Droog's sorting through his suits when Slick's shrill voice breaks the calm silence of the room. "Get the fuck in here assholes!"
He glances at his door, quickly deliberating if it's worth going out or not. Slick sounds like he's in a bitchy mood. Ignoring Slick will only mean another lecture on top of whatever rant they're about to be subjected to right now. Droog would rather not waste twice as much time on something pointless. He sets the suits aside and heads out into the main area.
Deuce is already there, though Boxcars isn't anywhere to be seen. Slick's standing by the table, holding onto something in his hands. Droog glances at it, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want?"
"We've got a fucking heist to go over so you idiots don't fuck it up like you did last time," Slick seems to have selectively misremembered that he's the one who fucked it up last time, not the rest. But Slick has always been good at forgetting this stuff. Droog would call him out on it, but then Slick would throw a fit and that would easily triple his time out here, putting up with their ever annoying leader.
Boxcars finally comes out of his room and Slick makes his move, unrolling the plans on the table. They're bank plans with crude drawings on them. Droog's unimpressed and Boxcars clearly feels the same way. "Aw come on boss, we already know what we're doin'."
"You say that, but when the shit hits the fans, you fuckers won't know anything and I'll be stuck looking after your asses. Well not this time! This time we're being fucking prepared!" Slick slams a fist on the plans while Droog just leans against the wall. He could really use a smoke, but there's yet another of Slick's charming freak-out buttons.
Just as he's resigning himself to whatever patronizing lecture Slick's come up with, he feels a hand touching his ass. Droog quickly turns around, drawing his pool stick and preparing to bludgeon the culprit until they are nothing more than a wet red pulp on the ground. But there's no one behind him or below him, or within arm's reach. Droog and Slick are by the table and Boxcars wanders over towards them, leaving nobody near him.
Just as he's about to dismiss it as something odd, the touch comes again. He can feel fingers rubbing up against his ass, but when he reaches behind himself and touches that area, there's nothing there. Droog can still feel it though, still feel that hand on him.
His first thought is Fin or Trace. Both of those assholes have a nasty habit of breaking into the Midnight Crew's hideout and making their presence know, usually by tripping them, or through biting. But this is new, and not their usual sort of shit. They aren't about to feel up Droog's ass and do nothing else. If it was either of those idiots, they would have punched or bitten him by now. But nobody's hurt him at all. That's almost the most disturbing bit. Someone's messing with his body, someone who can't be friendly, but they aren't even trying to hurt him.
Their real plan becomes evident as the hand slides off his ass and moves around to the front, wrapping around his cock. Droog goes stiff in more ways than one. His hands twitch, wanting nothing so badly as to bring down a pool cue on the head of whoever's doing this, but with the sudden move into sexual territory, he's all too aware that hurting them simply isn't an option.
There's only one person who could be doing this: Stitch. The son of a bitch must have gotten his hands on one of Droog's hats. Wouldn't be impossible. Itchy's always playing musical hats when they go up against the Felt, would have been real easy for him to take one of Droog's spares. It's all too easy to imagine it sitting on one of those effigies in Stitch's boutique, the tailor's scarred hand stroking over a plush crotch. He can do whatever he'd like to Droog from the safety of the mansion, and there's not a damn thing Droog can do about it. The thought isn't exactly a pleasant one, though the sensation of being touched certainly is.
He grabs onto the wall as the hand curves around his cock and starts stroking it. Droog's not really being touched, he knows this, but it doesn't mean his body doesn't feel it. Stitch's grip is tight, but not too tight, and steady in just that perfect way. He's stroking Droog slowly, taking his sweet time. Of course, Stitch can afford to. Droog's not about to stop him or demand he accommodate Droog's desires. The mansion is too far away to reach before Stitch finishes messing with Droog.
"Droog!" Slick yells at him, snapping Droog out of his thoughts. "Get your head out of your ass and pay attention to the plans!"
"We've done this job a dozen times, we don't need to go over it again," He grits out, hoping that his pants aren't making it obvious how hard Droog's getting from these ghost-touches. The last thing he wants now is to go over them while he's being molested by the Felt's tailor.
"I don't trust you fucking numbskulls to know anything. Get over here and pay attention," Slick unrolls the plans on the table and Droog reluctantly approaches, his hands settling on the table's edge. At least the table's taller than crotch-height so they won't all be staring at the now obvious erection he's sporting. "Here's how we're doing it-"
Droog tunes out the plan, his eyes fixed on the plans, but not actually looking at them. Rather, he stares through them, his mind fixed on the way Stitch's thumb strokes over the head of his cock, and his fingers rub down the side of the shaft. He's stroking a little faster now, enough to drive Droog a little insane. But this is workable, this is something he can get through, even if it's going to be embarrassing.
This is, of course, the moment when he feels Stitch's other hand cup Droog's ass. His eyes go a little wide. That son of a bitch. His eyes glance at the others. Slick's too caught up ranting about his plans. Deuce looks wide-eyed and confused, as usual, and Boxcars is barely paying attention. The hand is still on his cock, stroking it steadily while a finger presses against his entrance. Shit, this is not good. If he tries to leave, it'll make things worse. Slick will notice and throw a fit, and he'll have to put up with these three being assholes, all while he's being fucked.
A finger pushes in and Droog clutches the table, fingers digging into the wood. It thrusts into him experimentally, and Droog wonders if Stitch can feel the way Droog's clenching around him. He's never really had a chance to touch those effigies, always busy being fired on by the rest of the Felt. Maybe Stitch is touching inanimate cotton, or maybe he can feel every motion.
"-through this entrance, don't you fuckers forget there's an alarm here. Droog, you disable it, me and Boxcars will yank the fucking door off the shipping bay-" Slick needs to shut the fuck up and soon. Droog's not sure he can take being fucked in front of them. He becomes even less sure when the second finger pushes in and begins to scissor, stretching Droog out. It feels wet, even through Droog knows there's no lube being used on his end. Is Stitch using it? How the fuck is that even working? He doesn't know, but there's a part of him that's begrudgingly grateful because he wouldn't be able to keep any composure if they were doing this dry.
Stitch lets go of Droog's cock and he feels a hand on his back, pushing him forward. He only goes so far, leaning over the table. Droog must look like he's studying the plans and committing them to memory. The only thing he's committing to memory is the way Stitch's fingers are sliding in and out of him. And then, they disappear too, leaving Droog bent over and spread out.
"Yeah boss, I fucking got it," Boxcars sounds bored. Droog keeps his face ever so still and placid as he feels the head of Stitch's cock press against his entrance. He pushes in ever so fucking slowly, making Droog take him inch by fucking inch. Stitch slides his cock as deep as it goes into Droog, and then he just leaves it there, forcing Droog to stay bent over and clenching around it. He wants to hold tight to the table and fuck himself back onto the cock, but he's pretty sure that won't do a damn thing, and the Crew's still standing here.
Droog has to hold on tight as Stitch pulls back and thrusts in, clenching his teeth to keep from making a sound. Stitch may have taken his time pushing in, but he's not taking it anymore. He thrusts hard and fast, and it's all Droog can do to keep quiet and still. It's like Stitch knows Droog's being watched, that every thrust is going to be like torture as he fights to keep his composure. The cock slams into Droog at a speed that is both uncomfortable and arousing, and Droog's cock throbs helplessly, wanting badly to be touched by anyone or anything.
His eyes fix on the Crew. Droog's overwhelmed with the urge to do something stupid, to force Slick onto his knees, to yank Deuce off his stool, to shove Boxcars on the floor, and to just shove his cock into their mouths. Deuce would suck him off without question, those big eyes staring up at him. Slick would fight but that would just make it better, and he could fuck his mouth in time with Stitch's fucks. And Boxcars would try to talk, but enough thrusts and he'd go along with it too, and swallow it down without complaint either. They don't even look at him, still listening to Slick's overly complicated plan that's going to inevitably fall apart the moment they do anything.
Stitch's fingers are digging into Droog's hips, holding them steady as Stitch fucks him. His effigy must be half-bent over a table too, Stitch's cock pumping in and out of it's plush ass. Droog's subjected to all the phantom cock's movements, breathing irregularly through his nose to stay calm. One of his hands leaves Droog's hips, but instead of wrapping around his cock, that bastard tries to force Droog all the way down. Only his locked arms keep Droog from falling face-first in the middle of the plans, fucked for all to see.
"-you fucking idiots can manage it," Slick finally stops his rambling. Deuce gets off his stool, heading to his room, and Boxcars does the same. Slick goes to roll up the plans but Droog shakes his head. "What's your fucking problem?"
"Just want to study them a little more," Droog's voice is barely level, wavering ever so slightly with every thrust in. "So we don't fuck up."
Slick narrows his eyes distrustfully. Droog keeps his face placid, though it's slowly killing him. He's sweating, his shirt and jacket starting to get soaked where it touches his joints. For a moment, it seems like Slick's about to make this worse for both of them. "Fine. But you bring them to me when you're done. And don't spill fucking nothing on them!"
"Sure thing boss," Droog spits out, and Slick's eyes narrow so hard that they nearly close. But it's enough for him. He turns his back on Droog and heads to his own room. Only when the doors all slam shut does Droog stop fighting back, his arms folding and his body hitting the table. His face presses up against the plans as Stitch pounds into him and he shoves a hand under the table, wrapping it around his aching cock and stroking himself through his pants. Droog's mouth falls open but he makes no sound, just breathing raggedly as he's fucked in the ass.
Ghost-fingers wrap around his throat, lifting Droog's head off the table. He can feel Stitch's weight on his back, his mouth moving against Droog's ear as he says something Droog can't possibly hear. A threat or a promise maybe. His fingers slip into Droog's mouth and Droog haphazardly sucks on them, pushing his ass back out against the thrusting. It's fucking embarrassing how much he wants this and how stupid he must look, fully-clothed but begging for it like a whore.
Another hand settles on Droog's cock and he's caught off-guard by how fucking good it feels to have two fists stroking him. It's all too much for Droog to take, especially while Stitch is still buried inside of him. All it takes are a few strokes and a few more thrusts, and he slams his forehead against the table as he comes, choking back gasps and moans. He drools around the fingers in his mouth, and Stitch fucks him through his orgasm, those rough thrusts making Droog nearly lose it.
The hands slip away from Droog after a moment, leaving him lying over Slick's plans. They grab tight onto his hips and continue fucking him. It doesn't last much longer. Even as Droog begins to get a hold of himself, raising his head, he feels Stitch slam in deep and go still, and then he feels the white-hot heat of Stitch coming inside of him. His hands ball into fists, feeling dirty and debauched, even though there's nothing inside of him, not really.
Stitch withdraws his cock after a moment, leaving Droog empty. He pants softly, trying to catch his breath. Fingers brush up against Droog's mouth, promising something far different in the future if Droog doesn't get his hat back, and then those hands finally leave him.
Droog straightens up, holding onto the table to stay upright. His legs shake as he steps around the table. There's a big drool spot on the plans, and his pants are damp and ruined from coming straight into them. Through the haze of orgasm, he sneers with annoyance. They're going to need to be soaked straight away to keep anything from staining. He staggers to his room, leaving the plans behind. Slick can yell at him later if he wants, Droog doesn't give a fuck. He has more important things to attend to.
Though, it may be worth making sure one of Slick's hats end up in Stitch's hands.