#hypnone

Full moons are torture. Rain has gotten used to this by now.  Standing on stage under the burn of the stage lights feeling like he’s coming apart at the seams. He’s dripping with sweat. Feels beads of it running down his spine. He doesn’t know how many times he’s wiped his hands off on his thighs. Fingers slipping on strings, nearly fumbling notes. But he’s well practiced at this by now. Used to it. Planning a tour is hard enough without having to account for an afflicted water ghoul. So, this, while uncomfortable, has become the norm.

His gut aches as he plucks at his strings. Mind somewhere else. Already in a cold shower. Spread out on the hotel bed, exposed to whoever feels like taking a turn. This one is worse than usual. It’s harder.

Swiss and Mountain ganged up on him before their set. Crowding up to him in the dingy dressing room. Fingers wiggling beneath the waistband of his uniform pants. Mountain kissing him breathless while Swiss fingered him, stretching him out, getting him ready. Rain had keened into Mountain’s mouth, begged for a knot that never came. Instead of relief, he got a plug. The minute it was fully seated Mountain and Swiss were gone. Backing away. Mountain pressed a kiss between his horns and told him to be good as Swiss grinned madly at him. Wiggling his slick finger as he disappeared out of the door, a promise.

Rain doesn’t remember most of the show. Going through the motions. Veins molten. Body shuddering with each step. Any intense movement grinds the plug against his prostate. Makes his vision flicker. He’s never wanted to cum so badly in his life.  When Dew slides up behind him during Year Zero he leans back against him, arching, pressing their masks together. Dew nuzzles him, tweaks a nipple. Rain can feel the shake of his laughter—and then he’s gone. And Rain feels his absence like a wound.

Rain likes this game. The way he has to fight himself. The way his packmates look at him across the stage. Ravenous. All of them.

Loves how it feels to stand in front of thousands of people and know that none of them have any idea what’s really going on. There is something about all those eyes turned to him—it makes it all so much better.

Aeon lingers around him for longer than usual. Swiss grins at him, fingers the air like a promise. Aurora and Cumulus reach out for him when he walks between their platforms. Cirrus drags her fingers over his chest at the end of her keytar solo.

They want him.

He’s given up on being subtle by the time Square Hammer starts. When Dew leans, so does he, pressing his cock against the back of his bass. Dropping one hand behind him to press against the plug, grind it a little further in. Just enough to hit a spot that makes him feel like his bones have turned to liquid. He locks eyes with Dew, catching the barest hint of Dew’s smirk through his balaclava.

A little more and he could cum from this. In front of all these people. He almost does.

But then the moment is over. Dew straightens, so does he. The pressure eases, but the burn doesn’t.

That last song feels like it goes on forever. He throws his picks in handfuls. Not aiming. Not even looking at the crowd. He hopes they gang up on him in the dressing room. Shove him up against the flimsy door. Fuck him hard enough to break it down. Any of them, all of them. At this point he isn’t picky. He expects something as they walk backstage. Attention. Someone to sidle up to him, to press open mouth kisses to his neck. To talk to him. Instead, all he gets is a rough slap on the ass from Dew as he walks by. Hard enough to jam the plug into his prostate. Enough to make his knees buckle. He stumbles, doesn’t fall. Dew looks back at him and chuckles. 

And then, nothing.

An empty dressing room. A quiet ride to the hotel. Sitting makes it worse, so he slides down as far as he can in his seat. Eyes closed. Tries to think about anything other than how agonizing the last twenty minutes have been. Tries not to think about begging Swiss to fuck him right here, right now. He can’t fucking wait any longer. And then they’re at the hotel. Nice like they’ve all been this tour. And Swiss and Mountain are flanking him urging him into the elevator, down a long hallway, into a room with one queen sized bed.

“Touch me."

They’re the first words Rain has said in hours. Eyes darting between Mountain and Swiss.

“Bet you’ll cum right away,” Swiss says, dropping onto the bed, toeing his shoes off. He lays back with an exhausted sigh.

“Y-yeah,” Rain agrees. Looking toward Mountain. “Please.”

“No fun in that,” Swiss says, face turned toward the ceiling. Rain wants to argue. Wants to remind Swiss, pointlessly, that he’ll cum as many times as Swiss wants, but Mountain crosses the room and pulls Rain into a kiss before he can get the words out. It’s sweet at first, but quickly turns filthy. Mountain licking deep into Rain’s mouth, claiming, hands on each of his cheeks holding him in place while he plunders. Rain can only whine, lean into it, open wider.

Swiss sits up on his elbows to watch. Hitches himself up on the bed enough to lean against the headboard and get a hand on himself. Palming over the zipper of his jeans as Mountain pulls Rain’s clothes off piece by piece. Fingers gentle over his overheated skin, mouth latched to his throat.

Rain doesn’t realize he’s naked until he is, rutting his cock against Mountain’s thigh. Chasing an orgasm that rushes up too quickly. He doesn’t see it coming.

But Swiss does. Pushing off the bed and coming to stand behind Rain. He locks an arm around his waist and pulls him back. Wrenching him away from Mountain and the only meaningful stimulation he’s had in hours.

“Get on the bed,” Swiss whispers in his ear, teeth grazing over the shell of it. Fingers digging into his belly.

Rain stumbles when Swiss releases him, but manages to get there. Tossing himself onto the bed, bouncing in a nest of soft pillows. He watches Swiss pull Mountain in by the collar. Can see the slide of their tongues as they kiss. Hips slotting together. Mountain whines.

Rain feels like he’s going to implode.

It's cruel, he thinks. All of this. They could have ended this by now. Knotted him. Relieved him of his static brain and heavy limbs. Of the way his blood feels like lava. He’s been hard for so long he doesn’t think he remembers how it feels not to be.

“Please,” he tries, but the word cracks and fails. He tries again. Louder. Swiss and Mountain pause. Swiss pulls back. Rain wants to taste the string of spit that still connects them.

“He’s been good,” Mountain whispers. Dragging his fingers through Swiss’ hair, holding him close. Rain leans against the headboard, cock kicking against his belly. Pre drying in his happy trail.

Swiss hums. Nips at Mountain’s lip.

“He’s so pretty when he’s desperate, though. We promised we’d wait for—”

There’s the sudden sound of a keycard in their door. Rain swears he can feel the click of the lock in his bones. His stomach flips.

Swiss looks at him—really looks at him, finally. Dark eyes narrowing, zeroing in. Rain doesn’t see who slips through the door before Mountain and Swiss are blocking his view of it. One on either side of his thigh. Swiss reaching between his legs to wiggle the plug. Mountain sweeps some of Rain’s hair behind his ear. He cups Rain’s cheek, gentle. A stark contrast to how Swiss drags the plug almost all the way out and slams it back in.

The door opens again. Rain barely hears it over the blood pounding in his ears and his own whimpering. But he knows who’s here now. His addled brain finally catching up. He can smell his pack—all of them. Eyes on him, dragging over flushed shaking skin. Hungry.

“Gonna take such good care of you tonight, Raincloud.” Mountain whispers, bending to kiss him. He tastes like Swiss.

“Gonna ruin you,” Swiss promises.