voice threaded with an eager edge that made III’s stomach clench. His breath ghosted warm across III’s collarbone as he shifted closer, the faint scent of sleep clinging to him. “What should I do?”

II’s gaze flicked between them, dark and approving. “He needs to remember he’s wanted,” he said quietly. “Needs to feel it in his bones. Why don’t you show him, sweetheart? Fuck yourself on his poor, trapped cock while my cum drips out of him.”

IV’s cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, the colour blooming like spilled wine across his skin, but his breath caught audibly, a sharp little inhale that made his chest stutter. His eyes, still hazy with sleep, sharpened with sudden hunger, and then he was already moving, crawling forward with a determined grace.

III’s heart stuttered, a spike of doubt lancing through the haze of arousal. What if IV wasn’t doing this for him? What if it was just obedience to II, another way to prove his own softness?

“IV— you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” IV cut in, firm and certain, his hands sliding up III’s thighs with a warmth that seeped straight into his skin. The touch was grounding, fingertips pressing just hard enough to dimple the muscle, thumbs circling soothing patterns against the sensitive inner flesh.

II shifted smoothly behind III, rolling him gently onto his back with steady hands on his hips. The movement pulled a fresh trickle of cum from III’s ass, warm and slow, sliding obscenely down to pool against the sheets, and III couldn’t hold back the mortified whine that tore from his throat.

“You’re needed, III,” IV whispered, his voice soft but unwavering, eyes locking onto III’s with a depth that made his chest ache. “Wanted. Let me show you.”

IV settled over him like he belonged there, knees bracketing III’s hips in a warm cage of limbs, the soft weight of him pressing down just enough to make III’s breath hitch. The heat of IV’s cunt hovered teasingly above the cage, close enough that III could feel the radiant warmth, the faint brush of slick folds against the cool steel.

IV’s little cock was already hard, flushed a deep, needy pink, and when he finally lowered himself, the first contact was electric.

His cunt parted around the unyielding steel, lips spreading wide and slick, coating the metal in a glossy sheen of his arousal. The warmth of him seeped through the gaps, teasing the trapped flesh beneath, and III’s cock gave a futile twitch, swelling painfully against its confines.

The pressure was maddening, a cruel almost-touch that promised everything and delivered nothing.

III could feel every wet inch of IV grinding down – the soft, yielding give of his folds, the hot pulse of his arousal, the desperate clench of his entrance as it caught against the bars, seeking friction – but the cage denied them both.

Slick smeared everywhere, warm and viscous, dripping down the sides of the steel to coat III’s balls, mingling with the slow leak of II’s cum still trickling from his ass.

The scent of it filled the air, musky and sweet, and III’s mouth watered even as his hips jerked uselessly upward.

One of IV’s hands braced on III’s chest, nails digging in just enough to sting, leaving faint red crescents against the pale skin, while the other traced down to tease III’s trapped tip with gentle, maddening fingers. He stroked the exposed flesh below the steel, fingertips slipping through the bars where they could, the touch feather-light and torturous.

At the same time, IV rolled his hips in tight, filthy circles, riding the cage like it was made for him, the metal warming beneath his heat, the bars catching against his cock with every downward grind, drawing soft, breathy whimpers from his throat.

“Feel me?” IV whispered, voice trembling with effort and affection, his breath hot against III’s lips.

He leaned down further, forehead pressing to III’s, keeping their eyes locked in a gaze that felt almost too intimate, too raw. Sweat beaded at IV’s temples, a faint sheen glistening on his collarbone, and his breath came in shallow pants that fanned across III’s face. “Feel how wet I am for you? How much I want you, even like this? You’re so hard in there… trying so hard to get to me…”

III could only nod, a broken sound catching in his throat, raw and desperate.

The cage was slick now, utterly coated in IV’s arousal, every grind sending sparks of denied pleasure shooting up III’s spine like fireworks fizzling out too soon. His cock throbbed uselessly inside its prison, swollen to the point of agony, pre-cum beading helplessly at the slit only to be smeared away by IV’s relentless fingers, mixing with the mess until everything between them was warm, wet chaos.

II’s hand joined them then, sliding between their bodies with lazy confidence. His fingers found the bars of the cage, pressing between them just enough to make III jerk, the intrusion of skin against trapped skin a shock. Then they dragged upward, slick with their combined mess, to circle IV’s cock in slow, teasing strokes.

“Look at you both,” II murmured, voice rough with pride, his breath warm against III’s ear. “So pretty like this. If we stretched you enough, baby,” he said to IV, thumb pressing just beneath his cock to tease the slick, empty entrance below, “I bet you could take him even with the cage on. Feel him trapped inside you, all that steel and need, stretching you wide…”

The fantasy hit them both like a punch.

IV moaned high and desperate, hips stuttering, grinding down harder as if he could force the cage to give, to bend to II's words. The increased pressure made III’s vision blur, the bars digging into his swollen cock, the heat of IV’s cunt soaking through every gap, the scent of their arousal thick and heady in the air.

III’s back arched off the bed, a strangled cry ripping free as the torment became unbearable – IV’s slick folds sliding relentlessly, the bite of metal unyielding, II’s fingers teasing without mercy, dipping now and then to gather more slick and spread it over them both.

IV came first, sudden and sharp, his cunt clenching hard around nothing but the promise of the cage. His release gushed hot and wet over the steel, soaking the bars in fresh waves, dripping down over III’s balls, down to mix with II’s cum still leaking from his ass.

The slick heat of it, the way IV trembled and sobbed III’s name, echoing in the quiet room, was too much.

III broke.

The orgasm tore through him, immediately ruined yet relentless, his cock pulsing inside the cage, spilling weakly through the bars in pathetic, thin spurts that gave no relief, only deepened the ache.

His whole body seized, hips bucking uselessly against IV’s weight, a raw, guttural sound muffled against IV’s shoulder as the pleasure twisted into something almost painful, waves of it crashing without crest, leaving him shaking and empty and still painfully caged.

II’s chuckle was light and amused as he watched, a low vibration that settled warm in III’s chest despite the lingering ache between his legs.

He dipped two fingers into the warm, sticky mess streaked across III’s stomach – IV’s release, III’s ruined spend, everything slick and mingled – swirling lazily through it like he was gathering paint. The skin there was flushed hot, hypersensitive, and III shivered violently at the touch, a full-body tremor that made his caged cock give one last, futile twitch against the steel.

But II only hummed, low and satisfied, lifting his glistening fingers coated in the combined evidence of their pleasure, and reached past both of them.

Straight to Vessel’s mouth.

He slipped the cum-coated digits between Vessel’s parted lips without ceremony, slow and deliberate, the pads of his fingers pressing down just enough to coat the flat of Vessel’s tongue. The scent of it, musky and salty and unmistakably them, hung briefly below his nose before disappearing into his warm mouth.

Vessel’s eyes flew open mid-snore.

For one glorious, frozen second he looked utterly confused, brows furrowed, long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, lips sealed instinctively around II’s fingers in a sleepy daze. His tongue curled on pure reflex, tasting, drawing the slick mess deeper, cheeks hollowing slightly as he sucked without thinking.

Then the flavour fully registered, sharp and unmistakable.

He jolted upright, the sheet pooling around his waist, blinking like a startled cat caught in sudden rainfall.

II’s fingers were still in his mouth, wet and shining, and Vessel pulled off with a lewd, wet pop that echoed softly in the quiet room. He licked his lips automatically, chasing the lingering taste, tongue darting out to catch a stray bead at the corner of his mouth.

His eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, darted wildly from II’s smug face, to IV boneless and glowing across III’s chest, to III himself flushed scarlet and trembling, cage glistening obscenely with fresh slick, and finally back to the obscene shine on II’s fingers now resting innocently against his own thigh.

Vessel’s voice came out hoarse, bewildered, and adorably indignant, the gravel of sleep making it even deeper. “What the fuck did I miss?”

III made a mortified, high-pitched sound and tried to hide his burning face in IV’s neck, burrowing into the warm, damp skin there as if he could disappear entirely.

IV just laughed, breathless and giddy, the sound bright and bubbling as he reached out with a sticky hand to pat Vessel’s cheek, leaving a faint smear of their combined mess behind.

“Morning, sleepy,” he murmured, voice husky and sated. “You snored through the best part.”

Vessel stared again at the mess on III’s stomach, then at II’s utterly self-satisfied smirk. He let out a long, theatrical groan, before flopping back onto the pillows with the resigned air of a man who’d been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

“You’re all banned from morning sex without me,” he declared to the ceiling, voice muffled by the arm he threw over his face. “Effective immediately.”

II leaned over with wicked intent and licked a stray streak of cum from the shallow dip just above III’s navel, tongue warm and deliberate, just to watch III flush deeper and Vessel’s eyes darken as he tracked the movement from beneath his arm.

“Too late,” he murmured against III’s skin, the words vibrating through him like an aftershock. “But you can help us clean up.”

Vessel’s answering growl was half-hearted at best, already reaching out with his free hand to drag them all into his tangle of limbs and warmth. The four of them, together, exactly where they were meant to be.

Chapter Text

It turned out the cage became something of a… coping mechanism for III.

Which was, frankly, inconvenient.

He’s certain II noticed, because no matter how much III tried to be sneaky, the man noticed everything. And it wasn’t exactly a gradual shift. It went from the cage being something III barely acknowledged, a symbol of pure punishment, to something he now hovered around like a guilty secret.

He’d gone from avoiding it entirely to asking for it in almost every scene.

Okay, maybe not asking. He was still far too proud for that.

Instead, he’d kneel just so, thighs parted in a way that felt deliberate without being explicit, eyes fixed carefully on the floor. He’d murmur something vague, like “I think I need it tonight,” or “Can we…?” while his fingers brushed the cold steel almost longingly.

II always obliged.

Slowly, deliberately, with calm hands and unhurried movements. All the while, III could feel his gaze cataloguing every twitch, every breath that caught too fast, every tiny tell that betrayed the truth behind III’s new requests.

III would never admit exactly why he wanted it on. He knew it wasn’t healthy, knew that if he tried to articulate it out loud, II would sit him down, talk him through it, and possibly beat his ass for trying to turn unresolved feelings into ritualized self-denial.

But the truth sat heavy in his chest all the same.

The cage created distance, yes, but it was a barrier he could impose before anyone else did it for him. It was one of those “they can’t hurt me if I hurt myself first” situations, dressed up in shiny steel and locked with a tiny key II now kept on a chain around his neck.

When the cage was on, III could still participate – could still moan, writhe, beg prettily on II or Vessel’s cock or beneath IV’s teasing cunt – but there was a buffer for his own pleasure. Now always dulled, delayed, denied.

Somehow that made the vulnerability feel… safer. As if offering his body without letting himself fully unravel meant he couldn’t be left behind again, as if withholding his climax meant withholding the nasty parts of himself that still flinched when attention drifted elsewhere.

III hated that he felt like he needed it. Hated that after everything – the forgiveness, the way II had worked him through his feelings, held him like something precious, then let IV help put him back piece by piece – he’d twisted their care into something sharp inside his own head.

But the cage was predictable, so he asked for it more often than he should.

And anyway, he made up for the emotional distance in other ways. Loud ways. Sparkly, obnoxious ways. Ways that involved turning the flat into an affront to II’s good taste in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

After all, it’d always been III’s favourite excuse to be over the top.

Currently, the apartment looked like a glitter bomb had made violent, passionate love to a pine forest and hadn’t cared to clean up the aftermath. Fairy lights dripped from every conceivable surface like molten gold, tangled in such abundance that stepping into the living room felt more like walking into the sun. Tinsel strangled the faucet, the doorframes, even the legs of the coffee table, silver and red and gold strands catching every shard of light and throwing it back in festive sparkles.

The tree was an absolute monster that had required Vessel’s brute strength, II’s calm direction, and two very confused delivery men to wrestle through the narrow doorway. It was so overloaded with ornaments it leaned dangerously to the left, like it might topple at any moment and bury them all in an avalanche of pine needles.

Naturally, III had decided they also needed special trees in each of their bedrooms. Something smaller, more intimate, more… phallic.

It turned out their newest shop order of ridiculous, green spiked stegosaurus dildos with the tagline, “Just one thrust will take you back 150 million years!” worked wonderfully as tiny little Christmas trees.

III had cackled for a solid ten minutes when the idea struck mid-shift, earning several worried glances from customers, before spending an entire afternoon crafting decorations with the devotion of a man possessed. The baubles were absolutely not white to represent cum, thank you very much, he’d chosen pearl and opal tones for aesthetic coherence.

II had walked in, taken one look at the master bedroom’s dildo-tree glowing under a blanket of fairy lights so dense you couldn’t even tell what it was anymore, and simply sighed before forcing III to make it “less of a fire hazard.”

But the one in III and IV’s room remained perfect, cheerfully obscene, and topped with so many ornaments and lights that, every time someone walked past, they were momentarily blinded.

IV, on the other hand, had spent the week leading up to the holiday baking.

Now, the entire flat smelled permanently of cinnamon, burnt sugar, and quiet panic. Trays of gingerbread men marched across every counter, some with suspiciously anatomical details that III had definitely not encouraged – okay, maybe a little – and the air carried the warm, spiced ghosts of failed attempts that’d been scraped into the bin with increasing desperation.

IV was stressed, that much was obvious.

This was their first Christmas together as four, and he was used to just getting III something cheap but heartfelt. A silly mug, a mixtape, something that he knew III would appreciate without having to break the bank. But now, there were two additional boyfriends to think about, who already had everything they desired.

What the hell was he supposed to get men who could buy anything they wanted AND already owned his heart and body?

It made it worse that Vessel kept disappearing for hours at a time, returning smelling of dust and secrets, with that pleased, cat-like smile that meant he was up to something. II, meanwhile, simply watched them both with a quiet, fond smile that meant he was cataloguing every moment for later.

III thrived on the chaos, on the over-the-top decorations and the ridiculous dildo-trees and the way IV’s stress baking filled the flat with sugar and warmth. It was easier to be loud, to be extra, to pour all his complicated feelings into glitter and lights and obscene holiday cheer.

Because if he was busy being the chaos, he didn’t have to sit still long enough to feel the self-imposed cage, literal or otherwise, pressing against him. Or acknowledge the way his behaviour seemed to be wearing on II in particular, drawing a new look into his eyes, one III was increasingly sure he didn’t like.

He looked… defeated.

Christmas Eve had been softer chaos.

The flat glowed warm and gold, fairy lights reflected in the darkened windows, the city outside muffled by drapes and cheer.

IV had curled into the corner of the couch like a contented cat, knees tucked under him, wearing the ugliest jumper III could find at the charity shop. It was a garish green thing with glittery red accents and too-long sleeves, swallowing IV’s hands until only his fingertips peeked out. He kept tugging at the cuffs, cheeks pink from the heat of the room and the mulled wine they’d made earlier in the day.

III, of course, had commandeered the TV remote and laid sprawled across the opposite end of the couch, legs thrown over IV’s lap, forcing everyone to watch the most ridiculous holiday porn films he could find.

“So this one,” III announced, remote in hand, “is about a lonely mall Santa, a power outage, and the true meaning of Christmas.”

“That meaning being?” Vessel asked mildly.

“Stuffing Santa’s sack,” III said. “Obviously.”

Vessel had then spent the entire duration of the low budget monstrosity pretending to be above it all, stretched out on the rug in front of the couch with his shoulders between IV’s knees.

During the post credits, III caught him feeding IV pieces of gingerbread straight from the tray marked Santa’s Do Not Touch. Vessel denied it when III called him out, but the evidence was smeared across IV’s smiling mouth in sticky sugar.

II had been the quiet centre of it all, perched in an armchair across the room, a stack of presents in his lap, wrapping the last few with the precision of a sniper assembling a rifle. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, forearms flexing as he folded paper into perfect corners and tied ribbons into symmetrical bows.

Every so often he glanced up, a quiet, fond smile tugging at his mouth as he catalogued the chaos of III’s dramatic gasps at the TV, IV’s breathless laughter, and Vessel’s lazy attempts to look innocent while sneaking another piece of gingerbread.

Eventually, the credits rolled on the final film – an absurdly sentimental one about a man who falls in love with a snowman – and Vessel stretched like a cat, rising to his feet with a soft groan.

“Dinner time,” he declared, voice warm and decisive. “Before IV combusts from sugar alone.”

“You’re the one that kept feeding me treats!” IV grouched, faux-offended, but he was already untangling himself from where he’d ended up in III’s lap, eyes bright with anticipation.

The kitchen table had been set earlier in the day, with mismatched candles flickering in glass jars and a centrepiece of pine branches and fairy lights that IV had arranged with shy pride.

The food was a collaborative effort. Vessel’s perfectly roasted turkey crowned the centre, golden and fragrant, surrounded by IV’s honey-glazed carrots and crispy roast potatoes, III’s chaotic but delicious stuffing loaded with too much sage, and II’s homemade gravy that somehow made everything taste better.

They lounged around the small table, knees bumping, elbows brushing, the kind of closeness that felt deliberate rather than accidental. Vessel carved the turkey like a surgeon, while III stole pieces straight from the platter and IV laughed every time Vessel swatted his hand away. II simply poured more mulled wine, rich and fragrant, before raising his glass.

“To us,” he said simply, voice low and steady, eyes moving over each of them in turn. “To the mess we make together. And to never spending another Christmas without it.”

Glasses clinked softly, the sound bright in the warm room. IV’s cheeks were flushed from more than just wine, his smile small and radiant as he leaned into Vessel’s side. III’s foot found what he hoped was II’s under the table, hooking their ankles together with casual affection.

They ate slowly, passing plates and stories back and forth.

III recounted the time he’d tried to deep-fry a turkey and nearly set their old flat on fire, Vessel admitted he’d cried over a particularly moving Christmas advert when no one was looking, and IV shared how he’d spent childhood Christmases building blanket forts with his siblings.

II listened more than he spoke, but every time he laughed, it felt like its own gift.

By the time plates were empty and the candles had burned low, the room felt softer, slower.

III had somehow ended up with his head in IV’s lap, complaining of over-stuffing himself like the turkey, while IV carded fingers through his curls. Vessel leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of II’s, thumb tracing idle patterns on his shoulder.

No one wanted to move.

The food, the wine, the warmth, it all wrapped around them like a blanket, heavy and perfect. It did, however, help in their endeavour not to stay up late. They couldn’t risk scaring off Santa, after all, but the evening had still felt endless anyway, warm and slow and happy.

III, of course, made up for the early night by rousing them all at an ungodly hour, dragging IV along as his accomplice.

They’d launched themselves onto Vessel and II’s bed with shrieks and laughter, IV bouncing far easier than III’s lanky frame could, and chanting “Presents, presents, presents!” until they’d been run out of the room by their two sleepily-exasperated lovers.

Now it was late morning and the living room looked like a crime scene.

Wrapping paper lay shredded across the floor in colourful drifts, ribbons coiled and tangled like festive snakes. Empty mugs, half-eaten pastries, and stray bows littered every surface.

IV sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, cheeks flushed from excitement, wearing a soft reindeer onesie he’d just unearthed from his pile of presents, complete with tiny velvet antlers on the hood that flopped adorably whenever he moved. The fleece was cream and brown, hugging his frame just enough to make him look impossibly cuddly, and he kept tugging at the zipper like he wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or delighted.

Vessel was sprawled on the floor beside him, hair a wild mess from sleep and IV’s fingers, wearing nothing but low-slung grey pyjama bottoms that rode dangerously low on his hips. His lazy smile was still slow with sleep, eyes half-lidded as he watched IV and III tear into another present with the enthusiasm of young kids.

II perched on the arm of the couch like a silent sentinel, forearms resting on his knees as he watched them with a reserved softness, like this was all he needed, right here.

The presents had been exchanged with the kind of thoughtfulness that made III’s chest ache in the best way.

IV had gone first, shyly handing out the gifts he’d made by hand.

They were little leather-bound journals, each cover tooled with symbols that meant something between them. He’d worked on them in secret for weeks, sneaking into the spare room whenever the others were out, fingers stained with dye and wax, cheeks pink every time someone asked what he was doing.

He’d passed the first one to Vessel with both hands, like it was a fragile offering.

Vessel took it carefully, turning it over in his palms. The leather was a soft walnut brown, the same shade as IV’s new collar, and in the bottom corner was a tiny wolf etched deep into the grain, head thrown back in a silent howl, embossed stars scattered around it like the ones they’d watched from the tent that weekend in the woods.

Vessel’s breath caught inaudibly. He ran a careful thumb over the wolf, tracing every line IV had carved with shaking hands and too much love.

“Darling,” he murmured, voice low and rough, eyes already hot.

He reached out without looking, caught IV by the wrist, and tugged him down into his lap. The kiss they shared was slow and deep, Vessel’s hand cupping the back of IV’s neck, thumb brushing the edge of the collar like he was reminding himself it was still there.

IV melted into it, a soft, breathless sound escaping him as Vessel licked into his mouth, tasting cocoa and cinnamon.

When Vessel finally pulled back, IV’s cheeks were scarlet, lips swollen, eyes glassy. Vessel pressed one more gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and murmured against his skin, “It’s perfect. Thank you, bunny.”

IV hid his face in Vessel’s neck, mumbling something incoherent that sounded a lot like “love you.”

II’s journal came next.

IV handed it over with both hands again, fingers trembling just slightly. The cover was midnight black, and tooled across it was a single drumstick caught mid-motion, the lines so precise it looked like it might start beating if you stared long enough.

II turned it over once, slowly, expression unreadable except for the way his eyes darkened. He traced the drumstick with one fingertip, following the curve IV had spent hours perfecting, then looked up.

The smile that curved his mouth was slow, dangerous, and entirely focused on IV.

“This is…” He paused, like the words were too big. “Exquisite.”

IV flushed deeper, ducking his head. II leaned forward, caught IV’s chin gently, and held his gaze.

“I’m going to write every filthy thing I want to do to you in here,” he said, voice low enough that only IV could hear. “And then I’m going to make you read it aloud while I do them.”

IV’s breath stuttered, a tiny whimper escaping before he could stop it. II’s thumb brushed his lower lip, then released him with a soft, “Thank you, pup.”

III’s was last.

IV handed it over with a nervous little laugh, already bracing.

The leather was bright crimson, and etched into the cover, bold and unmistakable, was a cheeky little penis, complete with a tiny crown perched jauntily on the tip.

III stared at it for one stunned second.

Then he cackled loudly, delighted, throwing his head back as the sound bounced off the ceiling. “Oh my god,” he wheezed, flipping it open to reveal blank pages waiting for his chaos. “It’s wearing a crown. I love it so much.”

IV buried his face in his hands, laughing helplessly as III shoved it in II’s face for him to see the penis better.

“I spent hours on the crown,” IV mumbled through his fingers. “The detail on the little jewels—”

III tackled him sideways straight off Vessel’s lap, all limbs and laughter, smothering IV’s face in exaggerated, sloppy kisses while IV squeaked and tried to fend him off.

“You’re a genius,” III proclaimed between kisses. “A filthy, brilliant genius. This is absolutely going on the shelf of honour, right next to all of II’s very serious books.”

“Like hell it is,” II cut in, deadpan.

“I’ll do it when you’re not looking,” III shot back cheerfully, waving a dismissive hand. He sat up again, clutching the journal to his chest like it was precious. “Ooooh— maybe I’ll write my own erotic novel in it…”

IV peeked out from behind his defensive position, still sprawled on the floor, eyes shining. “I’m glad you like it.”

III leaned over and kissed him properly this time, soft and sweet. “I love it,” he said, simple and sincere. “I love you.”

The moment lingered, warm and quiet, until Vessel cleared his throat with exaggerated impatience.

“My turn,” he announced, producing three neatly wrapped parcels from behind the tree with a flourish.

He handed the first one to II.

II took his time with the wrapping paper, carefully peeling back each corner of tape, until a first-edition book of poetry revealed itself.

Rare and dog-eared, it was the kind of thing that cost more money than sense. He cradled it with careful hands, eyes widening as he read the title and flipped to a random page. The paper was yellowed with age, the ink faded just enough to feel like a secret passed down through decades.

He didn’t say anything at first, but when he looked up, his voice was rough and his eyes shone slightly. “How did you even—”

“There’s this antiquarian in Prague,” Vessel supplied, shrugging like it was nothing, a tiny grin on his face. “You mentioned it once, three years ago. I’ve been looking ever since.”

II’s fingers tightened on the cover, speechless. He leaned forward and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Vessel’s mouth, full of quiet gratitude. When he pulled back, his smile was small and wobbly.

“Thank you,” he murmured against Vessel’s mouth. “It’s perfect.”

Vessel just hummed, pleased, and squeezed II’s knee once before turning to III, who tore into his offered package with much less restraint.

From within, he pulled out a thick black leather guitar strap, supple and heavy, embroidered with tiny red question marks.

III stared at it, confused. He didn’t have a guitar for this to go on.

Vessel’s mouth curved into a full, unapologetically mischievous grin. “It’s to go with the custom Charvel bass I commissioned for you.”

Instantly, shock flickered across III’s face. He looked back down, tracing the stitched symbols with reverent fingers, then he surged forward, tackling Vessel into a hug that immediately devolved into making out on the rug.

“You—” III choked out, breath hitching, forehead pressed to Vessel’s. “These are like the tattoo on my ankle.”

“Well, I have had them up by my ears often enough,” Vessel replied easily, an utterly unrepentant, wicked smile curving his mouth. “They seemed important.”

III blinked at him for a long second, then burst out laughing and launched himself forward again. “You absolute horny sap,” he accused between messy, enthusiastic kisses, fists buried in Vessel’s hair.

Vessel just laughed into his mouth, letting III pin him down, the strap pressed tight between their chests.

When they finally broke apart, still grinning and flushed, Vessel lingered on the floor for a moment before pushing himself up and turning towards IV with an expression that was suddenly, unmistakably nervous.

“Okay,” he said softly, clearing his throat as if steadying himself. He pressed a small, neatly wrapped package into IV’s hands, fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary.

IV took it carefully, the shift in atmosphere making him instinctively gentler.

He peeled back the paper one layer at a time, slow and deliberate, until a vintage silver pocket watch caught the light in his palm. It gleamed softly, worn smooth at the edges, the kind of object that had been loved and kept close for years, maybe even decades.

Inside, on the blank space opposite the face, Vessel had had it engraved in small, elegant script.

Time belongs to us.

IV stared at it for a long moment, throat tight, eyes already stinging.

He clicked it closed, then open again, watching the hands tick with steady precision, the soft mechanical heartbeat loud in the quiet room.

Vessel shifted closer, voice low and a little rough. “I found it in this tiny shop in Soho. The moment I saw it, I thought of you. After… after what happened when we left for LA, I wanted you to have something as a reminder that we’re never in a hurry with you. That every second we have is yours, too.”

IV’s breath hitched further at the heartfelt explanation. He looked up, eyes glassy, and Vessel was right there, close enough that IV could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the softness in his eyes that he usually hid behind sharp smiles and sharper teeth.

“I love it,” IV whispered, voice cracking.

He reached up with shaky fingers and fastened the chain to his onesie pocket, the watch settling heavy and perfect against his chest. Then he launched himself at Vessel, arms wrapping tight around his neck, face buried in the warm curve of his shoulder.

Vessel’s arms came around him immediately, one hand splaying wide between his shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of his head.

“Good,” he murmured into IV’s hair, voice rough with his own emotions. “Because you’re stuck with us, and we have all the time in the world.”

III, still sprawled half across the floor beside them, reached up to flick Vessel’s arm gently. “Soppy bastard,” he said fondly, but his own eyes were suspiciously watery. “You’re making everyone else look bad.”

II, who had been watching the whole exchange with quiet fondness, leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of Vessel’s head. “You really are the best with gifts, Vess,” he complimented.

IV laughed wetly into Vessel’s neck, arms tightening around him again in silent gratitude. The pocket watch rested warm against his chest, its steady ticking a quiet echo of his own heartbeat.

He stayed there, breathing Vessel in, even as II began passing out his presents, wrapped neatly in matte black paper, tied off with simple red ribbon, understated and perfect in their own way.

The first was for Vessel.

He took the parcel, turning it over once as though weighing just what could be inside. The ribbon slid free with a soft hiss, and he unfolded the black wrap to reveal a designer cashmere jumper folded inside, rich crimson in colour, so soft it looked like it might dissolve under his touch.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held it up, letting the light catch the weave, the colour making his eyes look darker, his skin warmer.

Then, without a word, he tugged the jumper on over his bare chest.

It fit like it had been made for him, clinging just enough to trace the lines of his chest and arms, riding up slightly when he stretched, revealing a thin strip of stomach that had everyone’s attention snapping to it in unison.

III let out a low whistle. “Jesus. You look like sin in that colour.”

Vessel’s mouth curved, slow and pleased. He ran both palms down the front, savouring the feel, then looked at II with something soft and sharp at once.

“It’s perfect,” he said, voice low. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”

II’s smile was small and satisfied. “Always.”

Vessel leaned over and kissed him deeply, not quick, not casual. A proper thank you that left II’s hand curled possessively in Vessel’s hair for a second longer than necessary.

Next was III, who snatched his parcel the second it was within reach, already grinning like a man who knew he’d won something good. The paper didn’t stand a chance, tearing under his fingers easily, ribbon flung aside without ceremony, until he froze, prize fully revealed.

Sleek. Matte black. Impossibly high-end, just like Vessel’s jumper. He stared at the headphones for a half-stunned second, eyes going wide.

“No fucking way.”

Then he shoved them onto his head without thought, settling the plush padding over his ears like they’d found their long lost home. He thumbed them on, connected them to his phone, and just like that, the room dropped away.

III leaned back with the biggest shit-eating grin any of them had ever seen, which is saying something, eyes fluttering closed as his head began to bob gently, mouthing lyrics no one else could hear.

IV leaned over, delighted. “Threeeeee~” he called, sing-song and loud.

Nothing.

III just vibed, blissed out in his own private soundscape, smiling like he’d discovered a brand-new plane of existence. II snorted softly at his antics and reached out to flick the side of the headband.

III flinched, cracking one eye open to give him a slow, smug thumbs-up.

II sighed and tugged one earcup to the side. “You’re welcome.”

III let the headphones fall around his neck, still glowing. “These are dangerous,” he announced. “I’m never taking them off. I’m gonna live in my own little world where no one can tell me to do the dishes.”

“I’m sure we’ll find other ways to get your attention,” Vessel muttered, grin sharp and entirely too knowing.

And then, finally, IV’s present.

The small velvet box made everyone lean forward in unison, the room going still.

IV took it with careful fingers, like it might escape from his grasp if he moved too fast. The lid lifted with a soft creak, and inside, nestled on black silk, was a delicate silver chain with a three tiny keys, no bigger than a fingernail, perfectly proportioned to fit the discreet lock on IV’s new collar.

IV’s breath caught audibly, for the second time that morning.

II didn’t wait for him to process it fully. He reached over, gentle but certain, and lifted the chain free. “Turn for me, pup.”

IV obeyed instantly, shifting on the floor cushions so II could reach behind his neck. The cool metal brushed his skin as II unclasped the chain and fastened it again with a soft click, just below his collar. The keys settled perfectly against the hollow of IV’s throat.

II’s fingers lingered, brushing the space between the tags and the keys.

“It’s a day collar,” he said quietly, lips close to IV’s ear. “With three keys, so you can carry all of us. A reminder that you’re always ours.”

IV’s hand came up slowly, fingers touching the keys like he couldn’t believe it was real. His eyes had gone glassy again, lashes wet, and when he looked up at II, his lips parted on a shaky exhale.

II pulled him close without hesitation, letting IV bury his face in his neck. Whatever he murmured next was too low for the others to hear, but it made IV’s shoulders hitch once, a soft, overwhelmed sound muffled against II’s skin.

Vessel reached over, careful and unintrusive, and brushed his thumb across IV’s cheek, catching a tear before it could slip free. III scooted closer on IV’s other side, instinctively filling the space, looping an arm around his waist and pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, grounding and familiar.

“You okay, angel?” III asked quietly, the usual mischief softened into something earnest.

IV nodded against II’s neck, breath uneven, voice thick with feeling. “Yeah,” he reassured. “Just… really happy.”

“Well,” III said, straightening a little as if on cue, his tone shifting theatrically as he swept his hands toward the remaining parcels, “prepare yourself. The best gifts are yet to come. Handpicked by yours truly.”

The exaggerated bravado was enough to coax IV back out of II’s hold. He leaned away just enough to look at III, one brow arching over glassy eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Should we be scared?”

“Terrified,” III confirmed cheerfully. “I used my employee credit very wisely. Possibly irresponsibly.”

He scooped up the first parcel, small and slim, wrapped in electric blue paper, and tossed it neatly into Vessel’s lap, clearly buying IV a few more seconds to catch his breath. Vessel caught it with ease, blinking once before turning it over in his hands, curiosity lighting his expression.

He peeled back the paper slowly, deliberately, as if already sensing a trap.

Inside, lay a blindfold of black leather, smooth and supple enough to crease easily beneath his fingers, the inside lined with velvet so dark it seemed to swallow the light entirely. Vessel unfolded it with care, thumb drifting along the inner lining, testing the softness.

He stilled, though, when his fingertips brushed stitching.

Embroidered there, subtle enough to be missed unless you were looking for it, were two small words.

GOOD BOY.

Vessel arched a brow, the corner of his mouth curling into something halfway between amusement and danger.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and velvet. “Planning to make me earn this, are you?”

III’s grin widened, sharp and delighted. “Every single letter.”

Vessel leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and crooked a finger. III went to him without hesitation, only to find himself tugged into Vessel’s lap, the blindfold looped loosely around his throat like a threat.

“Careful what you wish for,” Vessel murmured against his ear, teeth grazing the shell just hard enough to make III shiver. “I don’t need my eyesight to take you apart, baby. I might decide to wear it while I make you beg instead.”

III laughed, breathless and bright, hiding an exited nervousness. “Promises, promises~”

Next came II’s present.

III handed it over with a mock bow, barely containing his glee. “For the man who has everything,” he said lightly, “except, apparently, patience for my mouth.”

II accepted it without comment.

The parcel was long and narrow, the paper parting cleanly beneath his careful, precise fingers. When the last fold fell away, a riding crop lay revealed in his hands. The handle was wrapped in crimson leather, deep and rich, the exact shade III’s lips turned when kissed too hard, swollen and bitten and flushed.

II turned the crop once, testing its balance with an experienced wrist. Then, without warning, he snapped it down against his palm.

The resounding crack split the room, sharp and clean.

III’s stomach flipped violently, heat rushing south so fast he had to shift his stance, suddenly acutely aware of how close he was to where that sound had landed.

II’s face remained composed, almost serene, but his eyes had darkened, pupils blown wide, blue all but swallowed. He flexed the crop again, the leather giving a soft, ominous creak, and then lifted it, hooking the tip beneath III’s chin.

“Thank you,” II said at last, voice low and even, the promise threaded through it unmistakable. “This will see excellent use.”

III swallowed, bravado flickering as his breath caught. “Can’t wait,” he managed breathlessly.

II’s smile came slow and lethal, the kind that never failed to undo all of them. “Hopefully,” he replied teasingly, “you won’t have to.”

III swiftly moved onto IV, lest he allow II to take him over his knee, right then and there.

He’d saved him for last, drawing it out with exaggerated ceremony. He presented the small black box on both palms like an offering, eyes gleaming.

“For my favourite angel,” he said, soft enough that the teasing fell away for a second, leaving only fondness.

IV took it carefully, cheeks already pink, knowing now what to expect from II and Vessel’s presents.

The ribbon slid free with a whisper, and when he lifted the lid, nipple clamps gleamed inside, both a delicate silver, the connecting chain fine and shimmering, with tiny weighted stars for decoration.

IV squeaked, actually squeaked, free hand flying to his mouth as his face went scarlet from collarbones to ears.

III cackled like a supervillain, delighted beyond measure. He leaned over the arm of the sofa, crowding into IV’s space, and tugged playfully at the zipper of IV’s onesie, pulling it down just an inch.

“Try them on, angel,” he purred, voice dripping mischief. “I want to watch you try to stay quiet while they pull.”

IV’s whine was mortified and needy in equal measure. He hid his face back in II’s shoulder, the box clutched tight to his chest, but his fingers were secretly tracing the chain with careful, curious strokes, thumb brushing over the stars in interest.

II’s arm came around him immediately, hand splaying warm and protective across his back.

“He’s going to be the death of us, huh?” he murmured into IV’s hair, but his voice was fond.

III flopped across both their laps, grinning up at them. “And what a lovely death it will be.”

Vessel reached over and patted III’s head condescendingly. “Very kind of you to get us gifts for your own gain.”

“You’re welcome,” III said cheerfully, and stole a kiss from IV’s flushed cheek before he could hide again.

The room dissolved into laughter, with the gifts scattered around them like evidence of how deeply, how deliberately, how lovingly they knew each other.

It was perfect.

And III, for the first time in a while, didn’t feel the need to hide behind anything at all.

But then II, Vessel, and IV exchanged one of those looks. The kind that passes like a silent current, too quick for words, but heavy with meaning.

III caught it immediately and perked up, still sprawled in their laps, a prickle of anticipation racing up his spine.

“We have one more thing,” Vessel revealed, voice deceptively casual, like he was commenting on the weather. He leaned back against the couch, one arm braced against IV’s knee, fingers toying with the soft fur of his onesie. “A joint present.”

III perked up instantly, eyes bright. “Is it a puppy? Did we get a puppy?”

“No,” II said dryly, folding his arms with that calm, immovable patience that always made III want to poke him just to see if he’d crack.

“A kitten?”

“Also no.”

III pouted theatrically, lower lip jutting out, eyes wide and pleading. “You’re no fun.”

II’s smile turned sharp, slow and deliberate, the kind that made III’s stomach flip even before the words came.

“No fun? Then I guess you don’t want to have free reign to do whatever you want with us… all day.”

The room went still. A single strand of tinsel fluttered from the tree in the sudden hush.

III blinked, slow and owl-like, mouth falling open as the words sank in.

“Like… I’d be fully in charge?” he asked, voice climbing with barely contained glee. “I get to top you? All of you? For the whole day!?”

Vessel’s grin was slow and dangerous, eyes glinting with something that looked suspiciously like anticipation.

“One day only,” he confirmed, fingers tightening just slightly on IV’s knee. “A Christmas miracle.”

III let out a triumphant whoop and launched himself from IV and II’s laps in a tangle of limbs and delighted laughter, tackling Vessel hard enough to send them both sprawling backward onto the rug.

“Oh, you are going to regret this so much,” he crowed, straddling Vessel’s hips, hands pinning his shoulders with all the triumph of a conqueror. “I’m going to make you pay for that time with the handcuffs. I’m going to make you beg in languages that haven’t even been invented yet—”

II cleared his throat, the sound cutting through III’s excitement like a blade, making him freeze mid-straddle, hands still fisted in Vessel’s jumper, eyes wide.

“What?”

II’s expression had gone sharp, one brow arched in a way that promised there was something else behind this present. “Actually,” he said mildly, “you’ll be starting with me.”

III gaped, the world tilting sideways yet again.

He lifted a finger, pointing between them with exaggerated disbelief. “You—? Me—? Really—?”

The words were a joke, reflexive, automatic humour. But even as they left his mouth, something snagged in his chest, tight and sharp, a hitch that had nothing to do with the teasing.

The hesitation must’ve flashed across his face before he could swallow it down, bright as a warning flare.

Because for the first time all morning, he was reminded of the cage.

The stupid, self-imposed barrier he’d been hiding behind for weeks. He’d asked for it in scenes, craved the distance it created, the way it let him participate without fully risking hurting himself or anyone else. It had started as safety, as a way to keep his messier emotions leashed, but somewhere along the line it had calcified into something heavier.

A wall.

A way to keep all of them close without letting them in, and II, more than anyone, had borne the brunt of that distance.

III hadn’t said the words out loud, hadn’t even let himself think them properly, but he’d been pulling away from II in the one place it mattered most, pretending it wasn’t fear.

And now II was offering himself up.

It was the one thing III had never dared to ask for, the one thing he’d convinced himself he’d never get, unlike with his stint trying to dominate Vessel.

But here it was, laid out without conditions.

The pause stretched a second too long, and III saw it then, the flicker of hurt in II’s eyes, quick as a shadow crossing his face but deep enough to cut. II’s mouth tightened at the corners, his posture shifting just enough to betray the sting, like III’s hesitant disbelief was a rejection he hadn’t braced for.

Guilt hit III like ice water. Cold. Sudden. Suffocating.

He’d done this.

He’d taken someone who was steady and sure and made him doubt himself. Made II wonder whether he was wanted, whether he was crossing a line that III had never actually drawn, only implied through distance and deflection.

And that thought hurt worse than any fear of closeness ever had.

II raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, but the hurt lingered anyway, betrayed by the faint crease between his brows that he hadn’t quite smoothed away.

“Only if you want to, of course,” he said gently. His voice stayed even, careful, but III could hear what sat underneath it.

The unspoken, please don’t pull away now.

III swallowed hard, the moment pressing tight against his ribs. He forced the grin back onto his face, brighter than before, polished just enough to pass if no one looked too closely.

“Oh, want doesn’t even cover half of it,” he shot back. The words came easy, familiar teasing territory, but his voice softened at the end, a silent apology woven into the words.

II studied him for a beat longer, then stood.

He did it slowly, deliberately, unfolding from the arm of the couch with that infuriating, lethal grace that always stole the air from III’s lungs. The kind of movement that said control without ever needing to announce it.

III felt his confidence wobble, again, pulse tripping over itself.

II paused beside him, close enough that III could feel his heat. He leaned down, not touching, just letting his breath come warm against III’s ear.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the master room, then,” he murmured.

The words slid straight under III’s skin.

II straightened and walked away like he had all the time in the world, every step measured, shoulders loose, utterly unhurried. The picture of calm. But III knew now, that certainty was only surface deep.

III watched him go, grin finally slipping as something heavy and electric settled in his chest.

Fear, want, guilt, hope, all tangled together.

This time, he didn’t want to hide behind the cage.

This time, he meant to follow.

Unfortunately, meaning to do something and actually doing it were two very different beasts.

III could only stare at II’s retreating figure, rooted in place until the moment II disappeared around the corner into the hallway.

The spell broke instantly. All at once, the air rushed back into the room, loud and unforgiving, and so did III’s thoughts, every single one of them, all at once.

He looked down at Vessel still pinned beneath him, fists knotted in the soft knit of his brand-new jumper like lifelines. III promptly grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a small, frantic shake.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—” he muttered in a rush, words tripping over each other. “I’m not— I’m gonna die— I’m actually going to pass away— what the hell do I do?”

Vessel blinked up at him, entirely unbothered, lips already tugging into an infuriatingly calm, knowing grin. He hadn’t seen the cage the way II had. Hadn’t clocked the distance, the careful sidestepping, the way III had been joking his way around something sharp and tender for weeks now.

As far as Vessel knew, this was just another beautifully orchestrated moment designed to scramble III’s brain.

Which, to be fair… he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Breathe,” Vessel said mildly, like III wasn’t vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass. His hands came up, warm and steady, resting at III’s wrists to anchor him in place. “You’re not dying.”

“I am absolutely dying,” III hissed back, words tumbling out too fast, eyes wild. “This is it. This is how I go. You need to give me tips, like, right now.” He shook Vessel’s shoulders more vigorously this time, as if answers might rattle loose.

Vessel blinked once, then smiled cheekily. “Honestly?” he said, voice warm with amusement. “He’s only let me top him like twice in our whole relationship, so I’ve not got much advice.”

“What— what!?” III yelped, scandalised. Even IV, still curled quietly on the couch, lifted his head, eyes widening a fraction at the revelation.

Vessel shrugged, easy and unapologetic. “Yeah. You know how he likes to be in control.” He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Just… keep it vanilla, to be safe.”

III stared at him for a beat, deadpan, panic still fizzing under his skin.

“Totally,” he said flatly as he started to climb off Vessel’s lap. “II. Vanilla. Two concepts famously known to coexist peacefully.”

But even as he joked, his chest felt tight. He’d already seen it, the hurt, quick and sharp in II’s eyes when he’d hesitated. That tiny crack in his usually impenetrable armour. III didn’t want to leave him standing there alone with it, wondering if he’d pushed too far or offered up something III didn’t want.

III didn’t need to fuck this up more than he already had.

He made his slow way down the hallway, counting his breaths like he was running a marathon rather than walking toward someone he loved.

In for four. Hold. Out for six. Repeat.

The earlier hesitation clung to him anyway, a stubborn shadow lodged beneath his ribs, whispering all the ways this could go wrong if he let it.

He pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder.

The room was dim, curtains drawn against the pale winter sun, but the spill of light from the hallway painted the space in soft gold. Long streaks spread across the floor, the bed, the curve of the headboard. It felt quieter in here, heavier, like the air itself was waiting.

And there was II.

III faltered, breath catching outright.

II was already naked, but not tense, not standing straight and imposing the way III had half-expected.

Instead, he lounged against the headboard, seemingly utterly at ease. One knee was drawn up, arm draped over it casually, the other leg stretched out long and relaxed.

The light from III’s stupidly bright dildo tree on the mantle caught the planes of his body, the sharp cut of his collarbones, the faint trail of hair leading down his abdomen, the way his cock rested half-hard against his thigh, perfectly proportioned with the rest of his body.

II’s eyes met III’s, dark and hooded, a slow smile curling his lips that was equal parts seductive and… uncharacteristically shy.

He tilted his head slightly, hair falling across his forehead, and there was a subtle flush creeping up his neck, pink against his pale skin.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, but with a breathy edge that made III’s stomach flip.

He’d never seen II like this before – open, waiting, a little uncertain beneath the calm.

III froze in the doorway, cracking under the weight of the sight. II looked… vulnerable. Beautiful. The usual dominance stripped away, leaving something softer, more open, and it hit III like a punch to the gut.

This was II giving himself over, not just in body, but in trust.

“Fuck,” III breathed, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him.

The room seemed smaller suddenly, the air thicker, charged with the scent of II’s skin, clean soap and that faint, musky warmth that always lingered beneath his cologne.

II’s smile deepened, even more shy, if that was possible, his gaze dropping to the sheets for a heartbeat before flicking back up through his lashes.

“What would you like to do with me, love?” he asked, voice soft, almost tentative. His fingers twitched against his knee, like he was fighting the urge to reach out, or maybe to cover himself.

III crossed the room slowly, shedding his clothes as he went, shirt tugged over his head, joggers kicked off, feeling the need to be as bare as II, to even the playing field.

He climbed onto the bed slowly, knees sinking into the mattress like it might swallow him whole if he moved too fast. II shifted without a word, making room, reclining back against the pillows with that same effortless grace III had always loved, and feared a little, too.

Even now, naked and open, there was nothing fragile about II, despite his smaller form.

III settled between his thighs, the space feeling novel, intimate. He’d never been in this position before, at least with II. His hands slid up II’s legs without thinking, feeling the fine hairs, the warmth of muscle beneath skin, and then he leaned down to kiss him.

Whatever hesitation III’d been carrying shattered on contact.

The kiss was slow at first, almost tentative, III’s lips brushing II’s with a gentleness that surprised them both. He hadn’t planned tenderness. He’d expected heat, nerves, maybe chaos. Instead, what poured out of him was care, want, something softer and far more dangerous than his usual playful love.

Why had he been pulling away from this? From II?

II responded immediately, mouth parting, yielding with a quiet sigh that went straight through III. His hands came up to cradle III’s face, fingers trembling just enough to give him away.

III felt it then, in the way II met him, hesitant at first, then surer, eager. It felt like someone rediscovering something they’d convinced themselves they could no longer have.

It made something in III’s chest twist painfully.

Then, a hand pressed gently into his sternum.

“Wait,” II murmured, breathless and soft. “We should… talk first.”

III pulled back at once, concern snapping him fully back into himself. “Yeah. Of course.”

II drew a slow breath, fingers tracing idle, grounding patterns over III’s sternum, looking anywhere but his eyes. “III… why have you been pulling away from me?”

The question was quiet and careful, vulnerable in a way III almost never heard from II.

“You’ve been asking for the cage in every scene,” II continued, voice low, uncertain now. “Like you need the distance. Like… like you think I’m not good enough to hold you without it.”

The words landed hard. Harder than III had braced for. His chest tightened, guilt crashing through him in icy waves.

“No— II, no, that’s not—”

“Then what?” II’s voice cracked, just barely, but it was enough. His eyes shone as he finally looked up, doubt bleeding through his usual control. “Do you think I’m not a good dom? That I can’t give you what you need?”

III’s vision blurred. Fuck. He’d done this. Turned his confident partner towards self-doubt.

He leaned down instinctively, pressing kisses to II’s cheek, his jaw, his mouth, soft and apologetic. “No, love. No. It’s not you.” His voice shook. “It’s me.”

II remained still beneath him, simply listening.

“The cage…” III swallowed, forehead resting briefly against II’s. “It lets me be in the moment without risking too much. Without hurting anyone again.” His breath hitched. “You were perfect to me, II, gave me exactly what I needed. But I guess, somewhere along the line… I began using it selfishly. Turned it into a wall.”

II was quiet for a long moment. Then he exhaled, slow and steady, relief softening his face even as doubt lingered at the edges.

“Oh.” His hands slid up to cup III’s face, thumbs brushing gently at the tears III hadn’t realised had escaped. “You need to tell me these things,” he said softly. “I can’t read your mind, love. No matter how much I want to.”

III nodded, leaning into the touch like it was an anchor. “I will. I promise.”

II searched his face, his usual fierceness returning gently. “Tell me now,” he said, a slight command slipping out. “Is this something you actually want? Or would you rather be with Vessel and IV right now?”

The question landed like a test III was desperate to pass.

“Of course I want this,” he answered immediately, voice thick. “You… know I’m bad with my emotions. But I see what this costs you, opening yourself up like this.” He swallowed. “And I want you. That is, if you still want me.”

That shy flush bloomed across II’s cheeks again, deeper this time, unguarded. He nodded, fingers tightening briefly in III’s hair before pulling him back down.

“Of course I do, dummy.”

The kiss was slow, soft, full of forgiveness and relief and the unspoken understanding that whatever came next, they’d both chosen it wholeheartedly.

The tenderness lingered, their lips brushing in lazy, unhurried passes, tongues sliding together with a gentleness that felt almost innocent.

III’s hands roamed II’s sides, tracing the warm curve of his ribs, the dip of his waist, committing every inch to memory as if this vulnerability might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

II sighed into his mouth, body relaxing further beneath him, thighs parting just a fraction more in silent invitation.

The shift was subtle at first, a slow heat building low in III’s belly, his cock stirring against II’s thigh as the kiss deepened. He rocked forward without thinking, the friction gentle but insistent, drawing a soft, breathy sound from II that vibrated straight through him.

III groaned low in his throat, hips rolling again, harder this time, the slide of skin on skin sending sparks up his spine. His arousal built steadily, cock hardening fully against the warm press of II’s leg, the ache sweet and undeniable.

II’s breath hitched, his own hips tilting up to meet the motion, a quiet encouragement that made III’s heart stutter. The kiss turned hungrier then, but still remained soft, no teeth, no rush, just a slow burn of want that had III trembling with restraint.

He pulled back just enough to reach for the lube on the nightstand, always within arm’s reach in this house, and slicked his fingers generously, the cool gel warming quickly against his skin.

II watched him with half-lidded eyes, that shy flush still staining his cheeks, lips parted on shallow breaths.

III pressed one finger inside with careful slowness, watching II’s face for every flicker, the way his brows drew together slightly, the soft gasp that escaped as his body adjusted. II was tight, impossibly so, clenching around the intrusion before relaxing with a deliberate exhale.

“You’re so tight,” III whispered, voice rough with awe, adding a second finger and curling them gently, searching for the spot that would make II relax involuntarily.

II’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parted on a soft, breathy sound that went straight to III’s cock. His hips rocked down instinctively, chasing the pressure, a quiet whine building in his throat as III scissored his fingers wider, stretching him with patient, deliberate strokes.

“Been a while,” II admitted, voice almost embarrassed, cheeks flushing deeper as his body opened under III’s touch.

The confession made III pause, fingers stilling inside him for a heartbeat. “How long?”

II’s eyes opened, dark and vulnerable, meeting III’s with a trust that made his chest ache. “Since before… us. Before you and IV.”

III’s heart clenched, a rush of tenderness flooding him. He leaned down to kiss II again, deeper this time, pouring reassurance into it as he resumed the careful stretch.

He added a third finger only when II was rocking down to meet him, whispering soft pleas against III’s lips, body slick and ready, clenching greedily around the intrusion.

III worked him open with endless patience, fingers thrusting in steady rhythm, curling just right to draw out breathy moans that made his own cock throb against II’s thigh. He watched every reaction, the flutter of II’s lashes, the way his back arched slightly, the soft flush spreading down his chest.

He knew, with a quiet certainty that settled deep in his chest, that this was a rare thing, one of those moments that would imprint itself on him, impossible to forget no matter how much time passed.

Finally, when II was trembling, breath coming in soft pants, hips chasing III’s hand with quiet desperation, he withdrew his fingers, leaving II whimpering at the loss.

He lined himself up and pressed in missionary-style, slow and steady, watching every flicker across II’s face, the parting of his lips on a soft, involuntary gasp, the way his brows drew together in that perfect mix of pleasure and vulnerability.

II’s hands clutched at III’s shoulders, nails digging in just enough to ground them both, leaving faint crescents that would bloom into tiny reminders later. The stretch drew a low, broken sound from his throat, body yielding beautifully as III sank deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

The heat of him was overwhelming, tight and velvet-soft, clenching instinctively around III’s length in a way that made his vision blur at the edges.

They stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the quiet space between them, warm and ragged, tasting faintly of the lingering sweetness of this morning’s treats.

III’s heart pounded, the intimacy of it all overwhelming in the softest way.

The trust, the vulnerability, the simple act of being wanted exactly as he was, despite how he’d been silently sabotaging things, building walls for reasons he couldn’t even name.

II’s hands slid from III’s shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading into sweat-damp curls, holding him close like he was afraid III might vanish if he let go. His thighs trembled where they bracketed III’s hips, muscles flexing as he adjusted to the fullness, a soft whimper escaping when III shifted just slightly.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” III breathed, voice cracking with restraint.

He couldn’t help the slow roll of his hips, shallow and testing, drawing another breathy sound from II that vibrated straight through his chest.

II’s eyes fluttered open, dark and glassy, a shy smile curving his lips even as his cheeks burned a deeper red.

“Move,” he whispered, voice rough, legs wrapping loosely around III’s hips to pull him closer. “Please.”

III smiled against his mouth, brushing their noses together in a gentle bump that made II huff a soft, embarrassed laugh.

“Bossy even when you’re under me,” he teased, but there was no bite to it, only fondness, warm and thick.

II’s laugh turned into a gasp as III drew back slowly and thrust in again, deep and unhurried, setting a rhythm that was all tenderness and care. Their bodies moved together, slow and soft, no rush, no power play, just the gentle rock of hips, the slide of skin on skin, breaths mingling as they made love in the quiet morning light.

III kept his thrusts deep and deliberate, every roll drawing soft sounds from II, little gasps that caught in his throat, breathy moans muffled against III’s shoulder, the occasional shy laugh when their noses bumped or the rhythm stuttered into something clumsier, more human.

III’s hands roamed, tracing the sharp lines of II’s collarbones, the warm curve of his ribs, thumbs brushing over nipples that pebbled instantly under the attention. In return, II’s hands were everywhere. Sliding down III’s back to grip his ass and pull him deeper, then up again to cradle his face, fingers trembling slightly as he kissed him slow and filthy, tongue stroking lazily like they had all the time in the world.

His legs tightened around III’s waist on a particularly deep thrust, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer.

“Love you,” II whispered against his mouth, the words slipping out on a sigh, raw and unguarded. “So much.”

III’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, emotion swelling in his chest until it felt too big for his ribs. He kissed II again, slow and deep, hips rolling in a gentle grind that made II arch beautifully beneath him.

“Love you too,” he murmured, voice thick, pressing the words into II’s skin like a brand. “Always. You’re perfect like this— letting me in, trusting me. Fuck, you feel so good around me.”

II flushed deeper, hiding his face in III’s neck with a soft, embarrassed laugh that vibrated against his throat.

“Don’t say it like that,” he mumbled, but his legs tightened around III’s waist, pulling him impossibly deeper, his body betraying how much he actually craved the praise, the reassurance.

III smiled against his hair, thrusting slow and steady, building the pleasure in gentle waves that crested higher with every roll.

“Mean it,” he whispered, nipping gently at II’s earlobe before soothing it with his tongue. “You’re beautiful. Taking me so well, like you were made for this.”

II’s breath hitched, his hands clutching tighter, nails scraping lightly down III’s back in a way that sent shivers racing across his skin. He laughed again, soft and shy and, okay, maybe a little wrecked, rocking up to meet III’s next thrust, the motion drawing twin moans from them both.

They moved like that in slow, deep rolls that built the heat gradually, kisses turning messy and breathless, hands mapping every inch of skin like they were discovering each other for the first time.

It felt like they were, if III was being honest.

II came first, with a soft, shattered cry that was more sigh than sound, his body arching off the bed, back bowing beautifully as he clenched around III in warm, fluttering waves. His nails dug into III’s shoulders, holding on like he might float away, a tremor rolling through him as pleasure crested and broke.

The sight, the feel, of II coming undone beneath him, open and trusting and utterly his, pulled III over the edge too.

He thrust deep one last time and spilled inside of him with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he rode the waves, forehead still pressed to II’s, tears mixing on their cheeks. They were happy ones this time, born of closeness and trust and the simple joy of being wanted.

They trembled through it together, bodies locked tight, breaths ragged in the quiet room.

III stayed buried deep, rocking gently through the aftershocks, kissing II’s temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough and unsteady. “For this. For trusting me, even when I didn’t make it easy. When I definitely didn’t deserve it.”

II smiled, utterly unguarded, wrapping his arms firmly around III’s back, holding him close as if to say I’m not going anywhere. His fingers traced slow, familiar patterns along III’s spine, grounding them both the way he always had, steady and patient.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” II murmured, the words barely louder than breath. “You’ll always deserve my love, III. However I can give it. However you need it.”

They stayed that way for a long while, tangled together, the morning light inching higher across the sheets, painting skin and shadows in soft gold.

The world beyond the room – IV, Vessel, everything waiting just outside the door – could wait.

Here, in this quiet pocket of time, there was only the steady thump of their hearts slowly finding rhythm again, and the certainty that whatever walls had been built were crumbling now, brick by gentle brick.

Chapter Text

II and III remained cuddled together in the master room for a long while after their heartfelt lovemaking, dozing contentedly in each other’s arms.

The sheets were tangled around their legs, warm and slightly rumpled, the air still thick with the scent of sweat and lube and the indefinable something that lingered after intimacy. III’s head rested on II’s chest, ear pressed to the steady thump of his heartbeat, one arm slung lazily across his waist like he never wanted to let go again. II’s fingers traced idle patterns along III’s spine, slow and soothing, like he was mapping every vertebra for memory, relearning the shape of him after weeks of careful distance.

III’s eyes were half-closed, body heavy with the kind of bone-deep satisfaction that came from holding an ache and being thoroughly loved despite it. He could still feel himself inside of II, a phantom heat along his cock that made him shift slightly and hum contentedly, the memory of II’s soft gasps and shy blushes replaying behind his eyelids.

The cage was out of his mind now, but the vulnerability of the morning still remained.

II’s hand slid up to cup the back of III’s neck, thumb brushing the spot just below his hairline in slow, grounding circles. “You’re purring,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and lingering emotion.

“Am not,” III mumbled into his skin, but he nuzzled closer anyway, pressing a lazy kiss to II’s collarbone. The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, it felt like coming home after being lost for far too long. “Just… happy.”

The word felt small, inadequate for the ache that had finally eased in his chest. For weeks he’d kept II at arm’s length, hiding behind the cage, convincing himself the distance was safer for everyone. He’d told himself it was temporary, that he was protecting them from his messier edges. But the truth had been simpler and uglier at the same time – he’d been terrified of not being wanted at his worst, of not being enough for their love.

II’s fingers tightened briefly, a silent acknowledgement of everything III hadn’t said. He pressed a kiss to the crown of III’s head, lingering there like he was breathing him in. They stayed like that for a long while, drifting in and out of sleep, the late morning light creeping higher across the bed until III’s stomach gave an audible growl.

II chuckled, the sound vibrating through III’s cheek. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” III admitted, lifting his head just enough to grin down at him. “Seen as I worked someone over pretty thoroughly.”

II’s smile was slow and amused, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, what a hard morning that must’ve been for you.”

III rolled his eyes, but the edge of II’s sarcasm tugged a grin out of him a heartbeat later. He made no move to get up despite the gnaw of hunger, propping his chin on II’s chest and tracing a lazy finger through the faint trail of hair below his navel. The touch was absent-minded, affectionate, with a quiet confidence in it that hadn’t been there before. Like he was no longer afraid of pressing too hard or holding on too long.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said after a moment, voice dropping into mock-seriousness.

II’s brow arched, hand stilling on III’s back. “Shoot.”

“Vessel,” III said, a mischievous glint creeping into his eyes despite the seriousness he was trying to portray. “Do you have any tips? You know, for making him cave. I’ve got the rest of the day to play, and I’m not letting that handcuff-breaking bastard off easy.”

II’s lips twitched, amusement flickering across his face. He considered for a moment, fingers resuming their lazy strokes along III’s spine, the touch soothing them both.

“He’s stubborn,” II said finally. “And he’ll kill me for saying this, but… wax play. It’s his one weakness. Gets him every time.”

III’s eyes lit up like II had just handed him the keys to the kingdom. “Wax?” he repeated, voice climbing with glee. “Seriously?”

II nodded, a fond smile tugging at his mouth. “He’ll fight it at first, always does bless him, but he melts faster than the wax.”

III’s grin turned downright feral. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at II with bright, hopeful eyes. “You’re sure? You’re really giving me the nuclear codes?”

II’s laugh was soft, warm. “I’m sure.” He reached up, cupping III’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing over cheekbones. “Just… be careful with him. And with yourself.”

The seriousness beneath the words made III’s chest tighten. He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to II’s mouth, gentle and grateful, full of everything he still couldn’t quite say.

“I will,” he promised against II’s lips. “I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

II’s hands slid to the back of his neck, holding him there for one more heartbeat before letting go. “You already did,” he said quietly. “To me at least. Now you can go have your fun.”

III grinned again, softer this time, and rolled off the bed, stretching like a cat in the sunlight. “You were my fun, love,” he teased, offering II a hand. “But I think I need lunch before I have any more.”

II took his hand a little shyly, letting III pull him to his feet, and they lingered there bare and unhurried, smiling at each other as they fumbled to find their discarded clothes. It felt less like getting dressed and more like easing back into the world, button by button, touch by touch.

Once they were decent again, III caught II’s wrist and tugged him toward the door, already buzzing with restless anticipation. II followed with a soft laugh and a fond shake of his head, letting himself be led, the warmth of their morning clinging to him like an afterglow, easy and reassuring.

The corridor between rooms was short, but III felt every step of his bare feet on cool hardwood, the faint drag of II’s thumb across his knuckles, until they rounded the corner and the kitchen opened up before them. It was still bright with winter sunlight, warm with the scent of toast and coffee and something faintly sweet lingering from breakfast.

IV and Vessel were already there, IV perched on the counter in his reindeer onesie, legs swinging lazily, the fluffy antlers on the hood flopping every time he moved. Vessel leaned against the counter next to him, one hip cocked in that effortless way that made him look both relaxed and dangerous. He was feeding IV bites of his sandwich, holding the bread just out of reach until IV made a soft, pleading sound, then letting him take it with a satisfied little hum.

“Look who finally emerged,” Vessel teased once they rounded the corner, eyes flicking between them with lazy amusement. “Thought we’d have to send a search party in at one point.”

III bounced into the room like he owned it, letting go of II’s hand only to steal a crisp from the open packet beside IV’s plate. He crunched it loudly, grinning around the mouthful.

“Had important business to attend to,” he said airily, winking at II over his shoulder.

II just rolled his eyes and started pulling ingredients from the fridge for more sandwiches, but III caught the faint flush that crept up the back of his neck, the way his shoulders relaxed just a fraction and his grin widened.

He ended up making sandwiches stacked thick with leftover turkey, crisp lettuce, and far too much mustard, flanked by bowls of crisps in everyone’s favourite flavours. Which meant sensible ready salted for the lot of them, and, of course, prawn cocktail for III, who insisted it was the mark of a more refined and cultured palate.

They ate around the small kitchen table, knees bumping under the wood, laughter easy and overlapping.

IV recounted the previous day’s most ridiculous customer, gesturing wildly with a crisp as he spoke, crumbs flying like tiny snowflakes. III grew increasingly mournful with every detail, the story somehow making him sad that he hadn’t been on rotation for Christmas Eve.

The whole thing sounded criminally entertaining.

“So this guy comes in,” IV started, eyes sparkling with glee, “full Santa suit with the beard and everything. He’s clutching this massive list of what he earnestly calls ‘specialty items for the naughty list.’” He paused for effect, waving his crisp like a weapon, letting the anticipation build.

“He starts rattling off these… presents,” he continued, snorting. “The closest things we had was a glitter-covered dildo that’s meant to be a unicorn horn, and a set of handcuffs shaped like candy canes.”

III’s shoulders were already shaking, one hand pressed over his mouth in a doomed attempt to stay composed.

“But his worst request,” IV said, leaning forward, voice dropping dramatically, “was for an ‘inflatable reindeer with a hole in the back.’ And when I asked why, all he said was—” IV straightened, dropping into an exaggerated, booming Santa impression, complete with theatrical crotch grab, “‘Rudolph cannot fly with his balls full, kapeesh?’”

III choked on air, laughing so hard he slid halfway off his chair, one hand slapping the table for balance. “Kapeesh!? He really said kapeesh!?”

Vessel’s silent laughter finally broke, shoulders heaving as he pressed his forehead to the table, unable to hold it in. Even II’s carefully maintained composure cracked, eyes crinkling at the corners, and a low, helpless chuckle escaped before he could catch it.

IV, delighted, pressed on. “So, I’m trying to keep a straight face, right? And he leans in, all serious, and whispers, ‘Do you have anything for… the Mrs?’ I told him we had a lovely range of strap-ons in the back, and he just nodded gravely like he should’ve thought of that from the start.” He mimed the man’s grave nod, stroking at an imaginary beard, then added, “He left with the strap-on under one arm and the unicorn dildo under the other.”

III was wheezing, fully folded over with his forehead on the table, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “You— you let him walk out like that,” he gasped, “in broad daylight?”

IV shrugged, grin stretching wide. “He seemed very committed to the role. Who was I to judge?”

Vessel, still catching his breath through helpless laughter, reached over to ruffle IV’s hair fondly. “Not that committed,” he added dryly, “if he didn’t even bring a sack to carry them in, love.”

The conversation only devolved from there, spiralling into increasingly ridiculous tangents, and II watched it all with quiet contentment. Seeing his boys like this - loud, relaxed, and entirely themselves - left him pleasantly sated. He was happy just to sit there, cradling his mug of tea, letting the laughter roll over him like warm sunlight.

III, on the other hand, grew steadily more restless as time wore on. The knowledge II had given him burned pleasantly beneath his skin, a secret sweet on his tongue, too delicious to swallow just yet.

He contented himself with watching every time Vessel reached for his tea or leaned back in his chair, imagining wax trailing over that broad chest, the way Vessel would arch and groan and finally, finally break. The thought made III’s skin prickle, a delicious little shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

He couldn't help brushing his foot against Vessel’s calf under the table, letting the touch linger just long enough to be deliberate. Vessel’s brow arched, but he didn’t comment, just shifted his leg slightly so their ankles hooked together. III only amped it up, leaning across the table to pass the crisps and letting his fingers brush Vessel’s wrist cuff for a moment too long.

“You look good in that jumper,” he murmured, voice pitched just loud enough for the others to hear the teasing lilt. “Red’s definitely your colour. Makes me think of… other things.”

Vessel’s eyes narrowed, a slow smile curving his mouth. “What’s got you so wound up?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, the kind that usually made III’s knees weak.

III just grinned, all teeth and mischief, and stole another crisp from the bowl. “Nothing.”

IV caught on quickly, eyes flicking between them with growing amusement. He nudged Vessel’s shoulder with his own, grinning. “He’s plotting. Can’t you tell?”

II watched it all with quiet indulgence, sipping his tea like he didn’t know exactly why III was so excited. Like he didn’t know III had the keys to Vessel’s undoing.

By the time plates were empty, Vessel was outright amused, one arm draped over the back of his chair, posture lazy but eyes sharp. “Alright,” he said finally, voice low and dangerous. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

III stood slowly, stretching, letting his jumper ride up just enough to show a strip of skin. He leaned across the table to tap Vessel’s nose with one finger. “You’ll find out soon,” he said sweetly. “I believe I still have charge of you for the rest of the day… so let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we?”

Vessel’s grin turned predatory, but he stood without protest, following III down the hall with IV and II trailing behind.

The master bedroom remained exactly as II and III had left it, curtains drawn back against the pale winter afternoon, the air warm and faintly heavy with what lingered between them only hours earlier. A single lamp glowed on the nightstand, casting soft amber pools across the bed, turning the deep red sheets to wine and shadow.

III’s heart thudded hard in his chest, anticipation buzzing beneath his skin like live wire, charged with the delicious knowledge of what he was about to do. He turned to II first, batting his lashes with exaggerated sweetness. It was the same look he used when he wanted extra whipped cream on his hot chocolate or five more minutes of cuddling.

“Sir,” he said, voice syrupy, the title like a deliberate caress. A reminder that no matter how things had progressed between them, III still loved kneeling beneath II in every sense of the word. “Could I borrow a few things from your closet? Rope, and… what we talked about earlier?”

II’s eyes darkened instantly, a flash of wickedness breaking through before he reeled it back in. He didn’t smile, not quite, but approval lingered in the subtle tilt of his head, in the way his gaze lingered on III a second longer than necessary.

The title had landed exactly where III intended.

“Of course,” II said at last, voice low and even, steadier than the heat flickering beneath it.

He turned towards the walk-in toy closet without another word, the soft click of the door closing behind him sounding far louder than it should have. Like the snap of a lock, or the quiet promise of something about to unfold.

The moment he was gone, III spun back to Vessel with a grin that was all teeth. “On the bed,” he ordered, voice dropping to something darker, rougher around the edges. “Hands above your head.”

Vessel obeyed slowly, deliberately, stretching out in the centre of the mattress like he owned every inch of it… which, to be fair, he usually did. He settled onto his back with infuriating ease, arms lifting until his wrists crossed above his head in a lazy parody of surrender. His mouth curved, eyes bright with challenge and anticipation. That familiar edge of amusement gleamed there, too, an unspoken confidence that said he believed this was happening only because he was allowing it.

III felt the spark of it catch in his chest.

Oh, he thought, equal parts delighted and determined. You have no idea what I’m about to do to you.

He climbed onto the bed after him, straddling Vessel’s hips with deliberate slowness, feeling the warmth of him beneath. He leaned down and kissed Vessel slow and filthy, tongue sliding in deep, teeth catching on Vessel’s lower lip. It was a hungry little claim that made Vessel’s breath hitch, distracted him, made him forget himself.

While Vessel followed the kiss, chasing it, III slipped one hand away, fingers dipping into the pocket of his sweatpants to find his present to Vessel.

The blindfold emerged smoothly, black leather catching the low light. It was butter-soft in his hands, supple and warm from being tucked away. On the inside, stitched so finely it could easily be missed on first glance, the words GOOD BOY lay hidden. They were positioned to rest right over the eyes of the wearer, a private praise pressed gently into place.

III smiled to himself and slipped it over Vessel’s eyes without warning, tugging the straps snug at the back of his head with quick, efficient fingers. Vessel’s breath caught sharply, hands flexing against the sheets but not moving to interfere as darkness swallowed him whole.

“There,” III murmured, voice low and satisfied, leaning down to brush his lips against Vessel’s again. “Now you’re all mine.”

Vessel’s mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile that sent a traitorous flip through III’s stomach. Somehow, stripped of those piercing eyes, the expression was even more provocative. Pure, unfiltered, predatory intent.

“For now,” he rumbled, voice low and rough with promise.

III only laughed at the provocation, sliding off to the side as IV crawled onto the bed beside them, eyes wide and eager, cheeks already flushed with anticipation. III beckoned him closer with a crooked finger.

“Want to help me tease him while we wait, angel?” he said, voice dropping into something conspiratorial even though Vessel could definitely still hear.

They worked together in easy tandem, IV’s mouth tracing lazy, open-mouthed patterns along Vessel’s neck, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin, while III’s fingers skated down Vessel’s sides, catching the hem of his new cashmere jumper and tugging it upward inch by teasing inch.

Vessel’s muscles tensed and released beneath their touch, breath coming faster as the blindfold heightened every sensation tenfold. The soft drag of IV’s tongue, the way III’s nails scraped just hard enough to leave faint pink trails, it all blurred together into something overwhelming when he couldn’t anticipate what came next.

III peeled the jumper higher, exposing the sharp dip of Vessel's hips, the flat plane of his stomach, the swell of his muscled chest. He paused there, letting the fabric bunch under Vessel’s arms, and leaned down to drag his tongue along the newly bared skin, slow and deliberate, tasting the warmth and faint salt.

Vessel twitched, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

IV giggled softly against Vessel’s collarbone, the sound muffled as he nipped gently at the skin there. “You’re so sensitive like this,” he murmured, voice sweet and teasing, the way he always got when he knew he had permission to play. His fingers followed the path of III’s tongue, tracing the ridges of Vessel’s abs with light touches that made Vessel’s stomach jump.

Vessel’s hands flexed above his head, fingers curling into loose fists. “You two are going to kill me,” he muttered, voice rough and breathless, but there was laughter in it.

III grinned against his skin, nipping at the sharp line of Vessel’s hipbone. “Not yet,” he promised, voice dark with delight. “We’ve barely started.”

IV shifted higher, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the hollow of Vessel’s throat, right where his pulse fluttered wildly. “You look so pretty when you’re trying to be good,” he whispered, the words half-muffled against skin, and Vessel let out a shaky exhale, body arching just slightly into their touch.

III’s fingers finally tugged the jumper free, tossing it aside without looking, and they both paused to admire the sight it had concealed. Vessel stretched out beneath them, arms raised, blindfold dark against his face, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, skin flushed and lined with goosebumps from their teasing.

III leaned down again, pressing a kiss to the centre of Vessel’s chest, right over his heart. “Perfect,” he murmured, voice soft and without tease. “Absolutely perfect.”

Vessel’s lips parted on a soft, helpless sound so unlike him, and III felt the moment shift, playful teasing giving way to something deeper, the air thickening with hunger.

They were only waiting for II now.

When he returned, arms full of soft black rope and a tray of skin-safe candles in deep reds and golds, Vessel was fully naked and tense on the bed, cock half-hard against his thigh from their continued teasing. While the blindfold had stripped him of sight, he could still hear every soft footfall, every rustle of fabric, every quiet breath. His head turned slightly toward the door as II entered, muscles tensing like he already knew something terrible was coming.

II set the tray of candles on the nightstand with careful precision, the only telling sound the soft clink of it against the wood. He lit each candle without a word, lighter flaring briefly before settling into a steady flame. The sweet, faint scent of wax and vanilla began to drift through the room, slow and insidious, curling into the air like a promise.

III couldn’t wait to see Vessel’s breath hitch once he got his first whiff.

Once he knew what he was in for.

He took the rope from II with careful hands, glancing at him for guidance even though the power was his today.

“No handcuffs this time,” he said loudly for Vessel’s sake, voice edged with lingering huffiness from that old betrayal. “Not taking any chances with Mr. Escape Artist.”

Vessel let out a low, amused rumble, but it turned into a sharp inhale as III began to bind him. He started with the wrists, looping the soft black rope around them with surprising care, following II’s quiet, murmured instructions. “Over, then under— yes, like that. Pull snug, but not too tight. He should be able to feel it, but he shouldn’t bruise unless he wants to.”

The rope was silky against Vessel’s skin, deceptively gentle, but when III cinched the knots and secured them to the headboard, Vessel tested them instinctively, muscles flexing, shoulders rolling, the headboard creaking faintly under the strain. The bindings held. No give. No escape.

III’s grin was audible in his voice. “Told you. No escape this time, love.”

Vessel huffed, but there was a tremor of excitement beneath the bravado. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Damn right I am,” III shot back, already moving to Vessel’s ankles.

His legs came next, spread wide until his thighs trembled slightly as III tied each ankle to the bedposts. The rope whispered against Vessel’s skin as it tightened, leaving him open and exposed, hips canted just enough to make every inch of him vulnerable. Vessel tested these bonds too, knees bending, heels digging into the mattress, letting out a low grunt of effort. But again, nothing budged.

III felt a thrill of power rush through him, sharp and intoxicating. This was his Vessel – broad, strong, and usually the one doing the pinning – now laid out like an offering, blindfolded and bound, every muscle taut with anticipation and the faintest edge of frustration.

And then, with nothing else to focus on, the scent hit him properly.

Vessel’s head snapped toward the nightstand, nostrils flaring. “Candles?” he asked, voice dropping to something dangerously low, edged with warning.

III grinned, leaning down to brush his lips against Vessel’s ear, close enough that Vessel could feel the heat of his breath. “You didn’t think II would keep your little secret, did you?”

Vessel’s entire body tensed for real this time, a ripple of muscle from shoulders to thighs as reality sank in. He tugged sharply at the ropes, testing their strength with sudden, serious force. The headboard creaked again, louder, but the knots held fast. A low, muttered string of curse words spilled from him, genuinely alarmed.

“II—” he started, voice rough. “You little—”

III laughed, pressing a quick, mocking kiss to the corner of Vessel’s mouth. “Oh, don’t start blaming him. You’ll ruin the mood. Besides—” he leaned closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper, “you love this. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Vessel growled, low and dangerous, hips jerking against the ropes in another futile attempt to close his legs. “I’m going to make you both pay for this.”

“Promises, promises,” III sang, patting Vessel’s chest like he was soothing a skittish animal, fingers lingering to feel the quick thump of Vessel’s heart beneath warm skin. “But right now? You’re mine.”

He straightened, turning to II with plotting eyes. The candles were still burning on the nightstand, but a good amount of wax was now pooled and waiting.

“So, Sir,” he asked, voice lilting above his playful smile, “any tips on where I should start? Chest? Thighs? Is there somewhere that really makes him lose his composure?”

II’s gaze drifted from Vessel’s restrained form to III’s open, expectant expression, then back again, unhurried. He appeared to genuinely consider it, one finger tapping thoughtfully against his chin, before he exhaled, slow and quiet, and crossed the room to the cuckarmchair, settling into it with deliberate ease, ankles crossing, hands resting loosely on the arms.

An observer’s throne.

“I think one secret is quite enough power for you,” he said at last, voice edged with a low, satisfied amusement. “I’ll simply watch and make sure you don’t forget yourself.”

Vessel’s head snapped toward the sound of II’s voice, blindfold hiding his eyes but not the way his lips pulled up over his teeth in a snarl. “Traitor,” he muttered, the word rough and low, vibrating against III’s palm.

II only laughed, soft and fond, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Care to tell me your colour, darling?”

Vessel seemed to wrestle with himself for a long second before finally caving. His shoulders slumped just a fraction. “Fuckin’ green,” he mumbled, sullen and begrudging, like the admission had been pried out of him by force.

III was already reaching for his first candle before the confirmation came. “IV,” he said sweetly into the charged air, voice dropping into that coaxing tone he knew worked best on their bunny, “sit on his face for me? I think he’ll need some help keeping quiet.”

IV’s eyes widened, pupils blowing out in an instant, but he obeyed eagerly, making fast work of shedding his reindeer onesie before scrambling up Vessel’s body with that soft, eager grace he always had when being good. He straddled Vessel’s chest first, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his ribs, then slid backward inch by inch until his mouth found IV's cunt.

The sound Vessel made was low and content, vibrating straight through IV’s core, drawing a sharp gasp from him. IV’s hands flew to Vessel’s chest for balance, fingers splaying over warm skin as Vessel’s tongue delved into him, licking slow and thorough like he was starving, or like he was trying desperately to reclaim some control before III began his torture. IV’s hips rocked backward instinctively, chasing the wet heat of Vessel’s mouth, a soft, needy whimper spilling out as Vessel sucked greedily at his cock.

III watched for a moment, utterly transfixed by the sight of IV’s head tipped back, mouth open on little gasps, cheeks flushed bright pink and chest outstretched.

It reminded him of something…

He set the candle back down and fished back into his pocket for the clamps he’d gotten IV for Christmas, the delicate silver ones with the star-engraved weights, and dangled them in front of IV’s flushed face, letting the chain catch the low lamplight.

“I almost forgot,” he murmured, voice syrupy with mischief, “these are for you, angel.”

IV whimpered, the sound high and trembling, but he nodded frantically, breath hitching as III leaned in close. Even after top surgery, IV’s nipples remained sensitive and perfectly his own; his chest had been so small to begin with that the procedure hadn’t required grafting or relocation. His only scars were the faded lines hugging the underside of each pec.

III rolled one nipple between thumb and forefinger, coaxing it to a stiff, rosy peak with slow, deliberate circles. IV arched into the feeling, a soft gasp slipping free, before III fastened the first clamp with careful precision. The sensation shot straight through him, bright and electric, and IV jolted, a sharp little cry escaping him as the bite settled in, the weight tugging downward with a soft chime.

“Shhh,” III soothed, kissing the corner of IV’s mouth. “You’re doing so good.”

He repeated the process on the other side, fastening the second clamp before giving the connecting chain a tiny, playful tug. It was just enough pressure to make IV gasp and arch, the stars tickling faintly against his skin as his eyes fluttered shut, thighs trembling where they bracketed Vessel’s head.

Vessel groaned in response, the vibration sending another shiver through IV, his hips rocking down harder as Vessel’s tongue worked him relentlessly.

III stepped back to take them, head tilting slightly in satisfaction. IV flushed and trembling, nipples clamped and weighted, chain glinting every time he moved. Vessel blindfolded and bound beneath him, mouth working eagerly between IV’s thighs, cock leaking steadily against his thigh.

They really did look perfect together, already half-unravelled before the main event.

A slow, wicked smile curled at III’s mouth. Time to paint them in my colours.

He lifted the first candle again carefully, tilting it so the pooled wax gathered at the rim. The first pour was deliberate, trailing a thin, controlled line across Vessel’s chest, right over his sternum and down to the dip of his navel. The wax hit hot and sharp, blooming into blissful heat as it cooled into perfect crimson droplets against his pale skin.

Vessel’s reaction was immediate, his whole body jerking against the ropes, a low, guttural groan muffled into IV’s cunt. His hips bucked helplessly, cock twitching and leaking more as the heat spread beneath the wax like liquid fire turning to pleasure. Vessel’s head thrashed side to side, blindfold hiding his eyes but not the way his mouth worked harder against IV, like he was trying to drown the sensation in taste and touch.

“Pretty,” III murmured, voice thick with awe and hunger. “Look at you, taking it so well.”

He grew bolder, tilting the candle again, this time trailing slowly over the ridges of Vessel’s ribs on the right side, creating a teasing arc that mirrored the first line already cooling across his sternum. Vessel arched hard, back bowing off the mattress, a strangled curse vibrating deep into IV’s cunt. The heat licked across his sensitive skin in sharp, bright bursts before melting into soft, rolling waves of pleasure, making his thighs tremble uncontrollably and his cock leak steadily between his thighs in glistening pearls.

III paused to admire the two symmetrical lines of red wax curving elegantly along Vessel’s body, framing the hard planes of his chest. Then, with a wicked little hum, he tilted the candle once more, pouring a third line on the left side to match.

Three perfect crimson curves, spelling out III in dripping, possessive script.

Vessel’s body jerked against the ropes as the fresh heat bloomed across his ribs, and III leaned down to blow gently across the still-warm wax. The sudden cool air made Vessel hiss, muscles jumping under the sensitive skin.

“Look at that,” III purred, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Marked you up nice and proper, didn’t I?”

Vessel’s head thrashed below IV’s cunt, blindfold hiding his eyes but not the flush crawling up his throat. “You fucker,” he growled, but the words cracked on a moan as III dragged a nail through one of the cooling lines, tracing the edge with just enough pressure to make Vessel’s hips stutter upward.

“Shhh,” III soothed, mock-tender, pressing a kiss to the middle line. “Don’t ruin the artwork. It’s my signature.”

IV, trembling above them both, let out a soft, breathless laugh that turned into a whimper as Vessel’s tongue pressed deeper into him in retaliation. The clamps tugged sharply with his sudden grinding movement, stars tinkling faintly, and IV’s knuckles whitened where his hands clutched Vessel’s collarbones, careful to stay just outside the wax’s reach.

III watched both of them, marked by him in different ways, feeling something warm and possessive bloom in his chest.

He reached for a golden candle this time, tilting it just enough to threaten another pour. “Think you can handle more?” III teased, voice low and dark. “Or are you already begging me to stop, baby?”

Vessel’s answer was a muffled snarl, whole body tensed in delicious anticipation, chasing the heat he couldn’t quite reach.

III grinned, feral and triumphant.

He poured again, daring closer to Vessel’s thighs now, high enough that the heat licked dangerously near his cock. Vessel’s whole body tensed, a strangled sound ripping from his throat as the wax cooled into a perfect casing across the sensitive skin. His hips jerked upward, seeking a heat that would undo him, cock bobbing helplessly against his stomach.

“Fuck— III—” Vessel managed, voice wrecked and muffled against IV’s cunt.

III grinned, leaning down to brush his lips against the tip of Vessel’s cock. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice dark with delight. “Let go for me. You’re so pretty when you stop fighting.”

He lifted the candle higher, letting the next pour fall in a slow, thick line from Vessel’s sternum down to just above his tip, close enough that he could feel the threat, but not quite burning. Vessel’s breath came in ragged pants now, body shuddering with every drop, the fight slowly bleeding out of him as the pleasure overtook the instinct to resist.

III watched the descent with hungry eyes, Vessel’s shoulders dropping, his wrists relaxing against the ropes, his hips no longer straining upward and instead rolling in helpless little circles. The tension in his jaw softened too, lips parting on soft, broken moans against IV’s core instead of curses.

“There you go,” III murmured, voice low and teasing. “That’s my good boy.”

Vessel groaned again, recognition flickering at the edges of his mind, some resistance to III’s words that he couldn’t quite grasp anymore. Not when he was giving himself over so completely, to the heat, to the pull of the ropes, to the cunt on his face and the hands that had finally broken him open.

And III, feeling the power and the trust and the raw, aching arousal of it, felt something inside him ease. As if a long-held tension slipped free, settling him into himself at last.

This was what he’d wanted.

Not just control, but them trusting him enough to fall apart.

He lifted the candle again, ready for more.

He poured a thick, molten line from Vessel’s clavicles up and over IV’s chest, the heat blooming sharp and sudden across both of them. IV keened, high and broken, back arching as the wax trailed unexpectedly down his sternum in warm, slow rivulets, painting gold ribbons over his skin. Vessel’s groan was muffled against IV’s cunt, the vibration ripping another desperate sound from IV’s throat as the heat dripped down his body and fell onto Vessel below.

“Lean down,” III ordered, voice rough with want, tugging gently on the nipple clamps to guide IV forward. The silver links chimed softly, a delicate counterpoint to the ragged breathing filling the room.

IV obeyed instantly, folding forward with an eagerness that spoke of his subspace. Trusting, pliant, completely III’s in this moment. He leaned down Vessel’s body until they were in a perfect sixty-nine, IV’s mouth finding Vessel’s cock with desperate, hungry need. Vessel’s tongue never faltered between IV’s thighs, licking slow and thorough even as his hands and hips jerked helplessly against the ropes.

III poured again, this time over IV’s back in a slow, deliberate trail that ran down the elegant curve of his spine, pooled into his dimples, and dripped in warm rivulets onto Vessel’s sides. The heat made them both moan around each other, the sound vibrating through their joined bodies in a feedback loop of pleasure. IV’s hips stuttered, pushing down harder onto Vessel’s face, and Vessel’s tongue pressed deeper in response.

Both were utterly lost in sensation, in each other, in the slow burn of wax turning pain into bliss.

III, though, was utterly transfixed by the way the position had drawn IV’s soft stomach flush against Vessel’s toned chest. The wax from earlier had cooled just enough to crack faintly under the pressure of their joined bodies, a soft space that promised texture, friction, sensation layered on sensation.

His throat went dry.

Pure want spiked sharp and sudden, cutting through his patience like it had never existed at all. Watching wasn’t enough anymore. Whatever restraint he’d been clinging to finally gave way, and III knew, bone-deep, that he couldn’t wait another second.

Candles forgotten, he slicked his cock with lube from the nightstand, then thrust into the tight, warm space where IV’s soft stomach pressed against Vessel’s hard chest. He pushed down onto the small of IV’s back with one hand, forcing the space even tighter, the cooled wax cracking and flaking under the friction as he slid his length through the heated valley they created.

The texture was obscene. Smooth skin, sticky wax, the faint drag of dried droplets catching on his sensitive head with every slow thrust. III groaned low in his throat, hips rolling in a deliberate rhythm, feeling the heat of their bodies radiating up around him, the way they clenched and shuddered around each other in response to his intrusion.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Look at you two, making such a perfect little tunnel for me.”

IV whimpered around Vessel’s cock, the sound vibrating down Vessel’s length and making him buck up into IV’s mouth. Vessel’s hands flexed uselessly against the ropes, fingers curling and uncurling as he tried to grip something, anything, to ground himself. With IV splayed over him, III could only see the blindfold hiding Vessel’s eyes, wet with IV’s juices, and the flush spreading across his cheeks.

III reached down with his free hand and hooked two fingers under the chain connecting IV’s nipple clamps. He tugged gently at first, then harder, making the line pull at IV’s nipples with every movement. IV cried out, muffled around Vessel’s cock, hips jerking forward and pressing his stomach even tighter against Vessel’s chest, increasing the friction on III’s cock.

“That’s it, angel,” III purred, voice betraying his pleasure. “Arch more for me.”

Vessel’s control was fraying. His hips jerked upward in short, helpless thrusts, trying to fuck deeper into IV’s mouth even as the ropes held him pinned. A low, continuous groan rumbled from his chest, muffled against IV’s cunt, vibrating through III’s cock.

III leaned forward, pressing IV’s lower back down harder onto his cock, and whispered against his ear, “Feel how much he’s fighting it? He’s going to come so hard, angel. And you’re going to take every drop.”

IV moaned, high and desperate, tongue swirling around Vessel’s head as Vessel’s hips stuttered beneath him. III tugged the chain again, sharper, and IV’s whole body jolted, nipples pulled taut, the sensation shooting straight to his cunt and making him grind down harder against Vessel’s face.

Somehow, Vessel still broke first.

His body locked up, muscles straining against the ropes as he came with a muffled roar, hips bucking helplessly, cock pulsing down IV’s throat in thick, hot waves. IV swallowed greedily, whimpering around the length, the clamps tugging sharply with every shudder of his own body as Vessel’s tongue never faltered, licking him through his own aftershocks with slow, deliberate strokes.

The combination was too much.

IV’s hips rocked forward, erratic and needy, before he shattered too.

A broken, keening cry tore from his throat around Vessel’s softening cock as his cunt clenched hard, slick gushing over Vessel’s tongue in a sudden, messy flood. His whole body seized, thighs clamping around Vessel’s head, back bowing so sharply the chain pulled the clamps tighter still. The bite of metal and the relentless press of Vessel’s mouth dragged the orgasm out longer than he could handle, wave after wave crashing through him until he was trembling, sobbing softly, tears streaking down flushed cheeks.

The sight, the sounds, pushed III over the edge. “Good boys,” he panted into the damp air. “Both of you. So fucking good for me.”

He thrust deep between them one last time, cock sliding through the tight, wax-slicked space, and came in thick, claiming pulses that mingled with the cooled wax, marking them both. His hips jerked through the release, breath ragged, vision whiting out for a moment as pleasure crashed through him.

They collapsed in a trembling heap, IV’s head slumping forward onto Vessel’s thighs, Vessel’s body still twitching with aftershocks, III draped over both of them, chest heaving, heart pounding against IV’s back. The room was filled with the scent of wax and sex and satisfaction, their breathing the only sound left as it slowly evened out.

III pressed a kiss to the base of IV’s spine, then another to Vessel’s forehead, murmuring soft, wrecked praise against their skin. “Thank you, so good for me, thank you.”

II finally rose from his chair with quiet efficiency, the soft creak of it the only sound that broke the heavy, sated silence in the room. He moved like he always did, deliberate and unhurried, every motion precise even after only watching.

The tray of remaining candles was set aside first, then he gathered warm, damp cloths from the en-suite bathroom and a small jar of soothing balm that smelled faintly of lavender and honey. When he returned, his sleeves were rolled higher, forearms flexing slightly as he carried everything back to the bed.

II started with IV.

He was still floating somewhere high and soft in subspace, body lax and pliant across Vessel’s. His cheeks were flushed a deep, contented rose, eyes half-lidded and glassy, a dazed, dreamy smile curving his lips as he nuzzled into the crook of Vessel’s thigh like he was trying to burrow closer. The clamps were carefully removed to reveal swollen, tender nipples, flushed a darker pink than the rest of his chest.

II knelt on the edge of the mattress, one warm cloth in hand, and began to wipe away the worst of the wax and sweat with slow, careful strokes. He started at IV’s shoulders, working down his back in long, soothing passes, murmuring soft praise the whole time.

“There you are, pup,” he said quietly, voice low and steady like a heartbeat. “Such a good boy for III. Took everything so beautifully, didn’t you?”

IV made a small, contented sound and pressed his face deeper into Vessel, arms tightening around his hips like he never wanted to let go. The wax on his back had cooled into delicate, cracked patterns, and II worked patiently, lifting away the flakes with the cloth, then smoothing balm over the slightly reddened skin beneath.

“This feel okay?” II asked softly, fingers gliding over a particularly sensitive patch. “You did so well.”

IV’s smile widened against Vessel’s skin, eyes fluttering closed. “Feels nice,” he mumbled, voice thick and sleepy. “Love you.”

II’s expression softened further, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

Next was Vessel.

He pretended to be angry, grumbling low in his throat about secrets and betrayal, about how II had “sold him out” to the menace currently blissed out and beaming beside them. But the flush on his cheeks hadn’t faded, and the way he immediately tipped his head to give II better access to the blindfold gave him away completely.

“You’re both traitors,” Vessel muttered once his sight was back, voice rough from moaning and muffled shouting, but there was no heat in it. “Should’ve known better than to trust either of you.”

III snorted, finally out of his own haze and moving to untie Vessel’s bindings. “You loved it. Don’t even try to lie while I still have you all tied up.”

Vessel’s lips twitched, fighting a telling smile. “Shut up.”

II didn’t rise to the bait. He simply leaned in, pressing the warm cloth to Vessel’s chest, wiping away the thickest lines of wax with gentle, methodical strokes. Vessel’s breath hitched when the cloth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, and II paused, thumb brushing soothing circles over the skin. He continued cleaning, working down Vessel’s ribs, across his stomach, careful around the places where the wax had pooled thicker. Every so often he leaned down to press a kiss to newly cleaned skin, soft presses that made Vessel’s breath stutter.

When the worst of the wax was gone and his limbs were free, II reached for the balm, warming a dollop between his palms before smoothing it over Vessel’s chest and sides. Vessel’s muscles jumped under the touch at first, then relaxed, a low, contented rumble vibrating in his throat.

“Feels good,” Vessel admitted, voice quieter now, almost shy.

II’s smile was small but genuine. “Good.”

Finally, III.

He was still beaming, chest puffed with triumph, the knowledge that he’d finally made Vessel cave burning bright and warm inside him. He looked like he’d won the lottery and been crowned king in the same afternoon, eyes sparkling, grin wide and unrepentant.

II turned to him last, kneeling between III’s sprawled legs. He started with a fresh cloth, wiping away the sweat and wax residue from III’s chest and thighs, movements slow and careful.

“You were brilliant,” II said softly, voice carrying that quiet authority that always made III melt. “You took care of them so well.”

III’s grin softened, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” II’s fingers brushed III’s cheek, thumb tracing the corner of his smile. “Proud of you.”

The words hit harder than III expected. His throat tightened, eyes stinging for a moment before he blinked it away. He reached up, catching II’s wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, voice thick. “For… letting me. For trusting me.”

II leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. “Always,” he said simply.

Then he finished cleaning III with the same gentle care he’d shown the others, wiping away the last traces of wax from his hips, smoothing cooling balm over his palms just in case III hadn’t noticed the candle jars running a little too hot.

When he was done, he gently manoeuvred Vessel into III’s arms, fitting them together like their long bodies belonged that way, before shifting to pull IV close and spoon him on their other side.

Best Christmas ever, III thought, without a shred of exaggeration.