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The second the curtain hits the floor, he knows tonight is going to be a damned good ritual.
The kids in the pit are screaming through their smiles, eyes ignited with excitement. The ones at the front hang their arms over the barricade like they could claw their way closer to the stage, and a few wave signs proclaiming their love while they scream the names they’ve chosen for the ghouls.
He is old—ancient by this world’s timeline. His true name is unintelligible to these humans’ ears and unpronounceable by their tongues, but the most dedicated ones call him Rain. He can be that for them.
Rain catches the flash of a black guitar running past him and twists to see Phantom’s retreating back, all long legs and confident strides like he wants to greet the whole crowd at once. It never takes long before he’s wired on the energy the crowd throws back at them.
Dewdrop saunters Rain’s way, holding his eyes through their masks, before turning to the crowd and throwing his arms up to rile them. The screams wash over them like an unstoppable wave and Rain lets himself be pulled under. The energy is contagious, and he finds himself leaning over the edge of the stage as if drawn into the crowd in return.
He wanders up to the front of the stage-right platform and props a boot up on a monitor. His fingers find the right chords and he thrums into the starting notes of the next song, and then the next, while the humans below him scream as though each new song is the best thing they’ve ever heard. He stares them down through his mask and watches them flush with pleasure, blows their offered kisses right back to them, bends over his bass and plays hard at them. In return, they sing their Papa’s words loud like hymns.
It’s fun being worshipped like this. Being on stage feels good.
Rain feels it everywhere, as if his vessel lights up with it: the drums that pound echoing beats through his chest, and Papa’s voice through his in-ears, clear as freshwater, urging an occasional shiver down Rain’s spine. The familiar dull ache of thick strings under his fingers and the rumbling vibrations of his bass against his hips, spreading distractingly lower when he paces out to the edge of center stage with Dew and Phantom and strums hard in time with them.
Night by night, that stays the same. But some things do change—have changed. Rain misses Cardi. Touring without him feels wrong.
Dew and Mountain have been through a transition of Papal power once before. They’ve never talked about it much, even after all these years, but Dew had assured the pack in clipped tones at the beginning of this tour that the strangeness will pass. Rain believes him more and more with each nightly ritual but it sometimes still catches Rain by surprise to look across the stage and see someone else singing long-familiar lyrics. His fingers find chords they’d know even in sleep, yet the music feels different somehow—fresher, maybe. And in that vein, Rain can’t imagine Cardi singing the new songs. They belong to Perpetua, perfect only in his voice.
Still, Rain likes the things that haven’t changed.
The fans still scream for this new Papa the same as they did for Cardi. Rain will still hook his chin over Dew’s shoulder and Dew will still tip his head back, turning to briefly press the brim of his hat to Rain’s temple before pushing away and striding off. Dew seems to forget about the clunky boot he now wears, because he still saunters across the stage and stomps and kicks at the floor like it was all built just for him.
Cirrus still swats at Rain’s ass after she rocks her solo and skips back to her platform, and Aurora still fills stage-left with more excited energy than one tiny vessel should be able to hold. Mountain, steady as ever, still holds them all together like glue.
Phantom still hurls himself to the floor and drapes himself over amps, head tilting dangerously. He is still a true showman, still thriving under attention, but there’s a quiet self-assurance in the way he owns his part of the stage. He’s not asking for the crowd’s adoration, this tour—he’s earned it. It is freely given.
Rain likes the way the humans in the pit scream for Phantom, especially for the way it only riles him up. Over the music, they can’t hear what Rain can: Phantom yelling their proclamations back to them, singing along and laughing under his mask. Rain suspects that at the core of it, Phantom is just relieved to no longer be the newest summon.
Every night, he’s eager to hit the stage like he knows it’s where he belongs. His presence is amplified now in the way he stomps on Dew’s pedals for him, perfectly adjusting the sound as Dew slides into a solo, and when Phantom nails his own solos with precision and perfection that only comes from endless hours of focused practice.
As if all that practice hadn’t been enough, Phantom had studied Dew’s playing from the corner of his eye during every band practice for months, foolishly convinced that his gaze was subtle by the way Dew pretended he didn’t notice. Dew never said a word about it, but Rain’s observant eyes watched him stand a little taller under the attention. He’d roll his shoulders back and add extra flourish to his melodies as if his eyes weren’t flicking to Phantom’s hands on his own guitar, too.
Rain remembers the first time Dew crooked a finger at Phantom at the end of practice before walking out the door, knowing Phantom would trail him all the way to Dew’s room like an unleashed puppy, following simply because it never occurred to him not to.
When they finally emerged hours later, Phantom’s hair was sticking up in the back. There were finger-shaped burn marks around his wrists and a smudge of dried blood around a bite mark under his jaw. His bright eyes and wide grin hadn’t dimmed for the rest of the day, buoyed by this final show of approval and the way Dew stuck close to him with calm satisfaction.
It all translates to the stage every night. Phantom’s confidence explodes across arenas, contagious in ways that have Rain gravitating in his direction.
Now, Rain steps up close behind him, pleased with how easily Phantom leans back toward his chest without even looking away from the crowd. The silk of Rain’s veil pools against Phantom’s shoulder as he leans in to watch Phantom’s fingers on the neck of his guitar. Rain holds so still against him that when the guitar line ends, Phantom has to shake a tremble out of his fingers.
Rain laughs, brushes a covered kiss to Phantom’s shoulder, and pretends he doesn’t feel Phantom's eyes following him when he wanders off.
Phantom is easy. Easy to work up, easy to play with. Easy to be around and easy to laugh with. Rain was wary of him when he was summoned—they all were—but change is never disorienting for long before it softly settles into normal.
The heavy, noticeable absence behind them on stage-right makes the rest of the stage feel lopsided, but the new ghouls are quickly gaining their feet alongside the leader that summoned them. This new Papa is still learning, still unsure at times, but he was chosen well. He feels natural up here with them. The ghouls serve him not only because of his title, but by nature of what they are and what they are summoned topside for. He has their obedience, but he does not have their respect the way Cardi does. Not yet.
He will find his footing and step into his power. Ghouls know these things. Rain can feel it somewhere behind his ribcage like a quiet pressure glacially expanding, prickling at the blood and viscera of his chest like it’s biding time until it can break free. It aches like an unconscious knowing, an inexplicable understanding that he is orbiting a worthy leader.
Someday very soon, Perpetua will put his foot down. Rain is looking forward to it.
Above all, if one thing has stayed the same through this transition of power, it’s that Dew is Papa’s favorite. Perpetua wraps himself around Dew’s legs like an oversized cat, nuzzling his thigh while Dew eases through a solo. Stoic and unbothered as ever, like he’s not half-hard from the vibrations of his guitar against his dick, same as Rain and Phantom, and from his Papa’s cheek on his thigh. Perpetua stands and pats Dew’s shoulder as Dew strikes the last note and hurls his pick at the front row like he wants to draw blood with the force of it.
Dew doesn’t watch Perpetua wander off adoringly like he would have for Cardi, but his eyes follow Perpetua’s retreating back like he wouldn’t have minded a few more seconds of his Papa kneeling before him, anyway.
+
There’s an undercurrent to tonight’s ritual that Rain can’t explain, but he knows that the tingling feeling lighting up his every nerve means tonight is special.
During the very best rituals, something sparkles fierce and bright across the stage, out over the crowd and up to the rafters. Rain feels plugged into the entire arena, fed by moments like stomping hard on a beat in sync with Phantom, or when Papa spins around Rain, his smile strangely, pleasantly, real as Rain spins the opposite way like a choreographed dance.
It finally strikes and takes hold between one song and the next, when Rain glances over at Dew at the same time Dew looks at him. In the briefest moment, something unnameable clicks into place like an invisible tether between them. It’s familiar and still somehow a shock, this snap-lock moment that can’t be forced, that can only happen.
This very type of moment is one of Rain’s favorite parts of being topside. It only ever happens a few times per tour, without warning or explanation. When whatever this synchronicity is locks into place, it spreads through him in a sudden wave of heat. It’s a hitched breath, a skipped heartbeat, both of them in the wide-eyed, breathless moment before a freefall—before it snaps taut between them. They become limbs of one beast, one beating bloody heart laid bare and raw on stage. Like recognizing like, as if to say, we are of the same.
They hold like that for a second, Dew’s eyes flashing in challenge, meeting the intense charge in Rain’s.
When Rain angles himself toward the other side of the stage, Dew sways toward him without thinking as if tugged along. He catches himself and twists away, marching toward his stage-left platform. Rain shakes his head as if to shake off the urge to follow, then turns to the crowd and strums into the long-familiar chords of the next song.
Rain feels electrified. He wouldn’t trade it for a thing, not when all Dew has to do is tilt his head as he later meets Rain's eyes, heading his way and slotting in next to him just in time to tear through a solo while that everbright bond sparks like flint between them.
He wonders if this mystical something will catch any of his other packmates tonight. Sometimes it’s only two of them, sometimes more.
On one memorable occasion, every packmate on stage connected into something so overwhelmingly scalding that Rain had been worried about making it off stage, much less back to the bus, in time before it became too much. Rain had been sore for three days afterward. They’d had to have the upholstery replaced on both bus couches and claw marks buffed out of the walls. Dew had to be carried to his bunk after Mountain was through with him, and the bruises from Aurora’s bitemarks hadn’t faded from the back of Phantom’s neck for a week.
Rain wonders what tonight will be like, and gets his answer only two songs later.
He glances across the stage just in time to see Phantom and Dew stop in front of each other, guitar to guitar, hands right next to each other as their fingers fly over strings. While Rain and an entire arena watch, they each bend backward for a few drawn-out moments, coaxing complementing harmonies from their guitars against each other. When they ease back up, Phantom’s eyes are locked on Dew like nothing else exists.
There it is, Rain thinks in satisfaction, like a snake lifting its head in interest. He would recognize that look from across the entire world, much less across the stage.
They both stand frozen for a moment. Then, half-lidded already behind his mask, Phantom watches as Dew shifts around him, nudging gently at Phantom’s shoulder as he goes without a look back. It takes Phantom a couple blinks to come back to himself; when he does, his eyes immediately find Rain’s like he’d known Rain was watching the whole time. Rain feels that bright pull zing through his chest again, and he takes a step toward Phantom before he realizes he’s done it.
Phantom nods, so Rain nods back.
+
It becomes clear that this synchronicity belongs only to them tonight halfway through the show, when all three of them find themselves bolting to the edge of center stage together, unplanned and new as they shred through a heavy riff. The humans below them scream with excitement but Rain can’t hear it over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, echoed by the beat of Dew’s and Phantom’s on either side of him like they’re hammering within his chest, too.
When the song ends and the lights drop, Rain hears Phantom mumble, “fucking hell,” into the darkness. There’s a calm air about Dew, but he claps a hand to Rain’s lower back and squeezes as they all fall back from the front of the stage. Rain gets a hand on Phantom’s shoulder, needing to feel them both.
“How about that?” Perpetua says into his mic, sounding mildly surprised by the impromptu moment between three of his ghouls. A spotlight falls on him on the other end of the stage, and Rain feels a strange weight lift as so many eyes turn their focus on Perpetua now.
He sips messily at the water bottle he keeps stashed at the side of the dark stage, watching as Phantom does the same through his own balaclava. The arena feels far too hot. Rain can’t tell if it’s just from the heat of thousands of dancing bodies, or if it’s simply the three of them burning under one another’s skin.
+
The pyrotechnics a few songs later do nothing to ease the heat.
The back of Rain’s suit is damp with sweat but he can’t complain, because he knows this is one of Dew’s favorite parts of the entire ritual. He’s in his element here, the sharp, crazed excitement radiating off of him when he catches Rain’s eye around a jet burst of flame. He subtly rocks his hips against his guitar and Rain can’t tell if the flickering flames in his eyes are a reflection of the fire that shoots up on the stage or if Dew has dropped his glamour just enough to show Rain he’s not as unbothered as he’s been acting.
Rain has to look away from him, but shifting his focus to Phantom is a mistake, too. The flames reflect in the shine of his guitar like warped hellfire that sears his guitar with a flash of orange. He’s near-blinding to look at, all feverish energy, strumming so violently it looks like he’s trying to hurt his guitar. Phantom must feel Rain’s gaze on him, because he looks over with pupils so dilated his eyes look black from this distance.
Rain turns away from him, too. The crowd is the only safe place to look, so Rain turns toward the expanse of the arena and bends over his bass, strumming hard as they barrel toward the end of the song. He doesn’t have to look up to feel both Dew’s and Phantom’s eyes watching him as intently as he had them, and the weight of those looks is so heavy he thinks it could put him through the floor.
The song ends abruptly and the lights fall, but when Rain looks toward Dew, he can still see the flicker of flames in his eyes, tiny pinpricks of light across the dark of the stage.
Glamour up, you reckless fucker, Rain thinks, but he knows it doesn’t really matter. Anyone in the crowd who sees it will think it’s a trick of the stagelights, anyway, so Rain simply stares back at Dew until the flames die between one blink and the next.
Reckless, Rain thinks again, and swallows hard against the residual heat on his tongue.
+
At one point, a wave of particularly deafening screams catches Rain’s attention. When he looks over, Phantom is on the stage-left platform, his guitar held up over his head while he bends backward. He’s playing blind but hits every note anyway. When he shifts into a wide-legged stance, playing hard, Rain scans the crowd below Phantom and finds every eye glued to him as if hypnotized. Phantom has that effect and he knows it. Rain knows that it’s getting to him; he can tell that Phantom’s seeking friction against his guitar just by the way he begins prowling across the platform, staring the crowd down.
When Phantom turns from the platform, Rain makes for the walkway circling around the back of the stage to cross paths with him. When they’re hidden behind Mountain’s drums, Phantom takes a teasing jab at Rain’s chest as he skirts around him. Rain shoves him away and Phantom goes laughing, so Rain twists and throws his pick. It bounces off the back of Phantom’s retreating head, and Rain is still laughing to himself as he circles back out into the lights, smiling wide under his mask where no one can see.
+
The beauty of repeating moments from show to show is that Rain knows to expect it when Dew comes up behind him and noses against his neck. He knows Dew loves this part as much as he does. The hand trailing up over Rain’s chest is familiar and always welcome, but especially so tonight. Right on cue, Rain leans back against him. Dew’s hand on his chest drags up—Rain tilts his head back, baring his neck—but it stops to rest over his collarbone instead. It’s not close enough to where Rain really wants him, but it makes the crowd scream all the same.
Dew holds him still with a heavy hand while he presses his hips forward. Rain wishes he could feel him. There’s nothing but the solid curve of Dew’s guitar against his ass, but the idea of Dew half-hard behind it makes him exhale a hard breath.
Before Rain can do anything, Dew’s hand drops away. He tips his head briefly against Rain’s shoulder, and then he’s gone.
Rain turns to watch him go, confused and wanting, and thinks, is that how he thinks this is going to go?
+
Rain returns the favor later, sidling up next to Dew as he rips through a solo. He leans in close, tilting his head to try and catch Dew’s eyes, knowing that Dew has played this solo a million times and wouldn’t miss a note even if he looked away from the frets. Dew is unshakable in his focus, though, adding flourish to the lilting melody like Rain isn’t even there. It makes Rain want to break that unbothered attitude.
He goes off-script and shifts behind Dew, tipping his head against the back of Dew’s neck while Dew tugs on the whammy bar to close out the solo, slow and smooth. It’s crude and he knows it, so Rain boldly grabs his hip, rocking him forward and back in time with the warbling notes. Distantly, he hears Phantom’s fingers slip on a sharp off-note across the stage, but he doesn’t consider it a win until he hears the low, shaky breath Dew lets out for Rain’s ears only.
He smiles into the back of Dew’s neck and gives his hip one last squeeze before walking off, leaving Dew in the wake of the crowd’s earth-shattering screams.
+
Soon after that, Dew doesn’t bother with subtlety when he looks right at Phantom and mimes spitting into his hand and jerking off. As confetti falls around them, Rain sees the faint shape of a grin under Phantom’s mask as he turns to the crowd and throws his arms up like he's a conductor and all the cheers are a sweet symphony.
+
Come together, come together, come together, rings in Rain’s ears like mockery as he hands his bass off to his tech and follows Cirrus and Mountain down the stairs from the stage. Phantom is right behind him, so close that Rain can hear his heavy breaths. The second they’re in the dark of the under-stage, surrounded by cables and cords, Phantom shoves at Rain’s shoulder until Rain turns to face him. True to his element, energy expands from him with a sharp scent of ozone that stings pleasantly in Rain’s nose. Rain gets a hand around his wrist and tugs him closer just as Dew circles around from the other end of the stage, urgency in his gait. He doesn’t stop until he’s pressed close against Phantom’s back.
“The crew is right there,” Aurora says mildly as she joins them. She glances around at the people rushing past them just as Phantom pulls at the lapels of Rain’s jacket, impatient.
“Don’t even start,” Cirrus warns them, her sharp eyes watching Dew shove his face into the crook of Phantom’s neck. Dew snaps his teeth at her, loud under his mask, and Phantom shivers. Cirrus rolls her eyes. “Don’t. We’ll never get you back on stage. You can wait three more songs.”
Dew ignores her, pushing closer until Phantom’s pressed up against Rain, too, held tight between them. Rain slides a hand past Phantom’s waist to claw at Dew’s hip like he could drag them both closer.
Come together, the crowd chants, and Rain pushes his hips against Phantom’s.
“Like, they’re right there,” Aurora repeats, but there’s a teasing note in her voice that shows she doesn’t actually care who sees her packmates like this.
The song finally ends in an echo of organ notes and the crowd erupts into cheers, anticipation buzzing through the darkened arena.
Mountain gets a hand in the back of Dew’s jacket, pulling him off of Phantom like he’s nothing more than a scruffed kitten. Dew swipes at him but lets himself be pulled back. “Over to your side,” Mountain tells him. Dew sends a blazing look between Phantom and Rain, then marches off without a word.
Mountain’s hand finds Phantom’s jacket next, but Phantom steps back before Mountain can pull on him. “I’m going, I’m going,” he huffs, voice distant, his eyes on Dew’s retreating back.
Mountain turns on Rain next. Rain lifts both hands in innocence, swaying toward Cirrus when she tugs on the edge of his veil with a light laugh.
+
Three songs have never felt so long.
Dew struts across the stage during the first one, all slow swagger and effortless fingerwork through the breakdown. When he looks Rain’s way, Rain breaks a chord to flip him off, barely lifting his hand from the neck of his bass and crooking his middle finger, slow and lewd—a promise more than a tease. He knows Dew’s mouth curves into a challenging smile just from the way the fabric shifts under his mask.
Phantom sways to the danceable beat of the second song, his hips working in time with the bassline thrumming from Rain’s fingertips. Rain finds himself mesmerized by the hypnotic way he moves, hitting his chords harder just to watch the way Phantom rocks to it. Dew watches Phantom just as intently, eyes alight like he’s determining where to bite first.
By the third and final song, Rain’s head is buzzing with static. The crowd is a blur of writhing shapes and bright colors under the flashing lights. He plays through the song without truly listening, allowing muscle memory to drive each chord. He can’t think about anything other than the tension pulling him, Dew and Phantom around each other like an old rubber band, straining and ready to snap.
When the final chord is struck, Rain hands his bass off to his tech and forces himself to focus, to send genuine gratitude out to the sea of faces upturned at them. There are mixed expressions on those faces—elation from the show and heartbreak for its end, thousands of bright eyes raking over Papa and the ghouls like they can’t bear to know it’s over. He tries to be right here with them, because for them, it is over. For Rain and his Papa and packmates, tomorrow will bring another city and another crowd of devotees, another blissful few hours of doing what he loves on stage while fulfilling his topside purpose.
He takes a deep breath, basking in it all, and feels a gentle wave of peace settle over him.
Phantom bounces on his toes through the goodbyes and bows, but Dew is the first to stalk off stage with Phantom hot on his heels when it’s done, taking the charge of so much adoration with them. Rain feels it pull like a leash to them, but he hangs back to offer a few final waves and blown kisses to the kids in the pit before descending the stairs off the stage too.
He follows the hallways he knows his guitarists have taken, and before long, the roar of the crowd fades into a dull hum until it disappears completely. The strange abruptness of going from being in front of so many people, so much energy, the high of a great show—to the quiet bowels of the venue makes his ears ring, but he finally hears Dew’s stomping footsteps and Phantom’s light gait ahead.
He rounds the corner just in time to see Phantom snag the back of Dew’s jacket to stop him as Dew walks past the closed door to a lesser-used green room. It’s smaller than the one the pack had used before the ritual. Presumably it’s intended for opening acts, so it’s sure to be vacant.
Phantom ducks his head inside then enters when he finds it empty. Dew stalks after him and Rain follows, already relaxing his hold on his glamour. He doesn’t bother locking the door. They’ve got 30 minutes before bus call, maybe 45 if their tour manager is feeling generous, and their packmates have seen games like tonight’s often enough to know to leave them alone until absolutely necessary.
By the time Rain turns around, Phantom already has his hat and mask off. He drops them onto a chair before peeling his balaclava off and tossing it down too, his glamour also long dropped. Dew grabs him by the arm, harshly shoving him around and ignoring the way Phantom is already grinning down at him.
Rain stops a few feet away from them, watching as Dew pushes Phantom back against the wall. Dew’s posture is unbothered but the urgency in his hands betrays how worked up he really is. Rain feels a victorious calm wash over him at the sight.
He takes his time pulling the veil from his head and laying it on a nearby table, then unbuckles the heavy mask from the back of his head and sets it gently beside the silky fabric. The collar is next, then the balaclava, carefully pulled up over his face. Rain sighs in relief as his horns are freed from the skullcap, and he rubs soothing pressure at the base of them before dragging a hand through his sweaty hair.
A few feet away, Phantom swats the hat off of Dew’s head, then goes for Dew’s collar. He must take a millisecond too long because Dew slaps his hands away and yanks at it himself. Phantom laughs a little and reaches behind Dew’s head to unclasp his mask. Again, Dew pushes his arm out of the way, but Phantom continues unphased.
“Worry about yourself,” Dew snaps, but holds still so Phantom can pull his mask free anyway. He adds, “Papa will kill you if you damage it,” as Phantom tosses the mask to Rain, who lays it on the table next to his own.
Phantom doesn’t respond, just pushes the jacket off Dew’s shoulders as Dew finally rips his collar open. Phantom’s nimble fingers slip under the hem of Dew’s balaclava to yank it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor so he can get a hand into the hair piled at the crown of Dew’s head, damp with sweat and twisted around his horns.
“Fucking ow,” Dew says as Phantom’s claws rake across his scalp, untying the mess of hair so it falls in tangles down Dew’s back. Dew tries to jerk his head away but Phantom ignores his complaint, gripping tighter as he finally pulls Dew in.
Rain is content to watch them for a moment, eyeing the way Phantom shifts a thigh between Dew’s. He drags Dew in by the hip until Dew gasps into the kiss, grinding down and digging claws into Phantom’s waist. If he’s not careful, he’ll rip holes into the sides of Phantom’s suit. Papa wouldn’t be happy with him, but Rain doesn’t want to interrupt them with a warning.
Rain absentmindedly drags the zipper of his suit halfway down his chest just to get some breathing room. Without pulling his mouth from Dew’s, Phantom opens his eyes, half-lidded, to briefly meet Rain’s like an invitation. Rain finally moves toward them and Phantom breaks the kiss. His eyes flick up over Dew’s shoulder to meet Rain’s again and Dew stiffens as he hears Rain step in close, then grinds against Phantom’s thigh a little harder.
“How do you want us?” Phantom asks Rain, but Dew responds first.
“Neither of you better fuck up my costume,” he warns, dragging the zipper down the front of his suit until it falls open to his hips.
“What, you don’t feel like doing laundry?” Phantom teases.
“Bite me.”
Phantom hums, eyeing Dew’s bare chest under the flaps of his suit, then says cheerfully, “You look ridiculous.”
Dew finds the invisible pull at Phantom’s neck and yanks his zipper down in return. “You should see yourself,” he says as Phantom helpfully pulls his arms free of his own suit.
Dew pauses to glance over his shoulder like he’s checking where Rain is, then peels his suit down his arms too. It hangs around his waist for a moment before he drags it halfway down his thighs, his tail unfurling free. Rain tilts his head appreciatively at so much newly exposed skin, admiring the way Dew is steaming ever so slightly, his naturally fever-hot skin burning off his sweat. Dew hooks his thumbs under the band of Phantom’s compression shorts and unceremoniously tugs them down as he goes to his knees.
“Guess it’s like that, then,” Phantom says to Rain, shifting his stance wider as he leans back against the wall.
“That’s presumptuous,” Rain tells Dew, but he’s already pulling his suit down and sinking to kneel behind him.
Dew looks over his shoulder at him, hands still working the waist of Phantom’s suit down around his thighs. He turns forward again and gets a hand around Phantom’s cock. “It’s efficient.”
“What if I’m not interested?” Rain asks, curling his hand around Dew’s hip.
“You are,” Dew snaps, unamused.
“You haven’t asked nicely.”
“And I’m not going to. Hurry up.”
Rain snorts, shuffling in closer. He knees Dew’s ankles apart, ignoring the way Dew hisses in pain at the jostling of the boot.
“Up,” Rain demands, and Dew lifts up on his knees so Rain can slide in underneath him. When Dew settles, his thighs spread open across Rain’s so he has to lean forward and press his free hand to Phantom’s thigh for balance, Rain adds, “Bet I could make you beg.”
“Bet I could hold out longer than you,” Dew challenges.
“Do I really need to remind you about that time you–”
“Uh, can we get on with this?” Phantom interrupts. His hips rock impatiently against Dew’s fist. “My dick’s out, here.”
Dew snorts. “So use it.”
Rain rolls his eyes and meets Phantom’s hazy gaze. “Will you shut him up?”
Phantom doesn’t hesitate, and Dew goes easily when Phantom urges him down. Rain slides a hand up the bare expanse of Dew’s back just to feel the heat of his skin, watching the way Dew’s head bobs and Phantom’s eyes close and mouth drops. He gives them a few moments to sink into it, then gets a hand around the base of Dew’s tail to lift it out of the way.
He sucks two fingers into his own mouth and then sets both against Dew’s hole. He knows he pushes in too hard by the way Dew groans around Phantom's cock, but Dew only shifts his legs wider across Rain’s thighs so he doesn’t pull back. Their time is ticking away, so he works Dew open quickly, unrelenting in his cold efficiency, until he twists his fingers roughly and Dew yelps. Rain freezes, eyes snapping to him just in time to see Phantom’s thumb press down against Dew’s horn. After a second, Dew relaxes completely around his fingers.
When Rain glances up, Phantom’s eyes meet his, lazy and pleased, a thin ring of violet amongst the blown-black of his eyes.
“That worked nicely,” Rain comments, starting to fuck Dew on his fingers just a bit. Phantom nods absently, then gasps as Dew sucks messily up his cock to swirl his tongue around the tip.
A flickering sense of urgency curls over them like flames.
Rain is quick to pull his fingers free, then spits on them to smear it across Dew’s hole. He spits into his palm next and strokes it over his own cock before gripping himself tight. His other hand squeezes Dew’s hip in warning before he slowly pulls Dew down onto him, clenching his eyes shut at the near-unbearable heat as Dew opens up around him. Dew gives a strangled gasp and presses his forehead to Phantom’s thigh.
Rain makes it halfway in before Dew starts to scrabble back at his thigh. Rain holds still while Dew breathes, “Give me a minute.”
Rain only allows him a few breaths before letting go of himself and reaching up to press those fingers into Dew’s mouth instead.
“Bite if you need to,” he says into the back of Dew’s neck, and drags Dew the rest of the way onto him.
Dew’s groan rides the razor thin line between pain and pleasure. He bites down on Rain’s fingers hard enough to make him bleed, thin skin and flesh parting easily under Dew’s fangs. Rain hisses but doesn’t pull back. Dew is biting harder than he probably needs to, but it’s pain for pain. It’s only fair, so Rain will let him have that.
Their vessels aren’t the forms they take in Hell, but they’re not human either. They are of the earth, but something distinctly other. Rain doesn’t mind the way these bodies feel pain. It’s different, topside. Sharp and mean, yet almost sweet. He can feel Dew’s fangs scraping deep in his fingers, catching on the delicate bones there. While it is painful, it only makes Rain dig his claws into Dew’s hip and grind up against him harder. Holding a pick during tomorrow’s ritual is going to hurt like hell, but it’ll be worth it to watch the way Dew will walk around the stage trying to blame his fresh limp on the boot.
Rain pets his welling blood on Dew’s tongue and leans in to lick the sweat from his shoulder. They all hold still for a moment while Dew adjusts, nothing but hitching breaths and hammering hearts and the musky-sweet scent of their post-ritual sweat filling the spaces between them. Phantom gently strokes through Dew’s hair before wrapping a handful of it around his fist. When he runs his thumb slowly against the base of Dew’s horn with his other hand, Dew shivers and relaxes down against Rain.
“Good,” Rain murmurs, and Dew bites down on his fingers again for good measure.
Rain gives him a slow, experimental thrust that makes his jaw drop under Rain’s fingers. When Rain pulls them free, his fingers come away throbbing, wet with his own blood and Dew’s spit.
“Fuck,” Phantom says, wide eyes on Rain’s hand.
Rain glances between his bleeding fingers and Phantom’s cock. “Better me than you.”
Phantom tips his head, absently tracing a fingernail up the side of Dew’s horn as he considers. “Fuck,” he says again. “I mean, I don’t know.”
There’s a brief moment of silence before Dew snorts.
“Th’fuck is wrong with you?” His voice is strained but he’s already leaning in to drag a fang along the ridge of Phantom’s cockhead. Phantom hisses and tugs harder on Dew’s hair, a smile forming. He doesn’t answer, just grabs Rain’s wrist and pulls his hand up to lick the blood and spit off Rain's fingers.
Rain watches Phantom’s tongue on him, his wounded fingers stinging pleasantly, before he leans his chest to Dew’s back and nuzzles in against the sweaty blond hair wrapped around Phantom’s fist.
“You good?” He asks Dew.
“I’m good,” Dew snaps. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”
Without waiting for an answer, he gets his mouth on Phantom again. Phantom’s jaw drops in a gasp so Rain takes his hand back and wraps it tight around Dew’s hip, ironclad as if Dew would want to get up even if he could.
Rain watches, dazed, as Phantom gently pulls Dew’s head down on him. Dew goes easily, breathing hard through his nose at the same time he eases further down against Rain. Rain rocks his hips a little and watches Dew’s fingers soften their grip first on Phantom’s calf, then on Rain’s own thigh.
“Good,” Rain breathes, and they find their rhythm.
It’s not going to last long. None of them expect it to. Not after the way everything tonight has been building up to this—the vibration from their instruments electrifying each of them, the crowd’s rapturous screams echoing in their ears, and their reckless playfulness on stage all serving to only heighten the ever-present thrill of a stellar performance.
And besides all that, bus call is soon.
Rain twists around Dew just enough that he can watch Dew’s mouth on Phantom, guided smoothly by the hold Phantom has on his hair. Dew’s hand trails up Phantom’s thigh until he can roll his balls in his palm at the same time his tongue flattens along the bottom of Phantom’s cock, sinking all the way down and making Phantom whimper out a curse and drop his head back against the wall to stare wide-eyed at the ceiling. Almost immediately, he lifts his head up again like he can’t stand to look away from Dew for long. The string of curses he lets out is intermixed with breathy praise for the way Dew feels around him.
Phantom has always been noisy during sex, all shapeless moans and soft whines that give way to heaving breaths and throaty groans that crawl up from deep in his chest. He’s generous with his words, blatant with his adoration. He fucks like he performs, eager and enraptured in the way he gives himself over fully to the moment, unashamed and unabashed in the pleasure of it all. Rain loves it about him. Sometimes he wishes an entire arena could see the way it translates off-stage, only because he knows how the attention would get Phantom off.
A sharp breath from Dew breaks Rain’s train of thought. The friction is almost becoming too much between them, just the right side of painful, and Rain finds himself wishing they’d had the foresight to dig up some lube before diving into the heat of things.
He rocks his hips up sharply, bouncing Dew in his lap so hard that Dew has to rip his mouth from Phantom’s cock to choke on a gasp. He holds tight onto Rain’s thigh like he can’t decide if he wants to pull him closer or push him away.
“Fuck! Hurts,” he pants, but he rolls his hips back against Rain to meet his thrusts anyway.
Rain weaves an arm up under Dew’s arm and around his chest so he can lay a hand across Dew’s collarbone. He ducks his mouth to Dew’s neck, thrusts hard, and breathes, “Spit’s never enough, huh? You want me to stop?”
“Fuck you. Don’t you dare.”
Rain laughs. He spits into his hand again and pulls out just long enough to slick it over his cock. He shifts in tighter and drags Dew up and back against his chest, forcing Dew to straddle wider across his lap and letting gravity do the work to pull Dew impossibly deeper on him. Dew’s mouth drops on a loud, surprised moan at the new angle. Phantom shuffles closer, stepping to either side of Rain’s knees and cutting off Dew’s moan when he pushes back deep into Dew’s throat. Rain holds him steady and gets his free hand on the inside of Dew’s thigh to hold him open, then thrusts up into him hard enough that Dew chokes around Phantom’s cock.
Rain hooks his chin over Dew’s shoulder so he can better hear the wet, squishy noises Dew’s throat makes around Phantom’s cock and the moans smothered low in his throat. He listens to Phantom’s soft groans, the rustle of his suit around his thighs as he rocks his hips against Dew’s face. When Rain glances down the length of Dew’s body, he sees Dew’s cock is blood-red and hard, leaking despite remaining completely untouched.
As if Dew knows what Rain’s thinking, he lets go of Rain’s thigh. He barely gets a fist around himself for a second before Rain snatches his wrist, quick as a snake strike, and holds Dew’s hand against his own thigh. It’s not close enough to where he really wants it, and Rain considers it payback for Dew’s teasing near-choke stunt on stage.
“Uh-uh,” Rain scolds, reveling in the soft, defiant noise Dew lets out around Phantom’s cock. Dew yanks against Rain’s hold, sighing when Rain digs his claws into the delicate skin of his wrist like that’s what he’d been angling for all along.
Phantom trails a hand back to rest at the crown of Rain’s head, too, threading his fingers into Rain’s hair and pulling so hard that Rain lets out a surprised moan of his own.
“You should see him,” Phantom murmurs. He tugs again, softer this time. Rain hums and tilts his head into Phantom’s palm.
“Show me.”
When Rain leans back, Phantom lets him go in favor of wrapping his fist around Dew’s horn again. With that grip, he drags Dew’s mouth off of him and tilts his head so Rain can see the way Dew’s eyes have gone half-lidded and hazy. His cheeks are ruddy and his mouth is wet, lips slightly swollen, his chin shiny with spit and precum. He’s pliant under Phantom’s hands, as if the grip on his head is the only thing keeping him upright. He looks gone, absolutely filthy with use.
Unholy fuck, the sight of him sends a rush of furious need swooping through Rain’s gut, burning so hot he can’t help but groan. By the way Dew’s lips quirk at the corner and he side-eyes Rain over his shoulder, he knows exactly how he looks.
Rain knows better than to feed his ego, but he still can’t stop himself from saying, “Fuck, look at you.”
“Pretty, right?” Phantom agrees, tilting Dew’s head further to the side so he can slide his cock over Dew’s lower lip.
Dew’s cheeks pinken more at the words. He leans in and drops his jaw a bit so they can both watch him trail a deadly sharp fang across Phantom’s cock, the delicate skin flushed dark. With the slightest pressure, he drags his mouth back until a razor-thin line of blood wells across Phantom’s cockhead.
“You–ah!” Phantom cuts himself off with a helpless gasp when Dew closes his lips around the tip and sucks hard. When he drops his jaw again to swirl his tongue around the tip, Rain can see the blood on his tongue for the briefest moment before Phantom inhales hard through his teeth and yanks Dew’s head down on him. He immediately guides Dew into a quick rhythm on his cock, and Dew sighs through his nose and lets himself be used.
The sense of urgency wells up around them again like a flash flood. Rain’s heart hammers, his hands shaking as his hips slam up against Dew. The room is too hot, their skin slick and their suits soaked through with sweat, and Rain needs to feel Dew come on his cock right now so badly that he thinks it might kill him.
He knows exactly what it’ll take to get there.
He pulls Dew down by the hips at the same time he grinds up against him until he’s as deep inside as he can get, then holds Dew there with one hand. His free hand presses against the back of Dew’s head, holding him down against Phantom's hips. Dew takes it like a challenge, swallowing noisily around Phantom’s cock and humming at the groan it pulls from Phantom.
With Dew held tight in between them, both of them so deep inside him, Rain ducks his mouth to Dew’s shoulder, wraps a hand around Phantom's ankle, and says, “You like it, don’t you? Being the center of attention out there.”
It’s not clear who he’s speaking to but it doesn’t matter because it hits them both. Dew lets out a quiet, muffled moan, so sweet that Rain knows he’s got him. Phantom whines a little, and Rain buries his smile against the blond hair still wrapped around Phantom’s fist.
To Dew, he says softly, not a question, “And you like being Papa’s favorite,” and Dew’s eyes roll back just like Rain knew they would.
He pushes back against Rain’s hand, his fingers tightening on Phantom’s thigh like he needs to get away from Rain’s knowing accusation, but Rain holds him firm. Phantom drops a hand to curl around the front of Dew’s neck, squeezing lightly. He’s feeling the bulge of himself through Dew’s throat, Rain realizes, and he can’t help but buck his hips in response.
“Easy,” he murmurs when Dew pushes back again, and Dew huffs hard through his nose.
Rain only keeps him there for a few more seconds, finally relenting when Dew starts to squirm harder. As soon as Rain lifts his hand from Dew’s head, Phantom pulls him back by the hair in time for Dew to cough and heave a breath.
He immediately leans in again to tongue hard at the underside of Phantom's cockhead, then again when it makes Phantom’s thigh tense under his grip. He swallows Phantom down and when he sucks back up, he lets a fang trace up the entire length of Phantom’s cock. Phantom doesn’t disappoint; the way he shivers and whimpers makes Rain want to bite him, too.
Instead, Rain finally wraps his hand around Dew’s cock, giving him a few hard strokes that drag a muffled, wrecked sound from his chest. A second later, Phantom lets out a yelp, immediately followed by a ragged gasp as he drags Dew back by the hair. A smear of blood follows Dew’s mouth. Before Rain can get a good look at the deep teeth marks on Phantom’s cock, Phantom’s free hand is around himself, stroking fast and slick with blood and spit, whining the way he always does when he’s close.
“Open your mouth,” Rain demands in Dew’s ear, and rewards the way Dew instantly obeys by matching his strokes on Dew in time with Phantom’s on himself.
Phantom hooks his thumb around Dew’s horn and yanks, and the way they both moan has Rain’s hips working harder. He shifts until he hits the spot that makes Dew break into a pathetic whine, then holds him still and rocks up into it without mercy.
He waits until the moment when they’re both so very clearly at the coiled peak of it all—eyes clenched shut and mouths slack on quick, shallow breaths, fingers gripping tight—to murmur, “who’s first?” and that’s all it takes for Dew to fall apart with a gasp, coming messy and hot over Rain’s fist and Phantom’s boots while Rain fucks him through it.
Phantom is only a few seconds behind him. Rain watches, rapt, as Phantom’s head thunks back against the wall, his chest heaving, hips working against his own bloody fist until he whines and jerks, striping cum across Dew’s tongue and cheeks.
Rain feels strangely left out, eager now for his own turn. He doesn’t give Dew any time to recover, keeping his fist loose around Dew’s cock as he shudders through the aftershocks. Rain shifts again to find the perfect position for himself now, then holds Dew down by the hip, burying his forehead against the nape of Dew’s neck while he chases his own orgasm.
Dew groans weakly through the overstimulation until Phantom presses three fingers—wet with blood and spit and cum—into Dew’s mouth, his thumb tucking under Dew’s chin. Dew gives a muffled moan and lets Phantom hold him there by the jaw. Rain is so close, so distracted by the sound of Dew’s mouth on Phantom’s fingers that it takes him by surprise when Phantom’s other hand lands in Rain’s hair next, his thumb looping around Rain’s horn just like he did to Dew. Rain’s hips are just starting to falter, right at the precipice when Phantom tugs so hard that it jerks Rain’s head to the side and stuns him right over the edge of his orgasm.
This is another one of Rain’s favorite parts of being topside. It’s near agony to be suspended in shocking pleasure like this. Something this sinful yet so pure in its bliss—torturous for only a few fleeting moments—can only be Satan’s blessed work. While Rain rides down the peak of it, he distantly mourns that tonight’s ritual is over, that Dew won’t have to go back on stage with Rain’s cum dripping out of him.
Tomorrow, maybe. Or the next day. They’ve got time.
Phantom’s fingers gentle in his hair, blunt nails scratching at the base of Rain’s horn as Rain trembles through the aftermath. He hears the wet, fleshy noise of Dew’s teeth sinking into Phantom’s fingers and Phantom’s reactive hiss of pain, quickly followed by a satisfied sigh as Dew sucks at his bleeding fingers.
Phantom squeezes Dew’s jaw a little before taking his hand back. He brings it to Dew’s hair, then lets his head drop back against the wall, eyes closing. His knees are still shaking, just barely. He’s smiling a little, mouth bitten dark and dropped open as he catches his breath. Rain stares up at him over Dew’s shoulder, momentarily dazed.
It’s quiet for a few moments while they all breathe, lost in cooling skin and easing heartbeats, Phantom's gentle fingers in both Rain and Dew’s hair. Rain rests his chin on Dew’s shoulder and breathes in and out heavily, pleased when Dew not only allows it but sinks back against him too. Rain wraps a hand around Phantom’s ankle next, careful of Dew’s mess splattered across the leather of his boots.
They stay like that for only a few sated moments before Dew shifts between them.
“Get off me,” he says without heat. “My foot hurts.”
He lifts onto his knees a bit so Rain can pull out. Rain slips out from underneath him but doesn’t go far; he leans over again, pushing two fingers back into Dew so suddenly that Dew chokes on a curse.
He’s wet with Rain’s cum inside. Rain groans and twists his fingers just enough that some drips out, trailing hot down the back of Dew’s thigh.
“Sore?” Rain asks.
“What do you th–fuck!” He cuts himself off when Rain thrusts his fingers a little, forcing more cum to trail out and down Rain’s palm.
“You’re a mess,” Rain says appreciatively, and decides that this is far better than Dew dripping all over the stage. A whole arena doesn’t deserve to see him like this.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Dew says, strained.
Rain takes pity on him and finally pulls away. Phantom grins down at them, easy as anything.
“Oh yeah, hey Dew, you got a little–” he pretends to wipe at the corner of his mouth as if his cum isn’t drying in stripes across Dew’s whole face. His toothy grin doesn’t falter when Dew glares and licks his lips, but it disappears when Dew grabs the edge of Phantom’s suit and uses it to wipe his cheeks and chin clean.
“Now who has to do laundry?” He taunts.
“You fucker,” Phantom groans, but he doesn’t bother to pull the fabric free from Dew’s hands. Rain takes the opportunity to wipe his hand off on Phantom’s calf, too, since the fabric’s already ruined.
Dew finally shuffles back awkwardly, then shifts to sit, stretching his leg out. Rain reaches over to twirl a piece of knotted hair around his finger, grinning when Dew waves him off half-heartedly.
They all jump when two loud thumps come from the closed door, followed immediately by Mountain’s voice calling, “Anytime guys, come on.”
There are a few muted thuds outside the door and then the distinct sound of footsteps walking away.
Rain stands, stretching against his soreness as he crosses the room. When he opens the door, each of their duffel bags sit on the floor at his feet. His mouth twitches, grateful to avoid pulling his suit back on to go to the green room to change and pack up his things.
Mountain’s considerate like that. Rain loves that about him.
The room is peacefully quiet after that. The buzz of the ritual and adrenaline-fueled sex is dying down, swept away by a content heaviness that has all three of them sluggishly changing into comfortable clothes from their duffels. They drag themselves through the venue hallways and onto the bus, smiling tiredly at the wolf whistles that greet them.
Rain sinks onto one couch between Mountain and Cirrus, dropping his head onto Mountain’s shoulder. Phantom folds himself down onto the floor between Rain’s legs, stretches his own legs out across the aisle, and leans his head against Rain’s knee. He sighs into bonelessness when Rain lowers a hand to card through his hair.
Dew eases onto the other couch next to Aurora, shifting gingerly until he can lay his head down in her lap. She hums, wordlessly bringing her fingers to his hair to work through the blond tangles. He sighs in contentment, closing his eyes. When his hand falls to the floor to wrap around Phantom’s outstretched ankle, Rain can’t help his fond smile.
“Worn out?” Cirrus teases, laughing when Dew grunts and waves his other hand at her. She glances down at Phantom next, tweaking a lock of his hair between her fingers. She asks him, “How about you?”
Phantom yawns, nodding, too tired to lift his head from Rain’s knee. “‘M good.”
“Fuckin’ better be,” Dew mumbles.
“‘M very good,” Phantom amends, and Dew smiles lazily without opening his eyes.
Cirrus drops a kiss to Rain’s shoulder as the bus starts up with a low, rumbling hum. “You all reek, you know,” she says to him, soft. “This venue had nice showers. You could’ve multitasked.”
Rain doesn’t miss the satisfied smirks she and Aurora exchange, or the easy kiss Aurora blows at her. Rain huffs a laugh.
“We’ll be smart like you next time.”
Phantom hums in agreement. He shifts back so his head is resting against Rain’s thigh, then twists his neck just enough that he can see Rain out of the corner of his eye. “We get to do this again tomorrow,” he murmurs happily.
Rain doesn’t know if he means the ritual or the sex, but it doesn’t matter. He smiles and agrees, anyway.