Close Quarters

“If you come inside me, you’ll be a eunuch before you can blink,” Shiv growls, and Lash laughs that stupid laugh. 

The Lash is bound up in his own ropes, but it’s in their bed. Shiv should have gagged him too. There’s no way he’s going to make it through this without saying something stupid. Pocket’s known him for less than an hour, and they’re already sure of it.

Then again, they’re not sure they understand any of what goes on between Shiv and Lash. The two of them speak their own language ⁠— or at least Shiv knows how to interpret Lash’s.

“Come here,” Shiv says. He’s a hard person to say no to, which maybe means Pocket has more in common with Jacob Lash than they’re entirely comfortable admitting. 

Not that Lash is totally unappealing. With his clothes off, he’s much more tolerable than when they’re on. He has big pecs and a thick waist, arms almost as big around as Shiv’s thighs, and a smattering of body hair. He’s densely muscled and strong and all the things Pocket isn’t, which would be more intimidating if Shiv weren’t so clearly uninterested in his personality.

When Shiv, straddling Lash’s waist, pulls Pocket in for a kiss, he also preemptively claps a hand over Lash’s mouth. It’s excellent forethought. As it is, Lash still says something muffled that Pocket chooses not to hear for the sake of their sanity.

Besides, kissing Shiv is much more fun. He kisses Pocket like he means it, like it’s more than just a kiss every time. His lips are soft and his hand fists in their hair to hold them steady for his tongue to do absolutely anything it wants.

Pocket doesn’t know what to do with their hands. They’ve never done something like this. The world of possibilities has opened pretty wide since they started this thing with Shiv, but inviting another person in feels new and strange.

They thought they might be jealous, but maybe that’s why Shiv picked Lash. Those two might have a history of some kind, but in terms of what he means to their relationship, he might as well be another sex toy.

Shiv’s tongue does something that makes Pocket shudder, and they catch themself with one hand on his hip and the other on one of Lash’s pecs. There’s hair there, more than they’re used to feeling, and it’s plush and powerful, and maybe they can sort of see why Shiv tolerates him. 

Shiv finally releases Pocket’s hair, and they’re breathing hard by the time he does. “You gotta catch up, baby. Take your clothes off.”

They scoff, suddenly embarrassed, if only because Shiv’s moved enough to let Lash’s mouth go too. “What, no kiss for me?” That obnoxious voice immediately robs Pocket of any goodwill they may have started to feel.

“Not from them,” Shiv says.

“They’re cute.” Somehow Lash’s leer is almost flattering even under the oily feeling it produces. Pocket flushes anyway, skin prickling under the weight of his gaze as they pull their shirt off. “Where’d you find them?”

“None of your business.” 

Lash grins, as shit-eating as his tone. “Ooh, possessive. Or are you just embarrassed about that cradle you robbed?”

“Please make him stop talking,” they mutter, face on fire.

“You heard ’em,” Shiv says with a sharp-toothed smile. That’s all the warning Lash really gets before Shiv is turning around and settling his knees on either side of Lash’s ears.

Pocket can’t see much, but they can tell the moment Lash’s mouth makes contact. They know that heavy-lidded look on Shiv’s face well enough. 

“Come here,” he says. 

They’re still in their underwear, but he doesn’t complain. He hooks a hand around their hip to pull them closer, until their knees are nudged awkwardly against Lash’s body. They’re suddenly aware of the tension there, every minute shift of his muscles as he buries his face between Shiv’s thighs. His fists clench, thick wrists straining against the bonds. 

Then anything to do with Lash stops mattering, because Shiv is kissing them again. He makes them take his weight so he can balance, and he pays them back with a hand around their cock. He strokes them through their shorts, concentrating on the head until they’re soaking through the fabric. Shiv’s teeth sink into Pocket’s lip, and their hips stutter forward into his grip

They can’t keep their hands to themself forever — especially not when Shiv reacts by pushing them around his backside. 

This, at least, is familiar. They might have been tentative a couple months ago, but now their hand is sure, sliding over smooth skin and down the curve of his ass. When they probe downward, they curl two at once into his slit, just above where Lash’s mouth is hard at work. His tongue slips over their knuckles and between their fingers, into the hot grip of Shiv’s cunt. 

Shiv’s grip grows firmer on their cock, wringing until their hips jolt forward and they’re hissing into his mouth, no longer able to maintain the kiss. His metal hand slips through their hair to hold them in place, but they can only pant and bury their hot face in his neck instead.

Their fingers slide through wet heat, gripped tight between slick walls. Pocket knows exactly what that feels like around their cock too, like warm, wet silk cradling them with every thrust. The glide is so easy that a third finger slips right in, and Shiv grinds down on Lash’s face.

Pocket is loath to stop, especially when Shiv gasps and shudders, fluttering around their fingers. But they agreed there’s a goal here, so their fingers drag upward, smearing wet up to his asshole. They circle with the pads of their fingers, pulling slick from his pussy to get this hole just as wet.

They fumble for the small plastic tub and grease up their fingers. Lash’s head has flopped back on the bed, his flushed chest heaving now that his face is no longer smothered between Shiv’s thighs. His fists clench in their bindings then release again. 

Pocket doesn’t have much of a mean streak, but something about Lash, about this entire scenario, brings it out of them. With fingers still slick with Shiv’s juices they grab Lash by his pomaded hair and shove his face forward into Shiv’s cunt again. 

Their other hand, slippery now, slides between his ass cheeks, circling his asshole again before starting to slide one finger in. 

“Shit,” Shiv mutters, almost laughing, hanging on tightly to Pocket. He shudders, squeezing around their finger before relaxing. But his hips are twitching now, and his flank trembles against Pocket’s arm. They almost lose their balance when he strokes their cock again. 

He’s clumsier now though. Tremors ripple up from his tense thighs when they work a second finger in. He tightens around them again, twice, three times, breathing harshly into Pocket’s mouth as he shivers his way through his first orgasm. 

He curses again, then he pushes Pocket’s hands away, still working through the aftershocks. When he finally crawls off of Lash’s face, Lash is panting just as hard, chin and cheeks glistening. He looks way too proud of himself. 

He’s also staring right at Pocket. Breathlessly, he says, “Tell me it’s your turn next, sweetheart.”

They glance at Shiv, who just shrugs, still lazy in the aftermath. He’ll probably take care of it if Pocket asks, but they’re still feeling inspired by how irritating Lash is.

“Sure,” they say, slipping their thumbs into the waistband of their underwear. Lash looks smug and expectant at once while they peel the shorts off. They can feel flattered, at least, by the way his eyes rake over their body. “Open wide.” 

When he does, following on the tail of an arrogant grin, Pocket shoves the shorts into his mouth. Lash’s surprised laugh is muffled by the fabric, but Shiv’s is perfectly clear.

“Aww, I love when you’re mean,” he says with what sounds like real affection. Then he’s dragging them closer to where he’s perched astride Lash’s waist. Behind him, Lash’s cock strains like it wants to reach out and touch him. A bead of precome wells from the tip, then slides slowly down. Their mouth suddenly has too much saliva in it. 

It only gets worse when Shiv raises up on his knees, reaches behind him for Lash’s cock, then begins the slow descent. 

Pocket could watch it a thousand times and never get used to it, the way Shiv’s mouth falls open, the furrow between his brows as he takes inch after inch of that cock. They stare for longer than they probably should before they’re overtaken by the urge to kiss him. Their brain is slow to remember they can just do that.

Once it occurs to them, they scramble forward, mouth landing almost by accident on his. Lash grunts where Pocket’s kneed him in the ribs. Shiv’s balancing himself with one hand on Lash’s stomach, curling into the damp trail of hair there, and the other fumbles for Pocket, seizing eventually on their hair. It’s clumsy, sloppy, breath spilling between them. Shiv’s tooth scrapes Pocket’s lip and their blood thrums in their veins.

Even now, with their hands dirty and shaking with need for him, with their pulse pounding between their ears and their thighs, kissing Shiv feels like an end in itself, worthy of every ounce of their attention. Maybe the same can’t be said for him; his hips move and he grunts into Pocket’s mouth,  letting them go with one final bite to their lower lip. “We doin’ this or what?” he asks, with only the faintest tremor in his voice to betray how much he wants this.

Pocket makes a sound ⁠— laughing, sobbing, groaning, they’re unsure, but Lash echoes it, writhing beneath Shiv and trying so hard to thrust into him. It’s obvious from every trembling muscle in his body.

Pocket scrambles behind Shiv. It’s awkward, limbs tangling with limbs, but they make it eventually and get their balance. They smear more lube down the length of their cock, then they tip Shiv forward to get better access. Lash is still trying to move, several inches of length exposed outside of the tight stretch of Shiv’s cunt, so Pocket pinches him hard on the inside of his thigh.  There’s a muffled yelp from the head of the bed, followed by a laugh, then stillness.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” they ask. 

Shiv laughs, pants. “If you don’t fuck me now, you’re sleepin’ on the couch.”

That’s more than sufficient. Pocket grabs him by one hip, and with the other hand they line their cock up at his asshole. They could hesitate again, but they’re not sure how serious Shiv’s threat really was, so they simply begin to push. 

Their breath catches in their throat. It’s a tight fit any time, but especially now. Shiv’s already split open and stretched around one cock. It feels like there’s not room for a second regardless of how it enters. 

But Shiv breathes through it and so does Pocket, careful as they can be. They can sense him getting impatient, but maybe this once he can take this at their speed, because it’s so, so overwhelming. They squeeze their eyes shut, but that makes it worse. The tight pressure around their already aching cock springs into greater focus, and so do the sounds and smells of two men waiting for them to act.

After what feels like a lifetime, the head pops in, and the rest goes more smoothly. They’re careful, moving with short, gentle rolls of their hips, but they manage to make progress. Shiv gasps, breaths keeping time with their movements, and their hand has drifted to his chest where his heart flutters like a bird in a cage.

He doesn’t stop their progress. He never asks for patience or gentleness or mercy. He just clutches the hand over his chest and moves with impatient, but small,  rolls of his hips. 

The spine of Pocket’s cock brushes Lash’s, and they suck in air through their teeth. It only gets worse from there. They can feel, through the thin wall separating them, the shape of Lash’s cock. The ridge of his crown brushes theirs, and a groan catches in their throat. Lash’s thighs tense beside them; he felt it too, surely.

They thought this was all for Shiv, and they were fine with that. But they didn’t realize it could be for them too, not to this extent ⁠— they’re fucking both Shiv and Lash, and they can’t stop thinking about it every time their cock moves against Lash’s.

Shiv is rocking back in tiny motions, but it’s not enough. His thighs are quaking; he’s close again, they can tell. They ease one hand under the back of his thigh, helping his hips to rock more, because they can hardly push their way in any farther at this angle. It says a lot about how far gone he is that Shiv lets them help at all.

“Oh my God,” he pants, and Lash groans his agreement. Pocket can’t stop the roll of their hips now, more confident, more forceful than before.

A metal hand grasps at them clumsily, clawing for purchase, encouraging them to fuck in a little harder, a little deeper every time. It’s still such a tight fit, nothing like it would be if Lash weren’t there, but the tradeoff is feeling Lash’s cock with every thrust, feeling him tremble along with every shudder of Shiv’s body around both of them, hearing him groan, watching his powerful muscles tighten and release, over and over, as he struggles to keep his composure.

They can feel how close Shiv is, can feel their own thighs and buttocks cramping with every thrust. Sweat drips from their hairline and down their temples. They trace another bead of sweat with their tongue, curving along the knob of Shiv’s spine to the nape of his neck.

He’s so close, but he’s plateauing, and they know what they have to do. It’s taboo most of the time, but they’re learning when they can get away with it. This is definitely one of those times. They claw a fist into Shiv’s hair, and they pull until his hips shove backward. The sound he makes is something wild, unfiltered, but he doesn’t stop them. Instead every sound he makes drives them on and on, until his spine is arched into an impossible C curve.

He seizes around them, grips tight and filthy all down the length of them as his body spasms. He’s panting out the sounds of his orgasm, shaking like a leaf in their arms, and they can’t last any longer, not like this. They fuck into that tight heat with their face shoved into his shoulder blades, then they’re spilling inside him. It feels like it comes all the way from their toes and lasts a hundred years.

It takes a few moments for the world to right itself again, but they’re careful easing out of Shiv. He pushes their hands away when they try to help him, and he pulls himself off of Lash only to roll onto his back on the bed, not quite touching. His hair is a bird’s nest now, and Pocket kind of wants to pet it back into shape.

They resist though, mostly because they’re distracted by the sight and sound of Lash straining against the ropes. His cock is gleaming wetly, but it’s still hard and brutally red by now. Pocket’s own tries to twitch in sympathy, but it’s too soon to do anything about it.

“He really didn’t come?” Pocket asks.

Shiv’s arm hides his eyes from the overhead light. “Of course he didn’t. I threatened to cut his balls off.”

“But he could now.”

“He could. You shouldn’t be too nice to him though.”

“Why?” Pocket asks. “Would you be jealous?”

“Sure. Real threatened.” Shiv smirks. “You do whatever you want.”

They stare at Lash for another moment, contemplating. He’s sort of awful, but he’s not that awful. Maybe he’s earned a little generosity, at least. 

Pocket crawls up his body, plucking the wadded underwear out of his mouth. The fabric is soaked through almost entirely with drool. 

Whatever indignities he’s suffered, Lash only laughs and stretches his jaw. Then his eyes rake over Pocket’s body again. “Just couldn’t resist the Lash, could you, babe? Now, why don’t you untie me, and I’ll show you what this cock can⁠—”

Pocket quickly shoves the shorts back in his mouth to the tune of Lash’s muffled protests and Shiv’s snickering. “It doesn’t stop, does it?” Pocket asks.

“Nope,” Shiv says, patting Lash on the chest in the same proprietary way they’ve seen him pat the hood of his car. “You get used to it. Kinda.” His arm lifts off his eyes so he can look at Pocket with that look they want so badly to believe is soft. “Come here.”

They’ll have mercy on Lash eventually, maybe once Shiv scares him into silence. Until then, Pocket is content to sink down into Shiv’s arms and kiss him for as long as they can.