Archive of Our Own

“What if he thinks this is lame?”

Mike snorts as he lights another candle. “He’s not going to think that, Fit, I promise.”

Fit gestures to the red candles burning away on the nightstand. “But what if it’s too much?”

“Fit, if I know Pac—and I do—he’s going to go crazy over this.” He walks over to Fit. “Are you even wearing it yet?”

Fit’s face suddenly feels very warm. “Uh, no.”

“Really?” A hand dips beneath the collar of his shirt without warning. “Because this feels like a bra strap.”

Mike tugs on it and lets go, letting it snap against Fit’s shoulder. Fit elbows him in the side, blushing from his head to his chest. “Mike!”

“What? I wanna see what it looks like.” He can see Mike grinning out of the corner of his eye. “Come on, show me?”

Fit picks up another candle and holds his lighter to it. “You still have to help me get ready, you’ll see in a minute.”

Mike giggles like an excited kid as he runs off to light a few more candles. Fit takes a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves roiling in his gut.

He’s been planning this for a few weeks. It began as a self indulgent fantasy, then evolved into a potential real thing he could initiate, and then he started getting everything together and Mike offered to lend a hand and—

Now here he is, lighting romantic candles in Pac’s bedroom, with lacy lingerie rubbing against his skin under his clothes.

He aimed to do this earlier, but his anxiety over the whole thing got too much, so he kept putting it off. Finally, Mike convinced him to just do it already. Valentine’s Day was the perfect day for it, after all! And Pac couldn’t possibly turn down such a lovely gift from his boyfriend.

“I think that’s almost enough candles,” Mike says as he places one on the chest in the corner. “Don’t want to like, suffocate in the heat, right?”

“Yeah.” Fit puts his lighter away. His stomach flips. He has half a mind to back out. Sure, he and Pac have had sex before, but he’s never... Pac hasn’t...

Fit has never worn lingerie before.  Maybe that’s a weird thing to be worried about, and Pac will more than likely enjoy it, but Fit is nervous every single time he and Pac try something new. This is no exception.

Mike claps his hands together. “Can I see now?”

Fit sighs, and he knows without looking that his face is still bright red. “Yeah, sure, gimme a second.”

He takes a deep breath, and then he grabs the end of his shirt and pulls it off quick, like ripping off a bandaid. His pants go next, nearly tearing a rip in the leg in his haste.

“Okay, let’s just get me ready,” he says, scrambling onto the bed, gaze trained on the floor and refusing to meet Mike’s eyes.

At Mike’s lack of response, Fit reluctantly looks up. “Uh, Mike?”

Mike stands over by the chest in the corner, a candle in one hand and a lighter in the other. The candle is lit. Wax drips down the sides. Mike’s gaze is fixed on Fit, eyes wide behind his glasses.

Fit swallows. “Hey, Mike? You good, buddy?”

Mike just hums in response. He visibly swallows, eyes trailing across the bright red bra that cups Fit’s pecs, the thigh-high socks tight against his legs, the garters that hold them up attached to a lacy pair of panties that just barely hide the bulge of his dick. Fit feels exposed like this. Mike’s gaze doesn’t help, burning into him as if he can somehow will his way to see underneath the lingerie.

Hot wax dribbles onto Mike’s fingers. He yelps and curses in Portuguese, dropping the candle and lighter. “Ow,” he mutters, clutching his hand and checking it for any serious burns.

“You okay?” Fit asks.

“Mhm,” Mike hums, bending down to pick up the lighter and candle. He relights it and gently sets it on the chest with the others. “Let’s get you ready.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Mike dismisses the lighter to his inventory and retrieves a roll of pink silk ribbon. He glances at Fit’s chest as he approaches the bed. “Uh, hands in front or behind?”

“We should probably do the hands after everything else, right? My arms might get in the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay.” The bed dips as he settles behind Fit.

Fit keeps his hands folded in his lap as a strip of pink ribbon is lowered past his face and brought under his chin to wrap around his neck. He shivers when he hears the snip of scissors, and then he feels Mike’s fingers brush his spine as he ties a bow.

Two fingers hook into the ribbon and gently tug. Fit holds back a squeak. “You can breathe?” Mike asks.

Fit swallows, throat bobbing behind the ribbon. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Fit grits his teeth. This is Mike, he shouldn’t pay attention to any—any praise or anything he gives Fit. He doesn’t mean it that way. Fit’s just anticipating Pac’s arrival, that’s it. That’s why he’s getting worked up.

“Lift your arms,” Mike commands, and Fit does as he’s told without hesitation.

Mike’s hands stretch a ribbon around Fit’s torso, right under his chest, and Fit inhales sharply when it’s pulled taught, lifting his pecs a bit more. Fuck, it almost looks like he has boobs like this. His face flushes at the thought.

He shakes his head. He can’t get hot and bothered just during the prep. If he’s like this before Pac is even here, is he just going to be a whimpering mess by the time Pac walks in, Mike still looping ribbon around him, working on wrapping him up like a pretty present?

(He pointedly ignores how he feels the need to squeeze his thighs together at the thought.)

“Up on your knees,” Mike orders.

Fit is standing on his knees as soon as the words are out of his mouth. A ribbon is looped through the one tied around his neck, and then it’s slipped between his tits—his pecs, fuck—and then between his legs and up his back. He feels Mike’s fingers slip the ribbon under the ones he’s already tied, mumbling in Portuguese, and then it’s being tied to his makeshift ribbon choker.

Mike reaches around to his front and tugs at the ribbon between his legs. “Tight enough?”

Fit gulps. “Yeah.” Mike’s hand is very close to his dick. Try as he might, he can’t help thought of Mike dipping his fingers into Fit’s panties.

He needs to calm down. This is Mike, Fit can’t think of him like this! He doesn’t even know if Mike likes sex, or if Pac would be okay with Fit and Mike doing anything together, or if Pac would actually enjoy that, if he would like it a lot maybe, if he would just sit back and watch as Fit and Mike—

Jesus fucking Christ, he needs to cool his jets.

“Okay, tie my hands,” Fit says quickly, holding them out in front of him.

Mike hums. He reaches up and takes Fit’s wrists, and Fit gasps when Mike pulls his arms behind his back.

“You should have them back here,” Mike says, a grin audible in his voice. “Show off your tits, he’ll like that.”

Fit’s face could not be redder. “Take it easy, Mike,” he tries to say with a laugh, but it sounds more like he’s choking than anything else.

Mike snorts. “I’m just saying,” he says as he wraps ribbon around Fit’s wrists. “Oh, I’ve got something else for this. Give me a second.”

He gently pulls on the ribbon around Fit’s wrists, testing how tight it is. Then he hears Mike sifting through his inventory, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees something red fall into Mike’s hands.

“You didn’t have a skirt with this outfit, did you?”

Apparently, Fit’s face can get redder. “Uh, no.”

“Good, I’ve got one.”

“You what?” Fit squeaks.

“Relax, it’s just to tie around your waist. Here.”

He feels soft satin fabric brush against his asscheeks, and then Mike’s hands are in front of him again, pulling a skirt around his hips attached to a strip of soft ribbon, much like what he’s already been tied up with. Mike ties it in a bow and trails his hands along the skirt itself, laying it out along Fit’s thighs. It’s not very long; in fact, it can barely be considered a skirt at all, much less a piece of clothing. It hides almost nothing. If Fit were standing, most of his ass would still be visible under the fabric.

Mike flicks at the bow, which hangs right over Fit’s dick. “There. Now he can unwrap the best part of his gift.”

Fit grits his teeth. “Mike, you’re killin’ me here.”

“What? I’m just helping,” Mike says, draping himself over Fit’s back, fingers still tugging at the barely-a-skirt. “I just want to make sure Pac likes his present.”

Fit strains against the ribbons around his wrists. If he tries hard enough, he could probably snap them, but he actually doesn’t think he wants to. “Do you think he will?”

Mike’s hand ghosts across his thigh. “Well, I like it.” He gives Fit’s thigh and squeeze and backs off a bit, scooting around to Fit’s front to look at him head-on. “There’s one last thing I want to add.”

“What else could you possibly have to add?” Fit asks, mind racing over the possibilities. Mike reaches into his inventory again and comes out with—

“Is that lipstick?” Fit asks, voice nearly a whisper.

“Lip gloss,” Mike corrects, untwisting the cap. “I borrowed it from Melissa. It’s kind of—what’s the word—transparent, but it’ll look pretty and it smells good. Here.”

He takes Fit’s chin in his hand and tilts his face downward. The gloss on the little applicator wand is bright red where it’s thickest, but it sheers out into a nice rosy pink, with tiny sparkly flecks glittering in the soft candlelight.

“What do I do?” Fit asks as Mike bring the wand closer.

“Don’t make a kissy face, just open your mouth a bit. There you go, good.”

Fit tries not to shudder. He goes cross-eyed watching Mike’s hand get closer, and then Mike swipes a layer of strawberry-smelling gloss across his bottom lip. Mike leans in close and rubs his thumb on the corner of Fit’s lip, wiping off a stray smear of gloss.

“Okay, now press your lips together.”

Fit does as he’s told and then opens his mouth again. Mike dips the wand back in the tube of gloss and then brings it back to Fit’s face, carefully filling in the gaps and adding a thin second layer.

Mike sits back and puts the cap back on the gloss, smiling as he surveys his handiwork. “There. You look pretty. He’s going to love it, I promise.”

The word “pretty” lingers in Fit’s mind long after it leaves Mike’s lips. He swallows. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Mike takes his chin and turns his head back and forth, eyes trained on Fit’s lips, watching the way the soft light catches on the sparkles in the gloss. “You look good. Really good.”

It takes all of Fit’s willpower to not pop a boner right here and now. It’s just Mike for fuck’s sake. He needs to calm down.

Fit jumps when he hears the sound of footsteps nearing Pac’s house. He tenses. “Is that Pac?” he asks, but that’s a stupid question.

Mike shoves the lip gloss back into his inventory and steps off the bed to approach the door. “Ready?”

Fit licks his lips. Tastes like strawberry. “I guess so.”

Mike opens the bedroom door and pokes his head out. “Hey, Pac!” he calls. “Welcome home!”

Fit hears footsteps approaching and a voice letting out a confused laugh. “Why are we speaking English?” Pac asks as he gets closer. “Is someone here?”

Fit’s stomach flips. He can’t back out now. He could try to get up and run away, but he’d still be half naked and stuck in these ribbons, so—fuck it, fuck it, this will be fine. If Mike thinks Pac will like it, he probably will, right?

Mike ducks back into the house, holding the door open. “I have a gift for you. It’s from me and Fit. Well, it was his idea, but I did the wrapping.”

Pac steps into the doorway. He’s beaming, eager to see what Mike and Fit have left for him, a sword held loosely in one hand. His eyes go wide, his smile dropping as his mouth hangs open.

“Fit?” he says, more of a choked syllable than a word.

Fit lowers his gaze, unable to force himself to meet Pac’s eyes. “Hey.” He squirms in his bindings. “Uh, Happy Valentine’s Day, Pac.”

Pac’s sword clatters to the floor. He stands unmoving in the doorway. Fit glances up to see Pac’s eyes fixated on him, trailing along the ribbons that frame his chest. “Happy... yeah.”

Mike claps Pac on the shoulder. “You’re welcome, Pac. Have fun.”

He turns to leave, but Pac’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He finally tears his gaze away from Fit to look at Mike. “Wait.” He clears his throat. “Uh... thank you, for... for the gift. But...”

Fit’s stomach drops. “But?”

Pac lets go of Mike’s wrist. “I mean, we share everything, don’t we Mike?”

Mike blinks. The beginnings of a smirk tug at his lips. “Yes, yes we do, Pac.”

Pac gestures to Fit on the bed with one hand. “And, like, you did such a good job wrapping, my present looks great, you know? It’s so pretty, I—I can’t just keep it to myself.”

“No, no, of course not,” Mike agrees. “It does look really good. I spent a lot of time with the wrapping.”

“You did! And it looks so nice! And, you know, I didn’t get you anything for Valentine’s Day, so I feel like I should give back, you know? Let you have fun with the nice present you brought me.”

Fit’s mouth runs dry as he processes the implications of their words. “I...”

Mike holds his hands up. “But if your present doesn’t want to be shared, I get it.”

Pac nods. “Of course, of course. As much as I would like to share, I definitely would not complain about unwrapping it myself.” Pac glances at Fit. “It’s... all up to the gift, you know, if it wants to be shared or not. If it can handle both of us.”

They both look directly at him, and it takes him a moment to realize that they’re asking for his opinion. He flounders for an answer, searching for any words, but his brain stopped working the moment he thought about the concept of being shared. Being passed around, used by two different people...

He nods, licking his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, you can... you can share.”

Mike grins, wide and mischievous like a fox. He pushes off from the doorframe and kicks the door shut. “Your gift, Paccy, you get first dibs.”

Pac smiles, bright and eager, and then he’s rushing forward, clambering onto the bed without even taking off his prosthetic leg, crawling into Fit’s lap and cradling his face in his hands.

“Hey, Fit,” he whispers, almost giggling with excitement.

His mood is infectious. Fit finds himself smiling back, his nerves much more at ease with Pac holding him, gazing at him like he’s the light of his life. “Hey, Pac,” he whispers back.

“This was your idea?”

Fit shrugs as best he can, tied up as he is. “Started as more of a fantasy, but yeah. Mike is an unexpected addition, but I’m not complaining.”

Pac leans in to plant a kiss on Fit’s lips, tongue darting out to lick into his mouth. Pac hums in surprise and pulls away. There’s pink gloss smeared across his lips, and Fit is sure his own mouth looks about the same. “Mmm, strawberry.”

He kisses Fit again, tongue licking at the roof of his mouth, and Fit relaxes into the kiss, allowing himself to be held, feeling Pac’s hands trail from his shoulders down to his sides.

He gasps into Pac’s mouth when he feels another pair of hands grabbing him, squeezing his waist, a chin resting on his shoulder and warm breath against his ear. He almost forgot about Mike.

“Did you see his tits, Pac?” Mike chuckles, rough hands trailing up and down his sides.

Pac hums again. “I did. They look very pretty.” One hand reaches up to touch, cupping Fit’s pec, thumb circling his nipple through the bra. Fit tries and fails to stifle a whine by kissing Pac’s jaw.

“Can I touch, Pac?”

“Of course. What’s the saying? What’s mine is yours?”

Mike’s hands slide up his stomach, and Pac moves out of the way to let Mike grasp both pecs at once, squeezing them gently, fingers playing at the edges of his bra. Fit buries his face in Pac’s shoulder and bites back a whimper.

“They’re really, ah, sensitive,” Pac says, shifting where he sits so he’s straddling one of Fit’s thighs, pressing his own between Fit’s legs under his short skirt. “Use your thumb—yeah, like that.”

Mike’s thumb flicks across his nipple over the bra and Fit’s hips twitch, like there’s a direct line of pleasure from his chest to his dick. He silently curses at Pac in his head. He knows everything about Fit’s body, knows exactly how to take him apart, and with him guiding Mike, Fit knows he isn’t going to last as long as he’d like.

Mike’s hands squeeze his pecs and press them together. “You could probably fuck them,” he mumbles, and Fit fails to hold back a noise at that, trying to press his face into Pac’s neck so neither of them can see how red he is. Now that Mike’s said it, he can’t help but imagine being laid out on his back, hands pushing his tits together, Mike’s cock sliding between them, slick with lube—

Pac presses his thigh up against Fit’s cock and a moan forces itself from his throat against his will. One of Mike’s hands slides into his bra, gently pinching his nipple. Fit bites his lip as the bud hardens under Mike’s curious ministrations. Usually it takes a while for Fit to get this whiny, but with two of them, he’s already aching and needy and desperate for release. This isn’t enough, but at the same time, it’s almost too much.

“Good boy, Fit,” Pac mutters, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re doing so good. Here, let me see your face.”

He tugs on the ribbon around Fit’s neck, pulling Fit’s head away from his shoulder, and Fit turns his head to the side in an attempt to hide his blush. Pac tuts, taking his chin and turning his head.

“No, no, let me see you,” Pac says, and Fit reluctantly looks up, making contact with Pac’s deep brown gaze. Pac smiles. “Good boy,” he says, and Fit chokes out a noise when Mike slips his hand into the other side of his bra, both hands playing with his tits, circling one nipple with his thumb and gently tugging and twisting the other.

“Aww, does he like being called good?” Mike purrs in his ear. “That’s cute.”

“He is good,” Pac says, pressing his thigh up further and making Fit groan. “He’s my special, good boy, aren’t you Fit? You should see him with a collar on, it’s like he can’t even think.”

“A collar?” Mike asks with a grin. “Do you leash him?”

“Yeah. Muzzle him too, if he’s being too loud.”

“I wanna see him in a muzzle. Do you have one in here?”

Pac giggles, moving his leg as Fit begins to rock down on his thigh. “Leave the muzzle for another time, Mikey. I think we’re going to need his mouth. Which end do you want?”

“He’s your gift, you pick.” Mike meanly pinches both of his nipples hard, and Fit cries out, thighs squeezing around Pac’s leg, head falling back against Mike’s shoulder. If they keep this up, he’s going to cum before they can really even do anything.

Pac hums in thought, leaning in to kiss at Fit’s now exposed neck. “I wanna watch him cum first.”

Fit groans as Mike starts nipping at the skin of his neck, a stark contrast to the soft and gentle kisses Pac places upon his collarbones. They’re talking about him like he’s not even here, like he’s not even a person, just an object for them both to use, to tease for their own amusement. And he wants them to use him, to do whatever they want to him and not stop even if he asks them to. He can feel himself sinking, his thoughts going foggy, replaced by nothing but the hands on his body and the heat between his thighs.

“Mikey, move your hand,” Pac says. “Watch what he does when I do this.”

Mike moves one of his hands out of the way, slipping out of Fit’s bra, and Pac lowers his head down to one of Fit’s breasts. Grinning, he glances up at Fit’s face and tugs his bra cup aside.

His lips are warm and wet when he latches onto Fit’s nipple, tongue swirling around the hardened bud. Heat shoots directly into Fit’s gut, hips stuttering as he grinds against Pac’s thigh, a long, low moan rising in his throat. He’s painfully hard, and he’s so, so close, and he got here just from having his tits fondled. Kind of pathetic, half of him thinks, but when Pac purses his lips and sucks, he decides he doesn’t care.

“Holy shit,” Mike whispers. “He really does have sensitive tits, huh?”

Pac just hums, unable to answer with his mouth occupied. Fit rocks down against Pac’s thigh, every brush of friction against his cock sending shocks through his nerves.

“You gonna cum for us?” Mike chuckles, one hand still playing with his nipple, the other squeezing at his hip.

Fit nods frantically, his rhythm against Pac’s thigh growing erratic, climbing closer and closer to his peak, he just needs something to push him over the edge, anything at all--

Mike presses a kiss to his jaw and squeezes his tit. “Cum for us, pretty girl,” he whispers in Fit’s ear.

Fit throws his head back, crying out as he cums, the entire world narrowed down to his dick grinding down hard against Pac’s thigh, Pac’s lips sucking at one breast while Mike fondles the other. There’s a voice in his ear calling him cute, pretty, telling him he’s such a good girl for cumming when he’s told, such a perfect pretty girl for them both, so good for letting them play with him.

His head lands back on someone’s shoulder, chest heaving, hips twitching as the aftershocks ripple through him. His brain feels as though it’s stuffed with cotton, thoughts soft and clouded, muffled through a haze of tired satisfaction. He lets out a shaky breath, his entire body deflating against the chest behind him.

A voice lets out a low laugh. “Cute. Does he always end up like this?”

The lips on his breast leave and he whines automatically. “Yeah, he gets tired.” A kiss is pressed to his cheek. “Poor girl, we wore you out already, huh?”

Fit makes an involuntary sound at the words. He idly wonders how Mike knew he would like being called that in the first place, and then he remembers oh yeah, they can read each other’s minds.

The idea that they can communicate without even talking, telling each other in private what they want to do to him, how they want to do it, and leave him none the wiser, makes his dick twitch with interest already.

Pac’s leg slides out from in between his thighs. “I want his mouth,” he says. “Lay him down.”

Mike’s hands grab Fit’s shoulders, and with Pac’s help, they manhandle him onto his back, Pac stepping off the bed to make room for Mike to settle between his legs. Fit lets out a needy whine and strains against his thin bonds, trying and failing to reach out for Pac, wanting him back on the bed, holding him, kissing him, touching him.

Pac smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m just taking off my clothes. Mike’s still there with you, which means I am too. Just give me a second.”

Fit watches, enraptured, as Pac undoes his belt and unzips his pants. He wants Pac touching him with his calloused hands, holding him gently and whispering in his ear. Pac is taking too long, doesn’t he want to be over here with Fit, why is he—

“Shhhhh.” A body leans over him, one hand cupping his face to turn his head so he’s looking up. It’s Mike, his face illuminated by soft candlelight. “I’m right here,” he says softly. “I’ve got you. Relax.”

Fit forces his muscles to go lax, taking a deep breath in as Mike ghosts his fingertips over Fit’s face, neck, shoulders, feather light and soothing. This is exactly what Pac does when Fit gets nervous during sex, and if not for Mike’s slightly thicker fingers and his chipped black nail polish, Fit would almost think that it is Pac touching him, whispering soothing reassurances into his ear.

Then Pac’s hands are on him, following Mike’s light movements, trailing his fingernails along Fit’s shoulders. A shiver runs down his spine.

A kiss is pressed to his forehead. “Fit?” Pac’s voice is soft. “Do you think you can take more?”

Fit hums and gives him a tired nod. Of course he can.

“Good girl,” Pac whispers, hands trailing along his shoulders, over his collarbones, up his neck. “Mike wants to fuck you. That okay?”

He opens his eyes. That’s alright, anything is alright by him, as long as they both keep touching him like this, soothing and gentle, whispering soft praises into his ear.

Then Mike’s hands are gone, the bed shifting as Mike begins stripping himself. Fit cranes his neck to watch. His lab coat pools on the floor, and then his green shirt, and finally his boxers slip off his hips. Right below the roll of his stomach and the dark happy trail that leads down, is a lovely bulge of a t-dick. Mike reaches down and dips his fingers between his folds, biting his lip with a groan as his palm brushes his dick.

It’s not what Fit was expecting, but he wants his mouth on Mike’s cunt soon or he’s going to explode.

Pac giggles and kisses Fit’s cheek. “Aww, look at you. Already excited, huh? I want your mouth first though. Is that okay?”

Fit whines and nods furiously. His arms are getting sore from being held behind him, but he doesn’t even care at this point. He hears Pac and Mike talking above him, a pleasant drone of words he doesn’t understand. Pac’s hands gently trail along his jaw, a thumb brushing at his cheekbone.

“He’s going to prep you,” Pac says. “Then you can put your mouth to some use, okay?”

Fit nods, and Pac’s smile above him is brighter than any star. “Good girl,” Pac says.

His panties are tugged aside. Mike grips his thigh tight with one hand, and with the other, he circles Fit’s hole with one finger, the cold sting of lube making Fit jump. Mike grips his thigh hard enough to bruise.

“Be good and stay still,” Mike says.

His finger breaches Fit’s entrance. Fit moans, trying to push his hips into Mike’s hand, desperate for stimulation, but Mike pulls his finger out just a little, not enough to even brush his prostate. Then, very slowly, he begins to work his finger in and out, only pushing in halfway before sliding out to his fingertip again. The slow pace is excruciating. It’s not enough. He needs more.

“Mikey, não seja maldoso,” Pac says in what sounds like a chiding tone. “Vá mais rápido. You can take two right now, can’t you Fit?”

Fit can only choke out a moan, hips bucking against Mike’s hand, wanting his fingers deeper inside him. Mike is taking his sweet time, and no matter how much Fit tries to press his hips down, Mike doesn’t push in any further. It’s torture.

Mike chuckles. “Fine, fine.” He slips his finger out entirely and Fit almost sobs, but Pac strokes his face and whispers sweet praises to him.

Two fingers enter him, the slide made easy by plenty of lube, and immediately zero in on his prostate. His hips jolt, his vision going white as Mike relentlessly circles his prostate with the pads of his fingers. He lets out a moan, his dick twitching to half hardness, still trapped in the confines of his ruined panties. Mike’s fingers are thicker than Pac’s, stretching him more, and it feels so, so good. Still, it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Aww, you’re so cute,” Pac coos. “You’re taking him so well, Fit. Mikey, he can take three now I think.”

“You sure?”

“Sim.”

Mike withdraws his fingers for just a moment, and a choked sound leaves Fit’s mouth as three thick fingers enter him. The stretch burns a little, but it blends into pleasure as Mike goes right back to massaging his prostate, scissoring his fingers to stretch him wider.

“Good girl,” Pac mutters as Fit writhes, trying to move his hips to fuck himself on Mike’s fingers. “Good, you’re taking him so good. You think you can take four? He wants to use one of our bigger straps, and I don’t want it to hurt you.”

Fit nods, letting out a gasp as Mike presses insistently against his prostate. “M-more, please, please.”

“Aww,” Mike says. “He’s cute when he’s desperate.” He punctuates his sentence with a particularly hard press against Fit’s prostate, forcing a groan from Fit’s mouth.

“Shhhh.” Pac strokes his face, light and gentle. “Be patient, queridinho.”

He’s trying to be, he’s trying so hard, but he’s already rock hard and creeping closer to the edge. He needs more.

Mike pulls his fingers out and Fit nearly wails, bucking his hips, desperate to have Mike’s fingers back inside him. One of Mike’s hands presses down on his hips, pinning him to the mattress as Pac shushes him, encouraging him to be patient.

Mike’s fingers enter him again, and this time the stretch burns. He cries out, hips twitching, half of him wanting to pull away to escape the pain, the other half wanting to rock down on Mike’s hand. He hears Mike chuckle at him, pressing in further. Fit whines, legs scrabbling at the sheets, trying to push himself away, but Pac’s hands press firmly on his shoulders, keeping him in place as Pac whispers reassurances to the air between them.

It hurts a bit, but the press of Mike’s fingers against his prostate is almost soothing, waves of pleasure washing over the pain like a balm. He half-heartedly tries to jerk away one last time, but Pac holds him steadfast, and he has no choice but to stay right where he is and take what Mike gives him.

“Good girl, you’re doing so good,” Pac whispers. “You look so pretty like this. Do you want to cum on Mikey’s fingers, Fit?”

“Please,” Fit chokes out. He’s getting closer, he just needs a little more, just a little, please—

Mike pulls his fingers out and Fit yells, hips canting, trying to chase after Mike’s hand. Mike just gives him a sadistic grin and sits back on his haunches.

“Mikey, come on,” Pac scolds as he pets over Fit’s face and chest, soothing him as tears prick at Fit’s eyes. “Stop being mean to him. He’s been good, he deserves to cum as many times as he wants.”

“Not yet,” Mike says. “I want him to cum as soon as I start fucking him.” He runs a hand over Fit’s thigh, thumbing at his stockings. “I’ll get my strap, okay? I’ll be right back. Paccy’s got you.”

Mike steps off the bed and Fit watches him as he leans down to look under the bed and begins rummaging around to search for something. Pac’s hands glide over Fit’s skin, touching his collarbones, up and over his shoulders, down to his stomach. It’s nice, but it’s not what he wants. He whimpers and cants his hips upwards, blinking up at Pac with wide eyes.

Pac smiles. “Shh, he’s coming back, don’t worry, Fit. You’re being so good for us. You can wait just a minute, right?”

A minute? That’s way too long. He wants to be touched now. “Please,” he whispers, hoping that Pac will give in and touch his cock, finger his hole, grope his tits, anything.

Pac just tilts his head with a fond smile. “He’s almost ready, Fit, just a little bit longer. See, look, he’s already coming back.”

Fit turns his head to look. The mattress dips as Mike clambers back onto the bed, a long, thick strap on hanging between his legs, the silicon a light green. It’s thicker at the base than it is at the tip, and it’s ribbed all the way down. He grins at Fit as he slicks it up with lube, his thick fingers wrapped around the shaft. Fit watches with wide, eager eyes as Mike settles between his legs again.

Pac smiles down at him. “Are you ready, Fit?”

Fit whimpers. That seems to be answer enough, because then Mike is grabbing his thighs and pushing his legs up to spread them, Fit’s pretty red skirt flaring out on the sheets. His cock is still trapped within the stifling confines of his panties. The drag of wet fabric along the head makes his hips twitch.

He waits, oh so patiently, as Mike tugs his panties aside again and lines himself up with Fit’s entrance. He just rests the tip against his hole, grinning at Fit’s flushed face.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he teases. “You don’t seem desperate enough, Fit. Maybe you don’t actually want it that bad.”

Fit keens, trying to buck his hips enough that the tip of Mike’s strap will just slip in, but Mike moves it away and Fit nearly sobs, tears pricking at his eyes. “Please,” he whines. “Please, Mike, please.”

Mike’s hand gently squeezes his thigh. “Please what?”

“Please, fuck me.”

“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear you. Speak up, Fit.”

“Mikey, come on,” Pac coos, running his thumb along Fit’s jaw. “He’s been so good for us. He deserves to be rewarded, doesn’t he?”

Mike tilts his head. “I don’t know, he’s been pretty greedy. He’s already cum once, and we haven’t at all, you know?”

Pac hums. “I guess so. Since he’s our gift, we should get to cum more than him, shouldn’t we?”

“So if he cums once I start fucking him, that’ll be twice, so we should be allowed to cum at least three times each, right?”

“But what if he cums more than that?” Pac muses, still trailing his fingers along Fit’s face and down his neck.

Mike’s strap presses against Fit’s entrance again, making Fit inhale sharply. “Then we just keep going.”

The tip of his strap breaches Fit’s hole. Fit’s eyelids flutter as Mike pushes into him, the thick strap stretching him even wider than Mike’s fingers, every bump and ridge pressing against his sensitive walls. He whimpers, unable to help himself from trying to jerk away from the stretch, but Pac holds his shoulders down, keeping him in place, making him take Mike’s strap inch by torturous inch.

Pac’s hands move, pressing against the mattress on either side of Fit’s chest, and then Pac shifts behind him, lifting himself up on his knees. He looms over Fit like an angel, a sweet smile on his beautiful face.

“I think it’s time for you to put your mouth to use, don’t you?” Pac says.

Wordlessly, Fit opens his mouth, tongue lolling out, and Pac giggles at his eagerness to please.

“Good girl,” he says, and then he’s moving, his thighs trapping Fit’s head between them, his gorgeous cunt poised right above Fit’s face. “Snap your fingers if you need to breathe, alright?”

He lowers himself down just as Mike bottoms out. Fit lets out a low moan as he latches onto Pac’s cunt, lips closing around his t-dick and sucking, tongue flicking across the head. Pac yelps above him, hips jolting, thighs squeezing around Fit’s head. Mike’s strap is so big, so deep inside him, it couldn’t miss his prostate even if he tried.

Mike sets a steady pace, fucking into Fit with sharp thrusts. Fit groans against Pac’s cunt, hungrily licking and sucking at his clit as waves of pleasure roll through his spine. A litany of praises fall from Pac’s lips, a stuttered mess of both English and Portuguese that Fit can barely make out through the muscled legs clenching around either side of his head.

“Meu deus, Fitch, good girl, you’re so good, caralho, you feel amazing, queridinho. Fuck, good girl, you’re such a good girl for me.”

Fit strains against the ribbons around his arms, wanting nothing more than to grab Pac’s thighs and hold him down on Fit’s face. He whimpers when he remembers he can’t move them.

Mike lets out a mean laugh as he delivers a sharp thrust to Fit’s prostate, making him choke and groan against Pac’s clit. “Does Paccy taste good, Fit? You enjoying yourself down there?”

Fit whines in response. He wants to touch Pac, he wants to put his hands to use, not just his mouth. Not that he’s complaining—eating Pac out is his favourite thing in the world—but he wants to do more, to bring Pac to his peak faster, to hold Pac’s hips down on his mouth and keep pleasing him until Pac is wailing from overstimulation.

Then he feels a sensation inside him, a strong vibration against his prostate, and along with it a gentle buzzing sound, and he keens loudly. He didn’t know Mike picked a vibrating strap.

“Fuck,” Mike hisses, his thrusts growing faster. He folds Fit’s thighs up to his chest, as far as they’ll go, and it hurts a little, but Fit just whimpers and lets him, powerless to stop him. Mike slams his hips against Fit’s, his thick cock splitting him open with every thrust, and Fit moans as the textured ridges rub against his prostate.

God, how have he and Pac not invited Mike into bed with them before? This is bliss.

Mike’s calloused hand wraps around his cock, not stroking it, just holding it. Fit bucks his hips, trying to get some friction, but Mike just lets out another laugh, this one a little breathless.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, Fit,” he says. “Look at you. How long have you been wanting both of us, huh? You didn’t even protest, you just spread your legs like a whore the moment we got our hands on you. I saw how you were looking at me when I was tying you up. If I said I wanted to fuck you right there and then, you would have let me, wouldn’t you? Would you want that? Would you like Pac walking in on me fucking you into the mattress?”

A groan rips itself from Fit’s mouth, buried in Pac’s cunt. He’s getting closer, every thrust making his cock jolt in Mike’s grip.

“Of course you would,” Mike continues. He hikes Fit’s legs over his shoulders and hunches over, pressing Fit further into the mattress. “Did you want me to fuck you stupid while Pac watches? I’m sure he’d love that, too, Fitch. Do you know how often he thinks about it? He’s gotten off to fantasies about me fucking you. He’s thought about you sucking my cock with a pretty green collar on. He’s thought about both of us fucking you at the same time with you in a pretty little dress. I could go on, Fit. Meu deus, the amount of things he’s thought about me doing to you is insane. I want to do them all, Fit, I want to fucking ruin you.”

A hand wraps around his throat, not squeezing, but gently holding him, a thumb pressing at his pulse point. He presses his head up, lapping at Pac’s clit, pushing his neck into Mike’s hand.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” Mike says. “You want me to wreck you. Paccy’s too nice to you, isn’t he? You can be his cute little puppy all you want, but you’d be my bitch.”

Fit’s entire body tenses as he cums, helplessly moaning into Pac’s cunt as the world narrows down to Mike’s voice, the hand on his throat, and the cock in his ass. He feels cum splatter across his stomach, and he hears the sound of something ripping, but he barely notices. Mike fucks him through his orgasm, hissing degrading words at him that Fit can barely even hear.

Pac gasps, lifting himself off Fit’s face. Fit whines, head spinning, wondering why Pac stopped. Then he feels the tickle of loose ribbons around his arms and cranes his head enough to look. The bonds that held his arms lie on the bed, ripped and loose. He moves his arms out from under his back, wincing as he finally stretched the muscles that have been kept in place for too long.

“Sorry,” he croaks, his heart skipping a beat. He wasn’t supposed to rip through his bonds. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Pac groans. “Fuck, Fit, that was hot. Touch me, touch me, please. Make me cum, queridinho.”

Fit doesn’t need to be told twice. He immediately grasps Pac’s thighs and pulls him down onto Fit’s mouth, licking and sucking at his t-dick like it’s his last meal. Pac keens and begins to rock down onto his tongue, babbling praises to the air, hands scrabbling at Fit’s sides.

When he cums, his thighs squeeze tight around Fit’s head, walls clenching around Fit’s tongue, whining as he grinds down on Fit’s mouth. Fit digs his nails into Pac’s thighs, keeping him pressed down on his tongue. Pac keens as his climax tips into overstimulation, babbling a mixture of English and Portuguese. His hands grab at Fit, nails scraping down his sides, digging into his abs.

“Ah, Fitch, please, please, it’s—meu deus, it’s too much, Fit—” He chokes out a moan as Fit’s tongue flicks across his clit. “Holy shit, Fit, I can’t take—I can’t take it, please, please.”

“Paccy, didn’t you say you wanted to cum more than him?” Mike’s voice says in a smug tone. “He’s just being a good girl and helping you get there. Right, Fit?”

He thrusts into Fit with his strap, hard, and Fit cries out, the sound muffled by Pac’s cunt. Pac yelps at the vibrations that travel directly to his clit.

“F-fuck, fuck,” Pac whines. “Fit, you’re so good, you’re so so good for me. Shit, it’s so much, Fitch, please.”

Mike starts fucking him again, a slow drag in and out that brushes against his prostate with every pass. Fit whines, writhing at the sensitivity, back arching off the bed, digging his fingers into Pac’s soft hips hard enough to bruise. It hurts, but Mike’s grip on his thighs is tight, not even giving him an inch of leeway.

Pac’s thighs shake. His hips jerk away from Fit’s tongue, but he’s unable to lift off him with Fit’s hands keeping him seated firmly on Fit’s face. Fit laps up all the slick leaking from his cunt like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. With Pac moaning on his tongue and Mike torturing him so insistently with his strap, Fit might as well be in heaven.

Pac cries out, stammering out praises as he cums again, crushing Fit’s head with his strong thighs, nails scratching lines into Fit’s sides. Fit wishes he could see Pac’s face as he orgasms, watch the way his eyes roll back and his mouth falls open as he moans shamelessly to the air.

Fit doesn’t stop his assault with his tongue even as Pac yelps, trying to pull away. Pac tastes absolutely divine. If he could, he would keep Pac here forever, pulling orgasm after orgasm from him with no end in sight.

A pair of hands grab Fit’s wrists and squeeze, hard. “Let go, Fit,” Mike’s voice commands, and Fit does as he’s told with a disappointed whimper.

Pac lifts himself off Fit’s face with a shaky sigh, shifting backwards to collapse on the bed. Fit blinks up at him, wishing Pac was still on him, still using him.

Pac smiles at him and reaches out to run his fingers along Fit’s jaw. “Good girl,” he whispers. “You’re so good to me.”

Mike thrusts into Fit hard, making Fit’s eyes flutter. Pac giggles and leans down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Look at Mikey, Fit. He’s not done yet.”

Fit swallows and turns his gaze to Mike, finally able to see him without Pac in the way. He looks like a mess, pink hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, glasses crooked on his face, mouth half open as he pants. He’s absolutely gorgeous like this, candlelight glinting off the sweat on his light brown skin. Fit could stare at him for ages and never get tired of the view.

He grips Fit’s thighs tighter. He’s paused in his thrusting, but the strap is still gently vibrating, making Fit squirm.

“Are you going to let me keep fucking you?” Mike says. “You going to be a good bitch for me and let me cum in you?”

Fit groans at the words. “Yes,” he chokes. “God, yes, please.”

Mike wastes no time picking up a fast pace again, folding Fit’s knees up to his shoulders and pounding into him mercilessly. Fit automatically tries to jerk away, much too sensitive for the brutal pace, but Mike doesn’t let him go, hunching over to trap his lips in a sloppy kiss, caging him in against the mattress. Fit wails, writhing as Mike nails against his prostate. It’s too much, far too much for him to handle after cumming twice already, but he can’t stop him even if he tried, so he just fists his hands in the sheets and takes what he’s given, even as tears prick at his eyes.

“Good girl, you’re so good, cachorrinho,” Pac coos, trailing his fingers along Fit’s throat. “Oh, we should have put a collar on you before we started. You look so pretty, but you’d look even prettier with a nice collar and leash on you. Then Mikey would have something to pull on while he breeds you.”

Fit whimpers, letting his head fall back as Pac’s words wash over him. Next time, he tells himself. Next time they can collar and leash him and do whatever they want with him. He wants them to muzzle him so he can’t protest, and—god, he’d love for them both to fuck him at once. Pac has fit two dildos inside Fit before, but two straps? Both attached to a person, moving at different paces? Just the thought is nearly enough to make his spent cock twitch back to life.

Mike moves to press kisses to Fit’s neck, sucking marks into the pale skin, nipping at him with his teeth. Fit feels like he’s not even on earth anymore, his head floating in the clouds, nothing but the strap stretching him open and the hands gripping his thighs to keep him grounded.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” Mike mutters against his ear. “Look at you, you’ve cum twice and you still want more. Pac’s been too nice to you. He gives you anything you want just because you look at him with those pretty eyes, but that doesn’t fucking work on me.”

Mike hand wraps around his throat again, gently squeezing, making Fit gasp. “You’re fucking lucky we both want me to fuck you. Otherwise I’d just leave you empty and begging for my cock. Has Paccy ever edged you before?”

Fit shakes his head, and Mike grins, a devious glint in his eye. “Fuck, just wait until I get my hands on you without Pac here to save you. I’m gonna fucking wreck you. Even better, maybe I can tie Pac up and make him sit still while I play with you. That way he can watch, but he can’t help you when you start begging.”

Fit hears Pac groan behind him, along with a slick, wet sound. Fit glances back to see Pac fingering himself, two fingers buried deep in his cunt, eyes glazed over with pleasure. “Meu deus, Mikey,” he whispers.

Mike squeezes Fit’s throat just a little tighter, and Fit chokes as spots dance in his vision. He doesn’t care how much it hurts, he wants Mike to keep fucking him until Mike is satisfied. He wants Mike to choke him out until he loses consciousness, and then keep using his unconscious body for as long as he wants.

Mike nips at Fit’s shoulder, no doubt leaving behind a mark that will surely bruise. “Paccy hasn’t got you trained well enough. You’re too loud. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to stay quiet and take what you’re given. He might let you get away with shit, but not me.”

His hips twitch, his pace growing erratic, breathing harder as he chases his peak. He squeezes Fit’s throat tighter and leans down to hiss in his ear.

“You’re my bitch,” Mike snaps, and then he groans as he cums, losing his rhythm as his hips jerk, grinding hard against his strap. Fit can barely whimper, gasping for air through the hand around his neck. He’s half hard again, he realizes, but he doesn’t even care if he cums again. As long as Mike takes what he wants from him.

Mike’s pace slows to a steady grind, and then stops altogether, sheathed inside Fit to the hilt. He lets go of Fit’s leg and reaches down, and then the vibrations turn off. Mike lets his throat go, allowing Fit to breathe properly. He sits back a bit to let Fit’s legs fall from his shoulders and Fit winces, stretching his legs out. They ache from being stuck at his chest for so long.

Mike begins to pull out, but Fit latches his legs behind his back with a whine. He thought Mike wanted to cum more than him. He tries to voice this, but all that comes out is a raspy cough.

Mike seems to understand anyway. “I can usually only go once,” he says with a chuckle. “That was all talk.” His fingers gently prod at Fit’s throat. “Was I choking you too hard?”

Fit shakes his head. He’s ready to shut his eyes and go to sleep, but he hears a quiet moan and turns his head.

Pac is still fingering himself, three inside of him now, propped up on his knees and holding the headboard for balance. He looks at Fit and Mike with his wide brown eyes.

“Please,” he whispers.

Mike grins. He reaches out with one hand to replace Pac’s fingers with his own. Pac groans, canting his hips into Mike’s hand. He looks down at Fit and wordlessly holds out a hand.

Fit reaches up to take it, bringing Pac’s hand to his mouth to press a chaste kiss to the back of it. Mike curls his fingers, pressing insistently at Pac’s g-spot, and within seconds Pac is throwing his head back with a loud moan, squeezing Fit’s hand tight as his climax washes over him.

Pac’s entire body slumps against the headboard. Mike pulls his fingers out, slick with cum. He meanly flicks Pac’s clit and Pac yelps, legs snapping closed to keep Mike from touching.

“Asshole,” Pac mutters.

Mike just giggles. He holds his wet hand up for Fit to see. “Want to clean me off, cachorrinho?”

Fit opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. Mike shoves his fingers in Fit’s mouth, nearly making him choke, but Fit takes it, laving his tongue all over Mike’s thick fingers, dipping between them to lap up every drop of Pac’s cum. He doesn’t stop licking them clean until Mike tugs his fingers from his lips, leaving Fit’s mouth gaping open, tongue darting out to try to get one last taste.

“Good girl,” Pac says breathlessly, squeezing Fit’s hand.

Fit takes a deep breath, sinking into the mattress, exhaustion encroaching at the edge of his consciousness. He’s ready for sleep.

Mike’s strap starts pulling out and he squeaks, tightening his legs around Mike’s back. Mike huffs. “I need to clean you up, you’re covered in cum.”

Pac runs a finger down Fit’s neck. “You wanna stay stuffed full, cachorrinho?”

Fit nods. Mike mumbles something, but then he’s detaching the dildo from his harness with a little bit of fumbling. Pac lets go of Fit’s hand to move down the bed, and when Mike pulls away, Pac presses his hand against the base of the dildo to keep it inside Fit.

Mike clambers off the bed and takes off his harness, muttering in Portuguese. He disappears through the door that leads to the bathroom. Fit watches him go, wishing Mike would come back and hold him, even just touch him like Pac is doing, running his hand up and down Fit’s thigh, but Mike does have a point. Even if they don’t shower, they should at least get some wet wipes or something. They’re all kind of gross.

“How are you feeling, Fit?” Pac whispers, tracing patterns in Fit’s stockings.

Fit swallows. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and his throat hurts a little, but he manages to rasp out a reply. “Good.”

Pac smiles. “That’s good.” He tugs at the elastic of Fit’s panties with one hand. “You want these off? They’re gross.”

Fit hums. He’s too tired to do it himself though. Pac seems to understand this, because he takes the panties in both hands and gently tugs them off over his stockings. He tosses them to the floor to be dealt with later.

He presses his palm against the dildo again, pushing it back in as it began to slip out. Fit grunts as it brushes his sensitive prostate. He thinks he’s too tired out to cum again, but it feels good, having something inside him, keeping him stretched open.

Pac’s face lights up. “Oh, Fit! I forgot, I had a Valentine’s gift for you too! Mike distracted me with you before I could give it to you, but here.”

He takes his hands away from Fit, and then he opens his inventory to rummage around in it. Something falls out of it and into his hands. Dismissing his inventory away, he smiles as he presents his prize to Fit. Fit sits up on his elbows to take a look.

It’s a collar. They have a couple already; a nice blue one that comes with a matching blue leash, and a brown leather one for when Fit wants to wear one outside. This one, however...

It’s pink. A light bubblegum pink, lined with little heart-shaped studs. There’s a heart-shaped tag hanging from the d-ring. Fit reaches up to take it, squinting to read the writing on it.

On one side, it says in black letters, “GOOD GIRL,” and on the other, it says “RETURN TO PACTW.”

“I guess I should have put this on you before we started, but you surprised me with all this, you know? Anyway, I made this for you because we have like, your leather choker and your blue collar but you don’t have one specifically for when you want to be my pretty girl, you know? I hope the pink isn’t too much. If you don’t like it, I can...” He trails off and looks down. A grin spreads across his face. “Oh. I take it you do like it then, huh?”

Fit is fully hard, precum leaking from his tip and dripping onto the sheets. A whimper rips itself from his throat.

“Aww, here, let me put it on you.” Pac scoots forward and wraps the collar around Fit’s neck, latching it at the back. He tugs on it with two fingers to make sure he can still breathe.

Pac sits back, one hand touching the tag on the collar, running his thumb over the words engraved in the metal. “Look at you,” he whispers. “You’re so pretty.”

Fit hears footsteps and glances up to see Mike walking out of the bathroom with an armful of things. “Okay, I have washcloths, Paccy, can you—” He stops in his tracks when he sees the scene in front of him. “My god, aren’t you guys done yet?”

Pac’s hand wraps around Fit’s cock and he lets out a low whine. “Not yet, Mikey.”

Mike scoffs, but he sits on the bed behind Fit and starts organizing his things. “Okay. Let me know when you’re finished so we can go the fuck to sleep.”

Pac grins and grabs Fit by the collar, pulling him closer. Fit lets him, following Pac wherever he drags him, until he’s sitting on Pac’s lap. With one hand, Pac starts stroking his cock, thumbing at the head, making Fit’s hips jolt, and with his other hand, he reaches around Fit to press on the dildo in his ass. Fit moans at the dual stimulation, torn between bucking his hips into Pac’s hand and rocking back on the dildo inside him. Pac presses kisses to his face and whispers praises in his ear as he strokes Fit faster.

“You were such a good girl for me and Mikey,” he says softly. “You took him so well, you made me feel so good. You’re my good girl, my perfect, pretty girl. Do you want to cum for me, queridinho?”

Fit nods frantically, hips twitching. Pac grabs the base of the dildo and slowly slides it in and out, in tandem with the hand on Fit’s cock. He presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Come on then, sweetheart, let go for me.”

Fit’s orgasm isn’t nearly as intense as the first two, more of a gentle roll of pleasure than a plummet off a cliff, but it still has him moaning loudly to the air as cum dribbles over Pac’s fingers.

He rests his forehead against Pac’s shoulder with an exhausted sigh. Pac kisses his neck and whispers about how good he’s been.

Then a pair of hands are on Fit’s shoulders, gently pulling him away from Pac just enough so he can look up and see Mike’s face. “If you guys don’t want to shower, whatever,” he says, his voice teasing but soft, “but I used warm water on these washcloths and they’re not gonna stay warm, so if you want to wipe yourselves down you better hurry.”

Pac huffs. “Mikey, why can’t you let us have a nice moment?”

“Because you both stink.” Mike hands Pac a cloth. “Fit, can I take all this off you?” He gently tugs at Fit’s bra strap.

Fit nods, unable to form words at the moment. He scoots off Pac’s lap and onto the bed, letting out a small gasp when the base of the dildo presses up into him as he sits down, but he sits still as Mike unclasps his bra and unties his skirt. He can barely even keep his eyes open.

Then there’s a wet, warm cloth dragging over his aching shoulders. He gives up on keeping his eyes open, allowing them to fall shut as Mike gently wipes the sweat off his skin.

Pac’s hands join him, carefully tugging off Fit’s thigh highs, and another cloth is wiping the cum off his stomach. This gentleness, this care, feels almost better than the sex does. He could sit here forever and just drift off into sleep.

“You were very good,” Mike says quietly. “Thank you for letting me join you, Fit. It was nice.”

“We’ll have to do it again sometime,” Pac agrees. “If that’s okay with you, Fit.”

Fit nods. Words are too much right now, but he would love that.

Pac’s cloth trails up to Fit’s face. He cracks an eye open to look at him. Pac smiles and gently wipes the cloth over Fit’s mouth.

“Your lip gloss is smudged,” he whispers with a giggle, and Fit can’t help but smile back.

Mike’s hand snakes under Fit, gently pressing against the dildo. “Can I take this out?”

“Mhm,” Fit hums, leaning forward a bit to give Mike better access.

Mike tugs at the base, and Fit automatically clenches, trying to keep it in, but Pac tells him to relax and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. Fit takes a deep breath and tries to relax as best he can, allowing Mike to tug it out inch by inch. Finally, it’s out, and Mike wipes it down and tosses it on the floor with everything else.

Pac taps at Fit’s new collar. “You want this off too?”

Fit shakes his head. He wants to keep it on. It’s Pac’s gift to him. He wants to wake up with it on.

Mike reaches around him to touch the tag hanging from the d-ring. “Cute,” he mutters. “I should get you one, too. How do you feel about a collar that says ‘bitch’ on it?”

Oh god, Fit would love that more than he wants to admit. “Take it easy, Mike,” he mumbles, but he can’t hide how flushed his face gets just thinking about it.

Mike chuckles. “I’ll get making one, then. Late birthday present.” He clambers back, kicking the comforter down the bed and shimmying under the sheets. “Okay, come on. If you guys are done being in love and gross, it’s bedtime.”

Fit, too weary to do much himself, is led over to Mike by Pac taking his hand and pulling him over. He feels Pac fumble with his prosthetic arm for a moment before it releases, sliding off the stump of his arm. Pac stows it away in his inventory, then does the same with his own prosthetic, and then Pac is gently nudging Fit to lay down next to Mike, which he does so gladly. He collapses into the mattress with a sigh and Mike’s arm is immediately wrapping around him, pulling him in to rest his head on Mike’s chest. Pac does the same on Mike’s other side, snuggling up to them with a satisfied hum.

They’re silent for a moment before Mike sighs. “The candles.”

“Ah, shit.” Pac scrambles upright and out of bed, balancing on his one foot. “Don’t worry, I got it!”

“Paccy, you’re going to fall,” Mike says.

“Nah, nah, I got it!” Pac hops over to the nearest candle and leans down to blow it out. He starts hopping over to the next one.

Fit begins to sit up, wanting to help, but Mike holds him tighter with one arm. “You stay here. If he wants to do it and trip and fall, he’s allowed.”

“I’m not going to trip!” Pac blows out another candle and makes his way to the next one. “Don’t worry about it!”

He painstakingly makes his way around the room, blowing out each candle one by one, and then begins hopping back to the bed. He yelps, pitching forward, but luckily he’s close enough to the bed that he simply faceplants into the mattress.

“Told you,” Mike mutters.

“I did that on purpose,” Pac huffs as he wriggles onto the bed. “You know, next time, let’s not use so many candles.”

“They were annoying to light,” Fit mumbles in agreement.

Pac squirms under the covers and curls up on Mike’s other side, his head resting on Mike’s shoulder. “Thank you for the gift,” he whispers. “I liked it a lot.”

“I knew you would,” Mike whispers back. “It was Fit’s idea, though.”

Pac smiles. “Thank you, Fit.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Fit’s forehead, then cranes his neck up to kiss Mike’s cheek.

“Boa noite,” he says, settling in with his arm wrapped around Mike.

“Boa noite,” Mike hums.

Fit can’t help but smile, just a little bit. He allows his eyes to fall shut, and he whispers a quiet “Boa noite,” to the room as he begins to drift off.