writing prompt: forcefem?
Took a while. Mea culpa.
V is shy about this. Way too fucking shy for a guy who's as fucking horny as he is. All the time.
Maybe it isn't unreasonable. Maybe it's even the point. Many kinks or sexual desires are prime territory for milking shame from, though maybe it's not quite shame. It seems like shame from the way he squirms out of the way, tries not to let II catch him on the bus when either of them are in the mood for this particular scenario.
And how did it come to this? They're coworkers, yeah? Some professionalism wouldn't go amiss. Some goddamn propriety or even some discretion wouldn't go fucking amiss, at least. It is dearly wished for by TM and LM and anyone else even slightly in the management sphere.
If their wishes were worth anything, he wouldn't be sat in Vessel's bunk with a flustered Vessel sat between his legs, splayed and held captive for II's enjoyment.
Wishes. Vessel will wish this is all they're going to do to him on the drive. Except he doesn't. Because of the aforementioned horny guy syndrome.
There's the shyness, so Vessel is trying to hide his face in his shoulder, but also there's the horniness so his squirming isn't very effectual. He certainly hasn't tried to call this off in any way shape or form.
"This" is a rare and coveted kind of day. It wasn't planned, per se, but it isn't unprepared for. IV is minding his own business since this isn't his jam, but the three of them know he'll be on standby for snacks and aftercare. Always with that trunk full of snacks.
"This" is also a bit more than simple restraint. More than the way his arms are looped through Vessel's, keeping him locked in place. Just a teeny wee bit more than how he's become the designated spreader bar, feet hooked around Vessel's ankles to keep him wide and waiting. An itty bitty teeny weeny bit more than the way II looks like a starving man as he approaches, blue eyes dark and still bearing the remnants of last night's paint.
"Wh—why?"
But all Vessel gets in answer to the question is II's steady gaze, unreadable aside from the hunger.
Also a pair of lips beginning to suck a mark into his skin. Because he's right there and Vessel's skin always looks delicious.
Vessel's breath hitches just a little and he squirms again, but he's in the hold of the only one among them with a height advantage. It does little good.
Then again, it's not as if he wants to escape.
"Keep him pinned, Three."
"Obviously," he says, and goes back to tasting Vessel's shoulder. It tastes divine, sleep warm with the salty tang of sweat. They'd only just woken, after all. Vessel had only just been pulled from being so comfortably pampered and spooned. He's still waking up, bleary, confused, and relaxed, shoulders kept from slumping lazily forward by the very impressive arm lock he's been caught in.
The muscle of those shoulders is soft as he bites into the right one, still relaxed from last night's post-ritual massage. It's just a tease, a slow worrying of teeth and nothing more. Warm, warm, soft, and tasting like the promise of blood. He could burst capillaries with just the suction of his mouth, could pull crimson loveliness to the surface without his teeth being involved. It's nice to have his teeth involved and he tenses his jaw, just to feel the way Vessel stills, careful in the grip of a predator.
But the capillaries sing to him in crackles and pops as he sucks.
Tastes fantastic.
He pulls away to examine his handwork—well, actually the handy was last night—and grins.
"Oh, that's sweet, Three. You brought her a flower." II's voice is nearing syrupy as he gives away the game. "Beautiful rose for a beautiful lady."
A breathy fuck that only he can hear falls from Vessel's lips and the squirming intensifies. It gains the man no ground, only a firmer hold.
"Got a whole bouquet on deck," he says matter-of-factly to II, not looking away from the lovemark. "Mind if I get to work?"
"By all means."
He does go in with his teeth this time, a bit to the left, closer to Vessel's neck. The skin is warm, flushed, elastic as he works it into a state of rosy perfection. He ignores the pained whines in his ear and adjusts his bite strength to just the point of breaking skin. He knows the line between pretty well by now. Knows the strength of his own jaws, knows that Vessel can take the pain.
Knows that people can take pain much better than they think they can.
Knows the shudder that runs through their sweetheart when he loosens and licks over indented flesh, burst blood vessels like little pinpricks on milk pale skin.
He goes for a third while II starts his thing.
The words are fairly standard. A bit of an unofficial script where II lays out the scenario as he's been picturing it—the lead up, at least. Talks about the way Vessel moved "her" hips on stage the night before, how II hadn't been able to take his eyes off the sinuous sway, how he'd been hungry for it while "she" crawled in with someone else, how he was left imagining the way the wee hours of the morning could have gone.
He doesn't really buy into the whole feminization thing, much like IV, but holy fuck it never ceases to make Vessel into a squirming, whining, horny little bastard. This in and of itself is hot as hell and he isn't going to deny himself of II the assist.
He shifts his hold on Vessel's arms so that they're still pinned between their bodies, but one of his own is free. He makes sure it's his left arm because he's been working the right side of Vessel's neck and wants to make sure this whole thing doesn't feel lopsided. He thinks this is terribly considerate of him. He deserves a sloppy suck-job for it.
Vessels neck and face are soft to the touch, freshly shaved last night. His facial hair doesn't grow very fast—thank fuck because it's horrible to deal with in the masks—but usually he doesn't take such care to avoid razor burn or bumps. Like he knew this was going to happen and wanted to prove himself. Lotion was probably involved. He might have even used the straight razor.
Fuck, that's hot. He wants to shave Vessel with a straight razor to his throat. Fuck.
He takes a moment to luxuriate in the softness of that skin, to rub his face against it, his own stubble the only burn present. It's a sensory treat. That and the way that Vessel's warmth seeps into him, the way they're pressed close, body to body, the scent of them already tangled from last night's ministrations.
He traces the fingers of his left hand along the tendon's of Vessel's neck, feeling the shift and pull of muscle, the soft, soft, softness of his face, and then presses against Vessel's lips. He finds them parted, the hot puffs of air matching the way his chest heaves with every breath. It's precisely zero amounts of exertion, Vessel isn't doing anything, he's just embarrassingly turned on.
It's easy to stifle those breath with index and middle fingers, callused from years of guitar and bass and knife work. Easier still to hum an approving note into Vessel's shoulder with the way he immediately starts to suck on them, working his talented tongue around and between them.
His dick is, obviously, hard by this point. He's got himself shoved up so close behind Vessel that the thin fabric of his briefs is no barrier. Every squirm stimulates him, every movement of those sinful hips. They're pressed so close, in fact, that he can feel the knobs of Vessel's lower spine against his dick. It conjures up memories of a certain warehouse, blood and bone and sinews, pressing against and into them just like now.
Spicy.
Fuck, yeah.
It's less wet, he thinks, trying not to drool too much at the memory. He does let himself nip just a little harder at Vessel's shoulder as the hunger rises in him. Lets himself worry and work the skin until that sweet, coppery tastes breaks through and a shudder runs through him.
Just a little, though. He doesn't want to feast on Vessel in that way. Or if he does, he won't admit to it.
"Taste so good, sweetheart," he whispers into Vessel's ear, lips just barely touching. He takes the opportunity to nibble at the curve of helix, then nuzzles in closer behind. He breathes in deep, drunk on the heady scent of this and of them. He kitten licks at the beads of sweat forming at Vessel's hairline, the ones that threaten to roll down his neck because of the heat.
The whine this pulls from Vessel is enough to make II laugh. Which, hilariously, he's forgotten that II is here at all, too preoccupied with the man squirming against his dick and fellating his fingers like a champ.
"Oh, she liked that," croons II. "You like what we do to you, babygirl?"
And he notices now that II has gotten closer in the last little while.
At the beginning of these scenarios, he likes to be farther away, out of reach and with enough space between he and Vessel that it seems like "she" could still get away. Except that all escape attempts are so far from whole-hearted that they are negative-hearted. The man wouldn't take the chance if it was handed to him on a golden platter. His dick doesn't care, though, and the prospect of a chase is a nice spice in the ready-to-devour dish that is Vessel. II only closes in as Vessel gets more obviously desperate to be touched.
And yes, there it is.
II's hands run up the tops of Vessel's legs, skimming lightly over his thin sleep pants. They bunch slightly as he goes, slow, slow, slow. When he gets close to the apex of those muscular thighs he retreats, pulling another whine from Vessel, but still no words. No begging like II wants to hear.
Then again, hard to beg with the three fingers pressing down on his tongue, inching closer to the back of Vessel's throat and the gag reflex they're both waiting for.
He hits it and holds Vessel's arms tighter, squeezes his thoughts inward, really demonstrates how trapped the other man is as he feels down the slick tunnel of that beautiful throat. Feels every bump and ridge, all that hot, wet skin that decorates Vessel's insides.
Vessel turns his face against the press of those fingers, gagging violently, but that just means the two of them can see each other now. Means he can see the way all six of Vessel's eyes have started to go glassy with unshed tears. How they begin to blink out of sync with one another, a telltale sign that he's in it deep. Soon he'll start to drool and moan and push for more. Soon he's stop the squirming and turn to putty in their hands.
He presses a gentle kiss to the apple of Vessel's cheek, just at the corner of his lower set of eyes, lingering for a long moment. The eye squeezes shut at the proximity, a tear falling free. As it slides down his skin, they both marvel at the sight.
"Oh, love, you're crying?" II's voice is a low croon and he slides forward as a reward. "You know how hot that gets him. So pretty when you cry. That's it. That's a good girl for us. Fuck, show me those eyes. Look at me?"
He slides his fingers from Vessel's mouth and heat surges through him as the suction increases. Vessel doesn't want to pull free. Of course he doesn't. Vessel loves having something in his mouth.
Loves kissing more, though, so when II crowds in close and captures his lips, a shudder runs through the whole of Vessel's body. His arms pull and he clearly wants to reach out and touch, to hold II, to do something other than sit there and take it.
But Vessel can't.
He has no intention of letting go of such delicious prey.
"Please," Vessel lets out, and that golden voice nearly breaks as he says it. "Please, let me touch you. Just want to hold you. Darling, please?"
"Sweetheart." II's voice is only a little bit chiding. "You can't touch this time. Next time. Just let us do what we want to you. So fucking pretty…"
He tunes out the sickening sweet talk and teasing. II loves to get into it when he's of a certain mood, but interrupting him is a vehement no-no. Easier to tune it out than risk blue balls for the rest of forever. Not that he's trying to get off right now. He's fucking sore from last night and it's too unpleasant to imagine the consequences, even when presented with a squirming Vessel in his lap. Maybe especially so. Sure, he's hard as a rock and will frot as long as this goes but if he has to actually fuck or get fucked, he's not sure the latest round of superglue will hold.
Again with the concealed carry. Fucking America.
But there is a squirming Vessel in his lap, so he focuses on that and not on the previous night's offering.
There's a whole bouquet of roses on that pretty neck already, but it's worth another taste. Another nibble. While he does, his free hand wanders, ignoring whatever it is that II is doing between Vessel's legs. The man's skin is warm, warm, warm, and lovely with sweat. It's arousal and exertion both, now, with how hard he's pulling at his restraints.
Always just strong enough, no matter the context. His palm slides from Vessel's face, down his throat—the barest hint of a squeeze, just enough to feel a hitch of breath at the threat—and then to his chest. The musculature is so nice, so well taken care of. So juicy to grab and dig into. Rolling the nipple between his fingers forces the whining into full blown moans, steadily increasing in desperation.
He does a little shuddering of his own, holding Vessel closer by the tit, pressing his throbbing dick against that beautiful ass.
He understands, he really does, why Vessel wants to touch them, to hold them close and not just be held. It feels good—so fucking good—to have a warm and willing companion so close. Probably it's why Vessel is still asking to be freed, even as II eases down Vessel's sleep pants, pulling them over the bobbing curve of his dick.
If he lifts Vessel slightly to free the gorgeous globes of his ass as well, that's just a little treat for him.
And then II opens that sinful mouth to reveal the barbell through his tongue and the big strong first Vessel of an eldritch horror beyond mortal comprehension breaks. He begs and begs to touch them, touch anything, just anything.
In perfect synchronicity, he licks a strip up the side of Vessel's neck as II goes down on Vessel's "big fat clit".
Vessel keens, thrashing with all of his strength against the arm lock, twisting and begging, even as he keeps his hips exactly where they are. It isn't enough, will never be enough to set him free from the two very determined bastards who are intent on pinning him. Like a bug on a board, they have him, pose him, keep him for their own entertainment.
So good.
He bites as hard as he can where muscle and tendon tuck behind Vessel's ear, a high pitched whining in his own that he ignores. He's whispering words of encouragement, now. Little, "Yes, that's so fucking good sweetheart. Taste so good. Fuck you're so wet, we love that so much," as Vessel loses control and begins to sob.
II pulls off for just a moment and looks up at him. There is a string of saliva between the tip of Vessel's shining dick, red and weeping with precome, and II's abused lips.
Proper indecent, that.
"He's right," II says from between Vessel's thighs. "You taste amazing." And there's a crack in his voice which tells anyone with ears to listen that it's not part of the scenario. That's straight from the heart. Dick. Mouth.
Whatever.
II's hands work over Vessel's hips, the ones which had swayed in such a titillating way on stage. The selfsame hips that can't stay still now as II digs his fingers and thumbs into skin and thick muscle.
He looks down and finds the divots II has made especially appearing. The way II can move and dent and manipulate this man. If II's nails were any longer than cut-to-the-quick, there would be bleeding crescent marks with how hard he grips.
What pliant flesh.
His dick throbs again and he groans, unable to resist the filthy grind against Vessel's bare ass. Fucking amazing. Best ass in the fucking world. Eat it like groceries if given the chance.
He settles for taking the man's shoulder back into his mouth to give himself a taste. His tongue laves along the skin and his eyes drift shut on II descending back onto Vessel's prick.
The sounds of the other two enjoying themselves continues on, but at a distance.
It's not really his thing, this princess fem worship deal, as he said. He just likes being included. For sure. Yeah.
He lets the warmth of arousal fill him, uncomplicated and safe. It's easy to drift in it, slow hitches of his hips automatic, the smallest readjustments to keep Vessel held captive and at their mercy. The purr of his blood lust, which is a steady background noise, rising in intensity as he feels his teeth break perfect skin, skin so beautifully marked as theirs.
The squirm is in his guts now, multifaceted. Part of it is the interest of his dick, part of it the taste of blood in his mouth and part is the writhing extensions of their God, wriggling around to let him know it's watching, enjoying this small and rare offering.
If there is a bit of squirming heat that feels like a hand coming up to squeeze at his heart, then that's his business, isn't it?
He feels how Vessel's body jerks and shakes as he comes, tightly as they're pressed together. Can distantly hear as II coos and calls him their good girl, says how they'll always take care of him—back to "him" now in the come down—and promises to never let him go.
Never is a very long time, he thinks as he trails kisses back up a shivering Vessel's neck. He releases the arms in his hold and takes the opportunity to slide both of his own around Vessel's waist, just beneath the cage of his ribcage, squeezing tight. Allowing himself the little luxury they'd denied Vessel this whole time as II is swept up in a similar way.
Fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck and he knows that II is thanking him, knows that he is included in the small man's sentiments.
Yeah. He's never letting any of them go, either.
Never, ever, ever.
