buckle up, sluts

He's too big to fit properly in the back of his SUV, let alone with you squeezed between his thighs, his ankles bracketing your hips, but you make it work: front seat slid as far forward as it could possibly go, both back rows folded down into a platform he sprawls across with his back pressed into the corner by the door. On your belly, his thick legs encase your head, crowd around you protectively and shield you from would-be onlookers even beyond the capabilities of the tinted windows. He makes it easy to forget where you are, keeps you clothed so the scratchiness of the seat backs doesn't abrade your elbow, hums absently in a language he knows you don't speak to drown out the droning of the incessantly cheery holiday music blaring loud enough to be heard faintly across the car park, where you're sequestered to one of the quieter corners of the over packed lot. You think they must be playing it from on high, tinny sleigh bells ringing from weatherbeaten speakers hidden in the lot lights.

It would make you grind your teeth, if your mouth weren't full - soft flesh and thick musk, your tongue working over silken skin because it's so good and sweet and tender and -

Distracting.

"Shh, malýshka. Settle, little one." 

Easier said than done when your brain feels like a boiled soft drink, sticky and hot, carbonated through your very bloodstream. You're flighty, a little shuddering dog vibrating at a speed that staves off the cold eking through the thin shell of the car, small drafts of chill you can feel against the skin of your hip when you shuffle too much and your jacket rides up. Your eyelids flutter, annoyed, Nik's obnoxious, striped undershirt coming into view, blue on blue in the dark. He shifts, wraps a heavy leg over you to keep you warm with the soft-worn pit of his denim-clad knee, and you melt a little further.

"That's it, radnaja, easy."

You're much better than you were, at least, the way you'd been spitting and hissing at him while he'd calmly marched you out to the car and had you stand at the taillight while he shuffled seats about playing on an embarrassing loop, casting an ugly pallor over the quiet moment he's created for you. You want to apologize, don't want to lose the comforting weight on your tongue long enough to do it. You slurp a little more aggressively instead, tongue chasing the saliva that slips past your soaked lips to leech into the fabric of his boxer briefs, and hope that illustrates your gratefulness.

"No playing, sweet thing. We're just taking a minute to unwind, remember?"

Even the mention of it - of the need to unwind - has you snuffling deeper, your nose pressed against the fly of his pants, trying to drown out the memory of what awaits you outside the relative safety of the car: the blaring music, the sputtering blue-bright LEDs, the raucous coughing of flu season and the bustle of too many bodies shifting past you, coarse wool coats and pet dander.

And responsibilities. Those, too. Entire aisles of nearly-identical, impersonal throw pillows for people you've only met twice. Or candles, cheap fragrance sticking in your sinuses until each one bled into the next, a putrid, garish bouquet you knew no one would like, let alone your mother. Let alone his mother, or -.

Your hand pushes against the tent of his pants, tucking the fabric behind his heavy balls so you can pull him deeper, suckle a bit harder. Your tongue slides against the loose skin of his sac and he sighs, hand heavy on the back of your head. 

"If you can't behave, I'll make you sit out here by yourself, and we both know it will take you so long to calm down that you'll miss dinner." Muttering, he tacks on, "Know how fussy you get when you're hungry."

It's sorely tempting, your disinterest in returning to the shops strong enough you briefly consider trying your luck, but there's no tempting Nik when he's decided you're not going to get a treat no matter how hard you try. Besides, he'll say you're in timeout, which lands just a hair out of bounds on the wrong side of demeaning for you. So you relax your jaw again, let your drool drip past his balls unimpeded. One decision down.

"Úmnitsa," he hums, and then chuckles quietly when your whole body loosens. Even through the fog of overstimulation, you know that one - have twisted yourself into many knots just to hear it, have never earned it until you let him unwind you from them. You're conditioned by now, the word instantly unclenching something in your belly and letting you sink deeper into the impromptu scene he's crafted for you, the quiet pocket of warmth and silence he's carved into the bitter chaos of holiday shopping. This time you know how to thank him, head resting heavy against the soft flesh over his pelvis as you focus on what he lets you feel, the weight of his hands and the warmth of his thighs, the damp weave of his pants and the scratchiness of the bellyhair that pokes through his shirt. Like this, he fills your mouth better than your own tongue, pliant and soft, pulse a subtle countermeasure to your own. He never started the car - probably thought the hum of the engine and the dry wash of the heat would annoy you. He'd have been right, but you think you'd rather hear that than the lingering notes of jingle bells. Still, it's hard to be mad when he does his best to cover that as well, his quiet, lullaby interrupted sporadically so he can coo about how well you're doing for him, comment absently on how he knew you just needed papa to take care of you. It's enough to keep that small kernel of excitement alive in your belly, popcorn just waiting for its moment over the burner.

You find it when he shifts too much, rousing you from your reverie with a whine which he hushes a bit too loudly, hands a touch too heavy on your scalp when he apologizes. "Sorry, malýshka. I'm only a man."

He chuckles, but you're far enough gone that the words snag on their way through, drift in the lazy stream of your thoughts for a minute before you can catch them, untangle them enough to make sense. And then you're not laughing, letting his cock loll from between your lips with an embarrassingly sloppy sound, a wordless whine following after it as you try to get the cogs of your thoughts to slot together, petting his belly absently as you look up at him.

Nik's so handsome like this, slick hair shining gold and blue in the lot lights, disheveled from where it's been catching on the ceiling because he's far too tall to be folded in the back like this but he's done it anyway. For your benefit, let you use his body even as it probably drove him up a wall to feel the wet heat of your mouth on him, the tight control he's capable of applied here, on himself, denying his own needs because you'd been acting like the babies inside, kept out too late, crying under the fluorescent lights of an apathetic box store as their mothers broke down with them because the last fashion dolly had been snatched up minutes before they'd arrived.

"Please, papa?"

He hums contemplatively, hand slipping down to massage your shoulders. "Please, what, little one?"

"You… you need…?"

Brows arching to his high hairline, Nik takes a minute to settle your cheek against his hip again, turning you just slightly so you rest more firmly against his leg, your hip and shoulder bearing most of your weight. "Do you think you can handle it, radnaja?" he asks, knowing full well that the answer is no, but that you'll ask for it anyway because it's what you want. To be useful, to treat him. To be reduced to some mindless receptacle, not expected to decide between Nerf guns for graceless little nephews who would break them in less than a day anyway.

"Yes. Please, papa. Please. Let me -."

Nik has to snag your wrist to keep you from pawing at him too eagerly, tucking it behind your hip so he can lean forward and pin it there with the hand that slides heavily down your back, the fabric of your puff jacket hissing as the down parts for him. (Only the best and the warmest for his little one.) Leaning forward, his belly blocks out most of the remnant light from behind the tinted windows, lulls you further under with the soft-firm pressure. When his free hand pulls back to adjust himself, you're engulfed completely, lips parting blindly to accept him and huffing when he reprimands you with a gentle squeeze of your wrist for trying to pull more of his length in with your tongue.

"Take what I give, you, malýshka. Nothing more." His voice is warning when it finally registers, gravel deep. As far from soothing as it's been since you snapped at him about gift bags and he made you leave your entire shopping cart in the middle of the stationary aisle, but you want to listen to him so you do, jaw going slack as your tongue simply pulses against him, trying to coax that first drop from his slit. 

He doesn't give it to you, not yet anyway. Pumping himself to full hardness with a careless clutch of three fingers without your help at all. Nik makes you squirm until you wear yourself out, quiet pleas falling on deaf ears as he returns to humming absently. At one point you hear his head thump against the back of the headrest and the tune goes thin, ragged. You picture the strong column of his neck, shaded dark with stubble and low light, flexing around the garbled Russian that spills from his lips. It's familiar, somehow, the cadence more than the pitch, but trying to place it when your brain is so fuzzy is like trying to catch a snowflake on your fingernail. Won't happen until you're not trying. So you slip in and out of it, focus more on the way his voice gets reedy if you cup your tongue around his head, give him a nice, warm pad to lay on. 

When you rock against the flex of your own thighs, Nik's leg draws close to your front, his knee slotting up to your cunt and you shift until you feel the hard press of your seam on your clit, whining around the intrusion in your mouth just to hear him shush you. 

"Said take what I give you, greedy thing. Don't be impatient."

But despite his words, it seems Nik himself is. Hand climbing to the back of your head, he pushes you down until he prods at the back of your throat, bouncing you there until his thigh flexes against your tummy, an odd jump of his quad you've come to know quite well. You hum happily and relax your throat, let him sink past the ring of muscle just to feel the catch, painting your tongue as he pulls back out and orders you not to swallow, whispers how he wants to see. You know what he means anyway, swallowing just enough that you don't make a mess, let it overflow and soak your skin, your clothes, his upholstery.

As if you'd ever waste it.

It's bad. Bitter with the hot coffee he'd had earlier, steam wafting around him as he'd carried the bags piled in the front seat now, hand dwarfing the cup. You rock against your inseam more at the memory than at the taste, listening to the relieved groan he emits as he finally finishes, one last pulse dribbling against your chin as he pulls himself free. You close your mouth as he manhandles you to your knees in front of him, opening again for his inspection when he lets slip a long string of Russian you don't understand. You hear Úmnitsa a few times between licks to your lips, the overheated skin of your jaw. His grip changes, cradling your face to let you melt into him and you shudder past your last swallow so he can pull you against his chest, showering your crown in kisses and you melt, his voice washing over you, driving the remaining overcrowding in your brain away until it's just that, just being good for him.

It's why you don't quite notice the weight of his palm on your hip, the warmth against your crotch when he drags it lower, content just to let him choose, happy to be pulled along. His fingers are deft on the button of your jeans, the first two fingers of his gloves cut off, allowing him to be nimble. You're done for the second he gets the pad of his middle finger against your clit, working you over until you're gasping against his chest, clutching at his strong arms like some wilting maiden.

You're fawn-legged and docile when he walks you back toward the shops, muttering something about a table at the nice Italian place which goes over your head. In your defense, he's gutted you so thoroughly and stuffed you so full of cotton that the jangling music doesn't even register anymore, let alone his words. Blocked off, plugged up right at the ear, Úmnitsa left to simmer on the hot plate of your cranial floor instead, drowning out the crunch of snow underfoot and the din of holiday chaos alike. You barely even notice when he ducks close to kiss your temple and says you'll stop for warm cookies after dinner, motioning to a bustling little shop which bursts at the seams with warm light and warmer vanilla. You just nod graciously, somewhat beyond speech.

The restaurant is blessedly quiet, lights dimmed to let the twinkle of their warm icicle lighting set the tone. The colors are muted, too. Quiet creams and golds, deep reds which settle you further into your own softness. The spell briefly lifts when you spot your other date, the silver in his beard catching the low light fetchingly. Stumbling ahead of Nik, you duck past the newspaper he's reading and plant a soft kiss on his whiskery cheek. "Sorry for being a brat, daddy," you whisper, folding yourself into the seat next to him so you can rest your head on his strong shoulder. 

John just hums, folding his reading material up as Nik sits on your other side. You can't see the captain's face, but you can almost hear the curl of his lip when he speaks to Nik, voice mildly annoyed by the stickiness he must have caught on your lips, but soft nonetheless. Just for the two of them. "Bad one, was it?"

You'd be embarrassed, if Nik was. "Would not go under for me. All I could think to do. Practically begged for it."

"You spoil her," John chastises, but it's rich coming from someone who's got the contents of your abandoned shopping cart bagged and hidden under the table. You give his shoulder a kiss and his big palm finds your thigh, warm and soothing.

"Well, it worked."

"That's true." John squeezes your leg, voice taking on a patronizing tone as he addresses you for the first time. "You're a lot sweeter when you're not throwing a fit."

"Wasn't a fit," you grumble, but it would be no use trying to describe your state, and you've no words to do so besides.

John just grunts noncommittally, tips his menu your way. "Well, what do you want, sweet -?"

"I've got it," Nik interjects, barely even deigning to look away from his own booklet. 

"You've got it?"

"You want the pork milanese, yes, malýshka?"

Unconcerned with what it means when Nik's thick accent sifts through Italian, you just nod. You're hungry enough not to be picky, anyway. They lapse into a stretch of silence after, for which you're a little grateful. Especially when Nik takes up his humming again, voice lilting through and adding to the orchestral score which plays softly overhead and now you hear it with the alto added in, you recognize it for what it is, voice climbing perilously close to angered after how hard he'd just worked to settle you.

"Were you singing me Christmas music back there?"

oh, and three's assassination attempt ended with:

but price just wants to keep winding you up, 'they're not going to the car. they're going to sit here and we're going to enjoy a meal as a family'

>:)

also, there exists a fully written version of this which culminated in a human urinal scene instead cause i wanted to to treat myself so lmk if anyone is interested in that version

they were a catalyst for each other.

a fire sparked within gaz when soap was present. his demeanour changed, eyes sparkling. his grip was just a bit rougher, his thrusts hitting just that bit deeper.

something tugged at soap’s heartstrings when gaz was with him. his voice mellowed, eyes softening. he seemed to have more patience, and made more of an effort to listen to his friend.

you got the best of both worlds with your boys.

spread out across the bed, you lounged back against several plush pillows, your legs resting atop clean-smelling linen.

gaz kneeled between your legs, your pussy puffy and drooling, clit swollen and tight exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. gaz’s mouth, characteristically, was slick. wet. soaked with your arousal, smeared down his chin, a bead of liquid collecting and then rolling slowly down the column of his neck while he fisted his cock.

foreskin pulled right back, the head was flushed deep and dark, pre-cum pearling over his slit with each flick of his wrist. it glinted beside the silver piercing, before dropping onto the clean sheets between him and you.

“such a pretty pussy,” gaz uttered, shifting his hips closer towards you. he gripped his cock, tapping the pierced head against your clit, grinding it in a small circle a few times, watching you writhe and twitch beneath him.

“gaz,” you whined, hips bucking at the cool sensation spreading across your hot cunt. the metal of the prince albert sent subtle electric shocks right to the base of your spine. you reached for him, only managing to smooth your hands down his muscular shoulders. “gaz, please.”

gaz tutted, eyes soft as he dragged the head of his cock through your drenched folds. he spread you, made a mess of you. all the while appraising you with warm brown eyes and a satisfied smile.

he circled the head around your fluttering hole now, the piercing catching periodically, dipping just millimetres into the heat of your cunt. each slip and retraction had your body reacting in shudders and whines, his movements just too slow and just not enough.

“come on, gaz. ye’ve got to give it to ‘er,” soap whined from the edge of the bed. “split that wet fuckin’ cunt open. fill ‘er up with yer cock.”

gaz tsked, throwing a look of distaste towards soap, who was fisting his cock hard and fast within a tight-knuckled grip. white-knuckled and desperate.

“she’ll get what she needs,” gaz said, voice lingering on annoyance. “she’ll get my cock, and then she’ll get yours.” he paused for just a second to watch your pussy flutter as his piercing snagged against the hood of your clit. “now, if you ask me, that seems a bit greedy— i mean, come on, two cocks for one girl? such a greedy pussy.”

gaz then rubbed the head of his cock across your hole, the silver of the piercing shining with your slick. you whined at his words, the way they heated you from the inside out. body burning up, you knew your pussy would be so wet, and so messy— but you also knew that your boys would go insane for it, too.

“s’not greedy,” soap started through a groan, cock twitching in his palm. his bare stomach already had a splattered stripe of cum across it, laying over the thick hair of his happytrail. soap watched you carefully, and listened to the way your cunt squelched with each rut of gaz’s glans against it. “she deserves it, y’know. pretty girl deserves two cocks— deserves two cocks splittin’ open that tight, little pussy.”

gaz hummed, soap’s words an aphrodisiac more than a goad. he dragged his cock slowly back up your folds, making you mewl loudly.

“i suppose you’re right,” he answered with his piercing now pressed directly on your clit, causing your legs to tremble. “she is such a good girl, isn’t she?”

he dragged his cock down again, notching the head at your hole, piercing swallowed within your heat. you mewled again, nails scratching at his smooth skin, as he slowly, slowly began to push in, stretching you around him.

“mhm, mhm,” soap responded enthusiastically, watching with rapt attention— a puppy transfixed on a treat— as gaz’s cock slowly pushed inside your tight cunt. he moaned breathlessly, pearlescent pre-cum leaking down the thick shaft of his cock, smearing beneath the calloused pads of his fingers as he continued to work himself quickly. “such a good girl, an’ such a good pussy— fuck, such a good pussy, gaz, fuckin’ look at her. look at her takin’ ye. s’like a fuckin’ dream.”

“so good,” gaz whispered, continuing to feed his cock into you as you let out airy, stretched-out whines. his hands were on your hips, squeezing the flesh there soothingly, keeping you in place so he could bottom out.

the noises of him shoving his cock deeper and deeper into you were piercing in the quiet din of the room. wet squelches, lewd and nearly comical, mixed with your pleasured mewls, the low rumble of gaz’s whispers, and the desperate panting and whining from soap as his balls began to tighten and the tip of his cock grew redder and redder.

somehow, you felt gaz’s piercing inside you when he finally bottomed out. felt the small little ball pressed somewhere close to the plug of your womb. felt the subtle coolness amongst all that flaming heat.

or maybe it was just in your head. either way, when gaz pulled out, only to thrust back in again, that cool sensation felt deep in your bones, you moaned loudly. back arching, hips flushed with gaz’s, hands scrambling for some kind of purchase along the slope of his shoulders.

“gaz, gaz— oh my god—” you moaned, pussy clenching around the girth of him. your eyelids fluttered, pleasure knocking in the base of your tummy, sweat building at your back.

gaz bent downwards, practically folding you as he pressed his mouth to yours. hot, wet, full of mint and tobacco-tasting tongue. you whined into it, and you felt his mouth curl into a smile against yours. he pulled back with a short lick to your lips with the point of his tongue, his hips still working his cock deep into you.

soap moaned at the edge of the bed, arm speeding up. you and gaz both turned your heads, cheek to cheek now, his smooth skin warm against yours. soap’s hips bucked to meet his hand, fucking up into his pre-slicked grip with desperation. he babbled out incoherencies, cloaked in moans and whispers as his eyes, glassy, trained on you.

“kiss her again,” soap pleaded, cock jumping in his fist when gaz smiled at him, the points of his canines flashing in the low lighting. soap moaned, long and loud, the sound having you clench tight around the thick of gaz’s cock. “kiss her again, gaz. fuckin’ spit on her, too. fuckin’— jesus fuckin’ christ—”

gaz, still pistoning his hips against you, turned his head, your noses brushing, now facing you. he gently, slowly placed his lips back onto yours. you could hear soap whimpering, the wet faps of his cock, as gaz pried your lips open with his tongue and slowly delved inside.

the kiss didn’t match the fuck. it was slow, sensual. he licked at your tongue, along your teeth, lips moving in time with yours. his cock, however, pulled and pushed quickly— hips slamming into yours now, slowing only occasionally to grind into you, and press his piercing directly into your sweet spot.

you moaned when gaz stopped his quick thrusts to circle his hips, hitting just the right spot. gaz took the opportunity to lick one last time into your open mouth, before turning his face again to watch soap.

soap moaned loudly, shaking his head, almost trembling now. “nae, gaz, s’not enough.”

“not enough?” gaz uttered, slowly turning his head back to you. your lips were parted and smeared with saliva. his tone was teasing, not that soap really noticed.

soap whined louder. “need more spit, gaz. please, jus’ fuckin’ spit in ‘er mouth. make ‘er a right mess—”

gaz pulled back just a fraction, creating distance between you and him. he muttered to you as soap continued to ramble, “you okay with spit, baby?”

you nodded, a bit delirious with the way his cock was slamming repeatedly into your sweet spot, body burning up beneath him. of course gaz would ask— a particularly rough fucking with soap would earn a minimum of two globs of spit trailing down some part of your body, if not into your mouth.

“open up for me,” he cooed, one hand shifting up from your hip to wrap around your jaw. you opened your mouth, and he drawled out, “that’s my good girl,” before letting a substantial amount of spit drop from his parted lips.

he chased it immediately with his mouth, stuffing you full of his tongue, and all you could do was moan as the kiss became less slow and steady, more tongue and teeth.

soap moaned loudly. shatteringly-so. you felt the sound, desperate and wretched deep from his very soul, in your own being. it made you flutter around gaz, made your clit throb, and only then did you realise that you were so close to release.

“fuckin’— ah, jesus fuckin’ christ. yer both so fuckin’ perfect. mmm— m’gonna come.” soap panted like a dog, hips rutting like one too. poor mutt, banished to the end of the bed.

gaz sat up, kneeling once more, pulling your hips closer to him so he could get more leverage behind his fucks. hands on your hips again, he pulled you into his thrusts, making the fat of your tits and stomach bounce.

he looked over at soap while he did it. “you’re not thinking of coming all over your hand, are you?”

soap whined. “need it, gaz. please, let me—”

gaz quickly placed a thumb to your puffy clit, pressing and then circling. you gasped, then moaned, and the sound made soap’s mouth drop open, whimpers free-falling now.

“why don’t you ask for a place to come,” gaz said. soap still didn’t hear the teasing lilt past his desperation.

“please gaz,” he pleaded. “need t’come—”

“not me,” gaz smiled. the other hand on your hip moved downwards for a moment, and he smacked the fat of your thigh gently, but hard enough to leave a resounding slap sound. you whimpered, and he rubbed the spot with his palm. “you need to ask this pretty girl where you’re allowed to come.”

soap’s eyes grew wide, and when gaz nodded at him— you can move, johnny— soap was tripping over himself to scramble across the bed, cock still in one hand. he kneeled near your chest, body bending to place his face right alongside yours, so he could press his lips into your temple and smell you.

“pretty girl, please…” he whispered breathlessly, and your cunt reacted to his whine, tightening up as your climax grew white-hot in the pit of your stomach. gaz moaned above you, eyes on where you and soap were pressed up against each other.

“tell him, baby,” gaz ordered, voice still somehow so soft through his dominance.

you moaned, the only possible option coming to you— no pun intended— was, “inside me, please, johnny.”

soap had to squeeze the base of his cock hard so he didn’t spill his load right then and there. he moaned, strangled, into your temple, nuzzling you there before pulling back and locking eyes with gaz.

“m-my turn,” soap panted, beginning to shuffle across the bed.

gaz just laughed, still rutting into you with unfaltering speed. “your turn? johnny, you said she deserves it, right? deserves two cocks inside her tight cunt?”

soap moaned loud. so did you— and you came, clenching up around gaz, howling their names as pleasure racked through you. gaz fucked you through it, soap watching. and when the initial fizzing pleasure subsided, and when your body broke through the veil of overstimulation, another bout of pleasure creeping in, gaz stopped.

the gasp that left you was sputtered and broken. a tinny exhaust, your stolen pleasure like precious fuel leaving the tank. gaz looked down at you briefly with little more than a smirk.

he then looked over at soap with an even larger smirk. “come on then. make it fit.”

soap enthusiastically helped gaz flip you onto your side, wasting no time pressing his tip to your entrance already stretched out around gaz’s cock.

he willed himself not to come as he slowly pushed in, the stretch hot and tight. you mewled, and gaz shushed you gently. it’s not like you hadn’t done this before, but the initial intrusion was always something else.

“s’a bonnie cunt, this wee thing. all tight an’ wet, s’fuckin’ hot too,” soap rambled with just the flared head of his cock pressed inside you. next to him, gaz waited patiently, eyes locked onto the way your pussy gaped to accommodate them both. soap whimpered, “m’nae gon’ last, gaz.”

he pushed in all the way, shoving himself in beside gaz, bullying the ruddy head of his cock against your sweet spot. you writhed on the bed, body twisting as the spark of pleasure in your belly reignited. the weight of both johnny and kyle inside you was making you dizzy.

“good,” gaz replied quietly, hands stroking your hips and stomach. “now, don’t keep our girl waiting.”

they both began to move. synchronicity was underdeveloped, but it worked better that way. when gaz pulled outwards, soap was thrusting inwards, and vice versa. you were constantly full, pussy stretched taut, drooling down the curve of your arse and onto the once-freshly clean bedsheets.

you moaned low, your pleasure building low. a tingle in the base of your spine; a heaviness settling at the bottom of your stomach; a restlessness building in your legs. your bottom lip curled inwards, caught between your teeth, as they lured another of your orgasms to the surface— gaz, a cool-toned but shiny lure, and soap, a fast-quivering, rainbow lure. and they had you hook, line and fuckin’ sinker.

a frothy white ring appeared at the base of soap’s cock, the squelch of your cunt lewd and pornographic as he fucked you. he was starting to outpace gaz in his desperation, but gaz let him. he let soap tug at the leash of restraint— chasing his own tail, his own high, as he rutted himself into you with his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open.

whimpering. pleading. panting.

gaz took hold of soap’s jaw and turned his head, whimpers stopping only when gaz slotted his mouth against his. soap moaned into the kiss, tongue unfurling and sliding slick along gaz’s, teeth knocking together, spit trickling down his chin. he moaned again when gaz pulled away, noses brushing.

“come inside her,” gaz whispered. “be a good boy and come inside her.”

“oh, fuck—” soap broke off in a moan as he halted his movements and came hard. you moaned at the rush of heat inside you as he emptied himself against the plug of your womb, his cock twitching heavily inside you. you felt gaz’s cock— still moving shallowly— twitch at the feeling too.

the added warmth pulled you into the water. with a splash, too, as you toppled over the edge of pleasure and came again. you tensed up and came hard around their cocks, squeezing them tight between the warm, gummy walls of your cunt, arousal seeping out of you.

the air was rich and heady with sex, and while soap pulled out and flopped down next to you, gaz resumed his pace. he put most of his weight behind his thrusts, sliding you over onto your back once more and grabbing your hips. he pistoned himself into you, girth pushing more of yours and soap’s cum onto the bedsheets.

soap tucked himself against you, curling into your side with his cock, still wet, resting against his thigh. he watched you with sleepy eyes, leaning over occasionally to kiss you. his cock twitched. no doubt he’d soon be hard again.

“perfect fuckin’ pussy,” gaz muttered, thrusts faltering. a slight stagger in his rhythm. he groaned, watching the way your body rippled. “perfect girl. you’re doing so good, baby.”

you mewled, soap now attached to your neck, sucking the sweat-slick skin with a tongue flat to your pulse.

gaz groaned again. “oh, fuck— ‘m coming, baby. just lay there and take it.”

his hips finally slowed when he came mid-stroke, cum painting the walls of your cunt in hot stripes. like soap’s, you felt gaz’s release warm you, heat you up, your entire body held beneath the warm, briny water of pleasure. but the waves were subsiding now.

“good girl,” gaz uttered, thrusting a few more times to milk himself of his release. when he pulled out, leaving your puffy pussy gaping and drooling cum, he moaned and leaned down.

he sealed his mouth over you and kissed you gently. carefully. this was his aftercare.

you mewled, eyelids heavy. soap was still sucking at your neck, semi-hard cock humping against the plush curve of your hip. gaz watched the two of you with glassy eyes as his tongue curled inside you, eating the results of your session out of you.

he pulled back with lips wet and shiny, chin smeared with slick. “my good girl.” he then placed a kiss to your inner thigh, and then leaned across your leg to place a kiss to soap’s, too. “and my good boy.”

gaz and soap. moonstone and ammolite. different, yet similar. and you were something in between. a mixture of both, maybe. an opal.

per his ritual, gaz clambered over top of you until he could lay his body weight against you, his head resting on your tits. you smoothed your hand fondly along his face, petting him. you did the same with soap, carding your fingers through his hair, and then kissing his forehead.

gaz hummed, sleepy and content.