#mattvinsky

Matthew assumes the position. Or, well, he assumes this is the position: face down, cheeked pressed the mattress, arms folded against the pillow under his chest, hips raised, back arched. If he’s wrong, Kavinsky doesn’t say much about it.

Kavinsky climbs behind Matthew and nudges his legs wide apart. “Damn. The way Lynch made you –” He puts a hand on the back of Matthew’s thigh and thumbs his cheeks apart. “Makes me wonder what he really wanted you for...”

Matthew blinks over his shoulder. He knows? That smirk says he does. Did he know before Matthew knew?

He pouts and presses his face back to the bed. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Sure.” Both palms raise to the curve of Matthew’s ass. He kneads along the muscle in strong, firm presses. “That’s why you asked me, not him –” Aside, as he slips the pad of one thumb up against Matthew’s hole, “– bet he would’ve said yes, though.”

“I don’t –” Matthew cuts himself off with a low, whimpering noise as Kavinsky pushes the tip of his thumb inside. It burns, hurts, and gets worse as the rest of the digit forces its way inside.

“Fuuuuck.” It sounds heady, moan-like. There’s a noise like he licks his lips when he pulls his thumb out. “That’s fucking tight. I didn’t think you were for real…”

Of course he was for real. When would he have had a chance to do this? And with who?

Kavinsky slicks Matthew with spit and lube and works four fingers in to the knuckle, one at a time. When he can get them in all at once, he calls it good enough.He fumbles only a second with the corner of a condom, then drops the unopened square by Matthew’s head. There’s not much chance to think about it; not much chance to say anything. The slap of his cock against Matthew’s hole is a scant warning before he’s pressing in.

Matthew winces, body drawn taut – after all that, he’s still not ready.

“God damn,” Kavinsky hisses, pulling Matthew’s hips back to get the final inches of himself sheathed. “Relax, baby, fuck.”

“Hurts,” Matthew mumbles pitifully.

They wait and wait and wait until Matthew feels something inside himself give.

“That’s it.” Kavinsky starts to move, still too soon, but the stretch of him isn’t all pain anymore. “That’s it, that’s it.” He brushes his fingers through Matthew’s damp curls. “You’re taking me so good.” He thrusts harder, skin slapping softly against skin. “Knew you were built for this.” He keeps talking: praise and swears, off-comments about Matthew, about Ronan, about Ronan-and-Matthew.

Matthew’s measured breathing turns to pants and moans. His fingers curl into the mattress. He tries not to listen to Kavinsky, tries not to think of what his brother would think, or do, if he could see the way Matthew writhes. He almost manages it, until Kavinsky digs his fingers into the baby fat at the bottom of his stomach.

“How much do you think he knew about biology?” He leans forward to say it, burying himself inside Matthew and rocking against him as he goes on, “Think you’ll get pregnant?”

Matthew feels it then, the first thick, hot spurt of Kavinsky’s cum inside him; his breath catches.

Kavinsky moves again. His shallow thrusts spread the cum, lubing his cock and slicking the deep, desperate thrusts that follow. “That’s it, baby,” he grunts, that hand on Matthew’s stomach pressing hard. “You feel it? Gonna fill you up and send you home dripping.”

Matthew moans softly and lifts his hips. It’s timed wrong and instead of pulling him deeper, Kavinsky slips out.

“Look at you.”

Matthew can feel the slide of cum from his hole, the wetness of it between his cheeks as it spills warm and thick from inside. He twitches against the sudden emptiness and it pushes more out, enough to trail slippery and fast around the curve of his leg.

Kavinsky pulls his cheeks apart, watching him leak and sliding the tip of his cock up through the mess.

When Matthew had first come to Kavinsky’s party, there’d been a ripple of amusement. He didn’t know them well enough to name them at first, but he could remember what each had called him: fresh meat, eager little space case, new holes. The only creative one had been the one to comment that the Lynch family consisted of two prudes and a slut. A fact that Kavinsky confirmed by pulling Matthew into his lap and easing his clothes off of him.

Kavinsky’s hands tweak his nipples as the others watch an arm’s length away. Matthew likes it a bit too much, how indelicately they treat him. He leans back against Kavinsky with a showy moan, arms wrapping behind his neck as someone – Swan? – points out how hard he’s gotten. Kavinsky has them help pull off his shorts and boxers. His arousal arches urgently into the air, and Kavinsky strokes him roughly. He can’t help but rock against that fist, hips jutting desperately after the touch as the pack coos over how much he wants it.

The first round is Kavinsky’s alone. He slips a finger into Matthew, then another, pulling him back so they can see how well he stretches. He grabs Matthew by the hair, fingers twisted harshly into his curls, when he finally starts to fuck him. The pack finds their cocks one at a time. Wrists flick up and down, some eager and some pacing themselves as they watch him bounce.

Matthew’s mouth hangs open with a series of moans. Kavinsky hooks his fingers in the side and pulls his lips wider, opening him up as if in offering, though no one else touches him yet. It isn’t until Kavinsky’s hands bruise his hips, hot cum filling him up with every thrust, that the others start asking for their turn.

Kavinsky pushes Matthew off his cock and into the floor. He hits hard enough that the carpet burns his knees, but he doesn’t get to fall. Prokopenko snatches him up with a fistful of hair and brings him face to face with his dick. He pushes it into Matthew’s mouth without ceremony. It’s the last defined motion Matthew picks out; he loses track of all the hands on him as the rest of the pack descends.

Skov pulls him up onto his knees and slides inside him. It’s an awkward angle and he can’t do much but grind on his cock. It doesn’t seem to matter; Skov ruts his hips against his ass, Kavinsky’s cum lubing the long, slow strokes. Prokopenko isn’t so thorough. He drives himself into Matthew’s mouth, deep enough to make him choke. Someone else – it must be Swan, again – grabs his hand and fits it around his cock like a sex toy. There’s an argument then, words that Matthew doesn’t really hear as he tries to take Prokopenko down his throat. After he’s swallowed the load in his mouth, the result of the dispute becomes obvious. They turn Matthew over, pushing his head back for Swan to take his turn with Matthew’s mouth while Skov fucks him properly.