Cas3y!

And, for the first time in years, he can feel something begin to boil in his stomach, thick like molasses, the urge to mate.

He’s going into a rut.

“Logan, you okay?” you ask, noticing his shift in demeanour and reaching out to place a hand on his bicep. It’s like you’re made of static electricity, shooting a current all the way through him - and that’s just over his sleeve. God knows how he’d survive if it was skin-to-skin. He has to strangle a moan in his mouth before it can escape and incriminate him.

“Mmm. Not feeling so hot. Want to get home.”

You and Wade exchange a concerned look, but you know when not to push - and you stop Wade from doing so, too. He limits himself to an, “okay Peanut, keep your secrets I guess…” and leaves it there.

Logan makes himself hang behind as the two of you start the wander back to the apartment, tangling your fingers together and speaking in hushed tones. If he was in the state of mind to care more he’d try to listen in. He isn’t. The only thing he can concentrate on is trying not to get a semi in the street.

He thought he was over this. Thought that age and years of alcohol had grinded down that particular biological impulse. He’d sort of forgotten what it was like, actually, the urge to fuck so bad that part of his brain was worried it’d kill him if he didn’t. 

But then again, until now, he hasn’t had you both, has he? People who cared about him again. People who loved him. People who made it clear they’d look after him, whatever way he needed you to.

Fuck. Fuck. He needs to get home now.

It’s agony, the two of you walking in front of him. You both smell fucking amazing. There’s a soft, perfumey, light scent rolling off you; Wade’s slightly headier, nearly cloying. Together it is the most amazing combination he’s ever known. He digs his fingernails into the meat of his palm to steady himself until they bleed and heal, bleed and heal, bleed and heal - over and over. At least the pain is distracting.

When you open the door to the apartment he shoulders past you both and heads straight into the bedroom, attempting to slam the pathetic plywood door behind him and gruffly telling you not to follow. He can’t have you see him like this: animalistic, desperate, feral. So needy that it’s fucking humiliating. He needs to have something touching his dick, now.

He slumps down on the bed, hands fumbling at how quickly he tries to rid himself of his jeans. Fuck he wishes he hadn’t worn a belt this morning, just wasting time, getting in the way… he slices it off instead, flinging it to the side of the room where it hits the wall and lands on the shared washing basket. Three sets of clothes share that space like you share this one: yours, his, Wade’s. What a mixture. Fuck. For a moment he considers burying his face in it, smelling your combination and fucking himself to completion on the scent of home. At least he has the strength to resist that.

His cock is leaking when he pulls it out. Red, thick, pulsing in his hand as he wraps his fingers around it. Logan growls out a little noise of pleasure as he starts to work himself. He finds his hips bucking up pathetically into his own grasp but he knows it isn’t enough: if he’s going into a rut he’s going to need someone to help him through it. Look at him. Fucking pitiful old man jerking himself off because he has no control over his own body. What sort of partner would he make for you both?

“Logan, we just wanted to check you’re… oh.”

And then there you both are. In the doorway, eyes open and very much fixed on what he’s doing to himself. He can see the way Wade’s pupils dilate, how you lick your lips at the sight of his cock. 

“I mean, you could have told us you needed to bust one o–” you elbow Wade in the ribs, wiping the grin off of his face.

“Logan, honey,” you whisper, voice syrupy sweet. Oh shit. Another wave of pre dribbles down his knuckles and he hears Wade suck in a breath. “Do you need us to help?”

He can only grit his teeth and nod. He’d do anything to feel another set of hands on him right now.

Instead, he feels two.

Wade sits down on his right, you on his left. He doesn’t expect Wade to kiss him but he’s not exactly complaining about it either, not when the mercenary’s tongue swipes across his and it tastes so good. Your lips attach to the sweet spot of skin between his earlobe and his jaw and start to bite. Logan moans into Wade’s mouth as you nibble on him, tracing his pulse with your teeth.

When Wade pulls back it’s only to catch the back of your head and press your mouth to Logan’s too with a gravelly, “your turn.” Without debate you take over, kissing him softly but passionately, moaning against his lips. Your hand bumps against his, encouraging him to move it, and he does so dutifully - and it’s him moaning when you wrap around his cock.

“Fuck, look at that. Hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I used to subscribe to a lot of OnlyFans,” Wade murmurs, and Logan nearly yelps when he feels your hand get heavier on him. He glances down to see Wade has wrapped his fingers around yours so that you can both jerk him off at the same time. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Is this good?” you breathe, eyes wide. Logan can only groan and nod, and then suddenly he’s coming - a train to his guts, trickling down over both of you and choking out an amalgamation of your names. 

He feels you pull back, then hears you whisper “oh fuck” when he’s still hard.

“I told you!” Wade hisses. “I told you I thought he could go for multiple rounds!”

You press your fingers into his mouth to shut him up, making him lick Logan’s spend off your knuckles. He does so with surprising obedience. 

“‘S a biological thing,” Logan says through gritted teeth, still aware he’s throbbing even though he’s just had an orgasm, “gotta be inside someone to make it calm down.”

Your eyes widen. You and Wade look at each other.

“Do… do you have a preference?” you ask, voice low. He shakes his head.

“No. It’ll probably end up bein’ both of you by the end of the night.”

From the way the two of you light up, it’s as if he’s just announced that Christmas has come early. He watches, dumbstruck, as the two of you slap your fists into your palms, the same ones who just gave him the first non self-eked orgasm in years, and say in unison:

“Rock-paper-scissors-shoot!”

Your paper covers Wade’s rock. You grin and he grumbles.

“Fine, I’m more of a top, anyway…”

Logan watches the two of you begin to strip properly. If he had his senses about him this is something he’d enjoy doing himself, seeing every inch of soft curve you have to offer, the strong plain of Wade’s abdomen. But all he can do is stare with need as you unveil yourselves to him, two perfect presents he’s allowed to indulge in.

Wade’s hard, you’re pretty fucking soaked as you lay down on the bed in front of him, tapping his bicep to indicate the fact he’s still wearing his flannel shirt.

“This needs to come off,” you state, authoritatively. Well, fuck. That sends a roll of electricity down Logan’s spine which he wasn’t expecting. He starts to tug at it, pulling the material over his head as Wade fiddles with his jeans.

“These too big boy,” Wade mumbles, and he lets himself be handled by the two people he knows are sincere about looking after him. Together your abandoned clothes make a mess of the bedroom and Logan feels himself throb at the idea of being at the centre of the chaos.

“C’mere,” you sigh, opening your arms to him. Logan wastes no time in accepting the invitation, moving so that he’s above you and you’re able to part your legs to make room for his bulk. Any other time, any other time, he’d want to stretch this out. Maybe eat you out for a while as Wade is forced to watch, or vice versa… but right now all he can do is thrust wildly at your folds, feeling the blunt head of his cock slide against your wetness.

“C’mon loverboy, you can do it,” Wade whispers in his ear, and suddenly a scarred hand is wrapping around his length to guide him inside of you. Logan hisses as he sinks in with one fluid motion. You suck air in through your teeth, grinning up wildly at him.

“Fuck, Logan, that’s it…”

“How does he feel, baby?” asks Wade from where he’s reaching into the side table, though Logan’s whole body is so preoccupied with being inside a warm, wet hole that he can’t in that moment fathom why.

“Fucking fantastic,” you breathe as Logan starts to fuck you properly. There’s no rhythm to it, just utter desperation, just chasing that orgasm which will relieve him of the weight and languidness in his bones. You breathe roughly, the hair on his chest scratching your tits as they bounce up and down. You throw your head back and he buries his face in your neck, where your scent is strongest, and he knows he’s gonna have to go all night at this rate.

A finger circles his hole and for a second he freezes, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Wade is lining himself up in position behind him, bottle of lube in one hand, the other teasing at his entrance. The mercenary cocks a brow.

“What, you never had someone fuck you like this before? Gimme a break, peanut. The amount of flannel and leather you wear, you’ve known you’re bisexual for a long time.”

If he had more control over his speech he’d bite something back at Wade, but right now…? Yeah. He wants Wade to fuck him like he’s fucking you.

“Go hard. I can take it,” he growls, continuing to plow down, sinking his cock impossibly deeper into your tight heat and making you squeal. He hears Wade whisper a prayer of thanks to whatever god is listening and then he presses two long, lubed fingers inside him.

It’s a strange intrusion. Logan hasn’t had someone there for a long while now. That’s not to say it isn’t good, because holy shit it feels amazing to fuck back onto Wade’s hand as he move his hips against you. Wade does as he’s been bid, stretching him open roughly and wantonly, pouring more out of the little bottle when needed to ease his access. A third finger is added and every time Logan moves back to drive further into you, he feels himself hit Wade’s knuckles. 

“Holy shit,” Wade mutters, “look at you, peanut! Taking me like a champ. You reckon I could fit my whole hand inside, or…?”

“If you don’t put your dick to good use in the next ten seconds I’m gonna rip it off,” Logan snarls, needy and ferocious. Wade doesn’t have an answer to that, instead positioning himself behind him and holding onto Logan’s hips to make him go still. You mewl at the loss of movement but it isn’t for long - Wade sinks himself balls deep inside of Logan, filling him to the brim.

“Fu-uu-uu-ck,” Wade groans, eyes rolling back, then to you: “you’re right, baby. This is pretty goddamn fantastic.”

You smile up at him from beneath both men, reaching up so you can take his hand in yours and squeeze his fingers in the solidarity of sharing a man you’ve both been fantasising about since you met him for the first time at that dingy bar.

Then Wade starts to move, and Logan loses himself.

It’s messy and uncoordinated, but fuck does it feel good to ride out his rut sandwiched between two partners. Each time Wade presses down his hips, his head hitting that spot inside that’s been neglected for decades, he’s forced to fuck into you. Your cunt makes lewd, thrilled noises as he goes, and you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders to bring him closer. Your tongue swipes the hinge of his jaw and Logan moans, cradled and cared for and adored.

His second orgasm is on the horizon and, with it, a feeling in his cock he hasn’t known for a long time. One he didn’t expect to know again. As Wade dips down to start pressing kisses all over his shoulderblades, Logan moves his mouth to the shell of your ear.

“Gonna knot you,” he manages, and though you can’t be entirely sure what he means, you nod enthusiastically.

“Oh fuck. Yeah. Do it, Logan,” you breathe. Fog floods his mind as he starts chasing his release inside of you, base of his cock swelling. Wade can clearly sense that something is on the horizon and quickens his pace, the idea of all of you finishing together just too good to pass up; Logan feels him catch his elbow and manoeuvre his hand towards where your hips meet his.

“C’mon Logan, if we don’t all cum it’s no fun,” he chuckles. Logan gets the picture and moves so that he can press his callused thumb into your clit and work rough circles there. When you gasp in pleasure so hard that your eyes roll back in your head, he knows it’s working. 

Fuck. He can’t last much longer. Wade fucks down into him, the heat in his stomach builds, and then—

It’s like fireworks.

He feels his knot force its way along the straining length of his cock and you gasp and squeeze him as it locks into place inside of you. He floods you with his cum, biting down on a pillow as it rocks him to his very core, keeps moving his hand and then you’re there with him, walls fluttering as you let out a string of very colourful language. Wade’s head tips forward to rest on his back as he empties himself inside of Logan, his hot seed spilling out and dripping onto the mattress below.

The three of you collapse for a moment to catch your breaths. Then suddenly your hand is slapping his arm.

“Fucking move, you two. You’re crushing me…”

“Oop,” Wade breathes, pulling out of Logan and making him hiss with the loss of contact, but meaning that he can roll over and have you rest comfortably on top of him. You sigh, happier now, nestling your head into Logan’s chest. Wade runs his fingers over the seam where you’re connected.

“So what, this just stays like this for…?” he leaves the end of the sentence open. Logan hums, pretty fucking blissful.

“‘Bout half an hour. Not too long.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him. He can feel his cum ripple inside you obscenely, Wade’s own dripping out of his fucked-out hole. 

“You feel better now?” you breath, dropping a kiss on his pectoral.

“Yeah. Thanks. I, uh, appreciate it,” he manages. You and Wade grin at each other.

“Any time, pookie. Just remember, next time I have first dibs on that monster dong,” Wade states, slapping the side of his ass like he’s a prime piece of meat… but hey, maybe he is. Maybe he doesn’t mind so much if it’s coming from someone he cares about.

His cock twitches inside of you.

“Oh fuck, Logan, again…?”

“It lasts a few days,” he confesses. 

“A few days… I’m gonna go get the sandwiches. Well need sustenance for the road ahead,” Wade states, rushing out to the kitchen without even bothering to tug his sweatpants back on. Logan gives an affectionate chuckle and then, for a moment, it’s just you and him.

“Really,” he mutters, “thank you. Dunno what I’d have done if you two weren’t there.”

Your fingers come to tangle in his hair.

“Logan, honey. You don’t have to thank us. We love you,” you say, simply, and it stirs his heart in a way he hasn’t felt for a long time now.

Yeah. Maybe it'll take some time to say it out loud but loves you both, too.

Annie shifts onto her side as the morning sun begins to creep in through the gaps in her worn curtains. She kicks her linen duvet off her legs and stretches out in the sweat-soaked sheets in an attempt to cool down. You would think she was well-equipped to handle the heat in District Four after living there for the last eighteen years, but apparently not. 

It doesn't take long for Annie to hear a pair of footsteps padding down the hall. Her door creaks on its hinges and she looks over her shoulder, extending her arms as Marina crawls into bed beside her. 

Annie smooths her little sister's hair off her forehead and says, "Do you want to talk about it?" Marina shakes her head and nuzzles her face into her blue stuffed animal, a whale called Martha. "You shouldn't be nervous. You're too young to be reaped," Annie reminds her gently. 

"It doesn't stop me worrying about you, though," Marina admits quietly. 

Annie lets a sigh push past her lips. "It's my last year. The chances of me being reaped are zero to none. Besides, I can take care of myself. Don't get yourself worked up over nothing," she chastises. There's no venom behind her tone – there never is with Annie. "Come on, let's get dressed. We ought to be leaving as soon as possible." 

Annie unwinds Marina's arms from around her neck and sends her into her own room to pick out an outfit. She stands to her feet, sifting through the contents of her wardrobe, before settling on a floral pattern dress. It used to be her mother's, and it swims on her, but she likes it too much to care. 

She pulls her night-gown over her head and steps into the dress, yanking the straps over her shoulders and reaching back to tie the mint-green bow. Running a brush through her flaming red hair, she clips it back, securing it with a few bobby pins that dig into her scalp. 

Marina returns to her older sister's bedroom, dressed in a baby blue jumpsuit that is two sizes too small. Her light brown hair bounces down her back with every movement and Annie can't help but envy the fact that her sister inherited their mother's genetics.

Marina is small and light, with high cheekbones that even out her face and dazzling blue eyes that could easily stop traffic. Annie, on the other hand, follows their father– from her fiery red hair and sharp eyebrows to the fact that she can never mask a single thing she feels. Her brother, River, is somewhere in the middle. He's level-headed like their father but frets about everything like their mother. 

Annie hoists Marina up onto her hip and ignores the way her long hair tickles the back of her neck. She ventures down the stairs, almost slipping in her black socks, and pulls a pair of white sneakers over her feet when she reaches the bottom.

Marina wriggles in her sister's iron grip and Annie sets her down on the floor, letting her run into the kitchen where she can hear the familiar clink of River's keys hitting the marble countertop. Marina giggles in delight and Annie can only assume that he has picked her up and spun her in his arms. 

She hovers in the doorway, reluctant to ruin the moment, but her feet carry her inside on their own accord. Her sneakers squeak against the shiny tile floors and River looks up. 

His dark hair falls in his eyes and he keeps throwing his head back in an effort to make it fall back in place. "You ready to go?" he gives Marina a playful tap on the nose and she giggles.

Annie smiles and ties a white knitted cardigan around her waist. It hardly ever rains in District Four, but she likes to be prepared (another trait she inherited from her father). River places Marina on the floor and Annie grabs hold of her hand as they step outside. 

"When will I start training for the games, Annie?" Marina asks as they walk towards the town square. "I want to volunteer, just like Finnick did." The steadiness in her voice makes her older sister's heart work overtime. 

Annie tries to hold her tongue but the words slip out of her mouth before she has a chance to stop it. "I don't know why people volunteer to be sent to their deaths." Her face burns scarlet when she realises what she should not dare say aloud. 

River's mouth hangs open and he tosses a paranoid glance over his shoulder. "Don't talk nonsense, Annie. If Zale Morrissey hadn't beaten me to it, I would've been proud to represent District Four. It’s a privilege. Besides, all of our training has to go somewhere. Why not channel it into something more productive?"

"Like killing other children?" 

River is caught by surprise – it's not often that his sister stands up to him. He regains control of his facial expressions and smooths out invisible creases in his crisp ironed suit. "We're Careers, Ann. You'd do well to remember that from time to time. You don't want to volunteer, that's fine by me. I won’t hold it against you, I just think you're wasting your potential, that's all I’m saying."

Their conversation trails off as they near the Justice Building. Camera crews are positioned on the outskirts of the town square and anxious parents wait behind a red rope as their daughters and sons sign in. 

Annie gives Marina’s hand a reassuring squeeze and presses a chaste kiss to her brother’s cheek before weaving her way through the crowds to the roped off area in front of the stage. The other eighteen-year-old tributes file in and she soon finds herself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the girls from District Four. 

It doesn’t take long for the mayor to take the podium. He reads a set of cue cards about the dark days and motions for Elodie, a Capitol issued escort, to take the stage. 

She’s relatively young to be an escort, Annie thinks. Her jet black hair is pulled back in a French twist and her full lips turn up into a smile. She spreads her arms out like an eagle and her plum-coloured jumper creases down the middle. “Welcome! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour. As always, ladies first!” 

Elodie crosses over to the glass bowl and reaches inside. Her fingers fumble for a minute before she pulls out a crumpled slip of paper and trots back to the podium in her pink stilettos. Elodie smooths out the slip and loudly clears her throat into the microphone. “Annie Cresta!” 

Some girls surrounding Annie nudge her forwards with their sharp, bony elbows and she very nearly loses her footing. Her hands fly out and she grabs hold of someone’s shoulder, holding tightly as her heart starts to hammer in her chest. 

Her mother’s voice rings in her head, reminding her that first impressions will stick. It doesn’t sound like anyone is volunteering, so whether she likes it or not, she needs to pull herself together. She pushes her way through the crowd with her head held high, even though her legs feel like jello and her heart might give out on her. 

She’s moving on autopilot as she steps onto the stage. It feels surreal, in a way, like she’s been yanked out of her body and is being forced to watch her life on a television screen. 

Elodie squeezes her shoulder in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture but all it does is leave hard fingerprint marks indented in her soft skin. “Now for the boys.” She feels around in the glass bowl and holds a singular piece of paper between her index finger and her thumb. “Your male tribute is… Morgan Brooks!” 

In the crowd, Annie spots a tiny little thing being jostled towards the stage. His skin is pale and his baby blue eyes are wide as he stumbles up the stairs leading to the stage. He trips on the last step and falls flat on his face. There’s a murmur from the Peacekeepers but none of them move an inch.

Annie doesn’t know what possesses her to help him, but she hooks her hands under his armpits and hauls him up onto his feet. She can feel his bones poking out through his t-shirt and it makes her wonder when the last time he ate was.  

Elodie laughs awkwardly as Annie makes her way to the other side of the stage. Morgan’s face has flushed bright red as he tries to smooth out his clothes. 

Elodie runs a hand through her mane of black hair. “Let's give a hand to this year’s tributes!” she announces, voice all faux and high-pitched. “Something tells me it’s going to be an… eventful year for District Four!”