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Just Your Average Tuesday Beer and Bondage

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Nate paused with his keys halfway to his front door, frowning. Two years as a civilian hadn't even begun to blunt his reconnaissance skills, despite Brad's mocking implications pretty much every time the topic came up, and right now he could tell that there was definitely someone inside his apartment. Of course, reconnaissance meant evaluating potential situations as well as identifying them, and more than a year's experience meant that Nate had a pretty good idea about what this particular situation would entail.

Sure enough, once he stepped inside the apartment he saw light spilling into the hallway from the cracks underneath the living room door. Nate certainly hadn't left that light on. Nor had he left the empty, greasy pizza box lying beside the door – that had been full and in his fridge, goddammit, ready to become two days' worth of cold pizza breakfasts. He opened the door to the living room, about to make some kind of pointed comment about Goldilocks coming into his house and eating all his fucking pizza, and froze. Brad was not alone.

Also, he was half-naked and panting with his cock down Ray Person's throat.

Nate's mind went blank for a moment in mingled shock and lust. He was distantly aware that he was gaping, probably really unattractively, but right now he didn't give a fuck. Neither did Brad or Ray; they looked as if they had other things on their minds. Like the fact that Ray was completely naked, with his hands bound tightly, wrists to elbows, behind his back.

It wasn't as if he didn't already know that Brad and Ray liked to have depraved, kinky gay sex – depraved, kinky gay sex with Nate, even – but normally he had ample warning that the sex was coming, rather than being suddenly blindsided by it in his apartment at nine o'clock on a Tuesday night. He hadn't even known either of them was in the state – hell, he hadn't known Brad was in the country. The shock didn't last more than a few seconds, though; Nate had absolutely no brain cells left to devote to anything but staring at the scene in front of him. It was not every day that people broke into Nate's apartment to provide him with ridiculously pornographic sex, after all. It would be a shame to put their effort to waste.

God, Nate couldn't even decide where to look first. They were angled so that from the doorway Nate could see Brad's cock, flushed red and slick with spit and sliding between Ray's stretched-wide lips; Ray sucked cock loud and messy, the same way he did pretty much everything, and Nate could hear the sounds he was making, moans and gasps and wet greedy noises that sounded quite frankly obscene.

Brad looked like something straight out of porn; his jeans were unbuttoned just enough to get his cock out and his shirt was hanging mostly open. Brad's eyes were closed; Nate could see him panting for breath, see a sheen of sweat on his chest and shoulders. They'd probably been at it for at least half an hour: Nate usually came home earlier than this on Tuesday nights, but tonight he'd stopped by to pick up some beer on his way home. Just imagining it was making him even harder; he had no idea how Brad had held on this long.

Ray's back was slick with sweat as well, tattoos dark against his pale skin, the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining against the rope. Brad hadn't gone easy on him; his hands were pulled back tight in a way that must have made his shoulders ache after only a few minutes. Not that Ray looked like he minded. He was hard too, dick red and pressed up tight against his belly, wetness gleaming at the tip. In that position there was no way Ray could touch himself or get any pressure against his cock, or even beg Brad to let him come; God, it must be driving him crazy.

Brad suddenly let out a gasping moan, and Nate looked up at him again, couldn't help himself. Brad was a fucking control freak who only ever let himself make any noise when he was right on the edge, and often not even then. Right now his face was twisted up with pleasure, and after a moment he moaned again, quiet and breathy and hitting Nate like a punch, deep and low. And then suddenly Brad opened his eyes, and they stared at each other, gazes locked, as Brad opened his mouth in a soundless gasp and came.

Nate had to drop his right hand and press down against his aching cock, hard, in order not to come himself. He told himself sternly that these trousers were expensive, and that there was no way he was going to be coming in his pants like a teenager when there were two ridiculously attractive men waiting right in front of him. It worked – barely.

He found himself reconsidering, though, when Brad closed his eyes again and slumped back against the wall in a slouching lean that looked absolutely obscene. Brad's softened cock hanging out of his jeans should have looked ridiculous; instead Nate was fighting the urge to go over there and drop to his knees himself.

Except that Ray was kind of in the way, resting on his knees in front of Brad. He was still gasping audibly for breath; after a moment he turned his head towards Nate, eyes dark with arousal.

"Liked that, sir? Fuck, of course you did, you're a filthy fucking Marine like the rest of us." He smiled, wicked and dirty, voice gone raspy and hoarse. "If you come over here I'll suck you too, Brad's used me pretty good but I could take one more."

Nate closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. Five months ago he and Brad had pushed Ray to his knees and made him suck them both, trading back and forth, until Ray's mouth was swollen and all three of them were moaning. Ray wasn't lying; not only could he take it, he'd fucking love it.

When he opened his eyes Brad was staring at him again, eyes hot.

"Jesus, sir. Get the fuck over here."

God, they still both called him sir. It was appalling – despite, or maybe because of, the fact that they both also followed it up with orders half the time – and one of these days, someone was going to end up calling Nate sir in public, or worse yet in front of some of the other Marines, and Nate was absolutely going to die.

Right now, though, Nate thought he would be able to let it go; five long strides and he had Brad up against the wall, kissing him hungrily, feeling all that long, lean muscle pressed against him. Nate liked to watch, there was no question about it, but nothing beat actually getting to have what he'd been watching for so long. Or, well, in this case what he'd been watching for all of two minutes, but the principle was the same.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Nate felt Brad smile against his mouth. "I just offered to let you stick your pansy-ass officer cock down my throat, and you turn me down for fucking kissing? That is really fucking gay, dude, I'm kind of embarrassed for you. And as for you, Brad – seriously, homes, I suck your fucking cock for like a million years and don't even get to get off myself, I let you tie me up and do all kinds of depraved shit to me, and you just leave me down on the floor to hump the fucking shagpile all alone? Seriously? What the fuck, Iceman, where's the fucking love."

Nate broke free of Brad's mouth and took a step back. "You'd better not be humping my shagpile, Ray, not unless you want to clean it up afterwards."

Ray scoffed. "Yeah, whatever, dude, I don't really give a fuck about your fucking carpeting situation. I'm not some kind of Aryan Nation obsessive-compulsive freak who gets off on that shit."

Brad made a disapproving noise; Nate really didn't want to know. "Play nice, Ray."

"Play nice? You're telling me to play nice, when I'm down here on my knees with fucking lockjaw and a hard-on your pasty overgrown ass is too fucking ungrateful to take care of for me? Yeah, Brad, I think I'm already playing pretty fucking nice."

Ray was trying to stand up, getting his feet underneath him despite his tied arms and erect cock, but halfway up he overbalanced and started to fall. Brad laughed a little and caught him easily, turning to shove Ray against the wall he'd just left and tangling his big hands into Ray's longer-than-regulation hair as he pulled him into a kiss. Nate watched them hungrily; they handled each other with the kind of easy intimacy that spoke of years of getting to know the other's body, words no longer necessary. Nate wasn't jealous, exactly; he sure as hell got off on watching Brad and Ray together. It just gave him a little twinge sometimes.

Brad had some kind of freaky sixth sense for it though; without breaking away from Ray's mouth, he reached out behind him with one hand, grabbing Nate's thigh and dragging him forward until Nate was pressed up tight against Brad's back. Nate mouthed obligingly at Brad's shoulder, grinding his cock against Brad's ass almost unconsciously, then frowned. The objective was to not come in his pants, this was not really helping. Also, it didn't seem exactly fair.

"Brad, enlighten me. Why, exactly, are you in the middle? Again?"

Ray snorted in agreement. "Fucking Iceman superpowers, how the hell does he always do that?"

Brad looked over his shoulder at Nate, frowning. "Because if I wasn't in the middle, you two would be grinding up against each other and coming quicker than a fifteen-year-old virgin getting dry-humped by a prom queen?"

Ray moaned despairingly. "Exactly! Fuck, I am dying here."

Nate bit his lip, amused. "Actually… Brad has a point. I am still wearing all my clothes, coming right now would be an embarrassment to the Corps. I would never be able to show my face in front of Bravo again."

"So fucking get naked and fuck me already! Or, shit, untie me so I can take care of myself, I don't fucking care as long as I get off in the next ten seconds."

"Good things come to those who wait, Ray," Brad drawled, turning to face Nate and drawing him into another achingly slow kiss. His hands slid down Nate's chest, huge and hot even through the layers of shirt and jacket, and started tugging at the buttons.

"Yeah, says the guy who got to blow his load already. This better be the best fucking orgasm ever, I want to come so hard I can't even remember your name."

Despite his bitching, Ray seemed happy to wait, leaning back against the wall and watching intently as Brad used some kind of freakish Recon skills to remove every layer of clothing on Nate's upper body. Nate himself was stuck on Brad's jeans, which were still barely clinging on to Brad's hips; Brad wasn't wearing underwear, and once Nate had got his hands inside onto the smooth hot skin of Brad's ass, it was almost impossible to move them. Brad had his mouth on the side of Nate's neck now, working hard on a hickey, and between that and the feel of Brad shuddering against him as Nate dragged his fingertips down the crease of Brad's ass, Nate would have been perfectly happy to stay like that forever.

That was not going to happen with Ray Person in the room, of course.

"Fucking Christ, I wasn't fucking kidding about the making out, that shit is so gay it's ridiculous. Shit, it's worse than watching fucking Rudy out on the town in his Daisy Dukes, I –"

Ray paused suddenly, and Nate turned to look at him, confused. Brad and Ray were staring at each other, hungry, obviously communicating something; then Ray dropped his eyes to Brad's hands and shivered visibly, hips jerking up.

Nate looked down. Brad had paused with Nate's trousers still half undone, Nate's belt resting in his hands. For a long moment, Nate didn't understand the significance, lost in a fog of arousal and the feel of Brad's skin under his hands. And then it clicked, exactly what Brad and Ray were planning on doing with his belt, and it was Nate's turn to moan and jerk forward, completely undone by the images now playing in technicolour on the inside of his head.

Brad turned to look at him. "You ever done this, sir?" he asked softly, voice gone thick and rough with arousal.

Nate closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head. "I am assured that you would have no hesitation in showing me."

Brad's grin was absolutely filthy. "Roger that." His eyes moved for a moment, assessing the room, then returned to staring fixedly at Nate. "Ray. Back of the couch."

Nate heard Ray swallow hard, heard his muttered, "Fuck yes, finally," but he couldn't take his eyes off Brad's.

And then Brad moved, laying the belt into Nate's hands and leaning forward to brush Nate's lips in a brief soft kiss before he followed Ray over to the couch. Nate's head was still full of filthy pornographic images and it was almost too much, Nate had to grip the belt in his hands and just breathe for a moment.

Just for a moment, though. The feeling of being pushed right to his limits was hardly a new one for Nate, he'd had years of it in the Marines and for that matter years of it with Brad and Ray as well. There was nothing to do but breathe and push through it, act with perfect confidence no matter what he was really feeling, as if he'd never even imagined acting any other way. And then there'd be that rush of adrenaline and achievement and, okay, maybe Nate was a bit of a junkie for being pushed to his limits. Maybe.

Across the room Brad had Ray leaning against the back of the couch, running his hand possessively over Ray's back and thighs while Ray shifted and moaned underneath him. Nate found himself beside them almost without realising it, reaching out with his free hand to trace the same lines over Ray's body. Seeing Ray like this – head lowered submissively, hands tied and legs spread, begging for it with every inch of his body, and god, actually quiet for once – it was as shocking and as scorchingly, mind-blowingly hot as it had been the very first time. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about it while he was alone – probably too much time thinking about it, considering that he had to jerk off every time he did – but he still wasn't able to articulate all the appeal, Ray's own obvious desire or the contrast from Ray's normal mouthy bitchy self or the way Ray trusted Nate, that he could let Nate see him like this, that he knew Nate would give him what he needed. One thing was for sure: Nate fucking liked it too.

Of course, the belt was new, but Nate felt confident he understood the basic principles; it couldn't be that different from using his hand. He stood for a moment, watching, as Ray shifted his hips impatiently and Brad stared hungrily at them both, and then he moved.

The first stroke made Ray jerk forward and cry out, helpless and hungry. A red mark appeared almost instantly, running at an angle down to the top of his right thigh, and Nate could only watch as Brad leaned forward to trace it, curious and assessing, with one long finger.

"Not bad for a first time, sir. But he likes it harder than that."

Nate swallowed hard. Fucking Christ, Brad. Instead of glaring or moaning or jerking off or anything that he really wanted to do, he just raised his eyebrows.

"You backseat-drove all the way across Iraq too, didn't you?"

Ray snorted with sudden laughter that was lost in another moan as Nate gave him another stroke. Another. Another, and another, watching Ray tremble and arch back into every strike, hearing the slap of the belt and the desperate noises Ray was making in response. Brad was staring at them, hand wrapped around his cock already, but Nate couldn't look. Watching Ray alone was proving almost enough to undo him, but he couldn't take his eyes away.

There were lines of welts running all over Ray' ass now, bright red against the pale, soft skin. Nate couldn't stand it any longer; if he didn't get to fuck Ray soon it felt like he might actually die. With a stifled curse he dropped the belt and dropped to his knees, running his hands up the back of Ray's thighs to grip his cheeks and part them. Nate could feel the welts, burning hot against his hands, driving him crazy, as he lowered his head and licked; Ray made an incoherent noise, past the point of words, and it was Nate's turn to shudder.

Except – except, jesus, Ray's hole was puffy and slick already, opening up without any resistance as Nate slid one finger inside; when he drew it back and slid in two instead they went in just as easily. He pulled his head back and looked up to where Brad was standing over them both, so close now he was almost touching, close enough that Nate could feel the heat of Brad's body against his skin. He felt himself shiver again.

"I fucked him before you came, Nate. Been thinking about what we were gonna do for days, I couldn't stand to wait, I had to take the edge off for both of us."

Nate wasn't – god, he couldn't even think about that, or he was going to come all over Ray's leg before he even got to get inside him. It was quite possible this whole evening had been an elaborate attempt on Brad and Ray's part to try and kill him. Admittedly, with ridiculously hot sex: maybe it wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

But if Nate could survive Iraq – not to mention the transition into postgraduate studies at Harvard, sometimes he found himself seriously thinking that he preferred the insurgents – he could sure as hell survive this. He twisted his fingers once more, feeling Ray shudder and clench around them, then pulled them out and stood up. Nate's left hand was still on Ray's ass, running over the welts there and squeezing a little just to feel him squirm. His right was going through Ray's pants, folded over the couch beside him; it was pretty much a given that Ray would have lube and a condom somewhere on his person, and a moment's search proved him right.

From there it was all automatic: stepping out of the pants still tangled around his ankles, rolling down the condom, slicking on lube that dripped and slid between his fingers. When Nate lined up his cock to press inside, head nudging at the rim, Ray actually begged, voice gone ragged and rough-edged, and kept going even as Nate slid inside him. Ray was tight and hot around him, perfect, and Nate couldn't hold back his own moans. He'd been right on the edge for what seemed like forever, there was no way he was going to last for long, but that didn't matter; Ray was obviously just as close.

He'd almost forgotten about Brad, lost in the feel of Ray tight around him, but then Ray's moans were suddenly cut off. Nate opened his eyes to find Brad right beside them, kissing Ray hungrily, left hand buried in Ray's hair to turn his head while his right disappeared between Ray's legs. Nate could barely hear the soft wet noises their mouths made over his own panting breath, but the sound of it was just enough to make him lose the last of his control. Ray was shaking under him, muscles tensing and tightening all over as he started to come, and Nate couldn't do anything to hold himself back. He thrust harder, finding the perfect rhythm, the perfect angle, hands gripping tightly around Ray's hips to brace himself. Ray broke away from Brad's mouth just long enough to cry out as he came in Brad's hand, and that was all it took; a second later Nate was coming too, sensation so intense it felt like he was going to black out.

After a moment, Nate slumped against Ray's back, eyes closed. He hadn't passed out, he was just… resting. Temporarily. He lost track of time for a few seconds, so relaxed he felt limp and boneless, barely managing to get enough energy to pull off the condom and throw it weakly towards a corner. Then a few moments later Brad nudged him aside, pushing him to lean against the couch instead of Ray's back. He blinked, still dazed and stupid from coming, then realised that Brad was undoing the cords still tied around Ray's wrists. Ray had looked just as out of it as Nate felt, but a moment later, as Brad pulled him free, he moaned a little and opened his eyes, which was about the time Nate decided that the floor was a more appealing option than trying to stay upright any longer.

Nate slid down the back of the couch, ending up on his back with his head pillowed on someone's trousers; a few moments later Ray collapsed onto his chest. He closed his eyes. In theory, there was a perfectly adequate bed waiting in the next room and thus no need to resort to the floor, but in practise… well. Experience had shown that three fully-grown Marines in one regular-sized double bed did not make a happy combination. At first, they'd all pass out happily enough, but there was Brad's stealth midnight snuggling to contend with: suddenly awakening to two hundred pounds of sweaty Marine crushing him into the mattress was not really an experience Nate enjoyed, no matter how pleasant it could be to have Brad on top of him in other contexts. Then there was temperature: every time, Ray would wake up at some point during the night, overheated and cranky from being pressed so tight against two other men, and fling all the covers onto the floor. And then Nate would get cold and move closer to Ray to try and warm up, and Ray would shove him back, and Brad would get grumpy and try to push him the other way again, and then things would just disintegrate into a disgruntled semi-conscious shoving match that would only end when, inevitably, someone gave up and stormed off to sleep on the couch. It still beat sleeping in a hole in the desert, but then so did sleeping on the carpet, and at least they never ran out of space on Nate's living-room floor.

Except that his happy post-orgasmic peace only lasted about five minutes before – of course – Ray opened his mouth and started talking.

"No, Colbert. I'm not going to move, not even for your magical fucking Iceman cock. I know that thing's enormous, but even if it shot out fucking sparkles and rainbows and premium quality crack, there's no goddamn way I'd be moving an inch. I am fucking done, homes."

Nate opened one eye. Brad was standing over them both, glaring down at Ray, his cock – whoops – still hard and red. Nate shifted uncomfortably.

"Goddamn it, Ray, you don't seem to have a problem moving your mouth." Brad sounded both grumpy and turned on.

Nate snorted. "I don't think Ray would have a problem moving his mouth if he was dead – hey!" Ray looked up at Nate from where he had just bitten Nate's nipple, who the fuck did that? – and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm lying right here, don't talk about me like that. In fact, shit, I'm lying right on top of you, only some poor dumb fuck who's been through officer school could actually manage to miss me."

"Believe me, Ray, not even an officer could fail to notice you."

There was an impatient noise from above. "Are you two done? Are either of you actually going to do anything to help me out, or will I have to take care of myself?"

Ray actually lifted his head an inch or so to give Brad a shit-eating grin. "Good things come to those who wait, Colbert – yeah, that's right, not so funny when you're the one with the stiffy no-one's taking care of, is it? At least your hands aren't tied behind your back, you sadistic fucker."

Brad scoffed. "Don't even pretend you didn't enjoy it. We all know what a twisted, dirty little fuck you are."

Nate shook his head a little, grinning. "Not that I'm not enjoying the banter, Brad, but if you ever feel like actually doing something about that problem of yours instead of just bitching – well, I probably wouldn't have to move."

Brad looked down speculatively at where he was sprawled out on his back, and smirked. "Roger that, sir."

He dropped into a crouch beside Nate, sliding one finger over Nate's mouth and pressing down on his lower lip. Nate closed his eyes and sucked a little, drawing his tongue across Brad's fingertip, and grinned to himself when he heard Brad's sudden indrawn breath.

"You actually going to get around to fucking my face, or are you all just talk?"

Ray started laughing, low and warm. "And he calls me twisted and dirty, Christ."

Nate raised his eyebrows. "There is a reason I'm sleeping with you both, yes."

Brad laughed himself, smile wide and open. And then Brad was lifting up to straddle Nate's head, long muscles in his thighs hot against his face, cock nudging at his lips. Nate didn't bother to tease, just took him straight in, feeling the smooth salty skin against his tongue, the weight of it in his mouth. Usually he was hard himself when he did this, distracted by his own urgent need to come, but this time he could focus entirely on the sensation, warm muscle and soft skin pressed against him on all sides, the faint taste of Brad getting stronger as his cock swelled in Nate's mouth. Brad was breathing slow and regular, too regular; he was obviously forcing himself to stay in control. Nate smiled.

He couldn't see anything, surrounded entirely by the scent and taste and sound of Brad all around him; it was so fucking good, he loved this, it was enough to start him getting hard again. Nate settled into a steady rhythm, easy and familiar; Brad's wasn't the first cock he'd ever sucked, but it was the first he'd ever had more than once, the first time he'd been with another man that hadn't been clumsy fumblings fuelled by beer or frustration or adrenaline or all three. He'd learned to make Brad come like this, sprawled out between Brad's legs with Brad's hands in his hair and Ray stretched out against his back, pressed tight and fever-hot against him. Ray had leant down to whisper filth in his ear, instructions and commands and soft crooned praise while his hands moved to jerk Nate off: the slowest, cruellest orgasm, delayed for all three of them for what seemed like hours until Nate had felt blind with lust and entirely lost, world narrowed down to the cock in his mouth and the voice in his ear. Sense-memory made him shiver, nipples tightening, and despite himself he moaned.

He felt Brad's fingers stroking over his cheek, fingertips brushing against his lips, the corners of his mouth where it was stretched around Brad's cock. Nate moaned again, low and hungry this time, and then a moment later heard an echo as Brad made a soft desperate noise himself. Brad was starting to thrust a little now, getting close, driving himself into the back of Nate's throat as spit and precome slid down his chin. Nate swallowed around his cock, reaching up with one hand to caress Brad's thighs, his balls, the soft skin behind them. He pressed his finger against Brad's hole, barely even breaching him, but that was enough; suddenly Brad was swearing and thrusting harder into his mouth, cock gone huge and pulsing as he came down Nate's throat.

After a moment, Brad lifted off him, slumping down onto Ray's other side and sighing heavy and satisfied. Ray's head was still pillowed on Nate's chest, but now his eyes were open, fixed on Nate; he'd obviously been watching. Ray licked his lips, and then he was moving up Nate's body, straddling him and leaning over to kiss him hungrily.

"Fuck, you taste like his cock. That's so fucking hot." Nate moaned into Ray's mouth, reaching up to wrap his arm around Ray's back and pull him closer.

"Thought you were too fucked-out to move, Ray." Brad's tone was low and relaxed; he sounded more curious than pissed.

"That was like two minutes ago – and seriously, homes, so much for the motherfucking Iceman, you have the stamina of a fucking twelve-year-old, it's – " Nate pulled Ray's mouth against his again, kissing him quiet. Then he felt a hand sliding up his chest, pinching a nipple, making him shudder and gasp for breath. A big hand, bigger than Ray's: Brad's hand.

Brad stroked across his belly, running his nails across the skin there and making Nate gasp again, and then slid his hand lower, between Nate's legs.

"You want to come again, Nate?" he said, whispering, breath hot against Nate's ear. Nate shuddered, feeling his legs slide apart for Brad almost automatically. His hand wrapped around Nate's cock, and Nate trembled all over, pulling away from Ray's mouth for a moment just to breath. It was still almost too soon, too much sensation, but at the same time it felt so good.

Brad's thumb slid over the head, pressing against the slit, and Nate heard himself make another desperate noise. He squirmed, not sure whether he wanted to push into Brad's hand or get away from it, but with Ray on top of him and pinning him down he couldn't do either, couldn't move at all. He moaned, and then Ray was kissing him again; Nate could only lie under him and take it, mouth slack as Ray tangled their tongues and licked at his teeth. He felt himself getting harder, starting to try to push into Brad's hand in earnest. Then Ray was pulling away, his face inches above Nate's as he smiled down at him.

"Yeah, that's right, Nate, give it up for him. Damn, you look so fucking beautiful when you're taking it, those big green eyes looking up at me like you're still all innocent and pure and shit, when your pretty pink mouth is wet with his come."

Nate made a helpless noise, trying to arch up as Brad jerked him off hard and fast, but Ray was still holding him down, one hand braced against Nate's chest as the other found a nipple and twisted. Nate shuddered all over. Brad's hand was wrapped around him with the perfect tightness, moving at the perfect speed; it was ridiculous, that Nate was about to come again so soon.

"Look at you, jesus, you're so close. I love hearing you moan like that, like it feels so good you can't even believe this is really happening to you. Only thing better than Brad's hand is his cock, isn't it? You fucking loved it before, getting to swallow him down, almost choking on it; that pretty mouth was made for cock. God, I want to see him come on your face next time, see it all over you; no need to pretend, Nate, I know you fucking want it too. It feels so good when he does it, knowing he's marked you like that, knowing he fucking owns you – "

Nate cried out as he came, spilling into Brad's hand; Ray leaned down to kiss him through it, and then Brad was pushing Ray aside to kiss Nate himself as Nate shuddered and tried to gasp for breath.

They eventually relented, letting him drop back against the carpet. Nate's eyes were closed again; he felt totally limp, about a minute away from unconsciousness.

"Christ, Ray," Brad said, after a long pause. "What the fuck was that, are you auditioning to record fucking dialogue for cheap pornos now your day job has panned out, or what?"

Ray snorted. "First of all, fuck you, Colbert; I am doing very nicely working in that Cali gym making sure that all those fucking Hollywood wannabes don't end up looking like they might have an ounce of fat on them for their audition tapes, thank you very much. And secondly – yeah fucking right, homes, don't even pretend you didn't like it. If you weren't a greedy little shit who's already come three times tonight you'd be all over Nate again like a fucking West Coast gym junkie on a wheatgrass smoothie, don't even try to pretend to me."

"I am not sucking any more cocks tonight," Nate said firmly, eyes still closed. "I think you fucking broke me."

Brad snorted. "You're both fucking pussies."

Nate opened one eye to look at him. "You want to suck your own cock, go right ahead. Otherwise you can fucking wait til we all wake up around oh two hundred, like a civilised person."

"You calling Brad civilised, homes? Shit, I don't think he's even been properly housebroken yet. Not to mention his sorry excuse for a music collection would make a grown man weep."

"Watch it, Person, unless you don't actually want to get fucked tomorrow. I know that would break your runty little whiskey tango heart, so be careful."

Nate grinned. Ray was still mostly on top of him, using him as his own personal pillow, and Brad had his arm flung out heavily across them both; he was sore and fucked out and had come drying stickily on his belly, not to mention a hickey rising up on his neck, and he hadn't done any study at all for tomorrow's pop quiz – not that the lack of study would matter if he didn't make it to the next morning's classes, as was seeming increasingly likely. He hadn't eaten, he hadn't called his mom like he'd planned, and if past experience was anything to go by he'd most likely spend the next three or four days doing nothing but fucking in his apartment, until he was bruised and aching and a significant proportion of his furniture had been stained or broken or otherwise sullied. Not only did he not have a girlfriend – a situation that was apparently causing pretty much every middle-aged female relative and acquaintance he had some kind of deep existential angst – but the only people he'd slept with in the past two years were both male, lived on the other side of the country and had once been under Nate's command.

There wasn't anywhere else he would rather be.