#vored

The bathhouse tiles pressed painfully on Sabo’s knees. There was no recourse though, as the aggravatingly insubstantial buzzing in his ass and the tight heat sheathing his cock drove his hips ever forward. Ace was whimpering underneath him with every thrust, but unless Sabo fully shattered both of his patella or something, there just wasn’t enough leverage to get either of them anywhere.

Marco, looming behind him, scoffed, in that perfectly precise, didn’t I tell you? manner he did so irritatingly well. Decades of untouchability being the right-hand parrot of a Yonko, Sabo supposed, gave a man that sort of élan.

“Blindfolded and both hands tied behind your back, you said?”

That’s not fucking fair, Sabo wanted to howl, because yes he’d said those words, but they’d never talked about Marco’s fucking additions to the game, okay? Not until Marco was already tying each of his ankles to his thighs and sliding the (small, too fucking small) vibrating plug into his ass. Not until Ace, also blindfold and strapped to a spreader bar (the sight of Ace like that was the inspiration for Sabo’s challenge in the first place), was dragged underneath Sabo, and Sabo’s cock thoughtfully inserted into Ace by Marco’s helpful hand.

Then Marco had stepped back to watch the show. Go on then yoi, he’d hummed at full arrogance, before we all get bored.

It was a practice in humiliation. Hands behind his back and placed kneeling, Sabo had only the barest traction to fuck forward, much less properly. And it’s not like Ace, his back on the wet tiles and ass fully in Sabo’s lap, had any counterforce to exert himself. The two of them were left grinding up against each other, frustrated and impotent. It wasn’t fucking fair, but like hell if Sabo was going to give Marco the satisfaction of hearing him complain.

And then Marco, the fucker, yawned above them.

“Hey, I’m bored now yoi.”

The kick to his back didn’t hurt, but it caught Sabo by surprise. With a hiss of pain, Sabo rolled forward with the momentum, right over his aching knees and onto Ace. The spreader bar pinned uncomfortably between them, Ace groaned at the new stretch, as he more or less bore Sabo’s entire weight. What the hell was Marco up to now? Sabo could fuck Ace even less in this position.

Then Sabo felt that foot—the same one that had so callously kicked him over—slide down to press against his ass.

“Fuck you—”

First, it put pressure on the plug, angling it down and shoving it hard against Sabo’s inner wall. The unsatisfactory size of the damn thing meant Sabo had barely felt the stimulation before, and faced now with it dialed up to eleven Sabo could only bite down on the closest thing—the side of Ace’s neck—to keep himself from screaming too loud.

But then, through some weirdly dexterous toe action (maybe it was a phoenix and talons thing), Marco was yanking the plug out of Sabo and sending it clattering across the tiles. Sabo yelped a protest, feeling his hole gape open for just a second around the rough extraction—but before the ring of muscles could tighten up there was a wide pressure—

Marco, foot flexed, was directly stepping on Sabo’s hole, impressing him to stay open under the base of Marco’s big toe where metatarsal was joined to tarsal—

He was stepping, and that pressure was translating all the way down to Ace. Marco shoved, and Sabo and Ace jointly moaned, the unforgiving roll of Marco’s foot stimulating the fuck neither of them had been able to get, strapped in the position Marco had given them. So Marco kept going, his control fucking pristine, probably thanks to his stupid fighting style and all the muscles it lent to his legs, his calves, his foot. Forget before, this was the true humiliation, forcing Sabo to get off on nothing but being stepped on (and at such a sensitive place) and at the same time winning that stupid goddamn challenge about who could make Ace orgasm first—

Marco changed up his game, articulating his foot into a point in such a way that first, Sabo could feel the entire pivot of pressure and second, the side of his toe caught and pressed roughly down on Sabo’s stimulated and sensitive rim and—

With a choked off gasp Sabo pitched headfirst into orgasm, mouth helplessly agape against Ace’s shoulder as his cock jerked inside Ace, spending itself into the heat. And still Marco’s foot worried vaguely at Sabo’s entrance, tracing along the rim like he would with a finger but now with digits so much thicker. Sabo shivered, burrowing into Ace like he’s trying to hide away when Marco wouldn’t fucking stop…

Finally, Marco pulled his foot away. As Sabo struggled to catch his breath, Marco only moved slightly over and, with that same damn foot, kicked Sabo off and onto his side.

Legs bound in a perfectly useless position, Sabo could only keep rolling, hissing as his overheated back contacted the cold tiles, and his exhausted muscles failed to keep his legs from parting. What a sight he and Ace must look—both trussed up to immobility, on their backs and spread open for easy access. Sabo’s spent cock, his come dripping out of Ace.

“And after all that,” Marco murmured in mockery down at them both, “he still couldn’t get you off, Ace. Is it my turn now yoi?”

Ace, gagged, whimpered. But it’s not like Sabo was in any position to even snipe at Marco—he’s already gotten his turn, and now only had to wait in shivering impatience for Marco to finish his victory lap.

But Marco wasn’t getting down like Sabo expected, wasn’t gathering Ace into his arms or taking Ace in hand. Instead, Marco remained standing, and when Ace got vocal again with some stimulus that Sabo, blindfolded, wasn’t privy to, Sabo startled into understanding.