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Rhys lounges in the Children of Helios' command centre, tired and sore and he's never going through glowing Vault archways with Fiona ever again.

He slips further down in the chair, taking another bite out of the sweet violet fruit Vaughn's been feeding him in the last hour.

No, wait, he's never going anywhere with Fiona again.

“You feeling okay, bro?” Vaughn's sitting next to him, chin propped up on one hand.

Is he feeling okay? Rhys scratches his stomach, gazing outside where barely a day ago they took out a Vault monster. He makes a non-committal sound, tucks his shirt up to touch his naked stomach, scratching over it again. That feels very nice. Only now does he notice that his body is tingling, his skin weirdly sensitive to the touch.

Vaughn's face — still a bit odd with all that facial hair — enters his vision. “Rhys? You okay?”

Rhys dips one finger into his belly button, humming quietly. Maybe he should go to his assigned rooms here, have a really extended and self indulgent wank, now that there won't be any running commentary accompanying it anymore. Rhys really doesn't miss having Handsome Jack stuck in his head, nope, not even a bit.

Vaughn touches his knee, and a pleasant shudder crawls down Rhys' back at the contact, a soft sound falling from his lips, and Vaughn smiles sheepishly. “Listen—“

“Is he ready? The others are getting restless about starting,” Yvette says, suddenly right next to them, and Rhys startles as if in slow motion.

He blinks first at her, then at Vaughn, who's looking even more sheepish now.

Vaughn touches both of his knees, making Rhys' eyes fall half shut. “Here's the thing. Do you remember that exclusive gathering at Hyperion you managed to sneak into a few years ago?”

The way Vaughn talks now... Rhys enjoys seeing his friend so confident, so comfortable in his own skin. He puts one of his hands on top of Vaughn's, patting it and nodding absently.

Vaughn turns his palms up, tugs slightly until Rhys' unfocused eyes fall on his face once more. “The party that ended up basically being a huge orgy? The one you told me in great detail about later?”

A slow smile spreads over Rhys' lips. “Boy,” he drawls wistfully, “do I ever remember.” That's some very nice wanking off material right there, and his boxers are beginning to feel more than a little tight.

“What do you think about having an orgy with the Children of Helios?” Vaughn asks, and they both make a face.

Yvette presses herself against the back of Rhys' chair, her hair soft against the side of his face. “What he means is, would you like to spend some quality time with your loyal and adoring followers?”

That sounds... way better. Rhys squirms in the chair, body thrumming with arousal now.

Since this entire Vault Key business started, he barely had any time to wank off, much less for actual sex. Being able to let his guard down, and not having to worry about getting stabbed on the back sounds really nice. He nods again, voice breathy. “Yeah, okay.”

His friends' hands urge him up in the next second, and he stands on slightly wobbly legs while Vaughn takes the fruit out of his right hand. Rhys had already forgotten that he was still holding on to it. Huh.

Vaughn drapes Rhys' arm over his shoulders, moving them forwards slowly.

“I'm going to tell everyone that's we're on!” Yvette gives them a thumbs up before taking off ahead of them, leaving Rhys staring at her nice legs until they're out of sight.

Vaughn hums quietly, and Rhys leans against him heavily, his balance off, almost as if he's drunk—
He snorts, ending in a high-pitched giggle. “Did you drug me?”

Vaughn laughs, abrupt and awkward. “What? No, never!” He stares resolutely away from Rhys, a truly terrible liar, and at least that hasn't changed about him.

Rhys snorts, presses his check against the top of Vaughn's hair. “You totally did, bro.” He sniffs theatrically. “Only a few months on Pandora, and here you are, drugging your best friend so he joins an orgy.”

“The fruit usually only helps you relax, but I forgot what a lightweight you are.” Vaughn pats his side, voice turning serious. “This is really important, okay? We killed the Vault monster, and that was very good for morale, but most of them are still shaken, and being able to touch their saviour...” He falls silent once they leave what's left of the space station.

Outside, night has already fallen, and there's a weird buzzing in the air.

Voices, Rhys realises once he spots the fires burning in the distance. He presses a kiss to the top of Vaughn's head. “It's okay, I'm not mad. What's an orgy between friends, right?”

Vaughn huffs. “I'm glad to hear that, because it's more of a.. bonding experience? I'm sure you don't mind, but we're usually doing this underneath your statue, and of course your eyes are going to be covered, so your followers won't be too nervous about touching you, and oh, we're going to bind your arms, but only loosely, more symbolic than anything else, you know?”

Rhys nods along absently, eyes on the crowd already gathered before Jack's statue— “Wait a second.” He digs his shoes into the ground until Vaughn stops walking, looking nervous. Rhys... doesn't actually object to any of this, but still... He frowns at Vaughn. “Is this where you tell me that you're actually all cannibals now, and that I'm going to be eaten after you've all fucked me tender, to become a part of you in a weird cult sacrifice thing?”

Vaughn stares at him for a long moment, looking askance. “Dude. What the hell, that's disturbing!” He urges Rhys back into moving again, shakes his head. “I think Handsome Jack was in your brain for too long. Can’t be good for you, so much exposure to that psychopath.”

“Yeah,” Rhys agrees quietly, not thinking about his old ECHOeye, tugged far away into a corner of his desk. He's already got a lot of practice in not thinking about that proverbial ghost in the machine.

They reach the edge of the mass of people, who part for the two of them without any audible signal, which... creepy.

Rhys stares at his feet, and even with his body humming like it is, he can't deny begin nervous.

At least the crowd doesn't fall silent, still filling the air with a constant buzz of murmurs and snippets of conversations.

There's a... bed, a sofa, a something below the statue, which is now towering above them on a hill.

Yvette greets them with a shake of her head. “I was wondering if you would let us wait until the booze runs out.” The upper buttons of her vest are open already, revealing the top of her bra.

Rhys chances a glance at the people around them, finding mostly flushed and excited looking faces.

Vaughn leaves his side with a quiet, “Go on, let's get this party started.”

He closes his eyes, shrugs out of his jacket, and.... stops. His skin is prickling, even with the continued rumble of conversations, it's still almost painfully obvious that everyone's looking at him. Rhys turns around quickly, almost falling on to his ass. He opens one eye, ends up looking at one massive foot of the headless Jack statue.

Wow, that's even worse than facing the crowd behind him. “Vaughn!” he hisses quietly.

“What is it?” comes the prompt reply from right next to him, and he jumps, almost falling again but Vaughn's hands steady him.

“Can you, I don't know, tell them to turn around or something?” His face feels hot. No, wait, his entire body feels hot, but he can't undress in front of all these people.

Vaughn stares at him disbelievingly. “They're waiting for you to undress so that they can undress as well!”

Rhys presses his hands against his front protectively. “Yeah, well, I can't undress like this!”

Something slaps against his ass, and he turns to Yvette who's holding— Rhys swallows thickly. A dark blindfold.

“Those people want to throw an orgy for you,” she tells him sternly, “Honestly Rhys. You're the worst saviour ever.”

He bends his neck for her automatically, without thinking about it, and she pulls the blindfold over his eyes, tying the ends at the back of his head. “Trust me, I'm way better at being CEO.”

She laughs, pats his cheek. “I beg to differ. Remember, I was there of the entire half an hour of it.”

Yvette's must be standing in front of him now, because somebody is undoing the buttons of his vest while Vaughn is helping him get rid of his shoes and socks.

Rhys frowns. “I'll have you know that Atlas is doing awesome, thank you very much.” She helps him out of his jacket, and then there's another pair of hands at his sides, tucking his shirt out of his pants. “Hyperion doesn't count,” he says surly, because it totally doesn't, not with Jack still pulling all the strings.

“Oh, yeah?” Vaughn says from behind him, and Rhys nods and raises his arms, holds his answer until his friends have tugged his shirt over his head.

“Absolutely. I doubt Jack even had the authority to name me president, being an AI and all.” His hips buck forward on their own when clever fingers begin to open his zipper, and Yvette huffs quietly, clearly amused.

“Easy there, tiger. We're almost done.”

And then two pairs of hands slide into his boxers, slowly pushing them and his pants down his legs. He whimpers, shivers at the contact, and at all that cool air on his naked, sweaty skin. “What were we talking about again?”

Vaughn presses a kiss onto his shoulder blades, his beard tickling Rhys, making him giggle. “You were just telling us that you're a great CEO.” He pushes Rhys gently forward, and Rhys goes easily, nodding in agreement.

Yvette helps him sit down on the soft surface, helps him scoot backwards until he's kneeling on it, Yvette behind him. Her hands trail from his shoulders down to his hands before she takes both of his wrists, binding them with soft fabric behind his back. He tests the hold it has on him, but like Vaughn said, it's loose enough that he'd have no problem freeing himself, if he wanted to.

She presses herself against him, soft and warm naked skin against the length of his back. Rhys doesn't know when she undressed herself, but then he realises that he's shaking, his cock hard and aching. He whimpers, and a large hand pats the inside of his thighs.

“You're doing great, bro,” Vaughn tells him, accompanied by the sound of more rustling clothes.

Rhys leans his head against Yvette's shoulder, suddenly becoming aware of the shush that has fallen over the crowd, his followers. “If anyone bites me,” he says very quietly to where he thinks Vaughn's undressing himself, “I'm out of here, just so you know.”

Yvette laughs quietly, a gentle puff of air against his ear. “What?”

Vaughn snorts. “Rhys thinks we're cannibals now, and that this is all a deadly ploy to eat him.”

Okay, fine. In retrospect, that sounds a bit ridiculous. But Rhys has seen some shit, and by now he just can't help assuming that the worst case scenario will inevitably end up hitting him full force in the face.

Fingernails suddenly dance over his chest, one drawing circles around his right nipple, and Rhys moans, embarrassingly loud.

“Can I touch him, I mean his legs, please?” asks a hushed female voice, and somebody must give her the go ahead, because only seconds later careful fingers graze over his left knee, a barely there touch that vanishes quickly again, the woman departing with a joyful cheer.

Rhys loses himself all too quickly after that.

A hand on his left arm, another one on his shoulder, his neck, until he's panting, leaning desperately into every contact, no matter how soft it is. Not knowing where the next touch will land or who is touching him makes it all the more awful and tantalising at once.

His friends switch places after some time, and Rhys only realises that after he already feels Vaughn's beard against the back of his neck, Vaughn's heavy breathing ghosting over his sweaty skin.

Strong hands pull his legs out form underneath his ass, spread them open, and Rhys' thighs flex with the need to close them again, to hide. One palm feels particularly large, making him think of Jack, and what would be the harm in pretending one of these people touching Rhys is him, however impossible—

A fingernail trails over the bottom of his right foot, and Rhys giggles, forgets what he was thinking about, trying to squirm away from the tickling finger.

It goes on like this for hours, days, years, tentative touches that leave Rhys wanting more, more pressure, more everything. He's begging now, quiet pleas falling out of his open mouth.

Rhys is also sure by now that this is all a devious plan to kill him after all or to drive him insane, and it's working.

Somebody sucks one of his big toes into their wet mouth in the next instant, and Rhys screams, body arching while he paints his stomach with his own precome.

A murmur travels through the crowd, and the atmosphere changes, almost as if a switch was flipped.

Two more hot mouths descent upon the toes of his other foot, and he surges up or tries to, but hands — so many hands — keep him still, hold him down while another mouth sucks a hickey into the skin above his left nipple.

Rhys wants to reach out, to touch in kind, but cruel fingers circle around his wrists, and Vaughn presses his mouth against the shell of Rhys' ear, whispers soothingly into it.

“You're doing so great, Rhys, just let us take care of you now.”

And Rhys wants to wail, because that's easy enough for Vaughn to say, he isn't the star in this all-you-can-eat-buffet, and then one mouth leaves his toes, only for another to bite into his calf.

Calloused fingers press into the soft skin at the inside of his left thigh, high up enough to make him squirm and whimper.

“I see now how it is. You don't use your robo-hand or your real one. You make other people take care of your business.”

The rough fingers wander up further, so close to his leaking cock, and Rhys is trembling, because he wants to lean into the touch, so so badly—

“Honestly, I can respect that,” August says in a low growl, digging one finger into Rhys' thigh with enough force there will surely be a bruise later.

Rhys bites his lip, unable to come up with a clever reply to that while the mouth on his calf is still busily sucking hickeys into his skin, and Rhys is pretty sure there was something about biting, but he has already lost that train of thought when nails drag over the skin between his aching balls, hard enough so that he can feel their sharpness, and Rhys is crying now, so close he can almost taste the relief.

Heavy steps, something mechanical to it, and then somebody pats him on the head, a move eerily similar to—

“It is good that you are finally unwinding, friend. Too much stress is not good for the human body.”

Rhys' blood is boiling him alive, and he can't even imagine how flushed he must look right now when LB — oh god, LB — leaves again, and Rhys can only hope that Gortys isn't watching this right now or that she'll want to come over to pat him as well, because then he might quite possible die from embarrassment.

Another pair of fingers is bold enough to explore the scar tissue at his right shoulder, and Rhys trembles even harder, ends up whimpering when a hot tongue begins tracing over the rough skin.

“Can I touch his...?” The male voice trails off, and Vaughn presses a kiss to Rhys' right temple, asks quietly, “Does your port hurt or is it okay to touch it?”

Rhys bites his bottom lip, because he hasn't done anything with his port, hasn't even properly repaired it, not after— after Jack. The hands and mouths on him still, and Rhys swallows, suddenly aware of the loud noises of sex around them, the dozens of eyes fixated on him, waiting for his answer.

He inhales deeply, shakily. The port is still a part of him, isn't it? It's his, and the sooner he stops being stupid about it the better. Rhys nods, turns his head into Vaughn's throat, offering access to his port.

An appreciative murmur, echoed by several throats, and the hands and mouths on him go right back to driving him insane, as if there had been no pause at all.

Breath ghosts over the skin around his port, closely followed by a finger, and Rhys whines, his hips bucking helplessly into empty air. He had forgotten how sensitive it was, even if it's merely a prop right now, and if somebody doesn't touch his cock soon he's going to... to... do something terrible, like sob at the unfairness of it all.

Displaced air next to him, and then a quiet voice says, “We will meet again / And I will show you the world / You will enjoy it.” Gloved fingers trail down his chest, lingering on his heaving stomach.

They're gone in the next second, and it either really was Zer0 or just a really dedicated asshole who wants to make fun of the teeny tiny crush Rhys has on the Vault Hunter.

If it's latter, Rhys doesn't even want to know the truth.

Somebody moans loudly somewhere to his right, followed closely by the unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin, and okay, that's it. Everybody is getting fucked here except for him?

He twists, struggling in earnest now, and there are small noises of confusion when his followers let go of him. Vaughn releases his wrists instantly, allows him to free himself of the rope binding his hands together, and Rhys turns around on all fours, slaps a hand accusingly in the general direction of where he thinks Vaughn's chest should be.

His palm meets naked skin with a satisfying slap. “What good is this orgy if the saviour doesn't get off?” he growls, poking Vaughn's ridiculous abs viciously, “Who do I have to blow to finally get fucked here?”

His questions are met with laughter and giggles, and then the people around them wander off, but not without trailing parting caresses over Rhys' back and legs, a hard slap on his ass, and Rhys is so aroused, so hard, the blindfold across his eyes is wet with his tears.

“Dude, stop that,” Vaughn traps Rhys' hand against his chest, sounding fondly amused. “Okay, so, this is a bit...” He laughs awkwardly, and Rhys frowns darkly into the blackness over his eyes.

If he isn't allowed to come for some stupid arbitrary 'bonding' reason, then...

Vaughn exhales loudly, words almost falling over themselves. “Okay, see, because I brought you back here and even though you were in no real danger, they still think that I saved you, their saviour, and that's why they think I should get the honours to...” A sound of despair. “Please don't make me say it out loud, bro.”

Rhys tilts his head to the side, a slow smile spreading over his lips. He turns back around again eagerly, his chest pressed into the soft surface, his ass in the air.

Hesitant hands land on his hips. “Rhys, we haven't seen each other in months, we've both been through a lot, and not even been able to have a proper talk since—”

Rhys raises himself up onto his elbows, says thoughtfully, “I can ask somebody else if you're not up to it.”

Vaughn slaps his ass, sounding exasperated. “You haven't changed at all, you're still terrible.”

Opening his mouth for the great retort already on his tongue, he moans instead when Vaughn pushes two slicked fingers into him, and Rhys can't help but wonder how long Vaughn was already holding on to the lube, unsure if Rhys still wanted him, which... Has Vaughn looked into a mirror lately?

The very idea of Rhys not wanting him anymore is, quite frankly, entirely ridiculous.

The sounds of the orgy around them are getting louder, which is good, because the noises Vaughn's fingers pull out of him would have him blushing even more hotly otherwise. He whines, pushes his ass up into the intrusion. “Vaughn, come on, don't make me send you a written invitation.”

Vaughn huffs and pulls out his fingers, his heavy cock bumping against Rhys' opening. “Do you already have Atlas business cards?”

Rhys laughs throatily, chokes on the moan tearing out of him when Vaughn begins pushing into him. “Dude,” he gasps as he comes without being touched, “you already know the answer to that.” He falls bonelessly into the wet patch he just made, completely spent.

Breathless laughter and then Vaughn groans, bottoming out and moulding himself against Rhys' back.

His chin is resting on Rhys' shoulder, and Rhys can't help but giggle at the feeling of it on his skin. The endorphins rushing through his body probably don't help.

Vaughn pokes his side with a finger. “Dude. Rude.”

Rhys can't stop giggling quietly, his mind blissfully empty. “How many skags did you have to kill until you had enough fur for that thing you call a beard?”

“Oh my god.” Vaughn draws back slightly, until only the tip of his cock is still inside, and Rhys moans in complaint, wanting it back inside.

He's stretched open again in one quick thrust, and he groans, his voice cracking.

“Rhys, skags don't have any fur.” Vaughn chuckles, rubbing his beard all over Rhys' shoulder and throat until he's squirming underneath Vaughn, pushing weakly at Vaughn's ass with one hand.

“Fine, fine, I'm sorry, Mr. Pandora, I'll try not to misattribute your favourite pets again.”

Vaughn digs his chin into the back of Rhys' neck, and Rhys gasps, his cock twitching, trapped between the soft surface he's lying on and his stomach.

“How can you not know that? You've been on Pandora for a while now as well.” Vaughn strokes slowly down Rhys' sides, not moving apart from that, and...

Rhys shivers, sighs silently. “Kept to myself for a while, stuff to do, you know?” He won't tell Vaughn that he had no contact with anything breathing for months, that he chose the company of robots instead. He won't tell Vaughn that his ECHOeye and port are nothing but a props right now. At least not yet.

He wriggles slightly, grinning when that makes Vaughn groan. “You sure you wanna have that talk now?”

A warm huff against his neck. “I just— I need to know that you're okay.” Vaughn inhales shakily. “Rhys, I thought you were dead.”

Rhys swallows thickly and he reaches back with his left hand, grabbing one of Vaughn's and lacing their fingers together. He turns his head, throwing a smile over his shoulder and hoping Vaughn will see it. “Trust me,” he says quietly, tightening his hold on Vaughn's hand, “I haven't felt better in a very long time.”

And at least that is the full truth.

“Oh, thank god.” Vaughn's other hands sneaks underneath Rhys' body, curls around Rhys soft cock. “We don't have to, you know, you've already come and I can just—“

Rhys laughs disbelievingly. “If you're not fucking me in the next second, I'm going to take it personally, bro.”

“I forgot how pushy you are.” There's a smile hiding in Vaughn's voice, and then he draws Rhys' hips up with a casual display of strength that Rhys can't deny is really doing it for him.

He fucks Rhys then, slow and almost lazily, and Rhys curls his metal fingers into a fist, letting himself be taken apart while he listens with one ear to Vaughn's heavy breathing, to the orgy going on in full force around them with the other one.

Even if it's been months, Vaughn still knows him, his body, knows how to make him see stars. Metaphorically speaking, because he's still blindfolded, but like this he feels everything even more clearer, the stretch of Vaughn's cock inside of him, the bruises Vaughn's fingers are pressing into his hip.

Rhys concentrates on breathing, in and out, in the rhythm Vaughn is setting for them.

Somebody moves in front of him, and another hand settles on their joined ones. “I know it doesn't mean much, but I really am sorry, Rhys.”

Wait, what— who? He recognises her smell before his hazy brain recognises her voice, but it sounds like she's already moving away again, and that's won't do at all. Rhys reaches out, manages to graze a part of her with his metal fingers. “Yvette, wait.”

Vaughn slows his thrusts even further, but he doesn't stop, and that doesn't help Rhys formulate actual sentences at all. “Join us?”

He's known both of them for long enough to be able to feel his friends share a meaningful look over his head.

“You heard the saviour,” Vaughn says cheerfully, and then he lets go of Rhys' hand, fitting his palms around Rhys' thighs and drawing the both of them backwards, so sudden and forceful Rhys can't help but squeak.

But Yvette doesn't make use of the space they just vacated for her. “I— I don't know.”

And Rhys hates this, her hesitance, and he almost wishes he had never tried to steal Vasquez' Vault Key deal, that nothing had ever changed.

“Please?” He parts his lips slightly, wishing he could see her face and use the full force of his puppy eyes on her.

Vaughn hits his prostate then, and Rhys whimpers, babbles, “I really need something to hang on to while the terrifying pandoran bandit leader is ravishing me.”

An indignant noise, and then Vaughn slaps his ass while Yvette snorts. “I'm not letting you grab my tits, even if you did let me use the escape pod.” Despite her words, she finally sits down as well, her legs touching Rhys' shoulders.

Rhys pouts. “But you have a great pair of breasts and I have missed them terribly.”

Fingers dig into his hair, forcing his head up ruthlessly. “You know,” Yvette says conversationally, “I think next time, we're gagging you as well.”

Vaughn makes a considerate noise in the back of his throat, holding himself deep inside of Rhys for a long moment while Rhys shudders at the very idea of it, of being completely helpless and at everyone's mercy.

His cock twitches, and a soft, traitorous sound falls from his lips.

“You know, I think he's already a fan of that plan.” Yvette presses her mouth hard against his, before tugging his head against her bare chest, and as if on cue, Vaughn picks up the pace again.

Even if Rhys was kidding about having to hold on to something before, he actually has to grip Yvette's thighs once Vaughn is fucking him in earnest, and he gratefully rests his temple against her collarbone.

She's stroking over his hair, ruffling it helplessly while he whimpers into her skin, licking idly at her left breast. Yvette purrs, and he's pretty sure she moves her other arm down between them, pleasuring herself while Vaughn pushes himself even harder into Rhys' pliant body. And Rhys would really love to help her with that, but Vaughn seems intent on fucking any traces of higher brain functions right out of him.

“Where did you get the idea for your haircut, Rhys?” Yvette asks suddenly, voice husky. “Is there a fashion magazine for evil CEOs?”

Rhys laughs quietly, bites playfully at her breast. “I'd tell you, but then I'd have to silence you.”

A hissed curse, and then Vaughn bites at Rhys' neck, stilling and spending himself inside of Rhys, and Yvette's fingers stroke gently over Rhys' half hard cock.

“I'd love to see you try, especially once we've trussed you up tighter than a Hyperion prototype on shipping day,” Yvette says darkly, fingernails scratching over Rhys' scalp.

Vaughn snorts against Rhys' skin, ends up falling victim to a full belly laugh, making Rhys shake with the force of it.

And for the first time in a long while, Rhys thinks that he might really be okay after all.

Fiona crosses her arms in front of her chest, making a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “I can't believe Rhys let himself be talked into this.” She can't see all that much from this distance, but she's pretty sure she can spot Rhys' stupid hair even from here. “No, wait, I forgot who we're talking about here. Of course he'd jump at the idea of an orgy celebrated in his name.”

“I don't know,” Sasha says thoughtfully. “It looks like they're all having fun.”

Frowning, Fiona follows her gaze to the edges of the honest-to-god orgy going on before them. She blinks, tilts her head. “Is that—“

Sasha laughs quietly. “Yep, I'm pretty sure that's Athena and Janey celebrating a very early honeymoon.”

Now that Fiona's eyes have spotted Athena's naked and scarred back, she's having some difficulties looking away again.

A sharp elbow jabs into her side, and Sasha is grinning widely now. “What about it, Fi. I've always wondered how far down Rhys' chest tattoo—”

“Sasha, no!” Fiona grabs her sister's hand, urging her away from the depraved Hyperion people. “I'm not letting you mingle with these... these... confused idiots who obviously have no taste, seeing as they are worshipping Rhys, of all people.”

Sasha follows her only reluctantly, digging her feet into the ground. “I don't want to 'mingle' with them, I want some toe-curling—“

“I'm not hearing this!” Fiona nearly screeches, and viciously curses the very day they started planning the Vault Key con.