Archive of Our Own

Neil stares down at his tire. 

The side of the road isn’t an unfamiliar place to be, not with a gray 2004 Honda Civic that’s skipped one too many repairs over its long life. Parts worn, brakes nothing more than slivers. One of the doors doesn’t lock, and the trunk only opens if you kick it a few times.

He’s in the mechanic shop on a weekly basis. Weekly, daily…

Sometimes when he doesn’t need to be.

But for once, there are no immediate problems. The tire won’t last much longer, but it’s good for now. The flat roads of this dreary town don’t beat it with potholes, it has yet to encounter a snag.

There’s nothing wrong with it.

Neil inhales shakily. He has a large, rusty nail clenched between his index and middle finger, stick straight at his side. A slight breeze disrupts the dry summer air, and Neil shivers as he feels it brush his bare thighs. The loose shirt around his body flutters with it, every point of contact a spark plug ready to ignite. He imagines the ghostly wisps of air wrapping around him, tantalizing tendrils. They inch his feet further apart, they coax his spine into submission.

It’s never needed the encouragement before; his spine is deadly sharp, cased in bronze. His conviction pushes him closer, closer to the edge of this thing he will not be able to take back.

He tightens his stance, clenches the nail a little tighter. He thinks of what he’s risking by doing this, what he’s risking by not.

When he puts it that way, is there really a question? He and Andrew did this to themselves.

Neil was never known for taking the conventional route with problem solving.

As the inklings of a smile begin, he stabs the nail straight down into rubber, and listens to the tire’s air fizzle out with his doubts.

--

Andrew looks at him like Neil is a mirage solidifying before his very eyes.

Neil walks through the haze of it, his own edges blurred under a honey-colored microscope. He feels his nerves fizzle; bones, veins, muscle become real.

Neil, not a trick of the light, not a dream. Andrew stares on, as if rifling through the fantasy, coming to terms with it. He takes Neil in to savor him. He doesn’t blink. That way, he can cherish the moments he has. He can burn Neil into his mind, a brand he claims to not even want. His eyes eventually water and squint under the strain until he’s forced to close them; it’s barely a flicker of darkness. But when his hollow gaze returns, it’s clear he expects Neil to be gone, each and every time.

Only to find that Neil is all too real.

Today, being on the other end of that intensity pisses Neil off more than anything. He tries not to let it show as he walks into the shop, the obnoxious door chime cheery and unaware of what exactly it’s announcing. A harbinger of reckless decisions.

A giggle, unhinged and half-delirious, tries to bubble up his throat, but Neil ruthlessly swallows it down.

Andrew’s got the page of his magazine in one hand, frozen, edge pointed towards the ceiling mid flip. Neil tries not to let his flurry of emotions bleed through. He schools his features into something bored, something familiar. Just another day, another car problem. Being a blank slate, unreadable, used to come much easier to him. That was before Andrew.

Before this.

The this that isn’t a this.

Another giggle. Another swallow.

Nowadays, Neil’s undone by the twitch of painted black fingernails, thick digits stained with grease and engine grime. If Andrew touched him, he’d leave smudges of black on Neil’s skin.

The thought makes his already debauched situation worse. He can feel the wetness growing between his legs, the feverish heat of his inner thighs. His oversized shirt is too tight now. The scratch of fabric to his bare chest has his nipples pebbling readily. If a breeze came through right now, it would make him moan. The slightest caress, a match to a gasoline-soaked body.

There’s a beat where nothing else exists. Not the whirring of the shop’s fan, not the sun shining through the blinds. The world could be falling apart around them and they wouldn’t notice, too trapped in the same respective memory.

This is the first time they’ve seen each other since that day, that talk.

“No,” Andrew says, hand stilling as it turns the key. It’s so soft, Neil barely hears him over the sounds of cars speeding by. Andrew takes his time closing up the shop, locking the doors and avoiding Neil’s gaze. It’s been like this for a few nights now. Suffocating, cloying tension.

Neil’s lower abdomen buzzing, Andrew’s gaze not even bothering to hide the way it sweeps Neil from head to toe.

Eventually, the lock clicks. Neil stays.

Andrew should be leaving. He should be turning towards his tricked-out truck nestled in the corner of the parking lot until he’s driving far, far away from whatever look is on Neil’s face.

He doesn’t. He stays glued to his spot, staring into the glass of the shop’s front windows. Neil’s reflection in the glass must be spotty at best, but Andrew finds him anyway. He shifts in place but doesn’t take a step into Andrew’s magnetic pull.

Not yet. Maybe not ever. Thickness builds in Neil’s throat. Tightness, the likes of which he’s never felt, seizes his chest. Through it all, desire wars. It strokes them both, inching them closer, willing them to touch, to grope, to bend in half.

Neil bites his bottom lip and shivers when Andrew tracks the movement. He’s on the precipice of realization. Tilting, tilting. He has to be sure.

“Okay,” Neil says. He speaks slowly, like he’s coaxing a scared animal out of hiding. His voice comes out a tad too husky. He knows, because Andrew’s hand instinctively goes to rest on his belt buckle. “Why not?”

He could never imagine rejecting Andrew’s “no” if it were genuine. He wouldn’t. He’d accept it and lick his wounds in private, would chalk it up to another first of life that he should be thankful to have. First heartbreak. First embarrassment. First need to stuff himself full of his own fingers and imagine how Andrew would feel.  

But when Andrew finally turns to look at him, all heat and longing, he knows the truth, clear as day.

This isn’t Andrew being uninterested. This is Andrew—

“It would not work out.”

—convincing himself of absolute bullshit.

Neil scowls. He feels the protests, endless, building in his throat. They tear their way through the hurt. They make his voice like fire, spitting on the way out. “Because of who?”

He knows the answer. Andrew’s just as stupid as he is, if he thinks Neil will stand for it. He won’t be a witness to Andrew denying himself his wants, not when Neil is at the halfway point, waiting with open arms. He won’t listen to Andrew focusing on his poor qualities as if they’re the only ones that exist, like Neil doesn’t cherish every part of him.

Andrew saw him. He was the first person to see. Did Andrew not expect to be seen in return?

Neil’s been coming to this mechanic shop for over a year. A fucking year.

Days of long talks while Neil sat in the waiting room, weeks and months of shared cigarettes in Andrew’s truck. A year of discovering something he never thought was possible for himself.

And Andrew doesn’t want to say “no.” It’s apparent in the softness of the word, in the reluctance raising his shoulders so high. He’s laced with tension, with the pent-up energy of someone who wants to run to that halfway point and take Neil against the wall. Andrew thinks he’s emotionless, but whenever Neil takes the time to look, it’s spilling out of him in waves.

Andrew closes his eyes; whether it’s from Neil’s ferocity or his own self-loathing, Neil can’t be sure. “Neil—"

“Andrew. Do you not want me?”

He tries not to choke on the end of it.

Even if Andrew repeats the lie, Neil will accept it. He’ll have to. It’ll hurt and it’ll enrage him, but it’s Andrew’s choice. Neil won’t beg him. Andrew wouldn’t have fallen for him if Neil were the type for that. Neil won’t keep trying. That’s the respect he has for Andrew, that’s the understanding he feels every moment they’re together.

Andrew stills, more static than the night air. Answer enough. Loud and clear. The crickets chirp and the cars whiz on. Neil raises his head high in a challenge, daring Andrew to lie.

Neil wonders if he can’t, or if it’s just that he won’t. Not to Neil. Never to Neil. Andrew’s eyes flare with something primal, something just as vehement as Neil feels in that moment.

“I’ll never say that,” Andrew nearly growls, disgusted by the implication, unable to stomach the thought.  

So why try to convince Neil of it?

“Then give me the truth,” Neil says.

“I’m not built for this,” Andrew snaps. He wrangles it in a moment later, stepping back from the shitty, flickering light they have installed above the door. Half shrouded, only half vulnerable. He clicks his tongue, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose a second later. Neil sees his other hand twitch. They could both use a smoke.

Andrew sighs, fixing Neil with his best attempt at apathy and rationale. “For relationships.”

And isn’t that a searing indictment in and of itself? Neil never mentioned that when he asked for Andrew to take him home. It’s Andrew , admitting that if they take this plunge into the physical, there is no way for it to stay purely that.

Duh.

Andrew waves the statement, the obvious, off. “It’s better for you this way. Just go fuck around. You’ll get over it.”

And will you?

Neil expects a lot of words to fly out of his mouth. That’s who he is. Impulsive. Unthinking. When he gets like this, there’s no hiding. Usually, he has no control over the words, nor the degrees of emotion laced in each sharpened edge. But he knows enough about himself to wait for an eruption, an expulsion.

What he doesn’t expect is to deflate the way he does.

The tightness in his chest from before unravels like an extendable cord. When it tries to readjust itself, to wind itself back into place, it can’t do it. It loses its shape, its structure. It leaves Neil feeling loose in the worst way, numb through and through.

One thing is the same: his voice comes out pathetically, pitifully despondent, and there’s no chance of masking it.

“Andrew, I’ll always take your “no” if it’s real,” Neil whispers. “But if you’re trying to convince me I shouldn’t want you, that you wouldn’t be good at this , it’ll never work. Don’t insult me. I know what I want. I know what you want. I’m asking you to take it.”

Touch me. Say the word, I’m yours.

He’s been Andrew’s for a long time.

Andrew’s control breaks for half a second. That half a second is everything to Neil. Andrew’s thick work boots scuff against the cracked pavement, turned in Neil’s direction. Almost in the light, almost running to him, almost . Neil crackles with the rush of it, electric. His thighs clench at the same time they want to part, his knees get ready to buckle.

Half a second is all he gets. Andrew takes a step back, then two. Scuff, falter, scuff. He stuffs his hands in his pockets like they can’t be trusted to not reach out. Neil hears the crunch of old receipt paper from inside.

He nearly laughs. His lip curls, humorless. All the while, Neil hears the answer, the lack of one. The absence of a “no.”

Andrew stays staring at him, and shadowed or not, his eyes stay bright, marveling at what he’s convinced himself to be a dream.

“I’ll see you around, Neil.”

And then he walks away.

Neil doesn’t move until Andrew’s headlights fade from view.

But he’s no dream. No mirage. He’s a warm, willing body. Neil’s never been good at seduction, at being something tempting, but for Andrew, he’ll try.

He’ll provoke the truth. It’s what he’s best at.

For a brief moment, Neil wonders if Andrew can sense something different about today, about him. It’s not possible, can’t be possible. Andrew’s no mind reader. Neil keeps his face bored, if not slightly annoyed. He remembers how he felt the last time he had an oil leak. Yeah. That’ll do it.

Car trouble. That’s all it is. But Andrew squints in this way that makes Neil blink stars out of his eyes. It’s never felt so good, so tantalizing, to be accused like this. Andrew makes him feel like he’s on the stand, hips raised, arms draped over the wooden railing.

Neil shivers, hopes he doesn’t shake too much.

Before Andrew can speak, Neil hears loud footsteps coming towards them from the back. He inhales sharply. The butterflies in his stomach swarm in droves. There’s a timer ticking now that only he’s privy to. He’s the director, counting down to show time. The shop is his scene. His desire, the star.

Andrew, the love interest. Always the love interest.

And now, with his extras arriving, everything’s complete.

When Matt and Seth round the corner, they give him twin stares of disbelief. Neil slides his gaze away from Andrew, feels Andrew’s stay locked right on him.  

“God, again?” Matt says. Neil smiles.

Kind, generous Matt.

He’s got a gray smudge across the bridge of his nose, so typical there’s no reason to check a mirror. His work rag hangs out of his baggy jeans, hung low on his hips from exertion. His eyes shine with concern and his lips are close to pouting. He takes Neil in; he’s scanned like a copy machine. Matt looks for any injuries or distress. It’s treatment Neil’s used to. The doting once-over. He’s all care and consideration, he has to be in order to mask the lingering glance over Neil’s small chest.

Matt may be a former boxer, strong and ruthless, but he treats Neil like a baby at times. To Matt, Neil is a weathered Bambi who needs guidance and protection, though Neil’s scarred torso rivals Matt’s own.

Neil bites back a smirk. He knows none of that will matter in a few minutes.

Seth’s the polar opposite, with his sneers and crass language. He and Neil are alike in that way. No filter, no care about who they offend. Seth doesn’t bother with work gloves; he prefers to get down and dirty. Bloody knuckles, nicks and scratches from shrapnel. A musky smell, beneath all the motor oil. He’s got a bruise forming on his forearm, ready to replace the last yellowing one. He’s not as polite as Matt, not as reserved as Andrew.

When Seth looks at him, it’s a flashing neon sign, telling Neil he wants to fuck.

Neil blinks up at them, at Matt’s concerned stare, Seth’s sardonic smile.

He’s never paid much attention to their heights before. But now, with his body clued in on what’s about to happen, it seems relevant.

They tower above him. Their hands aren’t as thick as Andrew’s, but they are huge; long fingers that could reach parts of Neil he’s never thought about before. They could probably grope handfuls of him, push him down and keep him pinned with no trouble at all. Neil’s small in comparison, defined back and leg muscles be damned.

It’ll take them a while to break a sweat passing him around. And they will pass him around.

See, Andrew’s not the only one who looks at Neil like he’s a piece of meat. Over the course of the year, with all his visits to the shop, Neil’s formed quite the friendship with the other two mechanics. He likes them, likes that he doesn’t need to put on a front for them. He can be his snarky, socially inept self, and they take it in stride. A band of misfits they’ve all become. Rough, argumentative at times. Bad pasts, unsure futures.

But they have each other’s backs in a way Neil won’t take for granted.

His first…friends.

Friends who definitely want to fuck him.

Neil can be dense, but not that dense. He’s noticed the blatant staring at his legs, his ass, the curve of his back when he leans over the desk to sign papers. Some nights, when he goes back with them to Matt’s for a beer, alcohol slows their roaming. Seth’s eyes hug the slope of Neil’s ass, Matt talks more to Neil’s tits than his face. They probably think they’re being discreet. He’s glad they’re not.

He's glad he's comfortable enough with them to allow this one-time experiment.

Matt and Seth are the only reason he has any confidence in this plan. Without knowing their reactions with ninety-eight percent certainty, he’d be flying blind.

“What is it this time?” Seth asks, spitting his gum out towards the trash bin. He misses. Neil can smell the artificial mint.

He wonders when they’ll stop being shocked. Neil’s car falls apart so often, it’s a wonder he even makes it home some nights.

“Tire blew,” Neil says with a shrug. He’s usually nonchalant about his car, but he kicks himself for his tone. A little too whimsical, a touch cheeky. Not normal. Andrew’s eyes burn on the side of his face. He refuses to meet them again before this thing starts.

“Figures, those things are so bald they’ve started to shine,” Seth says with a snort. “You have a death wish, Josten?”

“Maybe,” Neil says, a hint of a smirk creeping onto his face. It’s there and gone in an instant. A brush stroke, too much water. It gets lost on the canvas. “Can you fix it today?”

They can. There are no other cars in the parking lot, and there won’t be for the rest of the day. They close in an hour.

Matt grins. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. “Yeah, it’s slow. Just get Andrew to clear the payment and we’ll get going.”

And here is where Neil throws the wrench. Heaves it. Launches it through fragile glass.

Neil has money. Quite a lot of it. For legal reasons, he doesn’t talk about it much. His friends know he’s loaded. Neil’s never had an issue paying for any of his repairs, and if he keeps stringing along his ancient death trap, he won’t for the foreseeable future. He’s supposed to do what he always does. Run the numbers with Andrew, pull out his card, sign some papers, and boom.

Done.

“I actually don’t have any money.”

He imagines the words drip, the hint of a salivating beast.  It takes a moment for it to register with the two mechanics in front of him. Matt blinks at him. Seth looks ready to laugh at a punchline that never comes. In the end, he stares too, slack-jawed, humorless.

Neil turns his back on them, on Andrew. He becomes the focal point of the waiting room as he walks slowly over to the couch they have set up. Old. Cracked, orange vinyl. It'll stick to his thighs once he starts to sweat. When the back of his legs hit it, he shivers, and doesn't bother hiding it this time. His body feels hot from the inside out, inflamed by a presence he refuses to acknowledge. Will Andrew know right away? Will he see, like he always does?

Matt finds his voice first. “What—”

“It’s been a rough week,” Neil says breezily. He gets comfortable and doesn't rush. It won't take him long to undress. He purposefully wore as little clothing as possible. A loose shirt over the shortest running shorts he owns. No underwear. He wanted to make this easy.

Again, what does he know about seduction? No use bothering with fanfare. He doesn't think—hopes—he doesn't need it. “I don’t think tires are something I can afford right now.”

Seth swallows, all confusion. But he's stepping forward. The air around them has caught on, waiting to freeze up and break, to let the oxygen rush. “Then—”

He kicks off his shorts. His shirt joins them in seconds, his beat-up tennis shoes the flag on top of the sad mountain they form. He raises his legs, spreads them wide. His socked feet slip where they perch on the couch's edge. The breeze from the ceiling fan tickles his heated skin, makes his hips twitch. It's in his head, surely, but he feels his pussy drip from the shamelessness of it all. He clenches around nothing, his chest perky and angled in presentation.

Weirdly enough, any apprehension he had about this fades as soon as he's at his most vulnerable. The dream sequence of it all kicks in, the shift in reality. Because it's not the desire to be touched that he feels. It's not attraction for the two men he's tempting, not the desperation for a good fuck.

It's the insatiable, never-ending want he feels, the itch for Andrew to see each and every moment of it. To see him taken apart and desecrated, holes filled and his body seizing with instinctual orgasms.

All that, and Andrew will still know that Neil is his. At any and all extremes, no matter what Andrew may say…

For Neil, it's Andrew.

When Neil meets his eyes again, he finds that. Andrew's staring at him, not his body. He's not eating him alive the same way the other two are, sweeping gazes and jaws slack. Neil doesn't find anger, or jealousy, or sadness.

He finds understanding, the pieces slotting into place. Andrew, with his ruthless smile kept at bay, letting Neil know that he's going to get exactly what he wants. It should feel like a win. It's checkmate. But the pettiness fades as quickly as his apprehension, and it all feels…ridiculous. Their conversation, Andrew's reservations, Neil's own frustration.

Neither of them ever stood a chance.

It makes his next words breathy, broken. He looks back to Matt and Seth, eyes already lidded and pleading. “I don’t have cash but…anything else you want, it’s yours.”

He drops the offering. The pin doesn't hit the floor, the crash of realization has no chance. Matt and Seth are too fast for that.

Neil has to wait all of 4.5 seconds.

“Fuck,” Seth says as he leaps over the coffee table in the middle of the room. His sneakers squeak on the cheap linoleum. Matt tries to go around, to get to Neil first, but Seth's as merciless as his words. “Out of my way.”

He shoves Matt, bulk warring with bulk. Matt elbows him as they reach Neil, and then, there are hands on him, there's hot breath on his pussy.

Neil yelps as Matt grabs his tits, massaging like a man deprived for centuries. Matt mumbles a curse, pinching his nipples, pulling and twisting until he gets another noise. Matt's eyes take on such a dark quality, one Neil's never seen on his happy-go-lucky face, he has to look away. But the sounds, the sensations…

Neil hears Matt's exhale of relief, of wonder. Like he can't believe he's touching Neil. It makes Neil whimper. He knew they wanted to fuck him, but this?

He feels pulled in two directions, a prize, an object. He sinks into it and lets them fight it out, knows this is only the beginning. And he'll love every moment of it, as will Andrew.

Because their fight is useless. Neil is claimed. But that doesn't mean they won't try.

Seth's taken up residence between Neil's legs, and although Matt's preoccupied with his chest, he seems to want to be in two places at once. With one hand on Neil's tit, he uses the other to shove Seth away. His body bends down, as if to take his place, but he's unwilling to let go of Neil at the same time.

It's too much hesitation for a man who knows what he wants. A man like Seth.

Seth shoves Matt back, grin shark-like as he settles Neil's thighs over his shoulders. Neil gasps at the suddenness, at the brief feeling of Seth's mouth brushing his folds as he talks.“I got here first,” he says, tone filled with laughter.

Matt glares. "Why do you—"

“Get in line, Boyd,” Seth says. Then, fingers are parting Neil's folds, rough and uncaring. And for all his bravado, there's a gleam to him, the same as Matt. Seth licks his lips, rubbing up and down soothingly. Neil feels slick, copious and humiliating, coat his fingers. “Shit. Your pussy’s so pretty. Look how fat it is.”

Matt makes a choked sound as he rounds on Seth. "Hey, let me see. Fuck. Is he wet?”

“Oh yeah. Dibs on sucking him off first,” Seth says. His fingers rub the thicker parts of his folds, fascinated and wanton. He flicks his tongue over Neil's clit teasingly, grins when Neil's hips jolt. Neil flushes, hates feeling it spread across his cheeks and down. It fans out over his chest, and Matt must take that as a starting gun. He sits next to Neil again, mouth sucking his nipples like he was born to do it.

Neil can't stop his noises. Why can't he stop them? Each breathy sigh and pathetic moan feels wrenched from him. He's not a loud person, he's not an open person. This isn't…it's not something Neil does. Not often, not like this. In truth, his body's reactions are about as new to him as they are to the mechanics. The way his abdomen jumps, the way he twists towards Matt's mouth. Matt nods against him, understanding something Neil cannot begin to grasp, and sucks harder.

“Were you thinking about this, baby?” Seth asks, pulling back from where he's nose-deep in Neil's pussy. Neil sees the shine of himself on Seth's cheeks. He gets back to it eagerly, tongue flat and large. He goes slow, slower than Neil would've expected. Long drags over Neil, gathering slickness, adding to it. He's not sure which sound is louder, Matt's incessant sucking, or the squelch of Seth's mouth.

He's aware of Matt starting to stand, leaning on his knee as he palms himself, hips at Neil's face.

He thinks of Andrew, of pushing them over the edge. “Y-yes,” he whispers. Because he did. He thought about it too much, and still, had no idea it would be this.

Seth huffs against him, tongue dipping into his hole at the same time Matt pulls both of his nipples between two fingers. Neil yelps again, moaning as he tries to close his legs from the sensation. Seth, cruelly, pins them open.

“Sorry, Neil,” Matt says. When Neil looks up at him, his smile is the same one he's used to. Kind, sheepish. Out of place here and now. “Your tits are just so perfect. Are they sensitive?”

He twists one of them again and Neil feels his hole clench around Seth's tongue. Neil sighs, head lolling back. His nape feels sticky where it meets vinyl. He's sweating already, every nerve on high alert. The thud of his head against the couch sounds like a cannon between his ears.

“That’s a yes,” Seth says as he pulls away. “Mmm, God. Gonna fuck you so good. Always wanted to…”

“Slow down, dude,” Matt chides. He's still palming himself through his pants. Through the thick denim, Neil can tell he's big. His thighs shake involuntarily. “We can take our time, right Neil?”

He hears Seth's zipper, the rustle of fabric, not getting the memo. “Yeah, you have all day i-if you want.”

Until Andrew's had enough, until Neil gets what he really wants. Andrew, unable to help himself. Andrew, with no control. Andrew, slipping into his used, cum-filled pussy.

“Hell yes,”  Seth breathes. He trails kisses along Neil's folds, takes the time to suck one into his mouth, uncaring of the curl of pubic hair that sticks to his lip. “Hey. What feels better? Me licking your pussy or Boyd sucking your tits?”

The question is so blunt, so filthy, Neil can't answer right away. He screws his eyes shut, tilts his head away. Matt tilts it back, touch firm, almost rough.

“I-I don’t know,”Neil says with a shake of his head.

“Don’t be mean to him,” Matt says. His voice loses more and more sweetness each time. He strokes Neil's chin, thumb catching Neil's bottom lip.

But Seth only shrugs. He crudely wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. “Whatever, we’ll find out who you like better by the end of it.”

And then, Seth's fingers are inside him. He's not gentle with it. One finger turns to two, then three in no time at all. Neil's back arches as Seth pistons them inside of him, curling like he knows exactly what he's doing. Neil's mouth falls open as he's helpless to ride the digits. Grinding against them. Matt takes that opportunity to capture his lips in a kiss. It's all tongue, no ease. In that, he and Seth are the same. They take Neil apart, no courting, no fluttery first date.

Matt's hands on every inch of him, Seth's mouth, ravenous.

Neil feels himself on the edge, teetering towards something amazing, mind-blowing. He's riding Seth's fingers, practically crying out into Matt's mouth. And Matt swallows each sound, lets them settle inside him and spur on the heat in his gut. Neil can tell, with the harsher way he palms himself, the way his hips jerk forward. His mind, already set on fucking Neil senseless.

Seth doesn't stop even when he's pushed to gripping his own cramping wrist. He chuckles through the pain, like he can't believe it himself. When Neil's eyes meet his briefly, Matt's tongue down his throat, Seth's ready for it. He smirks as he dips down, sucking Neil's clit into his mouth at the same time his fingers hit just right.

Neil breaks away from the kiss as he comes. The choked moans that come from him sound foreign, unacquainted with his vocal cords. They skip and stutter, too high, too unraveled. There's a pleading to them he wishes he could swallow down, too embarrassed and on display. They bounce off the walls. Andrew's listening. Andrew hears.

Neil's leg kicks out at the sensation, and that, Neil won't deny. It's heaven. So, so good. He's quivering with the aftershocks, pricks of pleasure. Parts of him feel asleep, staticky. The near cramp in his calf, a warning.

And Matt and Seth are still touching him, not concerned with him catching his breath. Seth licks him past his orgasm, kisses the softness of his inner thighs. Matt reaches down to run his hand through the curls of Neil's cunt, marveling at the wetness.

“You’re so cute when you come, Neil,” he breathes out.

Neil ducks his head. “Shut up."

“Aw, he’s shy,” Seth says with a snort. “Not shy enough to not whore yourself out to us, though.”

Ah, he thinks. True.

He giggles. Seth pets his hip, eyes his tits like he's ready to follow Matt's earlier lead.

And then, he's aware that Matt's hands aren't on him.

Neil hears the rustle of fabric again, feels the shift of the couch beside him. Lost in the haze, not sure when he'll be out of it. He blinks sleepily to his right, and gets an eyeful of Matt's cock.

He was right. It's huge. Heavy balls hang, full and ready to give and give. It leaks at the tip, precum beading, generous and proud. Neil's breathing stutters out of him as Matt caresses his cheek.

“I don’t think you’re a whore Neil, but, um—” Matt strokes himself, scoots a little closer towards him. Neil nods. Too far gone for nerves, for shame. He knows what to do as he grabs Matt delicately in his hand and starts to stroke up and down. His wrist looks thin in comparison.

His hand's quickly coated in precum, in sweat. His palm turns from rough to slippery, gliding like it was made for this.

He gets more confident, more sure as he goes. Firmer strokes, a twist to his wrist. Matt bucks and moans freely, fucking into Neil's hand. “Ah, fuck. Can’t believe you’re touching my cock.”

“I already pinched myself, it’s not a dream,” Seth comments. “We’re going to have a great time fucking you, aren’t we baby?”

Neil doesn’t think he replies, just breathes, hot and heavy over Matt's cock. Matt grabs the hair at the back of Neil's neck and shoves his face against his balls. Neil nuzzles them, sucks one into his mouth as best he can.

When Matt's pace gets too frantic, he pulls Neil off with a wince. Neil, so under the influence of this, so used to the rhythm and weight in his hand already, looks lost when he's no longer grasping Matt's cock.

He blinks up at Matt through wet lashes, unsure of what to do now.

"Not yet," Matt says with a smile. "Maybe later, though."

And Neil can't fathom why he stopped until Seth speaks again. He taps Neil's hip until he gets his attention. For once, his smirk is gone. It's eerie almost. Seth's gaze is sharp, a hungry dog held back by a rusted chain. Nearly free, nearly rabid.

“Any holes off limits?” Seth asks from between his legs.

Neil stares at him, then at Matt. Matt, whose smile has vanished. Matt, who's holding the base of his cock for dear life, because the first place he wants to come is probably inside of him.

He looks back at Seth with a shiver. The sweat cooling on his body doesn't feel like the end, the wind down. It's a small reprieve, just an introduction. He's never felt warmer, and the fever hasn't reached a peak. He already has love bites on his chest, and his first orgasm hasn't stopped singing in his veins.

The feeling of eyes, far away, always watching.

All of it, so overwhelming and debauched, and he decides to sign up for more.

Neil shakes his head. “No. Come wherever you want.”

It's a chain breaking away from the wall.

Seth laughs. He scoops Neil up like he weighs nothing, takes him away from the waiting room and towards the back of the garage. There are sleeping cots there, for long nights, for rough projects. Neil's unceremoniously dumped on the nearest one.

In the background, he hears the sound of heavy combat boots slowly following.

Seth steps away to rid himself of his clothes. He's not as thick as Matt, but he's long, veiny and trimmed. Neil blinks, vision blurry. He wonders what the difference will be, how they'll both feel. His feet scramble for purchase on the small cot, gasps at the shakiness of it. He's not sure it'll hold him up, not with how Seth is looking at him, fingers stuck on his last button.

But with Seth busy, Matt finally has his chance. His fingers spread Neil wide, thumbing his folds. He's up close, brown eyes wide as he pets Neil through his quivering.

He's more reserved than Seth, but only barely. He kisses Neil's cunt like it's something sweet and moans at the taste. “Can’t wait for your pretty pussy to take my cock. Oh—Sorry if I’m sweaty, we’ve been working all day—”

Off to the side, Seth snorts. “Excited to take dirty dick, Neil?”

He hip checks Matt again to push him out of the way, and Matt looks closer and closer to snapping. It must be their friendship, their years of camaraderie that stop him. This is Seth; entitled, rough, clawing. He has to be first, will be first, because when was he ever given the chance before?

He fits himself between Neil's legs with an air of righteousness, hips flush with Neil's ass. Neil whines when Seth drags his cock along his folds, gets himself nice and glistening. Neil ruts back, as if familiar with the phantom feeling of being fucked this deep, this hard. He's not, but his body knows what to do, how to arch and brace for it.

Seth pauses as he pulls back, cock angled in his hand. He pinches Neil, looking for his answer.

“Yes, it’s okay,” Neil says quickly. He turns to Matt and does his best to smile innocently. “I like it.”

Both men freeze. For men moving so fast before, the sudden shift leaves Neil's head spinning. It's a second, two at most. It feels endless. He doesn't expect Matt to throw his head back in a groan a beat later. Hands over his face, he turns back to Seth. “Fuck dude, hurry up."

“You don’t have to tell me."

And Seth sets a brutal pace. He slides home and no doubt hears Neil's sharp intake of breath, but waiting for his exhale is a luxury Neil is not afforded. Seth's groan is carnal, his movements erratic. He's balls deep and pushes further still, sharp thrusts that nearly hurt. He must have his feet braced against the garage floor, Neil thinks deliriously. His mouth falls open as Seth pulls back, and that's the only pause he ever takes. He fucks Neil like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

The concrete around them makes it worse. The sharp slap of Neil's skin against Seth's echoes off the garage walls, amplified. It's never-ending, quick and brutal. The consistent fwap stings his ears, is no doubt leaving his ass red and burning. Seth's grip on his hips is iron, nails digging in. And Seth is shameless, more than Neil, more than Matt. He grunts and groans to his heart's content, guttural cries as he chases his own pleasure.

But it's enough. The pressure of it, the intensity. Seth, long and pulsing inside of him, hitting all the best spots. Neil arches, mouth fixed open as little sounds are punched out of him. He doesn't care, doesn't have the brain space to care. He's so full.

“How does it feel?” Matt asks. His voice sounds thicker now, fighting through a swallow. He's been oddly silent, immobile. When Neil glances towards him, his gaze is fixed on where Seth's cock is driving into him.

“Tight,” Seth grunts. His pace doesn't slow. “As good as you can imagine. Better. Holy fuck.”

It triggers something. Matt shoves his own clothes off fully and goes to the other edge of the cot by Neil's head. He makes Seth scoot him up just so, so Neil's neck is dangling over. The gentle touch of Matt's fingers through his hair is deceiving, he knows. But he sighs anyway.

Neil feels the head of Matt's cock slap against his cheek, his mouth. He lets his neck fall back fully, throat exposed and open. Ready for something he can't fully make sense of until it's happening.

“Open up,” Matt says. Neil does, and Matt shoves his cock right down his throat. Neil's never given a blow job before. It's only fitting, he thinks, that he'd find out about his lack of a gag reflex today of all days.

Neil's hands jump at his sides, fisting in the thin sheet until he hears the fitted edge snap off. The fabric hits his thigh, but he simply gathers it against him, hanging on for dear life. He breathes through his nose as he swallows around Matt's cock, trying to keep his jaw relaxed, his teeth out of the way. His back arches, body twisting. He's alight from all directions, and this, for whatever reason, makes him come again.

Matt and Seth either don't notice, or they don't care, too lost in the sensation that follows. Neil tightens around them both, shaking through each pulse of pleasure. He thinks he squirts a little, feels it running over his folds and over Seth's cock.

At this point, Matt's too far gone to not thrust into his mouth. He's not as rough as Seth, but he's thick, movements more desperate and jumpy. He braces his hands on either side of the cot as he pushes in over and over, hips bucking on instinct.

“Ah, shit. He’s swallowing me all the way," Matt says through gritted teeth. His balls brush Neil's nose, adding another skip to his panting.

Seth curses. “The man’s got talent."

“Fucking great tits, too,” Matt sighs. He reaches forward to touch them, to hover over the way they bounce in time with their thrusts.

“Dude. They’re perfect, I can’t stop looking at ‘em."

“Yeah…yeah. Fuck him harder.”

And Seth does, by some miracle. Neil's not sure how, but Seth seems to have endless energy when it comes to this. All the while, Matt curses above him, each sound more pathetic than the last.

Matt places a hand over Neil's throat lightly, in reverence. Neil moans around him. Can Matt feel the vibration? The way his cock fucks Neil's throat? Matt pushes deeper in the next moment, and Neil shouts around him.

It's the first time Seth stops. He's laughing, breathless and giddy. He slaps the side of Neil's thigh.

“Do that again, he tightened up like crazy,” he says. “Nearly pushed me out.”

And Matt doesn't respond, but he follows instructions. He slides deep, cants his hips in shorter bursts. Neil doesn't need to know either of their tells to understand what's about to happen.

Seth's thrusts turn to a rushed grind, the slap of skin choppy and frantic. Neil keens around Matt's cock, pushing up, meeting each thrust. It's instinct; his body says fuck the overstimulation, the tingle under his skin. Near discomfort, the edge of unbearable.

Something about him, something he was unaware of before, loves it. It wants more. He thinks he'll get it, thinks this is far from over.

“Gonna come,” Seth whines. He hikes Neil's legs up as he does, raising his ass just inches off the cot. Every last drop, right into him. Neil's only aware of Matt sliding out of his mouth because of the relieved ache in his jaw. With his mouth free, his pants fill the air, joining Seth's. His tongue lolls out, messily swiping over dry lips. He can taste Matt still, the milky precum coats the back of his teeth.

Seth grinds into him one last time, grunts weak but satisfied. Neil yelps when he pulls out, letting Neil's legs flop back down without care. He waits for the feeling of Seth's cum to start slipping out of him, to start forming a wet spot on the sheets beneath.

He doesn't get to wait that long.

In the next few seconds, Matt's hands are on his hips. He roughly flips Neil around until he's lying on his front instead, and Neil doesn't have time to gasp before Matt is stuffing him full from behind.

The pressure building from before spikes back up, close, so close—

“Knew you’d want to do him like that,” Seth says teasingly. Neil hears a chuckle, a rough jolt from Matt, as if he lashed an arm out. It doesn't stop his pace, not as rough as Seth's, but quick and unrelenting all the same.

Neil moans through it, his sighs the backdrop to their banter, talking about him as if he's not hearing every word.

“Fuck off. I’m not missing out on this ass,” Matt says. He squeezes one of Neil's cheeks in his hand, but only briefly. It seems he prefers to watch them keep moving. “Been staring at it for months.”

Seth hums in agreement as he makes his way over to Neil. He crouches down to his eye level, smug and half hard again already.

Like this, head raised, it's of no use to hide his expression. Neil doesn't know what he looks like, but he knows it must be a sight from how Seth's eyes dance. Like he's making fun of him, delighted in his degradation as Neil rocks forward, forced by Matt's thrusts. Neil's mouth hangs open, vision going in and out. The peak builds again, higher, higher. How much does he have to give?

Apparently, at least one more. How many until he gets Andrew?

Andrew, who's sitting just where Neil can't see, waiting, wanting…

Seth kisses Neil once, firm and hard. “I think he’s coming."

“Yeah, come on my cock, Neil,” Matt whines. It sounds like nothing would make him happier. He mumbles under his breath; nonsense, curses, pleas. “I’m gonna come too. You’re so good, so pretty, thank you—”

He pushes in as far as he can, as eager as Seth to mark Neil from the inside. Neil's not sure what kind of competition he started, but he'll find out. Neil's hips fall when Matt pulls out, twitching against the ruined sheets. The cot creaks under his weight.

This time, he does get to feel the cum pour out of him, slow and thick, no way of knowing just how mixed it already is. He breathes deep, in and out, as much as he can, for as long as he can.

Some time later, Seth grabs his hips. “My turn again.”

--

Matt loses his gentle touch soon after the second round, all pretenses of gentle sweetness out the window.

“Little slut, you like taking two cocks, don’t you?”

He thinks he nods, but probably doesn't have to. They both talk at him, at each other, but their hips don't stop for anything. Neil blinks up at the industrial lights above him, conjures the image of each moan drifting up towards them.

Neil has Matt at his back on the cot, Matt lying on the sheets. Seth's driving into his pussy from above, Neil's legs splayed as far as they can go. Matt got his ass when he and Seth rock-paper-scissored over it. Neil doesn't quite remember, it feels so long ago. They tied at least once.

Seth bends him forward, further than Neil thought himself capable, but the burn of his legs is nothing compared to the heat between them. For all their jabbing at each other, Seth and Matt work well together. On cars, on engines, Neil's holes. Seth fucks him in a way that rocks him onto Matt perfectly. Matt's cock grinds into his ass, deep enough that Neil knows he'll feel it for days. If he thought the slap of skin was obscene before, it's ten times worse now. His thighs are soaked in his own squirt, adding to the squelch of each thrust. Tears build in the corners of his eyes; he can't distinguish where the fullness is coming from, not when they're both greedily occupying so much of him. Neil laughs, delirious and nonsensical, imagining the two cocks trying to rub together inside of him.

He lost track of his orgasms too, but he must be twitching more erratically, toes must be curling again, because Seth raises his head to look at him.

“Figured out who feels better yet?” Seth stage whispers against Neil's mouth. Matt grunts in anger, bucking upwards hard enough to make Neil shake through another orgasm. He doesn't have more squirt to give, but his body tries. His pussy pulses, delighted, somehow not ready for it to end.

Neil doesn't have the brain cells to answer the question, but Matt's snicker tells him he took that as a win.

Seth scoffs and slots his gaze over to Matt. He tilts his head, darts a quick look down. Matt hums. Neil pants through it, catching his breath. The breaks no longer feel like relief. He's addicted to it, the constant rise and fall, the feeling of being fucked. It's a comfort, almost, a favorite song on loop. He's not sure how hard he'll crash if it stops.

Shyly, he reaches a hand down to rub his clit, feeling the mess around it. Seth's never been clean, or neat. Neil feels the slide of cum from two rounds ago, lets it stick to every dip and curve. Matt and Seth freeze, then seem to come to some sort of silent agreement. Matt dips his head to kiss Neil's shoulder, but there's nothing soft about the smirk that pulls goosebumps from his skin. They pull out of him with tandem groans. His back no longer slides against Matt's chest. He lands on rumpled, damp sheets.

When he looks up, Matt and Seth obscure the lights above.

“Keep playing with yourself,” Matt orders. It's got a bite to it this time, backed up by the hand keeping his knee down, legs open. And Neil does. They eat it up. Of course they do, Neil thinks with a huff. The two men have no way of knowing that Neil doesn't quite know how to do this. He seldom masturbates, and when he does, it's more to release energy or sleep. There's no real antsiness involved, a desperate race to the finish line that he needs to reach. It's not exciting for him, to be touched…by others, by himself.

Unless it's—

Neil sighs at the thought, wills himself not to look to the corner of the room, where he knows a desk chair sits. Old, slightly bent, because Andrew can't sit in it without leaning back too far. He hears it creak, every now and again, in moments where the cot's not shaking.

Matt and Seth don't care about the fake-frantic way he's rubbing his clit, the performative buck of his hips with the uninterested stroke of his fingers. They strip their cocks with rough, calloused hands until they're taking their pick of Neil's body to paint.

Matt comes in beads over Neil's tits. Seth, some kind of inhuman beast, still has ropes to spare for Neil's stomach.

Seth smirks as he looks back to admire his work. Matt's stare is almost worse. Silent, all-encompassing. He takes Neil in from head to toe.

“Gross," Seth says through labored breath, all too proud of it.

And yeah, Neil's sure he is. He feels their cum drying on his inner thighs and over his ass crack. He's covered in sweat, in his own squirt. His hair is probably damp and mussed from Matt pulling it. Neil swipes his tongue over his front teeth. Sticky.

There's spit in places he never thought it would be, a testament to how thoroughly the two men wanted to mark him. Neil misjudged their desire. They didn't just want to fuck him all those months, they wanted to ruin him.

And Neil should be done. He knows he should be. But there's something in him that gives him the strength to sit up and keep his legs spread anyway. They shake with exertion, his breathing harsher than that of the two men running this marathon with him.

Because he's not done. They didn't ruin him, they didn't mark him. Only one person can ever do that. Only—

“Are you waiting for Andrew?” Seth asks. It's so blunt, Neil's neck snaps up to him. He thought he was too far gone to blush anymore, but he feels it blooming anew, more vibrant than poppies in Spring. His back straightens despite the soreness, the heat in his abdomen fires right back up to a searing flame.

Seth's gaze is cruel, Matt's smug. Neil whimpers under the accusation—no, revelation. There's a spotlight on him, sirens in the distance. There's no denying this, no escaping the fact that over time, he's become woefully transparent.

With cum drying on his lips and wet, pleading eyes, he nods.

“Minyard, have some compassion,” Matt says. He turns in the direction of the desk chair. “He perked up like a puppy.”

Neil hears a huff of laughter, turns and barely catches a glimpse of blond before he's being pushed back.

Seth's moving Neil towards him by the hips. How he's still as hard as he is, with no trace of exhaustion, Neil has no idea.

“Don’t act like you don’t want to,” Seth says with a sing-song type of lilt. He strokes Neil's abdomen with his palm, like he's waiting for it to tense up. He's not looking at Neil. He's staring dead at Andrew's direction. “You’ve been staring this whole time.”

And damn, Neil gives him what he wants. He locks up at the words, and when he moves again, it's only to squirm, to wriggle, like that'll convince Andrew. Because Andrew's been watching. And Matt and Seth have seen things he hasn't, have probably watched Andrew's ironclad control slip with each load dumped into Neil.

What does he look like? How close is he to ending Matt and Seth's fun?

Neil glares when Seth starts to shush and coo at him. He figures it doesn't land the way he means it to. How can it, when he looks so pathetic? When Seth's already lining up?

Seth's grin just grows. He grabs Neil's face in one hand, smushing his cheeks to keep it in place. So he can't look at Andrew, so he can't ignore Seth's cock brushing against him. “You want Andrew, don’t you, baby? Can’t say I see the appeal, but hey. If it means I get to fuck you, fine. It’s his loss.”

Seth releases him with a sigh. He looks over to Andrew one last time. “Well?”

Neil hears the slide of combat boots. A quick, aborted movement. It stops and starts, scuffing the cracked concrete. This time, Seth doesn't stop him from looking.

Andrew's already staring right at him. Their eyes meet, Neil's body lights up with fizz from a million sparklers. He's been getting fucked for who knows how long, has had at least five orgasms ripped from him, overstimulation his new best friend. It is nothing compared to this.

Neil can't help but sigh. Lovestruck, undone. He smiles at him, the same smile as every day. It doesn't matter that he's naked and filthy; it's reserved for Andrew any day and any time. Andrew's jaw looks so tense it might crack in two. Neil wants to hold it between his hands until he lets the pressure off. Andrew's calm facade is in tatters; the blank tapestry torn to reveal blaring, blinding jewels beneath. There's a tight furrow to his brow, his fingers fidget with the worn seams of the armrest.

He looks painfully, deliciously hard in his pants. He looks as good as he always looks. Black jumpsuit half pushed down, the arms tied tight around his soft middle. White, slightly see-through tank top. Gray smudges where gray smudges should not be.

One leg, in front of the other. Andrew, about to get up. But not yet. Neil pouts at him, half salivating, but he gets it. He gets it the way Andrew immediately understood this whole charade. Andrew will let them go and go, will let them enjoy Neil to the point where they can't imagine not having him.

And then, he'll smash them over the head with reality. They'll realize all they've done up until now has been useless, a boring prelude to Neil. Even if Andrew only fucks him once, if he and Neil only last two minutes. It'll all pale in comparison to that.

“No? Okay then,” Seth says with a shrug. “The longer you wait, the sloppier the seconds, you know.”

The squelch of him reentering his pussy is loud. Neil's moan is genuine this time, thoughts racing with Andrew, body teased with the sight of him. It climbs higher and devolves into a whine as Seth fucks him harshly. Matt waits off to the side, stroking himself back to full hardness. There's a panic to his movements. Like he's caught onto it, the fact this will be over soon and he needs to get as much out of it as possible.

At the reminder, Neil bites his lip. It does little to suppress his laugh. When he looks over at Andrew, his gaze is darker, narrowed in warning.

Oh, you think I like his cock? Don't worry. I know yours is better.

Seth spanks Neil's ass cheek to pull his attention back. Neil yelps and looks at him with wide eyes; the black cloud coming from Andrew's direction grows.

"That's better," Seth says. Matt laughs off to the side.

The slide of Seth inside him is too easy now, but he doesn't seem to mind it. He's pushing out Matt's last load, eager to replace it with his own again. Neil hears the humiliating seep of it. His gaze mocks Neil, a challenge Neil fears he will lose. “Say his name. He’s who this is all for, right?”

Yeah, a definite surrender. Neil doesn't have to be told twice.

“Andrew,” Neil moans lowly. He closes his eyes, lets the fantasy form like it has dozens of times in his head.

Seth thrusts in so hard it pushes Neil up the cot, dragging the sheets with him. “Louder, slut."

Andrew's voice is his undoing. He speaks for the first time. It's cutting, authoritative. Neil thought nothing could be louder than the cot squeaking, his voice cracking. But Andrew silences it all without so much as boom to it. It's just firm. Just Andrew. “Seth—”

And it's the warning in it, the break of control that has Neil spiraling.

“Andrew!” He shouts, a breathless laugh following. He bucks his hips up, meeting every thrust Seth gives him. He moans with each one, chasing a rapidly building orgasm. He hears Matt curse off to the side, but he doesn't care how debauched he's being, how he looks greedily swallowing up Seth's cock. "Andrew, Andrew…"

“Andrew,” Seth moans mockingly. The snap of his hips, merciless. “Come on.”

He does. Neil twists, shaking with the pitiful orgasm as Andrew's name keeps falling from his lips. It's a reverent chant, an offering at the altar. He can't stop for anything, or Andrew may not be there when he glances back.

Seth's voice dips in and out as he forgets his own mission. The teasing grin falls in favor of a strained, singular focus. He throws one knee up on the cot and fucks down, as deep as he can go. A drop of sweat falls off the crest of his nose. “Good, think about Andrew while I come in you. Fuck—"

Seth's too loud when he comes. Too obnoxious. But Neil will give it to him, it's clear it's one hundred percent genuine. Each guttural cry and twitch communicates it: Seth's having the time of his life.

Neil smirks weakly as he pulls out. Curious, he drifts a hand down to catch some of the release, new and old, and rubs it off on the top of his thigh when he's seen enough. What's it matter? There's no part of him that isn't filthy.

A laugh hiccups out of him. He didn't know he could fit so much.

To the side, he sees Matt smile. The usual one. Genuine. It doesn't match his words. “Don’t worry, Andrew. We're taking good care of him.”

--

He's not sure how long it takes, but eventually, he hears Andrew’s calm footsteps and the sound of a zipper.

It's louder than his own labored noises, louder than Matt and Seth trying to catch their breaths.

Neil gasps, his leg shifts. The muscles sting with soreness but don't protest. For the first time today, he melts.

Andrew's hands, his body, his face…it comes into frame, a beautiful picture abating all his troubles. Andrew's hands are fiddling with his jumpsuit, shuffling them down, but he keeps his eyes on Neil. He wouldn't call it serene. There's nothing calm about the way Andrew looks at him, especially not now. Black hole gaze, a myriad of warnings locked within. Like each twitch of his brow is another string of barbed wire being set up on the perimeter around them. Rules, rules, rules.

Don't touch what's mine.

Snapping restraint, a rope of self-control tears fiber by fiber. It's a look that says Neil's going to find out just who he belongs to. It's a look that promises Andrew's tired of running for the both of them.

Neil smiles gratefully but blinks when he sees Andrew's hands go still, hesitating just shy of freeing himself. He's stiff with it. There's nothing more he'd like to do than start fucking Neil senseless. Neil goes to protest, to whine, finally unable to tolerate more of this waiting game. A year of waiting.

Then Andrew's hands are on him.

The disgruntled noise dies and morphs into the shakiest of sighs, the most taken apart he's been since this started. His moan is too debauched for the simple touch as Neil throws his head back. Strong, smudged hands smooth his messy bangs away from his face and rub some of the dried cum away. Andrew trails from the top of his cheeks down the column of his neck, his fingernails glide along the thin skin of his sternum like he's following an uneven vein. Neil's nipples pebble, his hips shift and press down on the cot.

Neil bites his lip, sighing and moaning freely at each deliberate, delicate touch.

Andrew takes his time. Down and up, marveling…claiming. All of it. There's no disgust to be found. He touches Neil like he just walked in, like he's never been so much as looked at by anyone else.

It wouldn't matter if he had.

Andrew hums approvingly when Neil's legs widen and he takes his place between them. Neil wriggles at the sound, and for the first time, he goes to touch himself like he needs it. He rubs his clit lazily, if only so he doesn't come apart at the seams. Neil gasps when Andrew's clothed cock, warm and wet through his boxers, presses the underside of his ass.

Andrew breaks his gaze away to glance at where they meet, where they're soon to join. He fixates on Neil's fingers, on the slow circles. His hand pets Neil's thigh patiently, encouraging him, like he has all the time in the world. Neil knows better. He can't read Andrew's mind, but he knows him. He knows him like he knows whispered secrets and cigarette smoke. He remembers his own voice from that night.

"I know what I want. I know what you want. I’m asking you to take it."

Andrew does love an invitation.

“Is it a yes?” Neil asks. His voice is well and truly fucked. Hoarse and broken from one too many cocks swallowed down. Andrew stiffens, shakes and shifts with that last coil of control. Neil places his hand atop Andrew's, stopping his gentle movements on his thigh. Even the weight of him, stationary and heavy, makes Neil shiver.

Andrew's gaze snaps up to him. It's a redo of that night, the question asking for far more than for a fuck. Andrew can only say one thing.

“Yes, Neil."

Andrew pulls out his cock. Neil can't actually see it from where his head's at, but he hears Matt's strangled gasp and Seth's humorless laugh as Andrew's pants and underwear hit the ground.

“Oh, you motherfucker,” Seth says. There's a sneer on his face, begrudging admiration. It makes Neil's hips buck in small, rhythmic bursts. He's never wanted a cock so bad, so desperately. He wants to feel the stretch, to lock his ankles together to keep Andrew deeper.

Neil's moaning before Andrew's even fucking him. Shame's not in the gutter, it's down the drain, in a sewer.

Come on, come on, come on—

Andrew's grip locks like a vice on his hips. He sends Matt and Seth both a lazy smirk, but then his satisfaction is all for Neil. He wastes no time sliding home.

Neil cries out with a grin this time. Finally, finally.

"Fuck yes," he sighs. He has no time to catch his breath before Andrew's fucking him. It's not like Seth's was. It's brutal for the sake of proving something. It's brutal, gut-rearranging, because that's how Andrew fucking likes it. All Neil can do is hold on.

Neil throws his head back, side to side. He hangs on for dear life, never wanting off the ride. His grin never leaves him. Andrew slaps Neil's hand away from his clit and brings it up to his mouth to kiss instead, eyes boring into his. Singing, satisfied. So deservedly smug.

Neil nods at nothing, at everything. Andrew meets every rise of his voice with his own. Neil could take or leave Matt's pathetic moans, Seth's over-the-top grunting.

When Andrew does it, Neil wants it in surround sound. Louder. He wants Andrew to do him like a beast.

"Oh, fuck," Neil gasps, toes curling as Andrew rocks into him, hands drifting wherever they please. When he's in the mood to break the cot, he squeezes Neil by his tits and picks up the pace, not content unless the beams shake. And okay, maybe there is something to prove there, beneath it all. Andrew's not so above rising to the bait. It turns Matt and Seth painfully silent.

Andrew's different from them in other ways, ones Neil didn't expect. He doesn’t solely chase his own pleasure; his hands are fire on Neil's skin, rubbing and stroking whenever he finds a new sensitive spot. He's learning Neil's body like it's essential curriculum; formulas, cause and effect. Memorizing and executing all at once. Grind here, like that, Neil's legs will spasm. Pause, pinch there, Neil nearly squeals.

Above all else, Andrew kisses him like it's the last time he'll ever do it. Neil pulls away at first, momentarily disgusted with himself, where his mouth has been. Andrew shouldn't kiss him like this. But Andrew's grip on his chin is rough, welcome as he pulls Neil right back.

Neil's a sight, a sound. Louder than before, energized. The feeling of Andrew's belly brushing against his clit nearly drives him insane.

Matt's voice startles him.

“Ha. Starting to feel inadequate over here,” he says. Neil supposes it's meant to be a joke. The weak strain of it gives the truth away.

Neil can't find it in himself to feel bad. Andrew's fucking him like he was programmed specifically to do it. They waited a year…

At the comment, Andrew huffs and kisses Neil's forehead. He stage whispers like Seth did before. “Who do you like best now?”

“You! Andrew." Neil's fast with it, a bit too serious, too. He feels unhinged in his conviction. He laughs and rocks to meet Andrew's next thrust. “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.”

And they're both far too pent up to endure it. Neil's had one too many orgasms, but it doesn't stop this one from coursing through him. He tightens up, his pussy oversensitive and pulsing. He squirts again, the first time in a while, feels it run down his folds. He sighs through the sudden chill it brings, so stark on his hot skin, and thinks about how he's marking Andrew for good.

With a loud groan, Andrew stills inside him. His voice breaks at the end, jaw slack. His hips rut cutely, short motions as Neil milks his cock. Briefly, Neil pouts. It's one load he would've liked to keep in for a while.

When Andrew collapses on top of him, it's a whole different kind of release.

“You’re an idiot,” Andrew tells him. It's soft, softer than what Neil expects. Tired and a touch grateful, mostly disbelieving.

He grins up at the ceiling lights, hand clutching Andrew's nape. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

Eventually, when their breathing goes from frantic to strained, they're reminded they're not alone.

“Not that this isn’t sweet, but…” Seth walks up, has the audacity to make a shooing motion in Andrew's direction. “He did say we had all day. Get to it."

Andrew's glare would make a smarter man back down, or just a less horny man. Seth, though, he's committed. Neil notes that Andrew doesn't necessarily deny him, though.

Andrew sits up and slides out of Neil, but makes no move to back away. They've had their rounds. Andrew's had one. “Watch it, or this is over."

Matt comes up from behind to jab Seth in the ribs. The coughing fit is music to Neil's ears. “You’re just jealous."

Neil's stuck on Andrew's words. "Watch it, or this is over." Because Neil is Andrew's, from now until as long as he'll have him. Neil practically preens. He gives up control willingly. He'll gladly be owned, be possessed, by someone who would never suffocate him with his hold.

Andrew starts to gently roll Neil over.

Matt is a touch too jovial for the position he's in. "Hell yeah. Knew you had to be a doggy man, too. I'm next."

Andrew grunts. Doesn't disagree. Somehow, it makes Neil's pride surge further. He wriggles his hips, doesn't care that he can't see them all anymore. He has a feeling he'll be able to tell who's who.

Seth clicks his tongue. “How are you still hard, Boyd?”

“Says you. I want to lick his pussy one more time too, actually.”

“Ew, dude. We’ve each come like ten times inside him.”

“I don’t care. Did you taste him? Who knows when or if Andrew will let us do this again!"

“Not likely,” Andrew says. His hand glides down Neil's spine until Neil arches for him. He taps him at the slope. One finger. “He just wants to be mine. Isn’t that right?”

And if Neil hadn't just come, that would've been the thing to do it.

Andrew lines himself up, shifts his stance. His voice rings off to the side. It loses any lightness, the smugness gone. This is a promise, a vow, fences piled high with barbs. “You’re done after this."

When Neil tilts his head to the side, he sees Seth's shoulders slump as Matt sighs.

“Harsh," Seth mumbles.

Andrew's hand curls softly through the back of Neil's hair. “You know I don’t share.”

--

“We’ll fix your tire, Neil. We swear.”

Changed and showered, the haze of sex dissolving from the air with the help of an industrial fan, Matt's decency doesn't just return. It comes surging back, a dose of shame mixed in. Neil's waiting for him to start kneeling in front of him at this point.

Matt's eyes are pleading. Seth drapes himself over the armchair in the waiting room, boneless and sated. The smirk hasn't left his lips. Andrew keeps staring like he wants to gut him.

Neil shrugs, content where he's seated in Andrew's lap. He's clean, lounging in a spare pair of Andrew's pants and his oversized shirt from earlier. He leans back as Andrew rubs his hip bones. He hasn't let Neil out of his arms since they stopped fucking.

“It’s fine, I set aside money for it. Since, you know…”

“You popped it on purpose?” Seth snorts. “Surely, there were better ways to provoke Andrew into dating you.”

“Don’t diminish his creativity," Matt scolds. "It resulted in the best day of my life. I’ll remember it forever.”

Andrew’s tone is flat. “I hope you get early dementia.”

But Matt must be high on the memory, the ache in his thighs present and burning, not even an hour later. “Neil, you sure you won’t want to do it again? You could probably convince Andrew…”

And it's Neil's turn to be smug. Why shouldn't he be? He got everything he wanted. “Nope.”

He snuggles closer into Andrew's chest, likes the rumble of satisfaction he gets for it.

Seth groans where he's thrown over the chair, long limbs starfished. “How am I supposed to ever fuck anyone else after that? Minyard, have a heart.”

Andrew's answer is quicker than Neil's. “No.”

But the underlying implication is loud and clear.

His heart? That's all for Neil.