Men Loving Slashers

“ Could…could you just hold me, a while? ” with Lester Sinclair

You couldn’t imagine what he felt. Your heart was broken, but Lester’s must have been completely taken from him altogether.

“Lester-”, you try yet again weakly.

“Leave me alone!”, he shouts, snatching his arm away from your touch and drunkenly stumbling forward in the process.

You had never seen him this way. This wasn’t your Lester.

Eyes that were only ever lively and affectionate, now red-rimmed and aggressively rubbed raw from refusing to let the tears escape. It was characteristic for Lester to look disheveled to a certain degree with the work he did, but this was entirely different. This was painful to see.

You felt utterly useless. Your heart ached to change this; to somehow attribute everything to nothing more than a bad dream. But there was nothing more you could do except silently cry and continue attempting to console him in any way he’d allow. You could tell he was finally beginning to break, and you’d be there when it happened no matter how many times he pushed you away.

He hadn't been able to sleep for two whole days now; refusing to eat, and consuming as much alcohol as it would take to let him forget for even a single insufferable moment. You did your best to deny him the bottle where you could, but knowing he'd just leave in his truck to seek it elsewhere worried you more. At least here he had you to make sure he was safe even when anguished out of his mind.

“Goddammit, (y/n)! Just- just fuck off!”, he tries to violently shake you off of him but he’s too weak now, and you know he doesn’t mean it. His words don’t hold the animosity he’d like them to because they’re so filled with suffering.

You only hold onto him tighter as you press your cheek against the straining muscles of his back in anguish. There are no words you can possibly offer him to ease the pain, but you hope your heart which is desperately beating against him, will help console him in some way; remind him that he still wasn’t completely alone.

“Please stop hurting yourself”, you plead sadly, “It…It’d hurt them to see you this way..”

It’s his breaking point. Lester lets out a wail so heart-rending that you’re unprepared; unable to keep hold of him as he slips from your grasp and falls to his knees with his head in his hands. He wants to deny what’s already in front of him so badly. Foolishly reassuring himself they’d walk through the doors of what was left of their childhood home at any moment now.

He’s weeping bitterly, voice hoarse and utterly broken from how much it hurts to keep calling out for them until his cries inevitably quiet into defeated moans. The sun is setting again, and you defeatedly sit next to his shaking form, hot tears unyielding in their passage from both of your exhausted eyes. You lean your head against his shoulder, hoping he won’t resist your touch this time, and he doesn’t. For a while, there’s just silence between you apart from the occasional sniffling that normally accompanies tears. Lester finally unable to hold out against the new reality so cruelly forced on him.

“Let’s get you home, Les”, you softly say.

He nods halfheartedly, feebly allowing you to help him stand and lean against you as you exit the house and get him in the truck. The entire drive is silent apart from the lurching and squeaking the uneven roads pull from Lester’s faithful pick up; you focusing on the familiar rural path towards your shared home, and Lester hollowly staring at nothing in particular out the window.

He’s hurriedly staggering out of the truck and throwing up on the side of the road once you arrive. Two days worth of mental anguish and physical neglect catching up to him all at once now that he was no longer in denial; the contents of his stomach proving to be little else besides liquid and bile from all of the alcohol.

You’re at his side in an instant, placing your hand against his forehead. It’s hot- too hot; his whole body is covered in sweat, and he’s weakly trembling now that the last bit of his strength has just been exerted.

Lester doesn’t process that he’s even in the tub until you’re already scrubbing at his skin with lukewarm water and soap.

“(Y/n)..?”, he groans, “My head-”

“I’m here, honey”, you assure softly while pressing your lips to his warm forehead, “I’m almost finished, we’ll get you changed and into bed, alright?”

You can tell he’s trying hard to focus on the sound of your voice, but you imagine his head is quite delirious from the fever. It hurts you to see him this way; both mentally and physically defeated as he fights to stay awake as best as he can. He’s a sickly pale, with dark circles to accompany his downcast eyes, and all traces of his toothy grin completely erased.

It’s his missing smile that impacts you the most; you can’t remember the last time seeing him without it- you swear he even smiles in his sleep. As you finish rinsing his hair out you wonder if you’ll ever see that smile again, or if that too, had passed alongside his brothers.

Fortunately, Lester is still awake despite his exhaustion which helps you to dress him that much easier. He’s sitting on his side of the bed while you carefully dry his hair. Jonesy pads her way inside the room, giving you both a sad whine while she lays down at the foot of the bed and drops her head.

“He’ll be alright, Jonesy”, you coo, “Lester just needs some sleep”

You help Lester get under the sheets once his hair is dry, kissing his temples tenderly. You’re about to step away to hang his towel to dry and pick up the house a little while he falls asleep, but he finds the strength to hold onto your sleeve before you do.

“(Y/n)..?”

“Yes, love?”

“Could…could you just hold me, a while?”, he brokenly asks.

His affectionate requests normally make your heart swell, but his voice is so miserably sad right now that it only breaks instead.

You give him a small, sorrowful smile and nod your head, “Of course”

You’re cradling his head in your arms once you join him under the covers; gently positioning him against your chest to be lulled to sleep by your steady heartbeat and find comfort in your warmth. Warmth that means you are here. Warmth that means you are alive, and at his side. You soothingly run your fingers through Lester’s hair until his breathing finally evens out and you’re sure he’s asleep.

“I’ll look after him, boys”, you cry. Hoping somehow, someway, they’d hear you.

You only had each other now.

“ You aren’t a monster. ” with Vincent Sinclair

He kills viciously; often doing so with a sadistic kind of thrill if he’s feeling anything at all to begin with. Paralyzing and waxing the living only ever elicits artistic satisfaction in him, and the violence and death he leaves in his wake don’t ever unnerve him. It seems as though nothing could be able to discompose his cold and collected exterior, but the berserk state he was in now clearly disproved that.

You had seen him. The real him. Something he had wanted to keep from you indefinitely; no doubt, a horrific memory you’d always keep in your mind now. He’s enraged, he’s distraught, he’s disgusted, but not at you. It hadn’t been your fault, and it still wouldn’t have changed his decision to step in and protect you.

Vincent lets out a furious sound made harsh and hoarse by his vocal cords before sending yet another set of tools and wax mask models crashing to the ground.

You could hear the forceful impacts from below, unconsciously flinching every time cherished works of art were destroyed by their own creator. Vincent’s angry, guttural vocals occasionally loud enough to register through the floor.

“It’s my fault”, you finally say weakly

“Nah, it ain’t yer fault..”, Bo whispers uncharacteristically gently.

He continues to bandage your bleeding arm with his brows knit together in frustration. The twins weren’t angry with you, just upset at themselves for ‘letting’ you get hurt. They were relieved your injury hadn’t been more severe, but you becoming hurt was always a sensitive subject for them regardless of the severity.

“But if I wouldn’t have gotten in the way, Vincent wouldn’t have needed to jump in and-”

“And it still ain’t yer fault, (y/n)”, Bo interrupts with an added sternness to his tone that doesn’t last, “Vince jus’ didn’t want t’scare ya since he..likes ya so much. Thought it’d make you see him different.”

You couldn’t forget Vincent’s stunned expression when the man he had defended you from knocked his mask off with his fist in their struggle. It was the most emotion you’d ever seen displayed on his features, and the first time entirely seeing his features at all without artfully sculpted wax to stand in the way.

The animosity that immediately overtook the gentle Vincent you were so used to had admittedly made you tense as he ripped the man apart with his twin blades. Incessantly lacerating with enraged snarls ripping from his throat until the man was nothing more than an unrecognizable mass of red. You had seen him kill before of course, but never like this. This was the first time seeing Vincent kill without the unwavering apathetic exterior that made him look almost indifferent when committing brutal acts.

You were still in the same position on the floor you had been in just before Vincent stepped in; one of your knees defensively propped up, and shaky arms supporting your weight from behind when you had frantically tried to place distance between you and your attacker. You were frozen still from the shock; a sight Vincent mistook for horror directed at his visage, rather than the situation, before escaping you altogether.

“That’s why he-?”, you stall, “But I’d love Vincent no matter what he looks like!”

“I know”, Bo nods while finishing up with your arm, “Vince jus’ needs ya t’say it is all”

“But he locked the way in”, you remind Bo looking to the floor from your seat within the small medical room.

“Go through the house of wax”

You couldn’t help the uneasiness eating away at your nerves when you quietly descended into the candlelit basement that was darker than usual. Wax models, masks, and the tools of his craft littered across the floor- many in pieces from what you were able to see in front of you.

“Vincent..?”, you call out to him, carefully choosing your footing.

You couldn’t see much, but you didn’t have to because he was in front of you before you had even registered his initial location.

“Vincent”, you sigh in relief, automatically beginning to wrap your arms around him.

He catches your wrists in his large hands, turning your injured arm towards him to examine. His mask is on again, but you can tell from his visible blue eye he’s regarding you at a distance.

“Bo patched me up, I’m okay”, you whisper tentatively, “…thank you for keeping me safe”

Even with your wrists still in his hands you’re close enough to gently lean your forehead against his chest, pressing your cheek into his familiar warmth. You feel him shift, but instead of embracing you like you’d normally expect him to, he moves you at arm’s length.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Vincent can hardly take your disheartened expression at his withdrawal. But the way you had looked at him, the real him, was something he couldn’t remove from the forefront of his mind. It was agonizing, but he’d still prefer you to be honest than to come to him now and fake that he hadn’t disgusted you.

‘I’m a monster’, he signs

“What?”, you murmur in shock, but he doesn’t retract his words.

‘You saw it too’, he insists, ‘Go. I won’t blame you’

“Vinny? Vincent?”, you’re desperately pulling away from his grasp in order to reach up to cup the sides of his shrouded face in your hands now.

“Look at me, Vincent”, you demand sternly as you delicately turn his head to meet your eyes, “You aren’t a monster. And I could never be scared or disgusted of you. I was only startled at how upset you became- I was worried about you”

It’s hard to tell with so little light surrounding you both, but you can see the tears threatening to spill from his defeated look. You can feel your throat begin to tighten with the onset of your own tears, but it’s important for you to try and keep your voice strong- he needed to hear you.

“Maybe I can’t change the way you see yourself”, you begin gently, slipping your thumbs underneath his mask to touch the skin beneath, “-but you can’t change the way I see you either”

Vincent tenses when he feels you begin to lift the hand crafted veil separating you, but he doesn’t stop you, “And I see only what I love”, you declare quietly once it’s removed and set down.

“I see you”

His tears are freely falling now, and even though he’s much taller than you, you do your best to reach him; gingerly cupping his jaw again to bring his beautiful face down to your lips. You’re kissing the right side of his face with such ardent affection that Vincent swears he can feel his heart swell and stop all at once. It’s easier to kiss him now that he’s keenly leaning into your touch, wrapping his arms around you where they belong. Your lips are featherlight, appreciating every dip and curve of the red scar tissue he was taught to hate so much. You love him. Every part of him.

“-and you are lovely, Vincent”, you breathe.

“ Why are you still here?! Why?! I destroy everything I touch! And yet you still stick around! ”

with Bo Sinclair

“Bo-”

“Let go, I'll do it my damn self, (y/n)”

“Bo, let me help you, you're hurt-”, you attempt again

“I said get yer hands off me! Don’t need ya fuckin’ coddling me like some damn kid!”, he shouts venomously

“Is that what you think this is?”, you reply in disbelief, “Well I’m sorry I care about you too much to let you bleed out on the floor, Bo!”

“Who the hell asked ya t’care?! Always actin' like I goddamn need you- I want ya gone! Get!”, he spats back

“..You don’t mean that”

You had tried to say it firmly, but your own voice betrayed you, making it sound more like you were trying to convince yourself.

So when he had bitterly pushed past you without another word, you swore you felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.

You tried not to take it as personally as he made it sound. Getting into a fight with Bo wasn’t uncommon with the way he struggled to regulate his emotions; one of the more unfortunate results of the abuse he’d received as a child. It didn’t make it right, of course, but your love for him had always made you patient and understanding.

It was beginning to get dark out, but the house suddenly felt far too suffocating in your current emotional state. If Bo’s wound had been more severe, you would have forced yourself to tough out his current mood in order to make sure he was well-tended, but Vincent was home too, and would no doubt keep an eye on him in your brief absence.

You just started walking. Not really bothering to consider a specific direction. It was easy to become distracted with your thoughts; your mind never seeming to rest even when you didn’t feel so emotionally sore.

The night was cool, a welcome change to the humid Louisiana days that often exasperated you, and no doubt, the reason you ended up so far away from Ambrose before you even realized.

“Shit”, you curse under your breath.

How long had you been gone now? The night sky had definitely gotten darker, making the rural path you were currently on look far more threatening than it actually was.

“Time to head back”, you mutter.

You were sure Bo hadn't even noticed your absence to begin with, so you didn’t bother to quicken your leisurely pace.

You listen to the plentiful crickets chirp out their nightly song as your shoes crunch along the dusty path, idly kicking the occasional rock as you go. The scarce fireflies that tease your vision within the tree line make you smile with the way they light up and disappear before lighting up again somewhere entirely different; like a playful game of hide and seek anyone is welcome to join if they only pay enough attention. Hearing the occasional frog pipe up to add loud croaks between the cricket’s steady chorus is also characteristic for this time of night; creating a melody you’re convinced you can no longer sleep without after having lived in Ambrose for so long.

When you enter the familiar little town again, you realize something is wrong. All of the lights are on to brightly illuminate your path- which usually only happens when the boys are in pursuit of victims.

You can hear yelling, but as you run in the direction of it you realize it’s Bo’s voice. You finally see him across the way yelling at Vincent in a manic frenzy when you reach the front of the garage.

“I’m tellin’ you they left goddammit!”, he shouts while roughly shoving off Vincent’s attempts to calm him, “Help me fuckin’ find em!”

“Bo?”, you call out as you near them now, “Bo, what’s wrong?”

His wild blue eyes are in the direction of your voice in an instant. You’re caught off guard when he roughly reaches you and grips your arms against your sides painfully.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ run off like that again, ya hear?!”

He’s shaking your shoulders to make sure his words sink in before he’s crashing his lips against yours with a fervent intensity over and over.

“Bo-”, you mewl in between his passionate assault.

He pointedly ignores you as he moves down to bite and suck on your neck, causing you to gasp heatedly. But just as quickly as he had began to stir you up, he’s now pushing you away; cruelly making you aware of just how much you crave his touch as he firmly stares you down.

“Why’d ya come back”

It's said more like a statement than a question, but the way his brows are knit together in frustration suggests he's genuinely wanting an answer from you.

“I-”, you falter as you try to catch your breath, “What do you mean? I just went for a w-”

“Told you I wanted ya gone, that I didn't need ya- so why are ya still here?!”, he demands now

Your mind is still reeling from the flux emotional intensity you constantly find yourself experiencing with Bo, but you realize he’s not actually angry at you right now.

He’s blaming himself- even hating himself for the way he ends up treating you without meaning to sometimes. But even after all this time, he still can't bring himself to understand why you stay by his side despite it all.

“Because I want to be here, Bo”

"Why?!”, he pressures further, “I destroy everythin' I touch! And yet ya still stick around!- the hell's wrong with you?!"

His words are beginning to lose their edge despite their volume. Hostility giving way to the feelings of inferiority and inadequacy he so desperately fights against every day; feelings cruelly implanted into him by the same people responsible to have raised him with the care and support he deserved.

Raised voices and aggression are only ever fronts to scare off what he really fears most: vulnerability.

“Because I love you”, you admit freely.

You know it hurts him to comprehend how you genuinely mean it, but you don't mind reassuring him of the fact for the rest of your life if necessary.

You close the distance between you gently, almost regarding him like a wounded wild animal as you lift one of his marred wrists to your lips.

“-even when you think you don’t deserve it, or aren’t good enough, I will be here to prove you wrong”, you continue while wrapping your arms around his middle.

You place your chin on his chest to look up at his eyes that have now tiredly settled into a forlorn expression behind blue, “What you were put through…that wasn’t your fault Bo. Which means you can’t blame yourself for everything that happens now, but even so- you still fight against what they forced on you”

Jobs in this field aren't easy to get, so you figured you could hold your tongue for one night, play the waiter for an evening, as long as it meant you could be apart of the team that such a high profile exhibit together. That'll look shiny on the resume.

It was the night before the public opening, the wing of the museum you were in had a quiet bustle going on from the wealthy social elites: art collectors, donors, or people with too much time and money on their hands all viewing the limited time exhibit on their own before the plebs gained admittance tomorrow. Most of them had left by now, only a handful of couples lingering - mainly those who had an actual interest in art, but there was one man who was only staying to impress his date, who was only staying for the wealth he was flexing - both looked bored out of their minds. Which was fine by you, as long as he kept flexing by giving you obnoxiously large tips when you got them their refills.

With an approving nod from your boss, you decided to sneak away to give your feet some rest. Your eyes lingered on the walls as photographs and newspaper clippings changed into Romantic era paintings.

It was the anniversary of the death of Trevor Lyle, which was the inspiration for the exhibition. You remembered the famous Lyle/Candyman murder spree from decades back, and it was nothing like this exhibit - nothing like what decided to linger in the public subconscious. This exhibit portrayed Trevor as a tragic romantic; that he loved his wife even through all the horrible things she'd done, and that he was so stricken with grief for her, his mistress killed him in their bathroom in a fit of jealousy. And now the Lyle's obituaries are hanging side by side in one of the most prestigious art galleries in America.

It was well known that Helen and Trevor weren't soulmates - which was nothing inherently odd about that, more people than you'd expect decided to pursue relationships with people other than their soulmates - and yet this exhibit you helped set up bent over backwards to paint the two lovers as star crossed none-the-less. Ignoring his infidelity, instead passing the torch of his bad decisions onto Stacey - still locked up in the very psychiatric hospital Helen once found herself in.

In the center of the exhibit there was a dual memorial, one for Trevor, and one for his late wife Helen - a woman who was reported to have been so obsessed with the myth of the Candyman that she went mad, and after her death she became something of a myth herself. The front half of the exhibit had photos of the couple in their early relationship, newspaper articles of Helen's various crimes along with a photo taken the night of her death. There were only two mentions of her friend and co-author of her thesis, Bernadette - a photo of the two of them together, and a copy of Bernadette's obituary, both hanging on the side walls, doomed to forever be a passing afterthought. And pushed even further still, at the very end of the second half of the exhibit, an area dedicated to the subject of Helen Lyle's fascination: the Candyman.

Most of the art hanging in this section were by artists inspired by Robitaille, or his contemporaries. The museum managed to snag a quite few original pieces of Daniel's, but the art director only chose a measly four to hang in a corner of the room where the floor was raised up as a miniature stage. His paintings simply backdrop to where Professor Philip Purcell had given a synopsis of his book on the Candyman cases earlier in the evening. The public were more interested in the murder surrounding his name than his talent - and his still-lifes and landscapes didn't fit well enough into the Lyle-centric narrative the exhibit was trying to produce. Your work had been limited to the other half of the exhibit - blowing up news paper clippings, and hanging up some new, experimental pieces by Anthony McCoy.

However, as much as you wanted to stick around the exhibit and take in Robitaille's paintings, lingering around the exhibit when you were trying to avoid interacting with uppity patrons was a bad idea. So, with a quick glance at the portrait of a young blonde, you snuck into the back rooms.

Just because the gallery didn't think the collected works of Daniel Robitaille were important enough to show, doesn't mean they shouldn't get seen. Safely tucked away in the dark, secluded corners of the storage room, you carefully sifted through his paintings for the first time. While history remembered him for the portraits he was commissioned, looking through his portfolio you could see it was the scenes he could play with Realism that truly shined. His landscapes could have hung alongside and indistinguishable from his contemporaries at the Hudson River School. And though hints of the influence of Romanticism trimmed his work, the scenes were unafraid to depict the unflattering truth of life beneath the masterfully creative brush strokes.

So enraptured by the array of talent displayed at your fingertips, you nearly miss a final portrait, somehow tucked even further away - out of sight and mind. However, as you carefully grasped the frame and lifted the portrait up to lay upon the table, a gasp was ripped from your lungs.

Your jaw was on the floor. The slope of the nose, the arch of the lips, the shimmering, particular pigment in the eyes.

It looked just like you.

You could tell the painting was made with care. The brush strokes that made up the clothing hugged and draped off the all too familiar figure in only the most flattering of ways. There was such detail in the golden yellow fabric they wore, it was almost like you could reach out and touch it, feel the pleasant texture against your own skin. You wonder if it would look nearly as good on the real you and it did on the eerily - flatteringly - identical figure in the painting.

"That's... not possible." You murmured to yourself, staring into your own eyes. But... they couldn't be. A distant relative, perhaps? But your family's history didn't trace back to here.

No. Not your relative. You.

Those weren't your thoughts. Those weren't your words.

That wasn't your voice, echoing in your head.

You wanted to spin around the room, try to track down the source of the melody, to pin down the presence you now felt all too heavily in the room with you - yet it seemed you, somehow, unable to tear your gaze away from your portrait. Your portrait.

I saw you in my dreams for decades, the voice told you, I spent every day trying to do your beauty justice. I was desperate to commit the face of my soulmate from my dream to memory, so I would not risk passing you by on the street one day and losing you forever.

A booklet appeared in front of you - or did you walk over to it? without realizing? - opened with its plastic covered pages flipping on its own, despite there being no breeze in the windowless back room. Yet there you stood, watching its pages flip, well preserved sketches all showing your image in various poses, different outfits (some familiar and others all too foreign), some while you were sleeping, some while you were looking straight ahead at the viewer with a beaming smile.

I waited for you, but you never came. I searched for you, but never found you.

You felt your lower lip tremble at seer ache, the longing, in his voice. This perfect stranger, you wanted to comfort them so bad. No, not a stranger. Your soulmate. Truly? Could it be? But that would mean...

After my death, I thought I forever lost my chance to be with you, my love. But even the dead do dream, and dream of you I did. Every night for centuries you have been my only respite, knowing you were out there - yet to come - and that one day we would be together.

Your hand began to lift up - though you weren't sure it was a conscious decision on your part. Your gaze flickered over to it as it hovered in the air about waist high, a slight bend at the elbow. Were you trying to reach for the book? The portrait? Something else?

Suddenly, another hand appeared - one that was not your own. It slipped under yours, turning its palm up to press against yours and interlock your fingers in a touch that was so gentle and warm you nearly sobbed.

Perfect.

It was. Perfect, right.

You let out a sigh of relief you didn't even know you'd been holding - perhaps all your life, and for him it had been even longer.

You felt weak, dizzy, and found yourself stumbling back - bumping against a chest as another arm wrapped around your waist to steady you upright.

Billy had made it to the end of your road before the urge to return to you got too strong. A little tug just below his belly button that got stronger and stronger until he had to stop walking, hesitating on the sidewalk. The three of you had a good night, a movie, several beers and sloppy makeouts. It had got to the point where he’d been palming himself, hard and aching and seriously contemplating jerking off as he watched you grind against Stu’s thigh before you’d pulled away with a flustered laugh and kicked them both out. Too drunk and too tired to deal with them anymore. That had stung; even though he knew you meant it teasingly, being told you’d had enough of them hurt him more than he wanted to admit. Billy bites his lip, hands in his pockets as he thinks. He knows he should go home, or catch up with Stu but he can’t bring himself to move. He wants you. Anxiety gnaws at him, your parting words circling his brain until he has to squeeze his eyes shut and count to 10. Deep breaths, counting them off with a hard pinch to the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, the way he has to when the dark intrusive thoughts get too loud. It doesn’t work, not the way he wants it too, instead the thrum of arousal gets stronger and louder with every pinch of pain. He sighs, cursing himself out loud before he turns around and starts back towards your house.

====================

It’s so quiet as he stands in the middle of your room. He’d stumbled as he climbed in through your window, slightly drunk himself, but you hadn’t stirred, and he’s glad you hadn’t. Content to stare at you as you sleep. His gaze trails up your naked thighs, slightly surprised by the amount of fading hickies you have over your skin. He’s pretty sure Stu would have you permanently branded if he had his way. You don’t look particularly comfortable, the way you’re sprawled over the bed on your stomach but you still look adorable and Billy can't help but smile. He picks your jeans and underwear up off the floor from where you'd thrown them in your drunken stumble, placing them in your laundry basket as he casts his eye over your desk. Pictures of him, you and Stu adorn the edge of your mirror and his lips twitch in fondness despite the exasperation he feels. He's told you before that you shouldn't do that, it's risky, even if no one comes in your room apart from the two of them. His gaze lingers on one of Stu. A candid shot of him in the process of removing his shirt, jeans and belt unbuckled and hanging loose on his hips. His face hidden by his shirt, abdomen and stomach on display and Billy’s fingers twitch with the urge to take it. Maybe that Polaroid camera of yours was worth playing around with the next time the three of you were together.

Billy lets his hand stroke over the cluttered items on your desk, giving you a quick glance to make sure you're still asleep. He loves doing this, going through your things, finding those little secrets of yours that you subconsciously show off with your belongings. He's done it before, several times when you've not been home, but he never gets tired of it. He’s always hoping he’ll come across your diary, he’s never found it but it’s a girl thing right? Sid has one, although he gave up on reading hers a while ago, filled with too much self pitying bullshit. He’s tempted to look for it now, but the sight of you on your bed like a half unwrapped gift is a temptation to strong to resist.

Billy sits on the edge of your mattress with a soft murmur of your name, half hoping and half not that you’ll wake up. He hesitates for a second but then lifts a hand up to smooth over your hair. You twitch at his touch and he hums quietly, trying to sooth you, unsure if you’re waking up or just dreaming. He pulls his hand back and is studying your face closely, eyes dropping to your lips and back up, his heart skipping a beat when he makes eye contact with you. “Billy?” Your voice is quiet, tired and more than a little slurred. You’re a lot drunker than he thought you were. “Thought you’d gone.”

“Nah not yet. Wanted to make sure you were Ok first.” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, smiling faintly at your happy little hum.

You pat the bed next to you clumsily. “Come to bed.”

He doesn’t answer, too fixated on how warm you feel as his hand slides up your bare thigh and disappears under the hem off your t-shirt. “M’tired, no funny business.”

He nods, but he’s not really listening. He lets his hand slip further under your shirt, smoothing over the dip of your lower back and sliding slowly up the notches of your spine. Every inch of your skin is soft, so smooth; the dark voice in the back of his head fills him with the urge to mark it somehow. He thinks about it for far too long, losing himself in the fantasy as he strokes up and down your back, that your breathing has slowed and evened out again, lulled back into sleep by his gentle touch. His other hand wanders lower, brushing over the curve of your ass and finally you stir, mumbling something he can’t make out, although you definitely sound annoyed as you swat his hand away and turn onto your back.

“Quit it, lemme sleep.” Your slurred quiet words are cute and he wishes Stu was here to see you like this. His hand curves into your thigh but you’ve dozed off again and do nothing to stop him as his fingers inch between your thighs.

Your legs twitch as Billy strokes his fingers a little higher. He can’t stop, you’re so soft, and so so vulnerable right now. You moan gently in your sleep once again, trying to slap weakly at his hand. He knows if you were sober and awake you’d have pushed him fully away by now but it’s addicting having you so pliant and helpless beneath him. He doesn’t think you’d mind not truly, you love him, you’d let him touch you, he knows you would.

You’re so warm when he brushes a finger up over the folds of your cunt. His breath catches in his throat and he swears he can feel your hips lift slightly from the bed as he slowly strokes you. He’d almost, almost told Stu to stop plying you with drink earlier, but now having you laid out on your bed in front of him, he’s glad he didn’t. You look adorable, snoring softly, practically blacked out drunk and his cock twitches in anticipation.

It doesn’t take him long to give into temptation, pushing the t-shirt, that he’s pretty sure is one of Stu’s, up over your hips until your cunt is laid bare to him.

“Baby, you with me?” He leans down until his lips meet your jaw to trail soft kisses across your skin, pausing before gently kissing your lips and letting his forehead rest against yours. It’s relaxing, the quiet of your empty house and the steady rhythm of you breathing making him feel calm, serene. He feels safe, cocooned in the silent atmosphere of your bedroom.

“Want to taste you bunny. Want to make you cum.”

“Sleep Bill.” Your head rolls to the side as your mumble and he feels a flare of irritation at your refusal, resuming his exploration with a kiss to the hollow of your collarbone through your shirt.  Is this wrong? You’re not completely unconscious, you’re his girlfriend, and he’s gone down on you before. The doubt is shoved aside, ignored almost instantly as he gives in to the desire to take what he wants. He falters for barely a second as he places a trail of kisses down your neck to your breast, his thumb grazing over your nipple and watching it harden beneath the fabric.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbles to himself, shifting until he’s nosing at your nipple and his tongue licks over it, until he’s suckling at you through your t-shirt. Your breath hitches and you moan his name as he shifts, pushing your legs apart slowly so he can kneel between them. He stares at the soft plush skin of your inner thighs as he glides his hands over them, up over your hips, back under your t-shirt and over your ribs. He cups your breasts, squeezing gently; it’s oddly soothing to him, stroking you like this. Letting his fingers trace over your curves.

“Billy.”  It’s a soft, barely there sigh of his name which sends a shiver of excitement down his spine, and before he can register what he’s doing he’s kissing down your stomach and sliding between your legs. You’re already a little wet; he didn’t need the proof that you wanted this, but now he can see you do, it makes his heart swell with love. He starts with just caressing you, stroking you softly, idly, between the soft wet folds of your cunt, enjoying the way you quiver at his touch.

“Stop,” You’re rocking into his touch, obviously enjoying it and he doesn’t quite understand why you sound so upset. “Feel dizzy, sick.”

“No you don’t, you’re ok.” You probably do, you had drunk a lot but you hush at his words. He lets his thumb circle your clit, watching in fascination as you grow wetter, and a low moan escapes him as he pushes a finger into you. You feel so tight. He knows you’re a virgin, and is trying so hard to go slow for you. The amount of times you’ve said you weren’t ready echo in his head but you are ready, your body is practically begging for it right now, cunt wet and fluttering around his finger. He’d prefer it if you were more awake, to be aware enough to moan and beg for him but he’s glad you’re drunk and sleepy if he’s honest, letting your body finally get what it wants without your head interfering and over thinking.

Your hips were lifting even more now, rocking against his hand and a soft murmur left your lips as you turned your head.

This was right, your first time was meant to be his. His slow touch is rewarded by another small reaction, a tremble of your thighs and a soft moan. It sends a sharp stab of heat to his groin and he buries his face into your cunt, a second finger sliding inside you and his tongue lathing over your clit.

“There you go, knew you wanted me,” He can’t stop himself, sucking at your clit until your thighs tremble and your walls tighten and ripple around his fingers. “Good girl,” he mumbles against your thigh, fingers still inside you. “good girl cumming for me.” the pride is evident in his voice as he eases his fingers out of you. He feels only a slight tinge of embarrassment at the amount of praise falling from his lips. He can’t seem to stop himself when it’s just the two of you together.

He kisses back up your body as he tugs his jeans down, just enough to free his cock. He teases you, sliding his cock along the soft skin of your thighs, tempted to move up to your mouth but changes his mind when the head of his cock brushes against the wetness between your legs. The sensation is enough to make you jolt, your bleary eyes looking up at him in a confused panic.

“What,” You shove weakly at his shoulders. “What you doing?”

 “Shhh,” he leans over you, a flurry of little kisses over your cheek but he holds still. “Shhh…”

It’s difficult to focus. You squeeze your eyes shut until white spots dance along your inner eyelids. 

“Billy stop,” You pushed at him clumsily, trying in vain to turn your head away and get out of his hold. You feel nauseous and confused, and so dizzy from your orgasm and the alcohol still in your system. He’s too close, too hot, you need him to stop and you desperately need some air.

“Please.” You went limp under him and he finally shifted, pulling back to look at you. He stared at you for what felt like a long time before something in him seemed to soften at your uneasiness, a flicker of emotion you couldn’t read in his dark eyes. He kissed you before you could get out another word, pressing himself against you and you whined when he tried to pin your hands to the bed. 

“I’ll go slow, I’ll make you feel good,” Lifting his other hand to trail the backs of his fingers down your cheek as you turned into the touch. “Don’t you love me? Let me make love to you.”

You loved him but you didn’t want this, not now.

“It’s alright, bunny,” he cooed softly, suppressing a grin at your quiet moans when he brushed the tip of his cock over your clit, “Just be good for me.” 

Your breath hitched when he leaned in and pressed his mouth against yours, and you leaned into it with a sigh. The soft gentle kiss distracted you, a slow familiar roll of pleasure chasing away the confused doubt and borderline panic. Billy continues his teasing, rocking his hips against you and as the heat builds in your belly you cannot restrain a moan, a moan that he responds to with a low growl.

“Fuck you feel good. Do I feel good?”

“Yes,” Your back arches as the head of his cock rubs harder against your clit. “God yes Billy I don’t-,”

“Relax,” he covers your mouth with his free hand. You huff into his warm palm. “It feels good right? Then you’re ready.”

You felt overwhelmed and so hot, but beneath it all there was an undeniable feeling of arousal, and you were wet, wet and aching for him. You couldn’t deny that it felt good, but it was too fast.

“Stop.” You mumbled against his palm, your throat tightening and you could feel tears beginning to prickle at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you,” a soft almost reverent whisper of your name as he shushed you, thumb stroking over your bottom lip as he moved his hand to rest on your throat. “Do you trust me?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, a loud groan escaping him as he pushes into you, and you cried out, toes curling and body tensing, your cunt squeezing him instinctively at the sudden intrusion. “St-stop,” You struggled to catch your breath, another gasp escaping when he pulled out only to thrust back into you. “Slow down.”

“I can’t, not now,” his eyes rolling back in his head as he presses deeper, praises pouring from his mouth in a jumbled mess. Perfect, he knew you were but fuck. “You asked me to, you wanted me.”

That confuses you, maybe you hadn’t been clear, you were drunk, and he probably was too. Thinking about it too hard made your head hurt.

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” He kisses your cheek as he pulls out and then presses his hips forward again. He keeps his pace slow, each deliberate undulating thrust of his hips filing you to the hilt and back out again, in a rhythm that’s somehow not enough and too much. You can feel and hear the wet squelches of your cunt, sounding obscenely loud in the quiet of your room. 

“Baby,” he groans, “You hear how wet you are for me? Laying there like that, seducing me,” He shudders, hips going still as he feels his orgasm growing quickly and he clenches his jaw trying to stave it off for as long as he can. “Little whore aren’t you really? Stu was right- shit, you’re so perfect, fuck I love you.”

You whine, his words and praise confusing you. You do want him, you do love him but it doesn’t feel quite right. You can’t remember if you wanted this or not. His fingers were digging into your skin, and you winced at the pain.

“You going to cum for me again?” He sounds desperate, unable to stop the grunts and moans escaping him. “Cum with me bunny.” His eyes squeeze shut, and he mumbles into the skin of your shoulder.

Your orgasm surprises both of you, your sleepy breathy little whimpers and the way your cunt ripples and grips around his cock drawing his own climax from him in slow rolling waves of pleasure.  Letting go of your hips to link your fingers together, his head hangs down to rest in the hollow of your neck as his thrusts begin to falter, then still altogether. Your head is spinning, you feel exhausted and more than a little lost. Billy stays quiet for a while, his cock buried inside of you as he tries to calm his breathing.

“Good girl,” he kisses along your neck, he can’t seem to stop. He pulls out gently, and he watches the slow, thick trickle of cum that follows. The hitch in your breath draws his attention back to you.

“What’s wrong?” His concern is clear on his face as he looks at you, hand cupping your cheek to brush away the stray tear that slides down your cheek. “You still feel sick?”

You shake your head, even as your stomach rolls, trying to get your breathing back under control. You can’t think.

“It’s ok, you’re ok,” he repeats, moving up and over you so he can lay down behind you, tugging you backwards into his chest. He’s said that a lot and you’re starting to believe it. The feeling of hurt being soothed and tamed by his soft murmured praise and the quiet stillness of your house. The dizziness is starting to come back full force, the adrenaline and alcohol pulling you back down into an almost blacked out slumber. Billy’s breaths are steady and shallow in your hair, as if he’s asleep already.

You shift your hips, trying to find a position that doesn’t make your head spin quite as much and Billy’s arm tightens possessively around your middle.   “You want more already?” He chuckles softly as his hand slides across your belly, slipping underneath to rub your bare skin. “Told you you’d enjoy it.”

It might seem really small but it still got to you. In a similar fashion as when Stu would crack a joke, that was the first thing that attracted you to him in class. You were waiting for class to start when you overheard him doing a spot on impression of your professor. 

He had his nasally tone and patter down, he went so far as to sit up straighter as he did it, “If you fail to bring a pencil that is a failing on YOUR part! It’s not MY problem.” 

You snorted in your hand attempting to cover how hard he made you laugh.

Even with how great they are, you know looking for fulfilment in them probably wasn’t the best or healthiest thing. You know that you should find happiness in yourself before looking for it in another person, or in this case persons, but you still want them. You want what they have and what they could offer and so you decide to get closer to them, put thought into action in hopes of satiating your needs. 

You give yourself another once over on your way out the door, mind still firmly on them as you pull your coat tighter around your body and set down the steps.

The pair of them were clearly very, very close and you couldn’t help wanting to be in the middle of them. Sitting with them wishing you could feel Stu’s arm slung so casually around your shoulders the way he did to Billy. The want to be looked at the same way the brunette did to the blonde also took hold frequently. 

The wondering was constant, how it could be with them overtaking nearly every thought in your waking hours while in their presence especially. 

They thought you were cute.

Painfully obviously insanely into them, but cute all the same. 

You were fun, they liked hanging out with you, they liked how you looked at them, so full of warmth and hope, so trusting. 

If only you had a clue what they were really like, really capable of. 

You made it so easy. 

They invited you over for a movie night, you agreed with gusto and you came over to their shared apartment with a few dvds in hand and a bag full of snacks to share. 

“Hey! If it isn’t my favourite partners in crime.” 

You greeted excitedly upon seeing the pair and they returned it in kind, you took off your coat and passed it off to Billy who hung it up near the door as Stu asked, “Heyyy,do you know somethin’ I don’t? What kind of crime have we committed exactly?” 

“Tax fraud. Where do you think you get all your money from?” Billy said with a smile and you laugh. Stu snaps his fingers once, “Shit, I always forget that. Man what would I do without you here to remind me?”

More light conversation and you are invited to sit between them on the couch and settle in for a chill evening with them. They had other plans for the evening however and it started really innocently. 

Stu snatched up the remote as Billy gets comfortable beside you as you ask, “So what are we watching first?”

Billy started to respond but he adjusted further, and behind his head, elbow resting on the arm of the couch and your eyes are drawn to the movement and you don’t hear the answer.

Whatever it is you are sure it’ll be fine so you say easily, “Sounds great.” 

Soon they are subtly moving closer, removing the minute space between you. Stu’s jean clad thigh pressed to yours and Billy’s hand slowly inching its way until it covers yours. 

You don’t fight it, you welcome the small touch, it brings comfort.

You try not to get your hopes up, you don’t acknowledge it, afraid if you do it might stop and so you sit there, revelling in the points of contact with them. 

Turns out that they put on Sleepaway Camp and Billy and Stu were cracking jokes and you joined in, trying to distract yourself from your current train of thought and them touching you. 

You are laughing, trying to catch your breath as Billy prompts, “Say it again, if you really believe it, say it again.”

“I’ll say it!” Stu spoke again, a wide gesture with the can in his hand, “Listen all I am saying is that if you put your dick up her ass it would one hundered percent break off because she is so uptight!”

“Like she’d ever let you try in the first place.”

You nearly snort from what Billy says and on it goes.

You don’t protest as those minor touches advance. At Billy’s hand running up your arm, finger tips dragging up slowly, you attempt to stay focused on the screen. Stu is leaning on your shoulder and just as you are really starting to enjoy it there is a knock at the door and the take out is here. 

The movie is paused and they are up, Stu answering the door and taking the bags before passing them off to Billy as he pays. You watch them flit around as you wish they were still on the couch and so close to you. 

Your mind was more preoccupied after that. Even when they give you a plate and resume the film, both sitting in their original spots, no longer touching you. Mind pouring over it, wanting it again, hoping it would happen again, that it wasn’t a mistake or a fluke. 

It is midway through the next movie, Sleepaway Camp 2, dinner finished and plates in the sink that it starts up again. 

Still painfully slow and you eventually find yourself unable to pretend you aren’t at least slightly affected. Your breathing is the main thing that has changed as the second movie is finishing. Your eyes half closed, quiet conversation has been going on, mostly between them with a few questions directed towards you and you feel so totally relaxed.

Your head resting on the back of the couch when Stu says, “I don’t think they can stay awake for the third movie.” 

You feel the couch shift, Billy leans in closer and asks, “Do you want to go lie down for a while?” 

That sounded really nice actually. Curling up in soft blankets and smooth sheets, surrounded by the comforting smell of them, as much as you want it you say, “I don’t wanna impose-”

Both of them scoff. Stu rolls his eyes and Billy says “Yeah you aren’t, trust us.” 

So you give in.  

Soon you find yourself in bed and you expect them to let you rest for a while until they get on the bed with you. 

You hold your breath as you are pressed between them, Stu leg over yours and Billy’s arm thrown around you. 

It’s quiet for a while. 

You are so tense, waiting, in disbelief that this is happening, that you are here when Stu speaks up, “Do you like this?”

Shit, what should you say to that? Should you be honest? Just admit it outright that yeah you like it very fucking much but that you have been wanting this for months? Admitting it was fine, right? You could say that you liked it and that was okay, normal even, you need to say something fast or it’d be weird. 

“Yeah…It’s really nice.” You sighed it out, wanting to press yourself closer still but debate it, perhaps you should just enjoy what they have given you so far. 

Before you have a chance to ruminate on this for longer than a few seconds you feel Billy’s hand on the back of your neck. His thumb strokes up and back down firmly and he tilts your head up, he is already leaning in, he kisses you as Stu asks once again right in your ear, “How about this?”

Was this seriously happening?

You tried to ground yourself but your mind was reeling, feeling Stu’s hand on your waist, a squeeze before it was sliding to rest on your lower back. He pushes you closer into Billy, the movement wakes you up, makes you move and finally you are kissing him back, eager and excited, pouring that into the affection you returned. You felt so good in this moment, relaxed, warm, comfortable in bed and feeling right in between them. 

Billy tasted good, somehow better than you thought, hard to define but definitely him, you are really sinking into it when he pulls away. The urge to whine feels natural but you don’t give any indication that you want to. Your eyes do open again to see Billy, the look you give must have given away your confusion because his hand that is still on the back of your neck moves as he asks, “Aren’t you forgetting someone?” 

“Yeah, c’mon, don’t make me beg.” Stu teased and the smile spread across your lips easily as you turned your face to his.

Your hand reaches out and meets the back of Stu’s head, pulling him closer and giving him the same treatment as Billy, kissing him. Both of Stu’s hands are on you, not anywhere scandalous yet but still on you, like he needed to feel more of you. 

This was better than you could have dreamt honestly. You were just hoping for some food and movies and a fun time when you came over, but this? Getting to be in bed and alternating making out with them, hands wandering, breathing picking up, bodies tight together, slight grinding, talk about heavenly. 

Stu’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip as Billy has his chin on your shoulder as you have rolled over to be closer to Stu, kiss him deeper and Billy speaks up. “We’ve seen you looking, you know.” 

You hum distractedly and Billy continues, “Mmm, it’s kinda obvious. Cute tho, right Stu?” The blonde pulled back, a small laugh with that classic almost goofy grin, “Ooh yeah, real obvious but real fucking cute too.” 

Stu had slotted his leg between yours mid-make out, Billy had his hands on your hips and he moved you, encouraging you to grind onto Stu’s thigh and you do with a sharp inhale. The friction feels very needed at this moment. 

Billy has started kissing your neck as you grind onto Stu, you reach out, wanting more and the man in front of you obliges, another heated kiss. Billy is talking into the side of your throat, “You want more of this, don’t you?”

A shaky nod, a deep breath before you say, “Yes, fuck-”

You wanted this, you thought this would be good for you, fulfilling, would satiate some deep part of you to be included and be between them. It is almost as if they can feel this, feel how excited you were. 

Your own eyes had slipped closed and as a result you didn’t catch the look the pair shared, the grins that broke out as they knew it was time to do what they really wanted to tonight. You are unceremoniously pushed onto your back, Stu getting on top of you quickly and Billy moving aside, somewhere else, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t find yourself much in the mood for caring as Stu’s mouth was back on yours. 

You weren’t sure how long Billy had stepped away but you couldn’t have been alone and making out with Stu longer than two minutes before you felt the weight on the bed shift once more.  Your hands were on Stu at this point, tracing up his sides, or they were until you felt a hand on your wrist, a strong tug pulling your arm towards who you assume is Billy. 

Stu isn’t letting up, you feel something soft and smooth wrap around your wrist and that has you confused but Stu’s tongue is in your mouth and the feeling and taste of him has you squirming below him. Whatever it is, winds around your wrist a few times and then the same is done with your other wrist, captured in his grip, tugged and pulled, wrapped around with that same soft and smooth material. 

“Move.” The single word makes Stu pull back, his mouth reluctantly breaking away as he sits back on his knees. You are able to see just what was being done to you, seeing that Billy had started to wrap some red rope around your wrists and with Stu out of the way he was straddling your hips now, hands brought together and him securing them together. The sight of it makes you panic, fear setting in quickly. 

“Wait! Wait, what are you doing?” You ask quickly, eyes scanning over the pair of them, Stu was on the end of the bed, a second rope having been procured seemingly from nowhere and they shared a look. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, you said you wanted more, is this not okay?” Billy had slowed but didn’t stop, the connection between your wrists tightened further and you swallow hard, you aren’t sure what to say. Stu took advantage of your silence, he was working on making the first loop around your ankle as he said, “This is what you wanted.” 

He said it definitively. “What?”

“This, right? Being here with us, between us, being a part of this?” Billy asked and Stu piled on further, “We’ve seen you looking. We aren’t stupid.” 

The ropes on your wrists were tugged, checking the tension and how secure they were and they were not going anywhere. “I mean uh-” 

A deep breath as you watch Billy adjust again, off of you and on the end of the bed with Stu. Helping him tie your legs how he wanted them, fixing it so your legs were spread and sufficiently immobile. 

You are honestly so taken aback by the quickness of this going from steamy make out to you being bound in their bed that your brain is failing you, unable to come up with anything to say. Thick red ropes wrapped around your thighs and ankles, around your wrists and upper arms and secured further to the headboard now.

You aren’t going anywhere and when the long strip of dark fabric is pulled out and Billy makes his move to start blind folding you, makes your brain actually jump start again. Your tone is a little frantic as you say, “Isn’t this going a little uh-fast?”

“I mean I don’t think so. Do you Stu?” Billy asked with a look over his shoulder and the blonde shook his head, “No, not at all. If you want to have what we do this is how it happens. It’s important.” 

“Important?” You sounded doubtful, you felt doubtful, your heart was beating harder. 

"It’s needed. How do you think we've gotten so close?" Billy was playing with the blindfold, wrapping it and unwrapping it around his hands. He looked far too good, a dangerous smile and devious glint in his warm brown eyes, he looked like he had a lot of plans for tonight. You couldn’t help but be curious. 

Stu was leaning in, his chest to Billy’s back, chin resting on his shoulder, arm thrown around him. His hand rests on his chest as he gestures with his other hand, providing emphasis as he says. "Yeah, think of this as like, a bonding exercise."

As you look up at them both, present and clearly wanting you, about to offer everything you’d been wanting and a hell of a lot more, you find it nearly impossible to say no. You did want to be with them, wanted to be included and if this is what was needed then you could do it, no more than that, you wanted to, right?

Sure it was a bit faster than you had initially intended and a bit more intense than you had pictured but you could do this so you nod shakily and say, “Okay, yes, I want what you both want.” 

“Ooh good fucking answer.” Stu praised and Billy moved again, blindfold starting to be secured behind your head. “Really good, just like them, I told you so.”

“You called it, I gotta give it up.” Stu said and then the mild uncomfortableness was pushed aside as their hands are on your body and someone is kissing you again. If only you knew just how much they wanted you might have reconsidered your answer and just what you might be offering up. 

Between heated kissing and wandering hands pulling at your clothing you were getting back into it, your back arching and breath catching at the feeling. You always thought getting to have them both would be like this, just delightfully overwhelming. The duo ganging up would be nearly too much for anyone to handle. 

You were lost in the sensations they were providing, so lost that you didn’t hear it, you felt it, cold and unrelenting pressed to your outer thigh and it made you jerk, head falling back against the pillow with a soft gasp. “What the fuck?”

It moves, you feel the edge of it and it’s sharp, very sharp and you aren’t fully sure what it was until the flat of the blade presses to you and it hits all at once. A new wash of fear takes hold, you try to move away but how you are tied has made it impossible. “What’s the matter?” 

You are tied tightly, can’t see and have what feels like a pretty big knife pressed to your thigh and he is asking what is the matter? Isn’t it obvious? 

He moved it slowly. Taking his time, meandering the weapon up and down your thigh, getting higher and higher on every pass. “Oh do you mean this?” 

The knife is nearly on the edge of your panties now under the skirt you’d worn tonight, pressure increased. Another painful tease as it nearly breaks the skin, its presence very well known at this moment. “Don’t you like it?”

Awful lot of questions tonight. 

He doesn’t wait for a response as the knife edges that bit further, the tip of it tracing over the quickly dampening lacy material, you try to scoot your hips back away from the cold steel. 

“I think they do but they are having some trouble admitting it.” Stu teased and Billy made a sound of mock sympathy, “Awe, it is hard to say you like something as fucked up as this, it’s okay.” 

His hand is on your hip unexpectedly and it makes you jolt, his hand slips down, you had no idea what he was going to do with the blindfold on, totally at the mercy of whatever they were going to do to you. 

You feel his fingers hook into your panties and then you feel the knife slide under the space he made between the wet fabric and your body. He cuts the thin material in half, exposing your wet slit to the cool bedroom air and you suck down a harsh inhale, brows furrowing as you exclaim, “Hey! I liked those!"

“Oh I like them too, promise.” Billy said it so playfully and Stu added on, “Honestly, it’s like you knew this was going to happen.”

Billy let out a half laugh at that, “Yeah or maybe they always wear such slutty panties.” 

“Wouldn’t put it past them, you're right, such a slut.” Stu taunted and you said, “No I’m not!”

That made them both laugh. Hard. 

“Do you see yourself? Oh wait, no you can’t.” Stu laughed again at what he said and Billy said, “But seriously, you are tied up and blindfolded in our bed after a half hour of making out and you are trying to say you aren’t a fucking slut?” 

“Hilarious.” Stu stated. You felt hot with the shame of it, they made a decent point, by all accounts you certainly looked the part of a slut. 

“But again, it’s okay, we’ll get you to admit how much you like it.” 

How would they do that?

Your shirt is roughly pulled up, tits groped through your bra and you bite back a moan as Billy reaches up to help out Stu, knife gets to work and cuts the middle part far too easily. Cups pushed aside and breasts bared for them to touch and abuse as they saw fit. 

Stu was already at work, a groan as he palmed your chest, thumbs brushing over your already hardening nipples. 

“Fuck. What a gorgeous pair of tits.” He sounded like he was practically drooling. “Been dreamin’ about seeing them.” 

“Shit, right?” Billy sounded a little strained himself as he watched Stu play with you, again you can’t see him but you feel the mattress move and more than that you feel the knife move with him. It drags languidly up, over your stomach and side before feeling the flat of the blade under one of your breasts, you tense further at how closer the knife is to your chest. He traces the curve with his knife slowly and you almost let out a whine, eyes squeezing shut behind the blindfold. 

You breathe out, “Stop.”

That makes them both pause. “What?”

You say it a little louder, voice is shaking, unconfident as you say again, “I said stop.” 

Billy is clearly the one still wielding the blade and it is pressed to your jaw, the sharp edge digging in slightly as he says, “Awe you want us to stop? You don’t like it?”

You are barely fighting back how badly this is getting to you, how intense the fear is, you shake your head, “No-” 

“Stu?” Billy prompts and you feel the hands on your chest pull back and one pins your hip down, the other between your legs. 

“I think they are a fucking liar.” Billy’s tone left was harsh and you stiffened at him slowly dragging the steel along the line of your jaw, “Wanna check for me, man?”

“With pleasure.” He sounded so fucking excited about it. You feel his fingers stroke up and down your soaked slit, thumb brushes your clit and you feel heat flare even brighter inside. He lingers there, slow and soft circles rubbed over sensitive flesh and your hands curl into fists, blunt nails biting into your palms as you try to hold back your moans. 

Billy picks up on how you are struggling to restrain yourself, he states simply, “I don’t like liars sweetheart.”

He repositions his hand, two fingers prod at your entrance briefly before sliding inside in one fluid motion as his thumb presses harder. 

Billy does so too, his hand on your throat, not choking you, yet, the opposite gripping the knife tighter. It actually does break the skin as he asks his next question, a slow and small line of blood from the cut leaking down your neck. "Are you getting off on this, yes?” A pause as you wince before he is asking further,  “Or no?" 

Before you can choke out your answer Stu laughs, he fucking laughs because, "-they just clenched on my fingers so hard man, they clearly want it." Because apparently your mouth isn't able to be honest but your holes can't lie.

“We know you want it so just fucking admit it already.”

You still feel a lingering sense of pride, you don’t want to give in, don’t want to give them the satisfaction, you weren’t going to make this easy for them. Give yourself at least some small plausible deniability, give yourself the illusion that you tried to hold off and weren’t enjoying this more than you should. It wasn’t like you still didn’t have reservations, weren’t still scared, because you were. Knife to your jaw and bound the fear was very real.

Stu curled his fingers and dragged along your upper wall, he pressed and found just what he was looking for. In combination with his thumb still circling around your clit, your hips jerk and you gasp.

Stu sounds like he is grinning as he says, “Ahhh there it is.” 

“Good work man.” You can hear the smile on his face from the tone Billy uses.

Stu focuses up. He curls his fingers over and over into that same spot, thumb stroking your clit with such perfect pressure it makes your head swim. Your heart is pounding, you feel so hot, you wished you were totally naked instead of having the ruined and rolled up remnants of your clothes clinging to your frame. He works you over beautifully. Fingers working you up until you have no more compliments, deep and shuddering breaths, tugging on the ropes, hips arching closer, craving more, the sensation is intense, building so quickly. 

You could feel Billy’s eyes on you even if you couldn’t see through the blindfold, you knew he was staring at you intently, watching your every move. You were positive he could feel your pulse thumping under his hand on your throat, more than that you could feel how hard he was through his jeans against your hip. 

You can’t help it. A soft moan passes your lips as the pleasure spikes and Stu laughs, “Ohhh man, you hear that?” 

Billy taps your cheek condescendingly with the blade, “I heard it alright. He’s good with his hands, hmm?”

You have to actively stop yourself from nodding in agreement, instead you give what could be read as a non-committal shrug if you weren’t trembling so much, “It-it’s okayyyy-”

Stu presses that little bit harder on your clit and you moan loudly, your walls clench on his fingers, you are drawn to the edge even quicker. A hard bite of your bottom lip, you were close, really fucking close, you were going to cum from this.

Going to cum at knife point and sightless and helplessly tied before them and you didn’t feel anymore fear, just blinding and burning pleasure. You take another deep breath and are right on the razor's edge of what is going to be a truly amazing orgasm when Stu’s fingers rip out of you, leaving you unsatisfied and unfulfilled. 

You cannot stop yourself from crying out, “NO!” Your fists clench and unclench as you feel the orgasm slip away. 

"if you want it." Billy starts as his hand squeezes your throat hard, his lips brush your ear, the tip of that weapon under your chin as he says, smile clearly gone now, “You’re gonna beg for it and you’re gonna make it convincing. I better believe you.” 

You grit out, “Fuck you, Loomis.” 

They both laugh again, there is barely any humour in it, “Don’t worry, we’ll change your tune really quick.” 

You are about to cuss him out again when you feel his hand move and the knife threatens to split your throat open. The edge is right to your jugular and that makes you shut up. You feel the mattress shift again and feel Stu between your legs, lips on your soft inner thigh. “We can do this all night. You have no hope of cumming until you beg for it.”

Fuck.

You feel the warmth of Stu’s breath fanning over your cunt as his fingers take their place between your thighs again. Two fingers buried inside on one hand and the thumb on his flicking over your clit, taking his sweet time to build you up again. Billy is making it all worse. Teasing you with that knife, over your shoulders and collar bone, his mouth hungry on your neck, you are sure there will be marks left behind. Your feel his tongue clean up the spilled and now tacky blood from earlier and he groans at the taste and that makes you clench on the fingers inside you once more.

The second edge hits in a few short minutes and hits hard. You don’t say anything, don’t warn them but they know. You aren’t able to hide how close you are, how your thighs tense and walls pulse as you struggle to breathe evenly. 

It is even more frustrating than the first time. 

You curse and groan as Stu’s fingers leave you once more. You aren’t given more than half a minute's rest until Stu is back at it. 

“I keep staring at em. This body of theirs, fuck.” Stu sighs, lips dragging up your inner thigh as his fingers trace your lips up and down, you are dripping onto the sheets by now, and can feel the wet patch growing under your ass. 

“So pretty.” Billy agrees and then you feel Stu’s mouth kissing up, higher and higher until his fingers fall away and his tongue licks a stripe up your slit that makes you cry out, legs fighting weakly against the ropes. 

Stu moans. Another lick and another parting your lips further, tasting you deeply, another moan before he pulls back, “Fuck, they taste so good.” 

“God, I bet. Lemme have some.” You feel the mattress move as they do and then you hear it, unmistakable, them kissing over you, Stu letting Billy taste your cunt from his mouth. Billy lets out a hum of pleasure after a minute of making out, “Damn you weren’t kidding.”

“Like I ever lie to you.” Stu teases as he is back between your thighs and he finally really dives in. He eats you out like it is his last meal, hungry and possessive. His fingers hook under the ropes as he pulls you closer to him. He was way too good at this considering it was his first time eating you out, he was figuring out what made you tick way too fast.

You weren’t hiding or fighting it now. Allowing yourself to show how good it feels, squirmy and sweaty and moaning, body feeling simultaneously weak and alight with pleasure. 

His tongue circles confidently, open mouthed kisses, moans against your heat and sucks that leaves you a whimpering mess. Billy was still enjoying teasing you, taunting you with that knife, playing with and using his mouth on your tits. He was making your need much worse and revelling in your moans and how your body responds to his manipulation.  

It only takes two more rather brutal edges between their talented mouths for you to break. Apparently five was your limit. 

“Fuck! I-I can’t take it! Go-Goddd, I can’t do it anymore, please! Please, fuck, I need it, lemme cum, I-I want it so fucking bad-”

Stu laughs wetly, hot tongue passes over your straining clit once more and you buck as much as you can while restrained, you wish you could see him. You bet he looked so good with the lower half of his face soaked with you. 

“Yeah, you want it?” Billy asks and you nod frantically, “Yeahhh! I-I want it, please?”

“What do you think, Stu?” The blond hums, his head resting on your inner thigh as Billy tweaks one of your nipples making you groan softly, “Mmm I dunno. I think that they might have earned it.” 

“Maybe we should be nice.” 

If you had the mobility you would have kissed Billy at that moment. “Please, yes, I-I did want you wanted, ‘Ve been so good, please-”

“You have been, haven't you?” Stu praised, tone mocking and saccharine, and Billy agreed. “They have been. Alright, go for it.”

It didn’t take much. Two fingers in your soaked hole, lips wrapped around your clit and Billy kissing you had you moaning into his mouth in a few short minutes. The pleasure builds quickly again, Stu had been paying close attention and had the rhythm you’d responded to best down and it made you unable to hold back. Your clit was throbbing, you were leaking, a breathless moan against Billy’s mouth, “M’ close-”

And it all stops yet again.

It takes a moment for it to register in you. That it was over again, that you were denied once more, but when it does the result is instantaneous. A deep inhale and a shaky exhale as tears spill forth and slip down your cheeks, you cry, bottom lip quivering, “Why? Wha-what’d I do wr-wrong? Puh-lease?! Lemme cum, you said, youuu said I could-” 

You sob brokenly, the blindfold feels wet against your face and Billy grinds his clothed erection against your hip as he curses, “Fuck. You are so hot like this.”  

“Please! Please, I-I can’t take it, hurts, I-” The knife is to your throat once more, held tight and the fear courses through you again, less but still there as you shift your hips and clench around nothing. “You are only gonna cum one way tonight and that is with us inside you, alright?”

Was that all?

Fuck, nothing sounded better. 

You beg.

You begged for release and begged to cum and begged beautifully for them to fuck you, sweaty and panting, pulling on the ropes and the knife is pulled away. You hear it get placed on the nightstand and then hear his belt opening, the sound of clothing being removed. The anticipation is killing you. 

You wished you could see them, you curse at the added layer of denial, not even getting to enjoy the view of them naked around you for the first time. Before you could contemplate complaining however his hands are on you.

You feel him between your legs, hard length pressed against you, protection is the furthest thing from your mind, all you care about is cumming and getting that sweet relief. No extra lube is needed, he teases you until you sob again, weakly asking, “Please, Billy?”

That is when he has you. Tears staining your face, body unable to stay still and practically ruined he slips inside and you moan deeply. It feels phenomenal. He stretches you so well, a groan leaving him once he is fully seated inside of you from the feeling of you, soaked and hot, swollen walls hugging his cock perfectly. 

Stu is so close. You hear him as he asks Billy, “How is it?” 

Billy breathes out, “Fucking amazing.”

He finally starts to move, hands on your waist as he fucks into you and you hear someone spit. You hear a moan that has to be Stu’s, you realise he spit into his palm and was jerking off almost against you on the bed as he watched Billy fuck you. 

It doesn’t take you long. The feeling of Billy’s body on yours, him moaning and panting into your ear, strong hands gripping you, pulling you down harder onto him. “So tight, been dyin’ to fuck you for months.” 

Stu spoke then, his own breathing laboured and voice a little strained “It’s true, we’ve been talking about this for so long.” 

That makes another pulse of heat run through you, a weak moan leaving your dry lips and then Stu’s hand that isn’t wrapped around himself is between your and Billy’s bodies. His fingers find your clit and it only takes a few rubs in time with Billy’s thrusts before you are cumming. Pleasure crashes through you as you moan a mix of their names, cursing and shaking and by the end of your peak, crying yet again. Billy and Stu work you through your high until you are begging them to let up.

Your face is drenched, you feel sore, skin rubbed nearly raw from the ropes and how you had constantly pulled and fought against them. Finally they stop, Billy pulls out slowly, it gives the impression that he doesn’t want to stop yet but he does. You are struggling to catch your breath, feeling perfectly satisfied and spent but then you hear Stu say, “My turn.” 

Another, distinctly different cock, not as thick but longer, rubbing against your wet slit, you squirm in overstimulation and beg weakly, “Shi-shit I-I don’t think I can-”

But Stu is shhing you, hand on your face, thumb brushing some of your tears aside as he coos,"Shhh. Yes, yes you can."

As he slips inside and your protesting breaks off with a low moan. 

Stu moans, his hands now both on your already spread thighs, he doesn’t stop until he bottoms out and when he does you moan his name and he breathes yours in kind. 

“Fuckkk. Billy-” he thrust in and out once, “-you undersold it man, they feel sooo-” his sentence trails off as if he doesn’t have the words to describe how incredible you feel.

He sets a steady pace, he takes and all you can do is take it. Especially as you feel Billy turn your head and the messy head of his cock is prodding against your lips. You don’t complain, you don’t question, your lips part, he slides inside and you taste yourself.