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“Nah-ah, baby,” Max rasps somewhere behind Oscar, and then Oscar’s being dragged back down the bed and onto Max’s clever fingers. A needy, desperate whine slips out of Oscar’s throat when they press exactly where they were before, right over his prostate, and for the hundredth time in the past half a year, Oscar wonders why he keeps coming back when all that happens is that he embarrasses himself with his pitiful noises and scrabbling hands.
“Why don’t you listen to him, hm?” Charles coos, gently petting Oscar’s head, and Oscar picks his face up from the sheets to look up at Charles.
Soft, tan skin. Cock invitingly wet with precome, chest heaving, cheeks flushed so prettily. Oscar shifts on his knees and gives a pathetic moan instead of saying what he actually wants to say; that getting his mouth on that cock feels like the most important thing in the world right now. That if he doesn’t get to taste Charles soon, he might just dissolve. That if Max doesn’t stop stretching him open like that, Oscar will fall apart.
It’s so much.
He whines, needy, desperate. Always those two things above everything else.
“You’ll get it, baby,” Max mocks, mean the way Oscar loves, and pushes in harder. “Insatiable, aren’t you? Ass spread wide on most of my hand, and you’re still crying for cock.”
Breath punching out of him, Oscar tries to hide his whimpering by biting into the sheets, like that ever worked.
“No, sweetheart,” Charles chides, the mattress shifting when he leans forward to sneak a finger under Oscar’s chin, then between Oscar’s lips. “You know you can’t. Come here.”
Fingertip hooked behind his bottom teeth, Oscar shuffles a few inches forward so that Max’s fingers can stay inside him. Charles’ skin tastes a little salty, his finger slimmer than those opening Oscar up, and Oscar seals his mouth around it like it’s second nature, the pressure inside his chest loosening when Charles thrusts in deeper.
“Good boy,” Charles murmurs, eyes blown dark and soft hair like a halo around his head. Slowly, intentionally, he presses at the back of Oscar’s tongue, an angelic smile spreading on his face when Oscar chokes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Charles carries on, voice mellow, kind, always the opposite of Max’s. “Suck.”
A soft noise falls out of Oscar, and then another one when Charles sets a gentle pace. He’s still skirting too far, keeping Oscar on his toes, but it’s an obvious distraction; a well-tested one by now.
Oscar still remembers how it felt when they finally figured it out. Oscar was perched in Charles’ lap, crying for more of something, anything, and Max just- went with the easiest solution and stuffed two fingers inside his mouth. He also remembers, flushing bright red, how instead of being offended, he let Max pet his tongue, let him probe and explore and tease such awful, heady noises out of him before Charles’ hand and cock made him come hard enough to white out his vision for a little.
When he came to, both Charles and Max were still inside him.
There’s a sudden flash of pain, and Oscar yelps.
“Getting lost, are we?” Max teases, something dark underlying the words as he pulls his teeth out of Oscar’s asscheek, fingers twisting meanly to make him cry out. “Maybe we’re not good enough for you, hm?”
Desperately, as much as he can with Charles’ digits between his lips, Oscar shakes his head.
“So sweet,” Charles praises, pinching Oscar’s tongue like it belongs to him. “I’d make you beg for it if I didn’t know it was no use.”
“Our shy baby,” Max follows up, fond and lovely even as his fingers spread out, stretching Oscar’s rim to its limit. “Always tongue-tied. Or maybe you’d rather use your tongue for nicer things?”
Charles stops pinching before pressing in with a third finger, forcing Oscar’s lips wide, too wide to seal around. Spit starts dripping out in earnest despite how much he’s trying to be good, and he makes an upset little sound as he looks up at Charles again, cheeks burning and body straining forward mouth-first.
“I know, sweetheart,” Charles coos, curling his thumb under Oscar’s wet chin. “I know. But we’re waiting for Max to get you ready, aren’t we?”
“Oh, he’s ready,” Max laughs, unyielding fingers spreading just a touch more, and Oscar’s belly clenches so hard his eyes roll back. “You two were just too pretty together.”
“Chéri,” Charles admonishes, pushing down on Oscar’s tongue to make him still. “Oscar has been so good!”
“He has,” Max hums. Gentle kisses are pressed down Oscar’s spine, a lick soothing the bite. “He’s always good. That’s why he deserved to be played with a bit more.”
“True.” Charles sighs, massaging inside Oscar’s mouth. “It’s time, then?”
Oscar lets out the most desperate noise yet, and if he could speak, the slew of yeses would be deafening.
“Okay, baby,” Max concedes, laughing again. Pulling out, he drags his hands up Oscar’s side, leaving shivers and lube behind, and Oscar still can’t believe that it makes things hotter.
He had never thought he’d like things as messy as he does; never thought that going basically nonverbal in bed could be okay with a partner. But then he fell into these two. On accident, very tipsy accident, but it was- everything.
“On your elbows, sweetheart,” Charles murmurs, leading him down and forward, between his thighs. “That’s good. Open your mouth and wait, yes?”
The heat of the words is scorching, dripping through Oscar’s insides. He can’t ever decide what he likes better: the way Charles says dirty things like they are the sweetest compliments, or the way Max grabs him any place he likes and manhandles him into position.
It’s good that Oscar doesn’t have to choose.
All he has to do is open his mouth and wait.
“Gorgeous,” Max hums, kneeing his way between Oscar’s legs before he pushes on his spine to make him arch deeper. “Can’t wait to be inside you, baby, look how pink and pretty your hole is for me.”
There’s soft, wet pressure over Oscar’s rim then, slick and lovely. Shudders rush through his body, a ragged breath punching out of his throat, and Charles’ cock twitches right in front of his face.
He makes another needy sound. Max presses inside him, so, so slowly, every inch taking a lifetime while Oscar holds and moans, his mouth wide open because Charles hasn’t said yet that he’s allowed to close it. His lashes flutter when Max withdraws a touch just to push back, fucking in as carefully as they all agreed Oscar needs, and his hands are firm on Oscar’s waist when he guides them into a rhythm, and through it all, Oscar tries to keep his gaze on Charles, however watery and dazed it must be.
“Good boy,” Charles murmurs when Max bottoms out with a grunt. “Perfect, pretty boy, you take him so well.”
Overwhelmed, Oscar pants and blinks and forgets, forgets to be embarrassed by the little mewls that spill out of him whenever Max’s cock twitches inside him.
This is why he comes back, isn’t it? Because they tease the uncertainty right out of him, leaving so much space to feel good.
“Okay,” Charles says, threading his fingers back into Oscar’s hair. Max stills. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Oscar rushes forward, because of course he does. If Max is his keeper when they play like this, the whip making him behave and punishing when needed, then Charles is his siren; Oscar can never really look away from him.
“That’s it, good boy,” Charles croons. “Open a little wider for me. Perfect.”
The world freezes when Charles pushes into his mouth, just as slow as Max was. Oscar’s gag reflex doesn’t see eye to eye with his preferences in bed, so they always have to be careful about this, regardless of how much Oscar whines for it.
“Tongue out, sweetheart,” Charles tells him, more of a reminder than an order, and Oscar sticks it out to let Charles’ cock slide through the spit, making things wet and comfortable. “Just like that. Good?”
Oscar gives a short hum, settling on his elbows and knees like it’s home. With Charles’ cock in his mouth and Max’s in his ass, it kind of feels like it is.
“Lovely,” Charles praises, hips undulating gently into Oscar’s wanting mouth.
“Good,” Max seconds, grips his hips and thrusts in hard.
“Oh,” Oscar manages to choke out, the sound disgustingly wet. Blinking through the pleasure skittering over and sinking into his skin, he wriggles his hand under Charles’ ass for balance, but no matter. The next thrust pushes him further onto Charles’ cock, making him gag and drool all over his chin.
“Let me help with that,” Charles murmurs, bracing a hand on Oscar’s shoulder to support him. Max’s pace is stinging, rough and deep and brilliant, all the harsher for the fact that Oscar isn’t moving with the rhythm, now that Charles is keeping him still, and Oscar feels so deliciously caught it topples his mind into something wonderfully hazy.
“Good boy,” Charles keeps rasping, his cock weeping onto Oscar’s tongue to make things slicker, messier, better, Oscar’s body both on the edge and dissolving into air while they carefully take what they want; take him apart.
“So pretty, baby,” Max grunts at some point. His voice is coming to Oscar as a whisper hidden between all the wet noises, distant, pleasant, ember-warm. His rim is aching. His ass is full. Max’s bite twinges every time they come flush.
Oscar feels had in the nicest way.
“Does he feel good, sweetheart?” Charles murmurs, sweeping through the fog. “He does, doesn’t he? Always fucks us just right.”
Dazed, Oscar manages half a noise, lapping at the head to earn a groan.
“Couldn’t do anything else to asses as nice as yours,” Max forces out, breathless, his hands flexing on Oscar’s waist. “Always feels like Christmas when I get to have you, ah-”
“Gonna come for us, chéri?” Charles teases, his hand slipping from Oscar’s shoulder to his hair when Max’s pace transforms into short, quick ruts that Oscar feels in his throat. His fingers scrabble over Charles’ thighs, searching for something steady, and Charles squeezes his nape.
“Too good, baby, way, way too good, christ,” Max forces out, breath stuttering harshly, and the slapping noises of sex echo through Oscar’s empty brain so loudly it almost drowns out everything else.
But- the picture they must make together-
Oscar, low on his knees to offer himself up to Max, bent over like he’s worshipping Charles’ cock. Charles gripping firmly at the back of Oscar’s neck, thighs spread wide even as they quiver, belly muscles flexing whenever he rolls his hips into Oscar’s willing mouth. Max, flushed that gorgeous pink, broad chest heaving as he fucks the air out of Oscar’s lungs.
They must be stunning.
Oscar feels Max twitch, then spasm; the thrusts turn so hard, each contact arriving with a sting, and then there’s a groan, hoarse and perfect, melting Oscar’s brain a little more.
Charles’ hold on Oscar’s hair tightens until it genuinely hurts, and he squeaks; Charles lets go.
“Perfect baby,” Max rasps into the slick space between Oscar’s shoulder blades, rhythm mellowing out into these sweet, slow pushes as he rides out his orgasm. His voice drips with satisfaction, touches gentle and clumsy now that he’s come.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he,” Charles whispers, and both Oscar and Max hum in agreement. Charles giggles, smoothing through Oscar’s hair before he tilts his head up to connect their eyes.
Oscar stares, uncomprehending of the laughter but so happy to be where he is.
“Make me come, sweetheart,” Charles whispers, flexing in Oscar’s mouth, and Oscar closes his eyes before sucking him in properly, able to focus so much better now that he’s still full but no longer being jostled back and forth.
It’s a privilege to be allowed between Charles’ thighs; Oscar is determined to do at least as good a job as he always does.
“Greedy little thing,” Max hums fondly, his voice almost sleepy. His nails trail gently over Oscar’s back and sides, sending shivery anticipation through his nerves. “Always so excited to be full of come.”
Oscar manages a low sound around Charles, hips jumping at the bolt of heat that rushes through him.
Sometimes, he wishes he could disagree; but Charles tastes so good, the weight of him perfect on Oscar’s tongue, and Oscar doesn’t care enough about the words to let Charles slip out. He does gag a little bit, though. The head presses just a touch too deep, forcing a quiet, sticky sound out of him that makes both Charles and Max groan.
“God, baby,” Max murmurs, gripping Oscar’s waist. “You’re such a treat.”
“Hold still, sweetheart,” Charles adds, breathless.
Oscar stills, groaning when Charles’ fingers tighten in his hair, and then Charles is rolling his hips up with more purpose, skirting over Oscar’s gag reflex with the surety of someone who has fucked his mouth enough times to know precisely where the lines are. It’s quick, sweet, a little rough, and Oscar moans and pants his way through it, indecently blissed out.
“Oscar,” Charles punches out, rhythm going erratic, and he spills over Oscar’s tongue so easily.
And Oscar… Oscar doesn’t even whine this time. Doesn’t make any noise at all, just stares up at the way Charles’ face screws up in pleasure, takes in the shine on the apples of his cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
Charles is stupidly, unfairly, maddeningly beautiful.
“God,” Max rasps behind him, and Oscar can only agree.
Charles’ mouth pulls into a grin, self-satisfied and cheeky.
“See something you like?” he drawls, eyes dark and hooded, enticing. Oscar wants to eat him up.
“Careful who you tease,” Max says, velvet over a knife’s edge.
Stretching back contentedly, muscles playing under his soft skin, Charles tilts his head.
“What shall we do about you, sweetheart?” he says finally, fingers tapping against the duvet, then over Oscar’s swollen bottom lip. “You were too good to leave ridden hard and put away wet.”
“He was, wasn’t he,” Max hums, thumbs sweeping over the bottom of Oscar’s spine. “How about-”
His hands slide under Oscar, to his chest, and pull him up. In a blink, he’s on his knees and flush with Max’s front, hard cock on full display.
“You’re so gorgeous, god,” Charles mumbles to himself, sitting up and shuffling forward, also on his knees. “Fingers, Max?”
Max reaches around to cup Oscar’s jaw, pushing a thumb between his lips. His other hand sneaks down to pet Oscar’s sensitive, puffy rim, playing with him until he earns a mewl, and only then does he push two fingers back in, stretching him again.
“Lovely,” Charles murmurs as he wraps a hand around Oscar’s cock, squeezing firmly. “Let’s make you come, hm, sweetheart? You deserved it.”
A choked “Ah!” is all that Oscar manages before his eyes roll back, ass filled, mouth suckling, cock jerking in Charles’ perfect grip.
“You did, baby,” Max hums into Oscar’s nape, massaging inside him. “Worked so hard. Such a good boy for us.”
“Made us both come, haven’t you? Took Max so well, I bet your hole is going to ache so much tomorrow.”
“And your throat, baby,” Max adds, satisfaction oozing from his voice. ”You looked so pretty gagging on Charles’ cock. And gagging for it, too, god.”
“Ah- oh,” Oscar gasps, trembling in their hands, head full of praise. He opens his mouth to tell them, tell them how much he loved it, that it will hurt so good, that he wants them again, again, and nothing comes out at all.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Max soothes, somehow always the first to sense Oscar struggling. “We know, it’s okay. Come for us, hm?”
“A-ah,” Oscar whimpers around Max’s thumb and comes into Charles’ hand, whole body spasming as his orgasm wracks its way through every nook and cranny. There are more noises, just as needy and desperate as they were at the start, and he squirms between them until they squeeze him in, Max steady over his back, Charles warm and coaxing on his chest.
“Beautiful,” Max whispers, running a gentle hand over Oscar’s side. “Good boy, did that feel good, baby?”
“Must’ve, you waited so long, sweetheart, so good for us,” Charles croons, dragging them down into the sheets to fold their limbs where they belong while Oscar pants uselessly into the pillows. “Shh, you’ve done perfectly. So, so well, sweetheart. Cuddle up, hm?”
Oscar sighs, dreamy and exhausted. He can feel Max smile into his nape.
“Perfect baby,” he whispers, one hand sneaking to Oscar’s belly to pull him flush. “Charles?”
“Coming.”
Lying down, Charles aligns his arm with Max’s before he nuzzles into Oscar’s hair.
“Fifteen minutes, yeah?” he reminds them both, green eyes shining, tender. “And then we clean up before bed.”
Oscar hums his understanding, skin buzzing gently and mind so content.
Maybe this is also why he keeps coming back. It’s easy to forget about his embarrassing, needy noises and desperate behaviour when he weighs it against all the care he’s afforded in exchange.