#markrexreader

"'S from my dad," Mark replies lazily, then looks at his band mate with utmost pity. "And, we have Dex on bass, you idiot."

"Not anymore," Rex rasps, putting the blunt out in the ashtray, leaving the rest of it for later. "He got arrested."

"What?!" Mark turns with eyes wide open, halfway fixing his piercing. "When?"

Rex shrugs, putting both of his arms under his head, bloodshot eyes glued to the ceiling. "Like, a week ago."

"And you're telling me now?"

"You were busy with whatever the shit you do with your dad. When exactly was I supposed to tell you?"

Mark groans and hides his face in his palms, shaking his head slowly with disbelief. "What'd he do this time?"

"They caught him dealing on the college campus."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Mark gets up, raising his arms and dropping them with pure disbelief. "We have a gig, in like… two weeks!"

"Don't sweat your balls off. I already got it figured."

"You?" Mark laughs cruelly, pointing at the redhead. "Figured shit out? Then we're doomed."

Rex rolls his eyes and sighs, then props himself up on his elbows, looking at the ink-haired guy with complete nonchalance.

"Listen, asshole," he points a finger back at Mark, squinting his eyes with a lazy smirk, "I posted on Instagram and on some Facebook groups that we're having an audition. Tomorrow."

Mark's shoulders drop even lower, and for a moment, he just stares at his band mate.

"Rex, you—"

"Yeah, I know." Rex grins and flops back on the pillow, "I'm a fucking genius. You can thank me later."

🎸 🎶 🥁 🎤

Mark gets up midway through the riff, raising his hands, signaling the guy to stop playing. The bassist straightens up, like he already knows what is coming his way.

"Alright, thanks a lot. We'll be in touch, yeah?" Mark flashes him a shallow, fake smile.

"Whatever, dude." The bass player shrugs and doesn't even look at them when he leaves.

"Bye?" Rex scoffs when the door closes. "Dickhead."

The room drowns in heavy silence as Mark plops down on the sofa next to Rex who's now busy with scrolling through his phone, seemingly no care in the world.

"This was, what… 7th guy in a row who could barely hit any accords properly?" Mark whines, slowly slouching down the couch. "I'm so tired, and so fucking hungry… How many people we have left?"

"Just one," Rex mumbles, not looking up from the screen. "A chick."

"Great. Just great."

"She's hot, dude."

"She can be Zoë Kravitz for all I care. I need a good fucking bassist."

Just when Rex opens his mouth to respond, a few quick, rhythmic knocks makes the two guys turn their heads to the door. When they don't answer, the knocking becomes persistent, and even more rhythmic.

"Come in!" Rex shouts and the door opens soon after.

When you step in, the sharp smell of weed hits your nose, and then your eyes set on two men sitting and staring at you like you're their last hope.

The redhead, Rex, does a quick once over with a playful glimmer in his dark green eyes. You mirror his action, focusing mostly on all of his piercings—the lip ring, the industrial and the plugs in both ears. On the right side of his neck, peeking from above the hemline of his Melvins t-shirt, you see what must be some sort of a tribal tattoo.

Whereas the guy with the mohawk, Mark, lifts up a corner of his mouth like he knows something you don't. He also has a collection of body mods, starting with the black studs in his eyebrow, one ear pierced top to bottom and you could swear you saw a glimpse of metal in his mouth, most likely a tongue piercing.

"Took you guys long enough," you mutter with a smirk as you close the door with your foot and come up to them to introduce yourself.

Mark and Rex get up with the speed of light, bumping shoulders, both of them extending their hands toward you at the same moment. You glance between their palms and their faces, internally laughing at this instant fight for dominance, and end up criss-crossing your arms to greet them both at the same time.

That earns you a grin from both of them, genuine ones. It's all going as you expected.

"Fancy thing you got there," Mark points to your Gibson struck at your back. You grab the neck and twist it around your torso to the front in one swift motion.

"Yeah, she's my baby. I've been saving for her for years." You mutter, sliding you hand slow along the curve of the guitar's body.

When you look up, he's watching you, somewhat expectantly. You hesitate for a second, but decide to take the strap off and hand the guitar to Mark. Who, to your satisfaction, takes it with the utmost care. He strokes a few chords, at which he whistles low and nods his head in approval.

It shouldn't have, but it does make your belly tie into a knot low, lower than you'd like.

"Okay, you stringers, I kinda feel left out." Rex chimes in, grabbing the guitar harshly from Mark, which makes you internally flinch.

"Not my problem, stick swinger." Mark growls, grabbing the instrument's neck over Rex's hand. This time you actually flinch, barely swallowing down a whimper. These fucking assholes are going to rip your guitar before you even get a chance to play for them.

But they both must have noticed the micro expression on your face, because they hand you the instrument back.

"Show us what you got."

"Then you both better sit down," you grin at them, ignoring the spark that ran from your fingertips to the top of your head when your hand touched theirs briefly.

"Oh, let me guess," Rex scoffs, plopping down on the sofa with a cocky smirk. "Anesthesia by Metallica? The Lemon Song by Led Zeppelin?"

You roll your eyes, scoffing back at him with an equally sharp smile.

"Actually, asshole—"

"I like her already," Mark mock-whispers, nudging Rex with his elbow.

"—assholes," you fake-cough, and Rex stifles a laugh while Mark crosses his arms like an upset child. "I have your song ready. The best one you've got, in my opinion."

The way both of their faces falter, then come back up with an even wider grin, makes you snort quietly, but triumphantly. You have these pricks in the palm of your hand.

"Which one?" They both ask at the same time, and you swallow down a cackle.

"Fecal Baptism, of course."

"Okay, damn." Rex spreads his arms along the line of the sofa's backrest, his voice nothing short of impressed.

"You better not butcher that one, it's my baby." Mark squints his eyes, smile half playful, half terrifying. You nod quickly and tune your strings, your hands suddenly trembling.

The last thing you want is to get on the nerve of this freak, you've seen his reaction at the shows when people booed them for even uttering the title of the track. Whatever happened to punk rock?

"Whenever you're ready, sweetheart." Mark waves a hand at you, almost dismissive and the nerves leave your body in an instant. Instead, it's replaced by the anger and need to deliver. You plug in your bass, take a wider stance, deep breath in and let the music flow through your fingertips.

🎸 🎶 🥁 🎤

"Thank you, you fucking bastards!" Mark rasps into the microphone, his voice tired and low after two hours of singing and yelling in a sweaty, smelly basement bar. "You were bat shit crazy!"

The audience is still chanting and jumping, some people are still in a mosh pit, and as usual, two or three folks are already in a fist fight. You feel drunk and dizzy in the best way possible, adrenaline pumping through your veins—not only have you given a god damn great gig, you've also became a bass player for the fucking Sex Splodes.

Mark beckons for you and Rex to come to the front of the stage, but you're frozen, still in disbelief, mouth hurting from smiling and screaming. Rex circles his drum set and grabs you by the waist, bringing you between him and Mark who also curls his arm around your torso, and all three of you bow, sweat trickling down your foreheads and necks.

🎸 🎶 🥁 🎤

How you ended up in a cheap hotel room a couple of hours later is a blur. Maybe it's the high from the concert, or maybe it's the lines of coke mixed with countless joints washed down with shots of the worst tequila you've ever had. Probably all of the above.

Now, completely zonked out, you lay flat on the king size bed in absolute bliss while Mark and Rex bicker about something, you're not sure what, because you're not really listening. The bedding's a bit scratchy, but you've had worse before. And it's surprisingly roomy—it's the best deal you three could get that would fit you all for the night.

"Hello?" Rex shouts over the music blasting from the speakers, and startles you back to the grimy room, your attention shifting from the broken ceiling fan to the redhead. "Earth to the metronome?"

You giggle, which then turns into a full blown laughing fit. "What did you call me?"

Mark turns the volume down a little, just enough so y'all could hear each other without screaming.

"Well you didn't react to your own name, for like," Rex pauses, mock-pondering, "ten minutes."

"What do you want?" You say weakly, wiping a tear away, still catching your breath.

You hear Rex open his mouth, but Mark cuts in, the slightest tremor in his voice making you quiet down completely. "Dude, forget it. She's so high she doesn't even know she's here."

"What?" Is the only thing you can say, suddenly very much interested in their conversation.

"Exactly my point," Mark replies more so to Rex, than to you.

"Forget what?" You press on, pulling yourself up on your elbows. When you glance at the guys, you notice that now they are shirtless, which you don't blame them—it's so hot and clammy, you also would love to shed any and every layer covering your body.

And it doesn't hurt they look fucking incredible just in their jeans.

"Ah, it's nothing," Rex waves a hand, his shoulder slumping down. Whether you want it or not, you watch the way his back muscles shift deliciously underneath his tan, olive skin.

"It's also fucking stupid," Mark adds, jabbing a finger at Rex.

You sit up properly this time, resting your back on the wall, glancing between your band mates with a knowing smirk. "Well, now I gotta know. What you two morons were talking about this whole time?"

"You really didn't hear?" Rex sighs, somewhat hopeful, but more so disappointed.

It's not like you have zero clue what they were scheming, the last two weeks you've spent with them left little to the imagination. But hearing them actually say it out loud would be priceless.

"Duh? I wouldn't ask otherwise."

"Let me tell you then," Mark wiggles his brows suggestively, "Rex here—"

Rex's hand flies up in the speed of light, clasping against Mark's mouth. "Shut your trap, you dick."

But it doesn't do much.

"Oh no, why would I?" Mark hisses with a sinister grin on his face, "it's your terrible idea, wasn't it?"

Rex narrows his eyes so hard they almost shut, his jaw squaring. One of his hands curl tight into a fist, like he's considering something before he lets it go, and only presses a finger forcefully into Mark's sternum.

"Like you don't fucking like it," the redhead spits, words coming out slowly and carefully, filled with venom and betrayal.

"Of course I fucking do," the man with the mohawk groans, swatting Rex's hand away. "But you remember how it ended last time, when we had a chick in the band. Right?"

"Oh, come on." Rex raises his arms up in disbelief, voice going an octave higher. "That was totally different! Shit hit the fan because her and Dex broke up!"

"Yeah, well." Mark lets out a short exhale through his nose, eyes glued to the floor with a mischievous smirk. Then, in a blink, his brown, warm eyes are up, glimmer of something between victory and twisted satisfaction in them. "He dumped her because you fucked her in the shower while he was sleeping—"

"While he was passed out in his own puke, you mean." Rex cuts in, crossing his arms over his bare chest, muscles popping and sharpening with every micro movement.

"You just couldn't keep your cock in your pants, could you?"

If the whole back and forth didn't get on Rex's nerves, now it does. Rex gets up with the speed of light, furrowed brows over angry eyes.

"Oh, here comes mister purity himself." The tan drummer shouts, and you can't decide whether it's funny or scary. Maybe a little bit of both. "At least I'm not fucking teenage girls by the dumpster after a gig."

Now Mark is up on his legs too, immediately after Rex's words left his mouth.

"She lied to me!" Mark raises his voice, face inches away from his band mate. "She said she was 21!"

"Dude, she barely looked 16, at best." Rex scoffs, a triumphant smirk on his handsome, asshole face.

The tension in the room is close to a snap, electricity buzzing from both men in a completely different manner than it did just a few minutes ago. You glance between their faces, foreheads almost touching, and despite yourself, your traitorous mind shows you an image of both of their lips crashing.

"Rex, I swear to fucking God—"

"Oh my God. Get over yourselves, you two." You whine with a heart in your throat, and the two man snap their heads toward you. There are much better ways to rid of these big feelings than fighting it out.

Though it would have been quite a show.

"You're complete assholes with a negative moral spine, and giant walking red flags at that. Tell me something new."

Rex open his mouth, then closes it, then does it again. Mark only blinks at you a couple of times. You wait, stretching the silence until it becomes unbearable and you're sure you have their undivided attention. They're completely still, eyes set on you, like they're awaiting a judge's verdict. That's when you know you've got them by the balls.

"Now spill, fuckers." Your smile is so sharp it could cut glass. A few beats pass in complete silence, and you can see the gears in their heads working overtime.

So to speed up the process a little, you spread your legs wider, your tiny, loosely fitting shorts revealing no panties underneath.

Rex breaks first.

"You can't just do this and then act all innocent!"

"And why's that?" You ask, while your hand plays with the hem of your tight crop top. The way their gaze is burning through each layer of your clothing, makes your nipples perk up.

Mark's lips curl up in a smile so wicked it's almost addictive. He drags his eyes slowly, very slowly, over the curves and lines of your body it leaves you tingling.

He definitely is coming with a scenario in his mind, and you want to play it out raw, no rehearsal.

Now, the shape of your buds is clearly visible through the thin material.

That's when it clicks for Rex, too.

What comes next, happens so fast you could miss it if you blinked.

Instantly, you're on your feet. Two strong, calloused, hands wrap tight around your waist, crushing your chest against both men.

You're not sure who you're actually kissing. What you do know, is how Mark's and Rex's lips feel against yours. Rough, claiming, impatient.

"You fucking tease," Rex groans, the sound vibrating over your pulse, his lip ring cold against your hot skin.

Mark is quiet, if not for the hums and pants coming from him, as he busies himself with leaving a wet trail down your chest, pierced tongue warm over your top. He finds your bud with ease, and bites it down through the material.

You want to say something, anything, but the only thing that leaves your mouth is a broken, whiny sound. And you swear you feel both of these idiots grinning.

Before you know it, Rex drops down to his knees, his lips never leaving your skin. His open mouth kisses start a heated path that goes straight between your legs.

Your pussy throbs once when the drummer's hand lands on your inner thigh, so close, yet so fucking far from where you ache the most.

The view below takes your breath away, and if the two men weren't holding you down like they're not going to ever let go, you'd fall.

Mark notices the effect Rex has on you and his competitive side kicks in. He slides his hand underneath your top and starts rolling your other bud between his fingers, not neglecting the one beneath his tongue.

The combination of Mark's piercing over your nipple, as well as Rex grabbing your shorts' waist between his teeth, leaves you whimpering. The sounds coming from your mouth are nothing short of obscene.

But then—they both stop.

Mark moves away from you and Rex slowly gets up from his knees. Both musicians are panting, their chests and necks flushed, thin gleam of sweat on their faces.

"You guys," you laugh weakly, suddenly feeling shy. Your breath is shallow, body trembling under their stares. "Why'd you stop?"

"You said it yourself," Mark replies immediately, so full of himself he looks even hotter than before, if that was even possible. "We're nothing but a bunch of red flag assholes."

"Now you know how we've been feeling these last two weeks," Rex adds, equally satisfied with their plan.

"So that's what you two were talking about?" You ask, your pride hurt and telling you to leave immediately. But the heavy, thick air of arousal keeps you glued to the floor, unable to move a muscle.

"Maybe," Rex grins, then nudges Mark with his elbow. "Is my idea still terrible and stupid?"

"Nah," Mark shifts his weight, and your gaze drops down to his jeans, his cock straining against the thick fabric. "For once, I gotta give it to you."

"Told ya," Rex snorts, then immediately fidgets, visibly uncomfortable with the pressing matter down his crotch.

"OK, so… What now?" You cross your arms over your chest, still torn between fury and the passion coursing through your veins.

"Now," Mark mirrors your pose, "you give us a show."

Your smirk sharpens. He probably thought you'd be shocked, or outraged. But it's the sort of answer you were hoping for, anyway.

"But I get something in return."

"And what would that be?" Rex brings his brow up, lazily, like he's got all the time in the world.

You could tell them to do absolutely anything, and you're certain they would do whatever you demand. Even if they're putting up a front of blazed, unbothered douches, their tented jeans say otherwise.

"I want a show, too."

The way their faces drop a smidgen, how their postures become a bit more rigid, makes you giggle internally. You snap a mental photo of them and tuck it away for later.

"So what, do we have a deal?"

The room falls quiet again, charged to the absolute max, tension so taut it might snap any second now. You shift your weight, waiting for these morons to grow a pair (or two, hopefully) and give you the green light.

"Uhm—" Mark stutters after a long while, and it's the first time you're seeing him like this. Hopefully, it's not the last.

"Yes, fuck. Yes, whatever you say." Rex cuts in, breathless. For once, being a hothead has finally paid off for him.

Your lip corner curl up, and you uncross your arms slowly, resting your palms on the swell of your hips. The change in your demeanor is almost palpable, judging by their alert eyes, and their jaws going slack.

"Sit. Both of you." You command, and they listen like the obedient dogs they are.

Taking your sweet time, your hands glide upwards on both sides of your waist, stopping shy away from your breasts. You take one, two steps in their direction, enough to show intent, but still leaving them craving more.

Your breasts feel full and heavy in your hands, your nimble fingers massaging over your alert buds in slow, circular motion. One of them gasps, you don't know which one, because your eyes are already closed, head lulled back, exposing your warm neck to your audience.

You move up, sliding off one strap of your top over your shoulder. Your fingers trace the line of your collarbone to the other strap, which falls on your arm, too. The shirt is now barely holding on your frame, only your breasts stopping it from falling down to the floor.

Without thinking about it, your hips start swaying in the rhythm of the music. Some sultry, low-bass track is playing in the background, leaving you feeling like the main character in their stories.

Taking the hem of your crop top between your fingers, you begin to lift it, inch by inch. While doing so, you lift your heavy eyelids, just a little, enough to peek at your band mates. As you expected, both Mark and Rex are wound tight, both clutching their boners through their jeans, but not moving.

Not yet, at least.

Their free hands are curled tight into fists, wrinkling the duvet cover, holding on for their dear lives.

Just when your breasts almost spill out from underneath your top, you cover them in a swift move. The redhead exhales hard through his nose, while Mark whines, but doesn't dare to say a word of discontent, scared to break the moment.

Despite yourself, you smile. A small, genuine upturn of your lips. You'd be lying if you said you didn't think about this exact moment from the day you joined the band.

All the rehearsals, heavy drinking nights, conversations flowing easily until the early morning hours led you right here, to this cheap hotel. In which the staff had no issue with three horny people sleeping together in a room with one bed.

The song has changed to something jumpier now, and you take that as a hint to move on. You twist on your heel, right on the beat, and your hands land on your butt cheeks with a smack. Mark, or Rex, sucks in a breath through his teeth.

You can't help but tease them a little more. You hook your thumbs behind your waistband and begin to pull it down, revealing the roundness of your ass.

"No touching," you mutter, looking at them over your shoulder, your shorts halfway down.

Rex, quite literally caught red handed, hides his arm behind his back and gulps down. Mark is still holding on to the edge of the bed, seconds away from combusting.

You don't know the track coming from the speakers, but you do know music theory. Your shorts hit the floor exactly when the accent drops in the song.

"Holy shit," Rex curses, voice low and strained.

Still turned with your back to the two men, you pull your shirt over your head on point with the end of the song. Then, just as if you queued it, one of your favorite hits start spilling from the speaker. You intended on ending the striptease already, but you just can't resist the rhythm flowing through your veins. Your hips sway with the bass line, your hands playing with the fat of your ass.

At the best part of the track, you drop to the floor, sitting on your heels. You trace your legs upward, starting from your ankle, through your calves, knees, up to your thighs. The gentle brush of your fingertips leave your skin prickling in its wake. When the song ends, you turn your head one last time, checking on the sorry state of your boys.

Mark is clenching his jaw so hard he might grind his teeth down, whereas Rex is biting down on his fist. You have them exactly where you want them.

"Did you like the show?" You ask, voice low and sultry, enunciating each word carefully.

Both of the musicians groan and nod furiously, and it's only now that you notice the flies of the jeans are open, hands past the waistbands.

"I'll take that as a yes," you giggle and turn, careful not to show your frontal nudity just yet, laying down on the carpet. The fabrics scratches your breasts and tummy, and you rest your chin on your hands. "Your turn."

Mark and Rex look at you, then at each other, then back at you. Mark finally speaks up, first time since telling you to strip for them.

"What do we do?" He rasps out, slowly, reluctantly taking his hand out of his boxers. Rex doesn't budge, still pumping himself slowly up and down, awaiting your requirements.

"Touch each other," you state simply, as if you were asking them to pass you the headphones.

"What?!" Rex jumps away from Mark who is staring at the swell of your ass splayed right in front of him.

"I held my end of the deal," you add, bit more stern now, but still playful.

The redhead hides his face in his hands and just sighs, loud and long. Mark still hasn't moved, clearly weighing down his options. You wait, patiently, because you know they'll cave, eventually.

"Rex, we're both bi." Mark chuckles, turning to Rex, but not reaching out to him just yet. There's a faint smirk on his face. "Or was it a lie to lure chicks in?"

"No, it wasn't." Rex mumbles from behind his palms, voice muffled. "I like dudes as much as you do."

"Am I that repulsive to you then?" Mark gasps in mock offense, and you let out a quick, quiet giggle.

"No, man." Rex risks a peep from between his fingers at his friend. "It's not that either."

"What is it then?" You press on, watching as the drummer unfolds right in front of you, ignoring the growing pressure in your lower regions.

"Do I really gotta spell it out for y'all?" The redhead groans, then shifts to face Mark, coming a little bit closer to him.

You hum in response, your eyes set on Mark's hand coming closer to Rex's thigh with every passing second.

"Spit it out," Mark tilts his head, his grin utterly venomous. "Unless you're a coward."

Rex rolls his eyes, then drops them down, suddenly finding the carpet absolutely fascinating.

"You're low-key really fucking hot. And it freaks the hell out of me."

The air in the room shifts. You can feel it getting heavier, and so does Mark. He looks at you, then at his band mate with genuine surprise on his face. But there's no disgust there, no. Only curiosity.

"Well, I was not expecting that." Mark states after a few beats, visibly flushed. The black haired man moves even closer now, his palm landing confidently over his friend's thigh. "But 'm glad. 'Cause I think you're pretty damn good-looking yourself, too."

"Yeah?" Rex glances at the point of contact, at Mark's large hand traveling up, stopping dangerously close to the strained fabric. When the redhead looks up, the singer is much closer than before. For a split second, their eyes meet, exchanging a charged, warm look.

"Yeah," Mark says, softer now, almost tender.

Your walls flutter involuntarily as they close their eyes, resting their foreheads against each other.

Then finally the drummer gains some confidence and touches Mark's abs, hesitantly at first. The moment Mark lays his hand on Rex's chest, the latter moves forward and closes the distance.

The man with the mohawk gasps at first, but then gives in immediately, threading his fingers through Rex's coppery strands, undoing whatever was left of his bun.

"Damn," you mutter, voice barely above whisper, and shift to sit up. You pull your legs closer to your body, not caring about covering yourself anymore. It's not like they are going to look at you now, anyway.

Then, the redhead grabs Mark's face with both hands, deepening the kiss, and then one of them moans.

You gasp at that, your hand playing with the curve of your breast, bravely ignoring the throbbing, aching spot between your legs. You gotta focus real hard to record this moment to keep forever in the vault of your mind.

When the black-haired man trails his hand lower, past the waistband of his friend's boxers, your resolution snaps and your fingers fly right to your clit, massaging it in tight, but languid circles.

Rex lets out a strangled noise and doesn't wait for an invitation, shoving his hand down Mark's pants not long after. They pump each other's lengths with visible restraint, both knowing it's not the time to bust just yet.

The two of them slowly get up, and just as if they communicating telepathically, they both start undressing each other, their jeans and boxers being shoved down in one go.

Now, Mark and Rex are standing butt naked in front of you, almost eating one another alive, as if to make up for the lost time. Their chests are flush, cocks rubbing against one another as both of them rock their hips, chasing that high.

"You guys," you laugh breathlessly, "I'm still here."

At the sound of your voice, both their heads snap in your direction, a string of spit connecting their mouths.

The view of them utterly undone, flushed, with chests heaving, lungs craving air after their make-out session, sends a shock wave right to your core.

"Or should I leave?" You tease, now that you have their attention back, their eyes dropping to your middle and ring fingers going in a controlled motion over your clit.

"No—fuck. Sorry, we—I mean—"

"Get the fuck up," Mark cuts in between Rex's rambles, making a beckoning motion toward you, "and c'mere."

You don't need to be told twice.

The moment their arms curl around you, inviting you to their caresses, you get dizzy.

Maybe you got up too damn fast. Or maybe it's the drugs and liquor. Or it's Rex's calloused hand on your ass and Mark's hot mouth on your jawline. Probably all three.

One of them—you don't know which, you already got lost where their bodies start and end—throws you on the bed. You land on your back with a yelp, but happy to be finally manhandled the way you craved.

Rex crawls on the bed, like a predator coming up to his prey, heavy eyelids drooped over the lustful, green eyes. He takes your foot into his hands, and starts kissing it, slowly making his way up.

The drummer isn't breaking the eye contact, and the sheer intensity of his gaze leaves you out of breath. In your peripheral vision, you notice Mark's stroking himself lazily with a slack jaw, his other hand cupping his balls.

When Rex reaches the upper part of your inner thighs, you feel the mattress dip at your feet. The mohawked man is on his knees on the bed behind his friend, smoothing his hands down Rex's back.

"Can I…?" Mark trails off, his fingers gently spreading Rex's ass.

"Go for it," Rex rumbles between leaving pecks on your skin, just where your hip and thigh meet.

It's already all too much.

You can't choose who to look at, eyes rapidly jumping from the redhead between your legs to the black-haired man behind him. When Rex teases your lips once again, promising the sweet relief of his tongue, you snap.

"God damn it, can you please—"

"Already begging?" Rex chuckles, his warm breath ghosting over your slick folds. "Mama, you're not gonna survive this."

"Ravish that pussy, unless you need a few tips." Mark adds from behind, busy nipping at Rex's thighs.

"Fuck off and get to work," Rex quips, eyes with pupils blown wide still glued to yours.

Before you could say anything yourself, the redhead finally dives in. He flattens his tongue, gliding it up from your entrance to your clit. His mouth curls over your bud, and when he starts sucking, he groans into you from his own pleasure.

With a quick glance, you notice Mark started going down on Rex, and whatever he's doing there, makes the drummer hum and whine in agreement. Despite that, he never loses the rhythm, changing between his tongue and puckered lips on your clit.

Only a few minutes in, you can already feel the climax building, faster than you ever experienced before. The mixture of Rex's nimble tongue and Mark's groans make the heat pool down in your tummy, scaring to boil over any moment now.

The moans and whimpers coming from your mouth are shameless, so loud you probably are keeping the whole hotel wing awake, but you don't care. Instead, you thread your fingers through the red strands, and curl them into a tight fist, bringing the man as close to you as humanely possible.

When you're seconds away from your orgasm, Mark is suddenly lying down next to you. He takes your chin between his fingers and nips at your lower lip, then your jawline, neck, down to your breast.

Just a couple of swipes of his pierced tongue over your nipple send you over the edge. Your voice comes out high, broken, powerful.

"Yes, good girl. Let it all out," Mark murmurs, his voice vibrating against your ribs.

You're screaming, repeating your band mates names like a prayer, completely lost in the pleasure washing over you in forceful waves as Rex laps down on you like a man parched, coaxing pleas and whimpers from you.

Your knees are pulling to a close—or rather, trying to—but Rex is holding on them strong, forcing them to stay open. The once blinding pleasure is quickly turning into something bordering pain. The good kind of pain.

And then it stops, suddenly, leaving your folds cold with the lack of Rex's mouth. When you open your eyes, you see his chin and lips glistening with your slick and his spit, all wrapping up that cocky smirk of his.

"Rex, I—"

"Never had better head? Yeah, I know," the man between your legs grins, then kisses the inside of your thigh. Mark is still beside you, tracing mindless shapes with his rough pad along your ribs.

"We're not done with you yet," the inky haired man adds, stopping his hand just under your breast. Before you get a chance to say anything, Rex grabs your waist and flips you over to your tummy, raising your hips up.

Mark settles with both of his legs around you, his painfully hard erection right on front of your face. He swipes his thumb along your lips and you part them, sucking on the finger with low pressure.

Behind you, Rex is nudging at your entrance with his cock, waiting for you to give him your consent. You want to turn your head to him, but Mark holds you down, shaking his head.

"Tsk, tsk. Let him wait. My turn now."

"Dude, seriously?" Rex whines from behind you, but doesn't go any further than gliding the tip along your oversensitive folds. Something between a chuckle and a gasp gets past your lips.

Mark tilts his head, raising his pierced eyebrow with a deadly grin. "No one was taking care of me while I was eating your ass, lover boy."

The redhead mumbles something under his nose, but you can't make it out. He waits, surprisingly obediently, with his length only moving slowly up and down your folds.

And with that, Mark takes his thumb out your mouth, and then replaces it with something much, much larger.

You eagerly take him in, circling your tongue around his shaft, head bobbing up and down. It doesn't take long for you to gag, especially with his size. Your band mate gathers your hair into one hand, guiding your movements just the way he likes it.

"Rex, get inside me," you command quickly when you gasp for air, spit trickling down your chin. "Now."

"Yes ma'am," Rex beams and slides into you in one fluid motion, burying himself up to the hilt.

He starts rolling his hips slow at first, and you match the rhythm of your head to his cock moving inside your walls. Mark only lets out a strained sound and pulls you down harder, his tip hitting the back of your throat with every movement of your head.

It doesn't take long for Rex to pick up pace, slamming his thighs on yours with brute force and speed. You moan right on Mark's cock when Rex hits that perfect spot inside you, again and again. You're dangerously close to another orgasm.

The redhead must feel it with the way you're clenching around him, and to your disliking, he slows down. You'd have groaned if you didn't have your mouth full.

The smell of sex, sweat and liquor fills the room, along with the lewd sounds of skip slapping against skin and your gags. When you gasp for air, Rex slows down to a full stop. Mark looks up from your eyes to his friend, and they share a knowing look.

You've seen this look already, not only today. These two can talk without words like no other people you have ever met.

Without a warning, Rex pulls out and you want to whine, but Mark puts a finger on your lips, shushing you.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We're just gonna switch. That alright?"

His pupils are blown wide, and gone are the beautiful brown irises of his. The way his gaze is devouring you alive, it leaves you speechless for once in your life. You only nod, and the two men change places, and before you know it, Mark's giant cock is trying to get inside you.

"Now you can repay the favor," Rex smirks and gathers your hair with one hand, and tapping his dick on your lips with the other.

"God damn, so tight, s' fuckin' tight." Mark mutters as he unhurriedly slides in, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to him. When he's fully buried in your walls, he stills.

It's your cue to take Rex between your lips. You take the hilt of his length into your hand and flatten out your tongue, sliding it up from balls to the tip. You spit on it and smear the lubricant up and down before wrapping your pretty lips around him.

The second your head starts moving up and down Rex's length, Mark starts pumping into you, skipping the adjustment part altogether. You have never felt so fucking full in you life, front and back holes filled with cocks.

Mark hips are snapping against yours, adding a smack here and there on your ass. The sting is deliciously painful, and you moan on Rex's length, the vibrations making him growl. His jaw is shut tight, brows furrowed over the heavy lidded eyes.

"I'm getting close," Rex admits with a strained voice, barely holding composure.

"Me too," Mark echoes, slowing his tempo a little, but still delivering forceful thrusts.

You take Rex's cock out your mouth with a plop and start stroking him, just enough to keep him on the edge, but not letting him fall over it.

"I got an idea." You speak up, mischievous smirk painting your features.

"I like the sound of that," Rex chuckles, swiping his thumb over your cheekbone.

You sign to Mark to move away, then swiftly jump off the bed, padding hurriedly towards your bag. As you search for the one item that will help with the perfect culmination of this insane night, the boys get busy on the bed taking care of each other.

"Where the fuck is it," you mutter, emptying the contents of your travel bag. You're almost ready to give up when your hand finds the velvet pouch.

Bingo.

When you turn with the rabbit wand in hand, Mark and Rex are lying on their sides, kissing with passion that you wouldn't expect from any of them, stroking each other languidly. You let yourself mentally videotape the scene for a lonely moment in your tiny bedroom.

"Got it," you chirp, coming up to the foot of the bed. "Now move, you two."

Reluctantly, they separate, and you lay down in the space between them. You hold up the sex toy triumphantly in the air, glancing between Rex and Mark, curious for their reactions.

"What's your plan?" Mark asks, his hands immediately on you. Rex follows suit, warm, rough fingertips rolling your nipple.

"Get in front of me and jack off while I experience the best orgasm in my life."

"I am offended," Rex mock gasps, but follows the order anyway.

Soon after, Mark is on his side, both of the men on their knees, pumping their lengths as you glide the toy inside your pussy and turn it on to the highest setting immediately. The toy starts moving, hitting your G-point every single time without a miss.

"I'm not gonna last long," you whimper when the vibrating part touches your clit.

With your other hand free, you start playing with your breasts. Both Rex and Mark are focused now, chasing their own pleasure. The heat of their gazes only adds to your arousal, and you're mere seconds away from falling over the edge.

You take your hand away from your nipple and curl your fingers around your throat, blocking your own airways, intensifying the growing pressure ready to snap.

"Come on, ma. You're doing s'fucking good," Rex rasps, his eyes jumping between yours and your glistening, throbbing pussy greedily swallowing the wand.

"Be a sweet girl and cum for us," Mark adds, voice similarly strained.

And you do.

You muster up all your willpower no to close your eyes when your second orgasm crashes like a freight train. You let go of the rabbit wand and your pussy pushes it out, revealing a projectile squirt landing on both Mark's and Rex's thighs.

"God damn, girl, you—" Rex groans and then he's spilling his hot cum all over your tummy.

"Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I'm—Oh, God—" Mark follows suit, thick, white ropes painting your tits.

You're still riding out your high, putting the rabbit wand inside you for a few seconds, letting the pressure rebuild, only to take it out, squirting more on your band mates.

When it's more than you could take, you turn off the toy and flop your head down heavily, chest heaving. Rex and Mark fall down on both of your sides, their breath equally uneven, stupid, easy grins on their faces. You look between the two in silence, before all three of you break down in a full blown laughter, arms shaking, bellies aching.

"God, that was—" You start, but you're at a loss for words.

"Fuck yeah, it was," Rex heaves, throwing his arm heavily behind his head.

"Look at us, we're such a fucking mess," Mark groans happily, sliding hands down his face.

And then it's quiet again, if not for the forgotten music coming from the dying speaker.

"You assholes better do aftercare," you sigh, covering your eyes with the soft inside of your elbow.

Rex props himself up on one arm, resting his cheek in his hand, the other hand tracing your waist. Mark sits up and puts his large hand on your thigh, reassuring but also claiming.

"We can bathe you, if you want." Rex proposes, and when you peek at him from above your arm, you swear he's blushing like a virgin.

"But only if you tell which was a better fuck." Mark squeezes your thigh once, not daring to smooth his hand down.

"I'm never fucking telling you that," you snort.

"So there is a clear winner!" Rex gasps, but he doesn't stop drawing shapes on your side, almost tickling you with that.

You uncover your eyes, and take a really good look at your friends—lovers, actually. Mark's mohawk is completely disheveled, his piercings crooked, shades of red and pink painted over his handsome face and broad chest. Rex looks like he was blessed by the archangel itself, his features at ease, freckles standing out more with the sheen of sweat all over his toned, olive-skinned body.

"I think I need a larger sample to pass such dividing judgment," you quip, tracing your finger on the outline of Rex's tribal tattoo.

The boys groan, but they don't say anything. They are more than happy to give you more examples to conduct your very important research thoroughly. But not tonight.

Tonight, you teach these morons what it truly means to care for a woman.

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