Archive of Our Own

“What’s he even doing?” Kon mutters, lips brushing Tim’s ear, his voice low. Almost a whisper. His eyes are locked on Braxton, one knee drawn up to his chest. He’s pressed against Tim where he’s sitting curled up against the arm of the loveseat. Kon is warm, colder than usual, but still warm. He rests his chin on Tim’s shoulder. He’s holding Tim by the bicep, a loose curl of fingers, like he’s just trying to make sure Tim’s still there. His TTK sits like a weighted blanket over him. It makes Tim feel heavy, and present, and a little tired.

Tim tries not to make it obvious he’s staring. “I don’t know,” he says. He thinks that Braxton is cooking, but it’s hard to tell. He’s been going in and out of the kitchen a lot. He’s also been disturbingly quiet. 

“He curses a lot,” Kon mutters, but Tim hasn’t heard anything from Braxton so it must be soft enough only he can hear. Or he’s talking about the rest of his impression of Braxton over the last week. Tim’s not sure. 

Tim huffs. Somewhere deep down, where he’s afraid to admit it to Kon, amused. “Yeah.” It reminds Tim of Jason. And of Steph a little. It’s comforting. It used to freak him out when everyone swore around him because his parents never did, and Tim never tried, he was too scared what would happen. 

Kon tried to kill Braxton. Or beat him up, or whatever, the first time Tim came down from his room in Luthor’s medical suite to visit Kon and Braxton followed. All Braxton did was kiss Tim a little, all he did was talk but Kon still pinned Braxton and started hitting him. It devolved into wrestling, because Kon is de-powered and Braxton isn’t small, and Tim had to drag them off of each other. 

Luthor hadn’t thought to make Kon not hurt Braxton, which means that it either hadn’t occurred to him Kon would—unlikely—or, the more realistic one, which is that until Tim, they didn’t have anything to fight about.

Tim is trying not to feel like property being fought over, but it hasn’t been working well.

At least Kon and Braxton can be in the same room now without it dissolving into shouting matches. 

“Still don’t know what you see in him.” It’s the twelfth time Kon’s said that today. He thinks Braxton could be the Virgin Mary and Kon would probably still hate his guts. He doesn’t defend Braxton anymore, because Kon isn’t ever listening when Tim does. 

 He drops his head, so it's sandwiching Kon’s between his ear and his shoulder, still just watching Braxton pace around Kon’s little kitchenette. Back and forth, back and forth. Tim can smell something burning on the eye of the stove, something sweet, like honey.  

Kon keeps scowling. 

When Braxton finally determines the dish is done, he separates it into a bowl, jabs a fork into it and says, a little sing song, “hey baby, I have successfully recreated,” he puts the fork into his mouth with a bite of the food, and then he stops, and he drops the bowl like something bit him from it. The ceramic shatters when it hits the kitchen floor, which makes Kon jump, and the weight of his TTK gets squeezing. 

“Braxton?” Tim scrambles to get to his feet, but he falls back against the couch when Kon’s TTK doesn’t let up and he can’t work his way through the heavy air to get upright. He has to fight back a swell of irritation. “What’s wrong?” 

Braxton’s white as a sheet. The fork clatters to the ground too, and Braxton makes a face, a puffy, alarmed face, lifting one hand slowly to touch his knuckles to his mouth. He takes two steps to the side, bending over the sink and vomiting into the basin, gripping the counter with both hands, like he might fall over.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tim demands. “Braxton?” 

Kon tightens his grip on Tim, holding him down, keeping him in place. He calls, lip curling, “You good man?”

There’s no concern in it. 

Braxton just heaves for a minute, shoulders hunching as he drops down onto his elbows. “I made shit,” he mumbles, barely loud enough for Tim to make out. He spits bile into the sink, hair falling to cover his eyes. “Salope inutile.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, unsteady, trying to get up again and denied, “yeah I can see that. Are you allergic? Are you having some sort of reaction right now?” 

Braxton huffs. Distinctly amused and profoundly bitter. He scrapes a hand through his hair. It’s shaking, and Tim is still just sitting here while he falls apart. “Yeah, that’s…that’s…sure.” 

“Kon,” Tim hisses under his breath, frustrated, and finally turns to look at him. 

Kon doesn’t let up. His expression is blank. “He’s fine. It’s not allergies.”

When Tim looks back, Braxton is already staring at him, and his expression is a little dark. He shoves off the counter, inhaling deeply and wipes at his mouth. “Tim, c’mere.” 

And just like that, Kon’s TTK lifts immediately. They already played that game and failed, and neither one of them apparently wants to see Tim have another seizure. Kon is unhappy about it, it’s pratically radiating from him, the overprotective monster that’s been sitting with it’s teeth bared on Tim’s chest since they got here is unrelenting and always unhappy unless Tim is in his arms. 

And even then. 

Tim lifts his hand to Braxton’s face as soon as he’s close enough, resting his fingers on the side of his boyfriend’s neck. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“You know it’s fucked up that you do that, right Connie?” Braxton puts a hand on Tim’s back and guides him closer, until they’re nearly flushed together. It makes it kind of hard to look at his face, but Tim is hard pressed to deny him anything right now. “For all the fucking shit you give me.” 

“I’m not trying to hurt him.” Kon hasn’t got up, his voice is still too far away, but Tim can hear the venom in it.

“Neither am I.” 

Tim doesn’t say anything. He’s gotten a little used to them pretending he’s not here, and it’s usually worse if he does. 

Braxton looks ill. He has since Tim woke up. It’s not exactly surprising, considering, but usually he’s less sweaty. More put together. He’s wearing a hoodie and sweat pants, his unwashed hair flopping into his eyes. He glares at Kon with heat, the same mutinous expression reflected between them like sun and moon. Tim puts a hand on Braxton’s chest, quelling. He can feel the man’s heartbeat against his fingertips. It’s racing.

His whole body is taut with tension, sweat arcing down his neck. His hands are trembling slightly where they’re touching him. He’s scared. 

“Hey,” Tim keeps his voice soft, squeezes the side of Braxton’s neck with gentle pressure, until the man looks down at him, eyes a little softer. “Just you, right? Focus on me. You’re okay.” 

Braxton blinks slow, like a cat. He drags his gaze away from Kon, his pretty green eyes focusing on Tim, pupil shuddering. He blows out a harsh breath through his nose, bends and presses the side of his cheek into Tim’s forehead. Tim exhales a breath of relief. He glances at the counter, with the bowls. It’s just fromage blanc. There’s halved strawberries all over the counter. Tim has no idea what he was cooking. 

“You’re doing good,” he says, and rubs his hand over Braxton’s scalp, careful with how he applies pressure, because Braxton doesn’t like to have his hair tugged. “Deep breaths.” 

Braxton does. He wraps both his arms around Tim’s waist and buries his face into his neck a little more. His words are low, but there’s no way for Kon to miss them with how close they are in proximity, “That was a bad idea.”  

“I’m sure it’s great,” Tim promises, “you didn’t mess anything up.” 

“Yeah,” Braxton breathes in his scent, “that’s the problem. He never messed it up either.” 

Tim looks at the bowl again. He thinks he remembers seeing that at Lavigne’s apartment, now that he’s thinking back on it. He hasn’t even tasted it, but it seems to sour on his tongue anyway. He pulls Braxton a step forward, like he can guide him around the counter and away from it. 

“Oh,” he says, “um. We don’t have to eat that. We can order pizza again or something.” 

“Lex won’t like that,” Braxton still hasn’t dug his face out of Tim’s neck. His nose is warm, against Tim’s skin, and his hands are settled, a little content, like Tim has made it better by just being here. Tim likes that he can do that with Braxton, because he’s the only person he can “he’ll sic Lacey on us again.” 

Tim laughs, a short, aborted noise. The cook had done nothing but complain and cry and smoke and tell them how she wasn’t usually like this, she was just stressed cooking for Superboy of all people. 

“Tim,” Kon complains. He’s got both knees drawn up with him on the couch now, elbows resting on them, face twisted up. Jealousy and concern and fear and pure rage. Hot, burning hatred. Tim’s neck prickles. 

“Down boy,” Braxton says, barely pulling back from Tim’s skin to say it, so his breath ghosts over Tim’s collar bone. Tim shudders, tipping his head to the side, exposing his neck. Braxton only pulls him closer. Finally lifts his chin to rest it on Tim’s shoulder and glare at Kon. Speaking to Tim, he says, “Can we go back upstairs, or are you not done playing with your dog?”

Tim tries to pull away from him, going cold. Sharp. Braxton doesn’t let him go, “Don’t call him that. That isn’t funny.” 

Kon bares his teeth. He unfolds his legs slowly, standing from the couch, straightening to his full height. 

Braxton huffs, and Tim catches the end of him rolling his eyes as he pulls his head off of Tim’s shoulder. He takes his hand instead, and starts to wordlessly nudge Tim toward the exit, leaving the mess for Kon or Lacey. 

“Wait, Brax,” Tim says, dragging his feet a little. He turns, looking at Kon over his shoulder. His chest squeezes painfully, watching the forlorn, lost expression on his—on Kon’s face. 

“Tim,” Braxton sighs his name, the way that Jack used to, like Tim is being a stupid little kid, “we’re done. I don’t want to be in here anymore, and you’re getting awfully cozy over there.” 

“You can’t do that,” Kon says, and Tim closes his mouth.

Braxton looks up, slow, and the expression on his face is dangerous. “Can’t do what?” 

“Police him like that,” Kon is frustrated. “He doesn’t belong to you.” 

Braxton’s lips press against Tim’s firmly, and the kiss startles him, but Tim responds to it automatically, only pulling back when Braxton slides his tongue between his lips, licking at the inside of his teeth. Braxton’s hand slips against the back of his head, and pulls him in deeper. They don’t break off until Braxton lets them, breathing against his face, looking toward Kon. 

“I’m pretty sure he does,” Braxton says, he looks Kon up and down, “that bother you, little puppy?” 

Tim is flushing, he isn’t really breathing, “Braxton.” 

“Fuck you,” Kon spits. He’s staring at Tim, eyes a little wide, a little afraid. Tim feels the flush go deeper, it burns at him, he can feel it spread down his neck. 

Braxton puts both hands on Tim’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer. He kisses Tim again, and when Tim turns his face away he trails kisses down Tim’s neck, slow and sucking, his eyes locked with Kon’s the whole time. 

Tim’s body responds, like it always does. Warmth pools in his stomach, and Tim’s thoughts stutter out of alignment at the soft, wet pressure against his skin. Braxton licks up the side of Tim’s neck, warm and languid, like he has all the time in the world to do it, knows where every nerve ending can be reached, which makes Tim twitch and bite on a gasp. He pushes at Braxton’s chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to make a point.

“Braxton, stop,” Tim breathes. He makes a thin noise, at the rush of electricity down his spine, “Baby.” 

“He said stop,” Kon snaps, taking another step forward when Braxton bites down on the side of his neck, just beside his jugular. That’s what makes Braxton pull off finally, lips slick, a smirk curling his mouth. 

“What?” he says, voice innocent somehow, grin boyish. He pushes Tim back a step, toward Kon. “You think he wants you, Connie?”

“Enough,” Tim says, a little thin, trying to ignore the heat under his skin at the thought of Kon putting his tongue where Braxton has. Braxton looks down at him, pupils blowing, and Tim scoffs, shoving weakly at his chest. “Grow up, Braxton.”

Braxton only hms, and when he tips his head back down, he bites Tim, hard, and Tim jolts. It’s not even with arousal, it just hurts. Braxton sucks on it, though, as the heat is swelling, licking it like he can provide ambrosia in his saliva, and his hand slides underneath Tim’s shirt, fingers warm against the curve of his spine.

Kon is still watching them. 

“Braxton, no,” Tim starts to actually fight him, pulling back, pushing on him, “this isn’t funny, stop it. Stop—ah.” His protests are broken off into something dangerously close to a moan as Braxton grabs his face and twists it to the side to press his mouth against the curve of Tim’s jaw and ear, the spot that always sends a rush of pleasure so powerful it makes him squirm. 

Braxton’s hand is sliding around his waist, teasing at the edge of his boxers, and Tim’s hands feel weak and useless, pinned between both of them. 

When he can talk again, he says, “Braxton stop.” 

Kon’s beside him, suddenly. Tim doesn’t know if he just lost track of the other boy for a minute, or if he used superspeed. Either way, Kon moves fast, sliding an arm between Braxton and Tim, wrapping one big hand around Braxton’s neck. He doesn’t apply pressure, he can’t, not with the orders Luthor gave him, he just holds Braxton there. His thumb and small finger digs into the hinge of Braxton’s jaw, forcing him backward. The hands on Tim are peeled back and away by TTK, Tim watches Braxton struggle against it, as Kon forces his hands up until they’re splayed beside his head. 

Kon’s eyes, sickly green from kryptonite, blaze. “He said stop,” he says, furious. 

Braxton’s eyes are afraid, but his mouth fucking isn’t, as he whispers, head tilted in Tim’s direction but his gaze locked with Kon, “Tim, kiss him.” 

Kon blinks, twice, going stiff all over, just staring at Braxton like he’s grown another head. He lets go, TTK dropping, and Braxton’s shoulders slump with relief. 

Tim is breathing heavy, he feels blood trickling down his nose. He fights it, god, he fights. “Braxton, don’t. Please. Please,” he takes a step closer, despite the swirl of dizziness, reaching up to grab for Braxton and kiss him instead, because maybe that would loophole. 

“You piece of—” Kon turns in time with Tim, when his body forces him to grab Kon’s shoulders and cling, and it’s Kon that leans down and seals their lips, chastely, their breath mingling together so briefly Tim’s head spins. His hands go to Tim’s hips, sitting proprietary on the dip of his waist, fingers flat, just balancing Tim, holding him up. Tim fists both hands in his shirt.

Tim can feel himself starting to cry. “Oh,” he breathes, at the swell of butterflies and want want want in him, and it’s fucked up, it’s so fucked up. He looks into Kon’s eyes, so beautiful and familiar, and safe. And everything he’s wanted since he was fifteen.

Oh, he’s beautiful has never gotten any less true or easier. 

“Hey,” Kon pulls him close, hugs him tight, letting Tim bury his face into his shoulder. He cups the back of Tim’s head with one hand, running his other up and down Tim’s back. “It’s okay, we’re okay.”

It’s not okay. Braxton forced them and Tim liked it. Tim is so relieved that he won’t die having never kissed Kon. Tim feels like he’s floating on some sort of stratosphere, his lips are numb.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kon is so gentle with him, even when the undertone of fury is seeping into his voice, and it’s like Tim remembers that Braxton is there at all, still behind them, close enough to touch, and watching it all. Tim is too scared to look at him, too scared to try and Kon make him stop. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”

“You should touch him, Connie,” Braxton comments, and Tim flinches at the sound of his voice, arid and too casual. He feels dirty all over. He can’t believe Braxton did that. What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he just going to pass Tim around now? “He wants you to. Can’t you see it all over him? He loves you. Has he told you that? He told me.”

Tim can’t look at Kon now either. There’s nowhere to stare but his hands, and they’re shaking. He tries to push back from Kon, and he actually makes it this time. Kon’s hands slide off of him. There’s silence for so long that it seems to rupture something in his ears. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, to Kon, because the humiliation is too much to bear, and the shame and the god I promised him I wouldn’t hurt him. He lied. “I didn’t—” he bites at the back of his hand, “Braxton, please stop. Let’s—let’s just go upstairs, okay? We can do anything you want.” 

“C’mon, Tim, you’re gonna play coy now?” Braxton steps up to him. He finally, finally stops looking at Kon to meet Tim’s eyes. His eyes soften.

Tim is getting desperate. He grabs Braxton’s hand, clasping their fingers together. Braxton meets him easily, and Tim starts to pull on him. Braxton goes no where, because of course he fucking doesn’t. “You can use whatever orders you want to, I won’t protest,” he tries, “I’ll ride you. I can suck you off. Or—” Braxton’s face hasn’t changed, “we—we can go, however long you want, or…” or what? What else is there that Braxton loves doing in sex that Tim can do to him? 

“Tim,” Kon sounds like something is being wrung out of him. 

Braxton tilts his head. His eyes are so dark Tim can barely see the ring of green around his pupils. His gaze drifts slowly to Kon, and it doesn’t lose any of its heat. “What about what you want, pretty boy,” he says, sweetly. Kon’s hands clench into fists.

Tim wants this to stop. Whatever this posturing is between the two of them. Braxton is going to win and it’s going to end with Tim humiliated. He feels like rope being tugged at two ends.

“Please,” Tim tries. 

Braxton looks at him from underneath his lashes, and his smirk is terrifying. He draws Tim in by his wrist, kisses him again, and when Tim stops fighting, and lets him slip his tongue inside his mouth, Braxton directs him back, pushing him step by step. Tim thinks they’re going for the wall, and Braxton will haul him up and fuck him there, but his back hits Kon.

He feels the sharp exhale of air, Kon’s hands come up to grab him automatically. 

“Don’t stop touching Kon,” Braxton breathes into his mouth, pulling off, “wouldn’t want him to miss out on all of this, huh?” 

“You fucker,” Kon hisses. 

“Don’t pretend this isn’t what you want,” Braxton says, grabbing hold of Tim’s shirt in the front, grabbing one of Kon’s hands and pressing it to the bare skin of Tim’s waist. Kon fights him, but not much, and his hand is cold when it makes contact. 

Braxton kisses Tim, his hand over Kon’s, spread wide so Tim still feels the tips of his fingers against his waist. Braxton slides his hand down Tim’s chest, picking at the edge of his shirt, pulling up, slowly. Tim breaks off from the kiss to look down at his hand, then back at Kon, and the humiliation makes him draw his legs together, his abdominal muscles go tight. 

“Oh, c’mon, little performer,” Braxton breathes, he leans in to kiss Tim again, pepper his face with them, “don’t you want to put on a show for Connie? You know how long he’s waited for that?” 

“Please stop,” Tim whispers again. Kon’s hand is still on his waist, unmoving. 

His fingers are so long, impossibly smooth, not calloused at all like Braxton’s are. His fingertips brush over the waistband of Tim’s pants, his palm leeching warmth from Tim’s skin. 

Behind him, Kon exhales, shaky, and the feeling of his breath on the back of Tim’s neck makes him shudder and twitch. Kon lets his head fall forward, forehead resting on Tim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding miserable. “Tim, I—”

“Re-lax,” Braxton draws out the word, pushing them all back again, “hm? What bible study did you two crawl out of? You’re both so pent up.” he leans in on the other side of Tim’s neck, nibbles on the edge of his jaw, next to his ear, drawing out a thin gasp from him. 

Braxton is blisteringly hot compared to Kon. His hands aren’t half as still, roaming over Tim, slipping under his shirt to trace his ribs. He slides one knee between Tim’s legs, forcing his feet apart, grinding forward a little. Tim grips his shoulders, rocking up onto his tiptoes. 

“C’mon, Superboy,” Braxton says, leaning forward, squishing Tim between them. He tries to catch Kon’s eyes, reaching past Tim to grab at the other boy’s hip. “I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy.”

“Fuck you,” Kon hisses. He jerks back from Tim a step, as Braxton does something. Tim grabs Braxton’s wrist, pulling it back to himself, his stomach dropping sharply. He sets Braxton’s hand on his waist, leaning up to kiss Braxton. The man avoids it, laughing softly, and slides his his hand from his waist to his back, and lets go.

Kon makes a thin noise behind him. His hand doesn’t let go of Tim, even though the desire to run is practically bleeding off of him.

“Braxton,” Tim says desperately. He tries to kiss him again. “Hey. Look at me.” 

“Come here,” Braxton says, grunting a little, as he finally drags his attention away from Kon to look back down at Tim. The brief flicker of annoyance is overtaken by a smug grin. He grabs Tim by the hips and pulls him up, completely off the ground. Tim yelps a little, wrapping his legs around Braxton’s waist as he’s dragged into another kiss. Kon is forced to edge closer, to slide his hand from Tim’s stomach to his back, fingertips trailing over the dip of his hip, his touch drawing a noise out of Tim, muffled into Braxton’s mouth.

Braxton pulls off, biting at Tim’s bottom lip, looking at him from under his lashes, his grin predatory. “Needy, huh? Didn’t take you for an attention whore, princess.” 

Tim flushes brilliantly, but any rebuttal is swallowed by a gasp as Braxton kisses down the side of his neck, grabbing at his ass and squeezing. He wraps his arms around Braxton’s neck, curling into the sensation. 

Braxton’s left hand slips off from Tim’s ass, and when he grabs at Kon this time, the other boy is pulled flush against his back. Tim exhales sharply. “Sorry,” Kon whispers, and Tim can hear him moving back, “let go, you piece of shit.” 

“Aw,” Braxton raises his head, setting it on Tim’s shoulder, “c’mon, Connie.” Tim feels his arm move against his side, and Braxton squeezes at his ass, “y’know what I’ve noticed?” Kon shifts behind him, “you really aren’t fighting that hard. I think you want this, huh? You want to touch him, Superboy? He’s all yours.” 

“Fuck you,” Kon whispers, leaning in, his face inches away from Braxton. Tim tilts his head, overwhelmed, unable to help the heat rising up in him. 

“Tell him,” Braxton breathes into Tim’s ear, “Tell him how you want him to touch you, Tim.” Tim licks his lips, humiliated, and feels his stomach squeeze when Braxton adds, breathy, looking at Kon, “Don’t lie.” 

“I—” god it burns, the shame. He can feel tears sting in his eyes, his face heating. Kon’s still holding him, still keeping them touching, just to make sure Tim won’t feel the repercussions of that order. God, what kind of sick fuck is he, getting off on this? He doesn’t even know if Kon likes him like that. 

“I want you so much.” the words aren’t enough. They bubble up like soda in a shaken two-leader, violent and fizzy. The pressure in his head is unbearable. He looks somewhere past Kon, “I want you to kiss me. I want you to put your hands on me…in me. I want to know what it feels like when you put your tongue on my stomach, you to kiss my neck, to touch me and want me, to…to fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”

Braxton laughs, and Tim feels the first hot, humiliated tears spill over. He bows forward, shoving his face in Braxton’s shoulder, hiding. It only makes the rest of it come out muffled and near-intelligible. “I want you so much. I want to taste you, put—in my mouth, I want to suck your dick.”

“Careful, baby,” Braxton says, crude and barely to Tim. He grabs for Kon again, pulling him in by his hips, forcing him flush against Tim’s back. “I think you’re getting the boy of steel all worked up.”

Tim feels his chest heave with a sob. He doesn’t look away from Braxton’s shoulder, not until Kon’s hand shifts, squeezing Tim’s hip, once, reassuring. “It’s okay,” Kon’s voice is gentle, “I feel the same. It’s okay, Tim.” 

He twists, to look at Kon, blinking the tears out of his eyes. Kon’s expression is dead serious. Kon’s nose brushes his, his blue eyes almost tortured. Tim exhales sharply. He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he leans forward, kissing Kon again.

Kon inhales into the kiss. His hand comes up to cup Tim’s face, turning him to get better access to his mouth, something desperate in the way he leans into Tim. For a few seconds, Tim forgets about Braxton at all, and it’s just him and Kon, and the heat between their bodies, the soft sensation of Kon’s lips against his, gently sucking on Kon’s lower lip, the wet heat between them, the soft press of Kon’s teeth against his lip, gentle and wanting. Kon’s hand coming up to grip his opposite thigh, close to where Braxton’s holding him up by the hips. 

Tim brushes his tongue against Kon’s lower lip when Braxton leans down and kisses the side of Tim’s neck, sucking at the skin. Tim breaks off from Kon with a gasp, shuddering into Braxton. 

“Keep kissing him,” Braxton murmurs. Tim inhales too fast, opening his lips to try and apologize, but Kon just pulls him down and kisses Tim first, like if he beats every order to the punch, it will make it less invasive. 

Braxton doesn’t let up. Kon is a good kisser, all the right amounts of suction and pressure, tilting his head so their noses brush instead of knocking against each other. His teeth skim Tim’s bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth, his tongue laving over the sensitive skin. Tim moans, quiet at first, louder when Braxton runs his tongue over his carotid, sucking and kissing and biting, working his mouth over Tim’s neck like he’s trying to eat Tim.

Tim gasps, and Kon uses the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. Tim lets go of Braxton with one hand to grab Kon’s shirt, urging him closer. 

Braxton pulls off, chuckling lowly, kissing lower and lower, until he reaches the collar of Tim’s shirt. He takes it between his teeth, pulling it away from Tim’s chest, pressing his nose to the skin and inhaling him. 

“Tim,” Kon breathes, and Tim shudders. He’s so beautiful, his curly black hair, his dimples. His body, broad and long and pressing into him. Kon kisses him like he’s hungry for it, the hand on Tim’s face sliding up to grip his hair, pulling him in. His tongue rolls over Tim’s soft palette. Heat pools in Tim’s groin, a tingling sensation down to his toes. 

He kisses Kon. He can’t do anything but kiss Kon, with Braxton working down the other side of his neck, and the order settled under his skin. 

Kon pulls back a little, his breathing fast, pupils dilated. Tim cranes to reach his mouth, pulls Kon down into another kiss. Kon moans, surprised and overwhelmed, sucking on Tim’s tongue. 

Braxton takes Kon’s hand, slides it from Tim’s waist to his hip, down his stomach, teases the edge of his underwear. Kon breaks off from the kiss, breath warm on Tim’s face, he feels dizzy, without the boy’s lips on his, “Tim, can I?” Braxton is already moving Kon’s hand toward the waistband, planting his thumb on Tim’s skin, pushing the cloth away from his skin. 

“Kiss me,” Tim says, blinking quickly, desperate, tugging with his grip on Kon’s collar. He can feel blood dripping from his nose. The words are breathless, almost moaned. “Kon, please.”

Braxton swirls his tongue on Tim’s collarbone, and Tim’s breath hitches sharply. Kon hesitates, and clenches his hand, planting it on Tim’s hip and refusing to let it go lower, even when Braxton tugs on him. He leans back in to kiss Tim. Braxton doesn’t seem bothered, sliding his hand into Tim’s underwear himself, wrapping his hand around Tim’s dick, his palm warm and his fingers dig in, stroking down like he’s massaging it. 

His entire body goes taut, a high, thin moan slipping from his lips, into Kon’s mouth. He swallows it, and all of Tim’s noises, biting at his lower lip. 

“Connie, hm,” Braxton slides his thumb onto the slit, rubs his thumbnail up onto it. Tim groans, breath hitching, “yeah, he likes that. You want to feel it? He’s hard for us. So hard, he’s getting my fingers wet.” 

“Tim,” Kon whispers, awed, pulling back so their lips only brush. Tim squeezes his eyes shut, the lust thrumming through him almost too much to handle. He’s hot everywhere, throbbing. The pressure on his dick is blinding. He can feel Kon looking at him, watching his face as his expression screws up with pleasure. “Tim.”

Braxton works him over with one hand, his hand wrapped around Tim’s member, the friction near-perfect. Tim bucks his hips into it, the angle awkward, his neck strained from the position, from having to keep kissing Kon.

“Why don’t you,” Braxton takes his hand away from Tim’s ass, forcing Tim to squeeze his thighs into his waist to stop himself from falling back, forcing Kon to shift forward, and press Tim into Braxton’s chest. He grabs Tim’s shirt, and pulls it up, trailing his fingers up his chest, “ignore the kissing order, and bite on this instead.” Braxton pulls the shirt up to Tim’s mouth, and Tim bites on it obediently, breaking off from Kon, twitching as Braxton rubs his thumb in slow circles against his balls. 

Tim lets his head tip back against Kon’s shoulder, muffling his moan into the shirt. Kon’s hands roam up to his exposed stomach like he can’t help himself, cupping over his ribs reverently, fingertips lightly touching his nipples. 

  “Is this okay?” Kon asks. Tim nods, closing his eyes, overwhelmed. He grinds roughly against Braxton’s stomach, locks his ankles over each other, leaning back against Kon, as Braxton won’t stop. The sensation is hot, and staticky, it’s too much. It makes it hard to think straight. 

“Feel how he trembles?” Braxton murmurs, his hand moving in Tim’s pants, even as he leans down into Kon’s face. He reaches out with his free hand, grabbing Kon by his hair and reeling him in, capturing his lips in a near-violent kiss. Kon jerks back, hands spasming, and Tim slips dangerously, yelping as he slides a few inches. Kon has to scramble to catch him before he falls, stumbling forward. 

Tim squeezes Braxton around the waist, inhaling sharply. 

“Ah-ah,” Braxton whispers, fingers tangling in Kon’s hair, and pulls him forward. He pulls Kon down into the kiss, over Tim’s shoulder, Kon’s hands on Tim’s chest and waist. Braxton breaks off, laughing softly, jerking Tim’s dick roughly, making him moan, “oh don’t be like that. You gonna hold out on me, after all the pretty noises you were getting out of him?” 

“Brax…” Tim whispers, between his panting, “he doesn’t...ah, ah, he doesn't want… ”

“Don’t be selfish, baby.” 

“Fuck off,” Kon hisses, quiet. Braxton grins a little wider, using his grip on Kon’s hair to force his head back, exposing his neck. Braxton has to crane his neck a little to reach, but he bites down on the side of Kon’s neck, swirling his tongue, dragging his tongue up the side. 

Kon gasps, going stiff. 

“Better,” Braxton murmurs when he breaks off. “Much better.” He leans back in, reels Kon in by his hips. Tim feels Kon’s clothing shift against his bare skin. Braxton pushes at it, slides his hand under. 

Kon doesn’t tell him to stop, he’s gone stiff against Tim. He tries to form words, because Braxton has slowed his pace, focusing on Kon, and he should talk now, try to convince Braxton to leave Kon out of this. 

“Braxton,” Tim breathes, squeezes his closed eyes, pushing off of Kon’s shoulder, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Braxton’s neck. “Suck me off. Please. Please, I want you to put your mouth on me.” 

Braxton’s eyes snap to his. He lets go of Kon entirely, to touch Tim, like he’s the one with the orders. He gropes at Tim’s ass, his hand tightening around Tim’s dick. He kisses Tim, hot and heavy, tongue thrusting in and out of his mouth, licking over his lips, their saliva mixing. Tim whimpers, shuddering as he starts to jerk Tim off again, hard and fast.

Braxton slides his hand out, and grabs Kon’s hand, forcing it down into the pool of warmth with his. Tim gasps roughly when Kon’s cold fingers press down on his hot, heavy dick. He jerks, and he hears Kon say something behind him, it’s hard to think. Hard to hear anything, past the blood rushing in his ears. Kon’s hand tries to pull out, Braxton just pushes it down, harder. 

“Put your fingers here,” Braxton murmurs, breaking off from their kiss, talking to Kon. Tim’s head falls forward onto Braxton’s shoulder, moaning, jerking roughly as Braxton’s fingers move expertly across Tim’s body, like he knows what every inch of it will do if he touches. Where to press, how to press. “Rub.” 

“Tim?” Kon kisses his neck. His voice is uncertain, almost nervous. He presses more of those kisses, soft and chaste and cloyingly sweet. It just makes the shuddering pleasure worse, the fever pitching under his skin.

“Please,” Tim whimpers, squeezes his eyes shut, grinding down on their hands. His thighs are burning from trying to hold himself up. 

Kon’s hand settles with more confidence, settles period, wrapping around Tim’s dick and rubbing where Braxton indicated. Tim gasps, moaning, biting on Braxton’s shirt. 

“Feel that?” Braxton breathes, moving their hands in rhythm together. “Feel how he clenches up? Imagine him on your dick. He’s so hot, so tight. Our sensitive little performer, huh? Listen to that, all the noises he’s making. He’s so much louder when you’re in him, Connie, for every. Single. Thrust.” He jerks his hand with the words in long, rough strokes, and Tim releases sharp, gasping noises, humiliated at how right Braxton is. 

He knows Tim’s body better than Tim does. 

“Tim,” Kon says, and it’s almost a moan. Tim can feel him against his back, the hard press of Kon’s dick, bulging in his pants. Kon’s hips are jerking slightly, like he can’t quite help himself. He feels big. 

Braxton pushes down on Tim’s balls, and Tim makes a high-pitched keening noise, clawing at Braxton sharply. “Push here,” Braxton murmurs to Kon, taking his hand and moving it where he wants, “don’t stop, huh? Time to bring our boy over the edge. You hear how desperate he is?” 

“Oh,” he feels like he’s on fire. He can’t feel his legs anymore, even though every muscle in his body has gone tight and clenched. Kon’s TTK is holding him up, keeping him upright, the cool pressure driving Tim impossibly higher. “Brax.”

Kon rubs his fingers against Tim, uncertain at first, but gaining confidence as Tim makes thin noises for it. Tim hears himself go quiet, as his breaths get faster, and his muscles tighten up, the building pressure of an orgasm. 

“There you go baby,” Braxton says, kissing Tim’s neck almost tenderly. Tim’s hair falls into his eyes, sweat dripping down his back. “There you go, that’s it, take it, take it for me, princess.”

When he comes, it’s all over Braxton’s hand, head pressed into the man’s neck, but it’s Kon’s hand on his waist, and Kon at his back, and Kon’s hand settling flat on the top of his dick as Tim pants and pants. Braxton kisses him, withdrawing his hand from Tim’s underwear. 

He takes that hand, still tangled in Kon’s hair, and pulls him down, onto the fingers covered with Tim’s cum. Tim inhales sharply, turning to look. Kon jerks back, then in. His eyes are heavy, two of Braxton’s fingers buried to the knuckle between his lips. Braxton pumps them slowly, pulling out to the middle knuckle, pushing back in, like he’s experimenting. 

“Look at you,” he says, something dark in his voice, something hungry. “Both of you were fucking made for it, weren’t you?” there’s a wet, squelching noise, and Braxton pulls his fingers back and spreads them, rubbing saliva and cum over Kon’s lips. Kon pants, lashes fluttering, tongue darting out to lick up the side of Braxton’s finger. “Good,” Braxton murmurs, “atta boy. You like that?” He dips his finger back into Kon’s mouth. Tim watches, heat in his stomach, as Kon wraps his lips around it, meeting Tim’s eyes. 

Braxton takes a step forward, threatening to send them all to the ground as Kon wobbles and Tim does. Tim is suspended perfectly in the air by invisible hands, even as he nearly loses contact with Kon, and the realization makes his eyes go wide, and he reaches for Braxton. Braxton just shoves Kon back another step, gripping his face with those fingers, thumb curving under his chin, guiding him back. 

They end up on the couch. Braxton pushes Kon onto his back, and Tim reaches blindly for his wrist, ending up half on his lap with a grunt. Kon wraps his hands around Tim’s back to stop him from falling off. 

Braxton looks at both of them from under his lashes, smirking. He grabs the edge of his own shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing his skin. Tim looks at him unabashedly, and underneath him, he feels Kon doing the same. Taking in all that skin, the muscle, the scars and the domineering power in every motion. 

Braxton tosses the shirt onto the ground, moving forward and grabbing hold of Tim’s, pulling it over his head, finishing the job he started earlier. He leans down to kiss Tim’s neck, setting his hands on Tim’s waist, rocking him back and forth on Kon’s hips. 

Kon gasps, sudden and sharp, hands coming up to grab at Braxton’s wrists, falling back into the cushions. It breaks off into a groan as Braxton only grinds down harder, Tim’s ass pressed right against Kon’s hard cock. 

“Sorry,” Tim gasps, “sorry.” 

Kon’s head tips back, and he pants, once, hard. “Oh god. Oh fuck.” 

Braxton rolls him again, fingers bruising into Tim’s hips, and Kon twitches. Tim reaches up, back, blindly for Braxton, trying to adjust his legs. “Do you want me to stop?” Tim says, which is stupid, because it’s not even Tim doing it.

“Does it sound like he does, Tim?” Braxton asks, laughing. He sucks a kiss into the side of Tim’s neck, digging pressure with his teeth. “Have a little confidence. C’mon, look at him, you’ve got him all dazed, he wants you so badly, you’re gonna fuck that boy stupid.” 

Tim looks, putting a hand on Kon’s chest to steady himself. There’s a flush high on Kon’s pale cheeks, his green eyes almost swallowed with pupil. He stares back at Tim, lust unmistakable in his gaze, lips parted, breathing fast. His lips are slick, with saliva and Tim’s come. Tim feels like he’s been hit by a truck, just at the sight.

Braxton pulls Tim back, then up, hauling him off of Kon entirely by the waist, like he doesn’t weigh anything at all. Tim gasps, as Braxton’s hand grabs hold of the edge of his pants and his underwear, pulling down and down, stripping him over Kon, all but over his lap. 

“Shit,” Kon breathes, and it’s almost a whimper, as he shoves his hand over his mouth, staring at Tim, just staring. 

Braxton sets Tim back down on Kon’s waist, over his groin, and the sensation of the rough fabric of his jeans and his shirt is so much rougher than bare skin. Tim shudders a little, putting his hands on Kon’s chest. Tim breathes in hard. Fast. 

Braxton settles in behind him on the couch, spreading Kon’s legs to wrap around his own waist, sitting just behind Tim. “Give him a lap dance for us, hm?” Braxton orders, his big palm coming up to stroke the side of Kon’s thigh sliding up toward his waist, “a good little performance.” 

“Kon?” Tim says. He doesn’t think he knows how to do that. His hips move despite himself. Kon looks up at him, and there’s something in his eyes that Tim doesn’t like. It makes him want to pull off, because Kon doesn’t look sure, but he can’t stop himself, as he rolls his hips very slowly the way that Braxton made him do earlier. 

Kon gasps, tipping his head back. Tim shifts forward and back, putting his hands on Kon’s stomach. “Kon, is this okay?”

“I—” Kon says. 

“Shh, baby,” Braxton settles a hand on Tim’s hair from behind, pulling his head back. “Focus on how he feels, you feel how he’s getting tight under you. That feel like pain?” He asks, his other hand moves to set over Kon’s bulge himself, and Tim grinds down on his fingers next. “Didn’t think so. He’s so into you baby, he’s so hard. Desperate to let that escape, look at how tight his pants are.”  

Tim does. It looks uncomfortable. He can feel Kon’s muscles moving underneath his legs, how fast his breathing is. His hands are limp against Tim’s thighs, except when Tim rolls over him just right, when they go tight, and Kon inhales sharply, eyes squeezing closed. 

“Kon?” Tim whispers. Braxton’s other hand is on Tim’s waist, just holding, the other rubbing over Kon’s dick, sliding up to brush at the skin on his lower abdomen. 

Tim tips forward, planting his hands on either side of Kon’s head, trying to slow down. Their noses brush, and Kon’s eyes flutter open. They’re glazed over, wide and faraway. Tim presses their foreheads together, hips stuttering in their rhythm. “Kon, please,” he whispers. 

“Kiss him,” Braxton instructs. 

Tim does, once, on his lips. Then against his cheek, his chin, over the slant of his brow. Butterfly kisses, all over his face. Kon gasps like he’s coming up from deep water, his hands finally sliding up Tim’s sides, to wrap around his neck, pulling him down into a deeper kiss. 

Behind them, Braxton worms a hand between Tim and Kon’s bodies unzipping Kon’s jeans and starting to tug them off. Kon jerks a little, underneath Tim, but even when Tim grabs Braxton’s kiss, breaking off from the kiss to do it, Braxton doesn’t stop. He just works down Kon’s jeans, pulls his underwear with it. The complete V of Kon’s hips is revealed to Tim, his cock spilling out in between them, and he inhales at the sight, looking up at Kon’s eyes. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says. Kon is also big. Bigger than Braxton, but not by much.

“Holy shit,” Braxton laughs, barely getting Kon’s jeans off of him before he’s wrapping a hand around his erect member, as if judging the weight. “Holding out on me, Connie? Oh, Tim, you’re going to have a time with this one, aren’t you? We’re gonna have to use a whole bottle of lube to get him up there.” 

Tim flushes, and Kon does too. “I’m—” 

“Ah-ah,” Braxton wraps his hand around the base, “I heard you earlier. How bad you want him to fuck you. I’m nice, we’ll make it happen, huh? For you, baby.” He kisses the side of Tim’s waist. 

Tim’s stomach warms. He looks down at Kon, who’s blinking slow, nostrils flaring. The muscles in his thighs are bunching and relaxing, and his gaze keeps drifting away from Tim to Braxton, like he’s trying to control himself. Like he’s trying not to thrust up into Braxton’s hand. 

Braxton notices, because Braxton always notices. He shifts behind Tim. He turns to look, but before he can make out what he’s doing, Braxton pushes him down onto Kon’s chest, shoving his head against Kon’s neck, laying him flat flat, settling over Tim’s back over his head to kiss Kon deeply. Tim feels Kon twitch underneath him, as Braxton kisses him, presses his tongue between Kon’s teeth, kisses and sucks on the side of Kon’s neck, comes back up to lick at his lips, grabs Kon’s hair and tips his head back to expose more of his neck.

Kon starts kissing him back. He grinds up into Tim, gasping deeply. 

Tim pants a little, overheating, squished between them. He clenches his hands in Kon’s shirt, squeezing him tighter, thighs spread almost obscenely wide over Kon, forced into a lying straddle. 

“Take what you want from him, baby,” Braxton murmurs to Tim. Thousands of possibilities flash through his mind, all of them nothing Tim wants to do without Kon wanting him to, and he’s not even talking anymore. Tim’s hand finds Kon’s hand, and he brings it up to his mouth, taking one of the fingers into his mouth. He sucks on it once, throats it as deeply as he can, and breaks off to breathe. 

“Sorry,” he says, to Kon. He can barely see his face, “I’m sorry.” 

Kon’s hand finds the edge of his chin, rubs over his lower lip, before slipping his thumb between Tim’s lips. Tim takes it, sucking on it shifting his head up and down, rubbing his tongue over the finger, the cold skin, wetting as much of it as he can. He wants more. He wants his mouth full of Kon. 

“You’re so fucking sweet,” Braxton says, voice gravelly. He bends to kiss the center of Tim’s shoulder blades, just once. Tim shudders, at the dual sensation, jerking against Kon. “Isn’t he so sweet, Connie? Isn’t his mouth so warm and wet? Don’t you want those lips wrapped around your cock, that tongue?”

Underneath Tim’s stomach, Kon’s dick twitches with the want he doesn’t say. 

“Fuck you,” Kon’s voice is faint. 

“I plan on it,” Braxton grins. He kisses Kon, deeply, thrusting his tongue lewdly into Kon’s mouth, pulling off with a wet sucking noise. He pulls off all together, falling onto his back on the other end of the couch, squirming until he’s reclined against the arm, legs parted. “Hey, baby, since you’re so desperate for something in your mouth, come here.”

Tim sits up, dazed. He turns and looks at Braxton, and knows he must look fucked. Naked and flushed, eyes half-lidded, hair slick with sweat. Braxton beckons at him, and Tim turns his back on Kon, crawling into Braxton’s lap. He keeps his leg pressed against Kon’s. 

Braxton kisses him, all tongue and teeth, cupping his face. 

“Good,” Braxton hums, hissing softly with pleasure before he leans down and suck on his collarbones. Tim twitches. He guides Tim’s face down to his groin, where his bulge is underneath his pants. 

Tim’s nose brushes the fabric. He can smell Braxton through it, feel the heat rolling off of him. Kon loops their ankles together, sitting up on his elbows to stare, his hair standing up a little.

“Go on, baby,” Braxton says, planting a hand in Tim’s hair, grinding a little into his face. “You know what to do. Just like I showed you.”

Tim inhales sharply, reaching out to grab the sides of Braxton’s pants, pulling down. “No,” Braxton says, and Tim stops, looking up at him. There is unmistakable lust in his gaze, as it flicks from Tim, up to Kon, “with your teeth.” 

Tim licks his lips. He lowers his face, fitting his teeth into the waist band of his sweatpants, dragging them down, using his hands to help tug them over his ass. He does the same for Braxton’s underwear, his nose skimming Braxton’s groin, the man’s dick brushing against his cheek. 

Braxton’s pulls his head up, by his hair, and lifts his dick up to Tim, like he’s offering it. Tim wraps his lips around the base, and Braxton groans, laughing softly. “Take it just like that.” He snaps his fingers, “You train up nice and good, baby. Look at that.” 

Tim flushes, sucking on the head, ducking his head. Braxton’s breathing gets heavier. He guides Tim with the hand on his head, up and down, slowly. Tim lets his tongue slide over the shaft, saliva pooling in his mouth, dripping down Braxton’s cock. The noises are wet, squelching, and Tim takes more of it down, swallowing as best as he can around the obstruction. 

“Oh fuck,” Braxton gasps, making a high noise of pleasure, “oh fuck yes, just like that. Perfect. Ah.” 

Tim cups Braxton’s balls with his free hand, rolling them, his drool making everything slick and wet. Braxton thrusts little by little, holding Tim’s head in place as he fucks his face. Shallowly at first, but then deeper, and Tim gags and chokes, pulling off to cough.

Braxton tips his head back, not letting go of Tim’s hair. He laughs breathlessly, pulling one knee up to spread his legs further. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect, Tim,” Braxton says, “your mouth. You were made for this, every hole, ready to be stuffed and used. So easy, so good, you just take it, anything that I want, as many times as I want. So sensitive, so good. You’re perfect.” 

He rubs his dick against Tim’s cheek, spreading precome across his face, grabbing at his member to press the tip to Tim’s lips, just rubbing it there, holding Tim up by his hair, staring at his face. He makes Tim kiss it, lick it. Tim’s tongue darts out to brush over the slit, and Braxton groans, finally forcing Tim’s head back down on him. 

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, bobbing his head as best he can, nearly startlingly when a hand wraps around his ankle. He can’t move his head to look back, but he recognizes Kon’s touch, grip tight and reassuring. Tim shudders. 

Braxton lets go of his head, leaning back propped up on his elbows on the arm of the couch. Tim doesn’t stop blowing him, just redoubles his efforts, speeding up a little, gratified by the deep, pleasured moans from Braxton. 

Braxton stares at Kon over Tim’s head, petting down Tim’s back, trailing his fingers through the sweat there. He grins. 

When he comes, it’s down Tim’s throat. He chokes on it a little, pulling off sharply to cough, sitting back, wiping saliva off his chin and neck, breathing hard. Braxton lays there, limp, for long seconds, panting. The aftershocks of the orgasm roll through him, and Tim watches every one, even as Kon’s hand settles on his waist. The other boy has sat up behind him. 

“You okay?” Kon whispers. Tim nods without thinking about it, not looking back at him, waiting for Braxton to decide what happens now. “Tim? Do you want to get dressed? Or…”

Kon starts to move, like he means to get off the couch. Braxton’s laughter stops both of them. “The noble knight, sacrificing himself,” Braxton nods, pushing up, shaking his head, “Jesus Christ, Tim. Connie, sit back down, you really think we’re going to leave you needy like that?” 

Kon looks down at himself, his still-hard dick. Tim looks at it too, and then up at Kon. It hits him again, that Kon wants him. Is attracted to him, like Braxton is. 

“Hey, Connie,” Braxton sits up, pushing Kon back with his foot, hard, and he looks wild-eyed, a little excited, his pupils still shot, still hungry. “you want to see a trick? Tim, straddle him.” 

“What’re you,” Kon inhales sharply, as Tim’s sweat-slick skin slides over his member, and he sits back against Kon’s thighs.

Tim blinks roughly a couple of times, trying to stay focused. “Sorry,” he says, again, he’s been doing it a lot, it would be easier if his body didn’t react to every order like it’s desperate to touch Kon. Uncontrolled and wild. 

“It’s,” Kon stares at him, hands hovering over his waist. His eyes clear of the lust and daze, just a little, before his gaze dips back down to Tim’s hips, and cock, and thighs. “Don’t say sorry, baby. Don’t apologize, it’s okay.”

Braxton snickers, settling up behind Tim, pushing Kon’s legs up with his hands. He’s kneeling behind Tim, he can feel the man’s knees against his ass. They must be pressed against Kon’s. 

Braxton presses slow kisses up Tim’s back, and Tim gasps. He moans again, desperate and breathless, until Braxton gets to the back of his neck, when he breaks off, and they both look at Kon underneath Tim. Braxton says, soft, “Come, Tim.” 

Tim pitches forward, moaning as the orgasm hits him, his entire body clenching, hands squeezing into fists. His stomach contracts almost painfully, the pleasure washing over him all at once, prickling and overwhelming, ejaculate dribbling onto Kon’s stomach. 

“Fuck,” Tim gasps, into the couch next to Kon’s head. His fists are squeezed into Kon’s waist, and he doesn’t remember grabbing him. 

“Tim,” Kon’s hands wrap around his back, holding him close, “Tim?” 

“Come,” Braxton orders again. Tim shudders, his eyes rolling back as he does, feeling the rolling wave of pleasure bloom in his stomach and spread outward, numbing his legs and making his toes spread and his legs scrabble. 

His knees give out, and he presses flat against Kon’s stomach, hips jerking, the after shocks twitching through him. He humps forward aimlessly, the puddle between them growing. The heat and friction feels like its frying his brain, it feels like every part of him is connected to a livewire. 

“Sorry,” Tim says again, he wants to cry, he’s made a mess all over Kon, over Kon’s clothes, and they didn’t even—”I’m so sorry. I’m—” 

“Come,” Braxton orders again. Tim sobs, when it’s over, and he’s shaking into Kon’s chest, gasping in heaves that don’t feel like they’re doing anything to help him breathe. The aftershocks make him twitch, the slightest pressure against his dick from Kon’s clothing makes it worse.

“Stop,” Tim gasps, “Braxton, please. I can’t. Please stop. Please, please.” 

He’s spasming all over, shaking so hard his teeth are chattering. He can feel himself clenching and unclenching, drenched in new sweat, his dick going rapidly limp. 

Braxton presses new kisses down his spine and Tim gasps at the overwhelming overstimulation of it. Kon is shaking underneath him, too. “Braxton, stop it,” his voice is hard, angry again, he sounds more present than he has since this started, “you’re hurting him.” 

“He likes it,” Braxton sounds unbothered over them, “don’t you, baby? You like coming as many times as I want you to.” 

Tim blinks a little, sluggish. He’s sore, everywhere. He nods, mutely, nerves raw. “Please,” he says, aimless, gasping. 

Kon’s hands are moving down his back, pressing soft kisses against his head, reassuring and warm, possessive. “Deep breaths,” Kon murmurs, “in for five, hold it, come on.”

Tim tries, hitching. Braxton grabs a fistful of Tim’s hair before he can get very far in it, yanking him off of Kon’s chest. Tim cries out, hands raising to grab at Braxton’s wrist. “Poor baby,” Braxton murmurs into the side of Tim’s neck. He turns his head to kiss him, presses his tongue into Tim’s mouth, pulls out with a lewd pop. “Still all pent up and needy. C’mon, Tim,” he pushes Tim’s head toward Kon’s dick, “why don’t you show him what I’ve been teaching you? Put your mouth on his dick.” 

“Braxton,” Kon snaps, sitting up, but Tim is already scooting back, shifting so he can duck his head and lick a stripe up Kon’s cock. The name is choked off into a moan as Kon jerks all over.

“Don’t worry,” Braxton says, standing up altogether. “You’ll be screaming my name soon enough, Connie. Tim, don’t stop until I’m back. And don’t let him come, we don’t want to ruin all the fun yet.” 

Braxton’s footsteps retreat, and Tim can barely focus on him at all, planting himself over Kon’s waist and dipping his head down. And for a minute, it’s just the two of them, alone on this couch, and it’s almost good. 

“Oh, oh, Tim,” Kon breathes, knees up around Tim’s head. He’s not moving, not at all. Tim can feel the TTK pressing down on Kon, on every inch of him, keeping him still and shoved against the couch, ensuring he can’t thrust into Tim’s mouth. Tim sucks him in as far as he’ll go, and Kon groans, hands hovering over Tim’s head, fingers twitching.

Tim looks up at the other boy from under his lashes, relieved at the look of screwed up pleasure on his face, nothing short of ecstasy. Kon’s thighs are trembling, his balls gathering up against his scrotum. His stomach clenches up.

His breaths are coming fast, his back arching up into Tim. He pulls off, all at once, and Kon slumps back down, thrusting weakly up into him once, hitting nothing but empty air. 

“Ah, ah, Tim?” Kon says, blinking rapidly, dazed, brow furrowed. “Tim?”

Tim shakes his head. He feels just as glazed over. “Sorry. I can’t.” He sucks in a breath. “Can’t let you come. Are you okay?” 

“I’m,” Kon shudders all over. His fingers flex, like he’s going to reach down and touch himself, and Tim takes the boy’s hand into his own, squeezing. “I don’t know. It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees. He goes down slower, when he starts getting dizzy, and he feels blood drip out of his nose. Licks up the side of Kon’s dick, tries to savor the sensation of this, of getting to have this, of getting to touch Kon, getting to pleasure him like this. 

“It’s so,” Kon says, still holding Tim’s hand. The sound of his voice is startling, but satisfying. Tim sucks Kon’s cock into his mouth, pressing the head against the hollow of his cheek, and Kon whimpers. “It’s so good. You feel so good, Tim. Please don’t stop.”

He has to. He breaks off again, soon after, and Kon pants, falling back, making whimpered noises of frustration. When Braxton comes back, Tim has his lips around Kon’s dick again, rocking up and down slowly. 

Braxton has his sweatpants and boxers pulled up to his waist again, and he settles back onto the couch without preamble, like he didn’t leave at all, setting his hand on Tim’s thighs. “Lay down on your stomach, baby,” he instructs, and looks up at Kon, “don’t stop, and don’t let him come.” 

Kon moans, squeezing his hands into fists. 

Tim lays down on his stomach, having to set his elbows between Kon’s thighs, taking Kon’s dick into one hand, so he won’t have to crane his neck as much. His legs end up tangled all over Braxton’s lap. 

Braxton pushes one of Tim’s legs off the couch, making him set his knee on the ground. His hands trail down his back, up his thighs, and Tim shivers into them, unable to break off from Kon to gasp when Braxton slides a wet finger between Tim’s cheeks, pressing against the hole, rubbing up and down. 

He just moans around Kon. The vibration makes the other boy go breathless and silent, eyes rolling up. Tim pulls off, coughing and twitching, Kon’s dick pressed against the side of his face. 

The finger finds the furl of his asshole, worming its way inside, that strange invasive pressure distracting Tim for a minute. He rocks his hips instinctively into Braxton’s hand, and the man gropes at his thigh approvingly, spreading his ass with his thumb.

Tim takes in a deep breath, trying not drool on Kon’s skin, because he can’t focus on anything, and his mouth feels perpetually open. He takes Kon back between his lips, and his eyes flutter at the sensation. Was that an order, or did he just… 

“How’s that feeling, Connie?” Braxton asks, when Tim sinks himself as far on Kon’s dick as he’ll go, his throat fluttering around the head.

Kon groans, shuddery and overstimulated, his hips jerking a little. Braxton slips a second finger inside of Tim, and Tim groans around Kon. It’s a horrible, wonderful feedback loop. Kon rocks into Tim’s mouth, fucks his face, without really meaning to, and Tim grinds down on Braxton’s fingers, pleasure skating up his spine.

“God, you two are something else,” Braxton breathes, scissoring his fingers, pulling them out just to add more lube before he goes back to finger fucking him. Tim’s eyes cross, as Braxton finds his prostate and targets it mercilessly, fingertips grinding against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Kon is breathlessly moaning, making thin, gasping noises. His hands come up to get tight in Tim’s hair. “Tim.” 

Tim moans again, just to feel the way Kon’s thighs tense up beneath him. He pulls off a beat later, nose bleeding onto his parted lips. Kon cries out, thrusting into the air, his dick rubbing against the side of Tim’s face, his cheek, smearing precum and spit over the mess of Tim’s mouth.

“Christ,” Braxton breathes, adding a third finger. Tim makes an embarrassingly loud noise about it, rocking back, shuddering. “Timmy, ignore what I said about sucking him off. You’re so tight. Connie, he’s going to feel like heaven around you.”

He stretches Tim only enough to get him ready to take Kon, as perfunctory as it is thorough, threatening to take him apart. Kon just shudders underneath him for long minutes, but Braxton lets him drag Tim up into another kiss.

Kon’s tongue slips between his teeth, and Tim sucks on it, lets him taste himself in Tim’s mouth. They grind together, Kon’s member dragging over his stomach, drawing back panting into each other’s necks when it gets to be too much. Braxton follows Tim’s body up the couch, planting a hand between his shoulder blades, pressing him down against Kon. His fingers thrust in and out of Tim at a threatening pace, fast and hard and demanding, and he feels himself nearing that precipice embarrassingly quickly.

Tim moans against Kon’s throat, into his jugular. It’s almost a whimper. 

“There you go,” Braxton murmurs, “almost ready. Nothing like it, Connie, he’s made for this.” 

“Please,” Tim breathes. Kon cups his face in both hands, drawing them together, pressing his sweaty forehead into Tim’s. 

He’s right there, he can feel himself draw up, start to tremble, as his orgasms creeps over him. It’s right at his fingertips, and it’s raw and overwhelming, too much after what they did before, but when Braxton pulls out, abruptly, Tim still cries out. Goes taut, desperate. He feels Braxton wipe lube-wet fingers on his hip, gripping his waist.

“God,” Tim groans, as he’s jostled, black spots dancing behind his eyelids. “Braxton, please.” 

“Shh,” Braxton lifts him. “You’re ready, baby. We’ve got you. Connie will give it to you nice and hard, just how you like it, won’t you, Connie?”

“Tim?” Kon pants, his hands fitting over Braxton’s, steadying Tim, pausing his upward momentum. “Tim, Can I… Do you want—”

“He wants it,” Braxton breathes it into Tim’s ear, “tell him you want it.” 

“I want it,” Tim gasps, his skin is too warm, there’s sweat everywhere, he just wants to come and it’s making him feel dizzy. Everything is too much, the overstimulation is rubbing him raw, but it it doesn’t matter. 

Braxton picks him up, positions him in Kon’s lap, over Kon. He feels the shaft brush between his cheeks, painfully hard, thick and long. Tim whimpers at the sensation of Kon grinding over his perineum.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Kon hisses, reaching down, cupping himself.

“Line us up, Kon,” Braxton says. His voice is thick with arousal, serious. Tim turns his cheek, looks over his shoulder to meet Braxton’s eyes. They’re locked on Tim, on his hips, his ass where Kon is going to breach him, but they flick up to meet Tim’s gaze. Braxton’s pupils are so blown they’re practically saucers. His breath hitches at the sight of Tim.

Tim’s mouth is parted, he’s panting, head tipping back. He leans in for a kiss, and Braxton meets him, hungry and wanting, pushing his tongue into Tim’s mouth. 

Then the flared head of Kon’s dick is pressed up against his hole, and Tim breaks the kiss to moan so loudly it’s almost a scream, as Braxton pushes his hips down onto him. 

Just an inch. Then he holds Tim up, lets him adjust to the stretch. Tim doesn’t think he can though, Kon is big, he’s Kon, and the knowledge that his best friend is inside him. He’s dizzy with it. He’s trembling all over, gaping, staring down his front at where they’re joined. Where Kon is spearing up into him. 

“Fuck,” Kon tips his head back, his voice sounds high and unsettled, “fuck.” 

“Yes,” Braxton hisses, rolling Tim’s hips, sinking Tim down another inch. The motion grinds Kon against his prostate, and Tim shouts, bowing forward, trying to catch himself on Kon’s chest. He drops onto Kon’s dick, to the hilt, and then shudders through an orgasm, untouched. 

Tim’s thighs shake, muscles spasming. He digs his nails into Kon’s chest, wanting to shrivel in on himself, curl into nothing. 

Kon presses kisses to his hands, his wrists, any part of Tim he can reach. His hair is sweat slick and he looks dizzy with his lust. “Oh god, Rob.” 

Braxton laughs, high and incredulous and almost awed. He kisses Tim’s neck, his shoulders. Grabs Tim’s chin and tilts it into his face, so their lips can meet. “God, baby,” he breathes, stroking over Tim’s heaving shoulders, his waist, his hips. He reaches down and fondles where Kon and Tim’s pelvises are flush, drawing frantic whimpers out of Tim. “There’s no one like you. No one as perfect as you. God, look at how pretty you take it. Does that feel good? Is that what you wanted? Is he splitting you open with that big cock of his? Tell me how it feels.”

“Perfect,” Tim’s voice is wrecked. He can barely get the word out. His vision is blurred with tears, face so hot it feels like he’s going to explode. 

Kon is looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. There are tears in his vision, and Tim can’t tell if they’re overwhelmed or pained or he’s just—

Braxton huffs a laugh, kissing along Tim’s neck, down his back. “You like this?” 

“Yes,” Tim breathes. 

“He’s not even doing anything, you happy to be his little cockwarmer, huh?” Braxton kisses his lower spine. Tim twitches. “Always happy to be someone’s cocksleeve.” 

“I’m,” Tim feels himself go out of focus, as Kon’s hand finds his waist. 

Braxton eases him back down, onto Kon’s chest. It shifts Kon’s dick inside him, and Tim whimpers, stars bursting behind his eyes. Kon and Braxton’s hands blur together, petting over his skin, gentling him.

“Just lie there for a minute,” Braxton pants. “Hold him up inside you. I’m gonna do something.” Tim can hear the grin in his voice, then feel him, as he leans over Tim into Kon’s face, his chest pressed against Tim’s back. “You ready for me, Connie? I’m gonna rock your world.”

“I don’t,” Kon is blinking fast again. “I’m.” 

“Shh. Just lay there and take it, let us take care of you.” He presses a kiss to Kon’s face, leaning against Tim’s back to do it, slides his finger inside of Kon’s mouth. The sight makes Tim tip his head back, shuddering. Braxton pulls it out, and Tim feels his hand trail down Kon’s chest, past their hips, and then slides past them. 

Kon jerks up, half-thrusting into Tim, when Braxton sinks a finger into his ass. Tim screams, his cock grinding against Kon’s stomach, the pressure so abrupt and unexpected. Kon swears, his legs twitching, shoving at the couch cushions, jostling Tim.

Braxton pauses whatever he’s doing. He puts a hand on Kon’s hip, shoving down. “Keep yourself still, Connie, Tim’s oversensitive. You don’t want to hurt him, do you?”

“Fuck!” Kon shouts, grabbing Tim to steady himself. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck you, stop, you asshole.”

“Kon,” Tim twists around, “Braxton,” his voice is faint, rasping, “Braxton, what are you…” 

Braxton whistles, twisting his hand behind him. “It’s one finger, Kon, you can’t take it? Oh, but you are tight, aren’t you? How’s that feel?”

Kon throws his head back. He’s sweating, a lot, panting, face screwed up like he’s in pain. 

“Braxton, stop,” Tim reaches for him vainly, panting, “you’re—you’re hurting him.” 

Braxton scoffs. Pushes Tim back down. “That’s not pain, baby. Connie’s just liking it a little too much, aren’t you? You gonna come on just my fingers?”

“No,” Tim doesn’t even have to look at Kon, he can feel how tense he is underneath him, “it’s—it’s—” 

He needs to get off of him. What is he doing? 

Inside of him, Kon’s dick twitches. His TTK brushes up against Tim, and Tim can feel how heavy it is, all the pressure Kon is putting on himself to stay still. 

“One sec,” Braxton says, shifting up to his knees. “Let me just—” Kon’s lashes flutter, eyes rolling up, mouth parting in a soundless moan. “Yeah, yeah. There it is.”

Tim’s stomach fills with warmth, burning pressure, as he looks down at Kon’s face under him, unmistakable pleasured. Pinching fractionally at the force of it, his mouth isn’t closing. 

His chest isn’t moving. The TTK is too heavy. Tim drags his weak arms up, cupping Kon’s face. “Kon,” he whispers. “Baby, you gotta breathe.”

Braxton circles his finger in, curling it or something, and Kon’s back arches up. His concentration breaks, and Tim is rocked up violently when his TTK slides away. Tim gasps, making a high noise. 

“God, who knew you’d be so sensitive,” Braxton says. Tim cranes his neck to see behind him, watching Braxton slip in a second finger. “You and Tim are perfect for each other. So loud, so reactive. Too bad you’re both bottoms.”

“I’m,” Kon’s face twists, cheek pressing into the couch, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m not.” 

“Sure about that?” Braxton scissors his fingers and Kon twitches all over. “You’re moaning like a little bitch for me, Connie. You need me inside you, don’t you? Always walking around with a fucking stick up your ass, should’ve known you were desperate to be pinned down and fucked.”

The words make something in Tim get tight. They’re mean. Mean in a way that he’s not really with Tim, meaner than Tim can ever imagine being with Kon. He wants to cradle Kon, to get on his knees for him, he doesn’t want to own him.

Tim cups Kon’s face. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes, “you’re so beautiful, I love you,” he kisses his cheek, leaves his lips on his cheek.  

“Well shit,” Braxton sounds delighted. “He liked that, Timmy, you should see how he’s clenching right now. Fuck you’re tight, Connie. You ready, big boy?”

Kon sobs. He reaches for Tim, pulling him down to his chest and clutching at him, like he’s desperate for hug. It shifts his dick in Tim, and by the time he gets his breath back at the well of stars in his vision, Braxton is already shifting Kon’s legs open further. 

Tim buries his face into Kon’s neck, kisses under his ear. “I love you,” he says again, “relax, okay, baby? It hurts less if you relax.” 

Kon wraps his arms around Tim’s neck, sucking in a breath. He stops breathing again, and this time when his TTK settles it settles around Tim too, pressing them flesh together. Tim kisses Kon’s throat, and he can feel it when Braxton starts pushing in.

Kon goes still, completely rigid, like he’s afraid of to move, even when Tim pets as much as he can, whispering nonsense into his hair. 

Then he can feel Braxton’s hips, his stomach, as he presses in, sinking into Kon in one long, drawn-out thrust. 

Braxton’s panting, moaning softly under his breath as he does.

“God, you’re—Jesus, Connie, you’ve been holding out everyone. This ass,” he rocks in, slides out, and thrusts in deep. Tim knows how intense it is, sees it in Kon’s face as his eyes flutter. “So tight. No wonder Tim’s been desperate to get his hands all over you.” 

“Breathe,” Tim whispers, massaging Kon’s skin, fighting back the whimper when the cock inside of him grinds against his inner walls.“Breathe, baby.”

Kon shakes his head. Braxton grabs hold of Kon’s hips, his wrists brushing against Tim’s sides. Tim shudders. Braxton starts thrusting. Idle, languid, without any real heat behind it. Braxton’s endless, endless patience, laser focused onto Kon, the gift and miserable weapon that it is. 

“There we go,” Braxton’s breathless. “Taking it for me so good. You feel great, even better than I imagined. Giving Tim here a run for his money, and I’ve never felt better anywhere than when I’m in our little performer.” 

Tim feels the thrusts like they’re in his own body. 

Kon whimpers. Gasps in. Out. 

“You’re doing good,” Tim promises, “breathe.” 

Braxton thrusts, hard, into Kon, before his hands reach down and scoop under Tim’s stomach, pulling him back. Tim moans as he’s jostled, reaching vainly for Kon’s face. “You’re not just here to look pretty, baby, don’t you want to help?” Braxton breathes into his ear, “You said you wanted him in you, but is that all?” 

“Brax,” Tim moans. Clever, sadistic fingers find his breasts, massaging the flesh, pinching at his nipples. Braxton thrusts into Kon and bites over Tim’s neck at the same time, drawing identical keens out of the two of them.

“Look at him, baby,” Braxton whispers. Tim looks. Kon’s hair is soaked with sweat, fanning out on the couch cushions, face screwed up with pleasure. He’s writhing underneath Braxton, legs spread so wide it looks almost painful, hips rolling like he can’t help himself. “Look at him. All of that’s for you. Anything you want. He’s been so patient, why don’t you help him out?”

Tim heaves. Braxton lifts him by the hips, drops him onto Kon’s dick. It shoves up into him, so deep Tim thinks he can feel it in his throat, like he’s been cored the whole way through. He shudders, vision going white and then flickering with color. 

Under them, Kon sobs. 

“Kon,” Tim gasps, “Kon, I’m—” 

Braxton twists his face to the side, holds it back against his own chest, fingers over his jaw. “Don’t apologize, he’s enjoying himself. It’d be cruel to leave him like this, unfinished, you see how much he wants to come? Take him for a ride, Timmy, let’s finish this out.” 

Tim’s limbs are shaking, he’s so exhausted. But he forces himself up and does. The pressure makes him feel like he’s going to die. His vision gets foggy, his hearing goes a little distant, the only thing he can focus on is the slide of their bodies, the low noises Kon is making, Braxton’s grunts and gasps, his own desperate, thin noises. 

Every time Braxton thrusts into him, it rocks Kon’s dick up into him. It’s overwhelming. It’s what Tim thinks being in the middle of a supernova would feel like. Like he’s being atomized then melted down into quarks.

It’s so much. It’s so much. 

Tim’s entire body is overactive, he gasps and it starts to come out as tears. It really does feel like it’s splitting him open. 

He comes before Braxton. He comes before Kon. Spills out on Kon’s stomach, his entire body shuddering in place—Braxton doesn’t stop thrusting, and Kon’s dick doesn’t stop moving, and when Tim gets his breath back, he’s crying so much he feels hysterical. 

“Brax,” Tim gasps, “please, please. Please.” 

Braxton is moaning after every breath now. Muscles bunching up and relaxing, the way he does when he’s seconds from spilling over. Tim only cries harder, as his oversensitive hole is fucked, prostate abused.

“Fuck,” Braxton says, hips stuttering. He doesn’t come, but he’s trembling all over with the effort not to. “Fuck. C’mere, Timmy.”

He puts one big hand on the inside of Tim’s thigh, lifting him up, the other braced on his waist. Tim cries out, tears and blood and snot mixing on his face as Braxton pulls him off Kon’s dick and hugs him close. 

Kon wheezes like Tim strangled him. His dick, the glimpse of it Tim gets before his head is tucked down into the crook of Braxton’s neck, is red and stiff, looking almost painfully close to orgasm.

“There you go,” Braxton says, quiet, easy, as he pets over Tim, kisses his face, over and over. “That’s it, you did so good. You’re so perfect, baby. Just a little too much, huh?”

Tim goes limp, with relief and exhaustion, head spinning. Braxton’s slipped out of Kon’s ass, he’s sitting back on his heels, rocking Tim like he’s a baby, soothing him down from whatever precipice he was on. 

He kisses the side of Tim’s neck, “Watch for a second, huh? Then we can shower.” 

Tim nods, meeting Braxton’s kiss with numb lips. Braxton slides him down on the end of the couch, sets Tim’s hand on Kon’s ankle, then he crawls over Kon on all fours, then lays down on top of him on his side, pressing soft, delicate kisses to the side of his neck and face. He strokes his hand down Kon’s cheek, cupping his cheek. Kon doesn’t open his eyes. There’s a miserable, tense set to his jaw. 

“You gotta relax,” Braxton says, “take a breath.” 

“It won’t help,” Kon breathes, “it won’t help.” 

“Aw, c’mon, baby,” Braxton drawls. He grabs Kon’s thigh, lifting it a little. Exposing his hole. Tim flushes at the sight of it, puckered. Red and still slick with lube. “Have a little more faith in me than that.”

Kon groans, as Braxton cups himself, circles the head of his dick around Kon’s hole. Braxton sheathes himself in Kon, stroking over his chest, propping himself up on his elbow to pull Kon into a kiss.

He doesn’t resist it. Tim watches with wide eyes as his boyfriend and his best friend kiss, slow and wet and messy, their tongues tangling together, Braxton’s spit slicking Kon’s lips. The whole time, Braxton is still inside of Kon, rubbing over his flexing abdominal muscles, down his thighs, like he’s petting him. 

Braxton pulls back from the kiss, looks down at Kon with something unmistakably desiring in his eyes. He rubs his thumb over Kon’s lower lip. “You’re so pretty like this. You take your time, I like watching.” 

Kon’s eyes go half-lidded, pupils dilating. He exhales hard into Braxton’s mouth, staring at him, lips parted. Braxton rocks, experimentally, into Kon. His eyelashes flutter, a soft moan escaping him.

“So good,” Braxton reaches down, taking Kon’s dick in hand, keeping up that steady grinding roll of his hips into Kon, as he starts jacking him off. “So perfect for me. For your little Timmy. You made him feel so good. Go on, take it. You deserve this. It’s all for you.”

Kon tips his head back, tensing again, but Braxton’s hand just slows, and he bends his neck, kissing Kon.

The noises Kon is making, the sight of him, coiled up, flushed and so pleasured he’s overwhelmed with it, is short-circuiting Tim’s brain. He doesn’t think he can feel his body, where he’s slumped into the arm rest of the couch, watching open-mouthed.

“So pretty,” Braxton bites at Kon’s lower lip, “they made you perfect. Didn’t mess up a single cell, did they? Huh? I get why Timmy can’t help himself, you’re irresistible. Listen to yourself, all those noises, you making them for me? Far too generous.” 

“Ah,” Kon twitches all over, when Braxton thrusts get a little more forceful, pointed. “Ah, ah, fuck, please.”

“Come, Connie,” Braxton’s thumb rubs over the head of Kon’s dick, twisting his hand down the shift, the heel of his palm grinding against his balls. “Go on, you can do it.”

When it finally happens, Tim feels his entire body throb at the sight, the lust so overwhelming that he has to look away. It’s so—

Tim has to bite hard on his hand, so he won’t come untouched just at the sight. Kon is taking in ragged, deep gasps. Braxton starts thrusting again, keeps up his praise, murmuring words into Kon’s ear that Tim can barely hear. Did so good for me, knew you could do it, you’re so beautiful, pressing adoring, soft kisses to Kon’s neck and face.  

Kon is red all over, trembling. He orgasms for more than a minute, his come spilling over Braxton’s palm. Braxton fucks him through it, losing rythmic. Right as Kon is starting to whimper, eyes crossing at the overstimulation, Braxton groans, grinding into Kon, hips flush with Kon’s ass. Tim watches all the muscles in his back twitch and tighten as he comes. 

“Shit,” Braxton pants, holding Kon close, worming an arm under his body, dropping all his weight on Kon. Kon yelps when Braxton’s dick slips out of him, but doesn’t open his eyes. 

It’s a long minute, as the two of them recover. Tim watches their sweat and come mix together. Braxton squeezes Kon like he’s an oversized teddy bear, and Kon just shudders into it, letting his cheek rest on Braxton’s head, cushioned by his hair. 

Then Braxton rasps, “Timmy, baby, come kiss your boy.”

Tim crawls over them, clumsily, more eager than he was expecting. His bloody nose drips onto their bodies, and Braxton sits back to pull him down between them.

Tim kisses Kon. Kon kisses him back, relaxes into it, lifts up a weak hand to cup the side of his face. He’s crying. Tim kisses his cheek, and when he opens his mouth to apologize, he can’t. Kon’s trembling hand finds the blood under Tim’s nose, and the swell of tears is visible. 

“I’m sorry,” Kon whispers. 

Braxton huffs. “Jesus, you two. Okay, let’s stop thinking and ride this afterglow, huh? Shower, skin on skin, we’ll be golden. It was good, right? Tim, tell Kon he did good.” 

“So good,” Tim says, cradling Kon’s face in his hands. He kisses him, slow, trying to communicate all the… everything in the way their mouths meet. “You’re so good. So perfect. I love you.”

Braxton sits up. He sets his hands on Tim’s waist, scoops him off of Kon into his arms. Tim flails for a second. “Love you too, baby.” Braxton kisses his forehead. He looks down at Kon on the couch, struggling up onto an elbow, “you’re welcome. I’m not usually one to share, but I think I gotta make it clear that Timmy’s mine.” 

Kon glares at him, still breathing a little hard, his bare chest heaving. “He’s not,” he says, falling back onto his elbow when his arms give out.

Braxton cocks an eyebrow, drops his gaze, pointedly, to Kon’s splayed legs, and the come spilling out of him. “Okay, baby. Next time you want me to fuck you stupid, hit me up.”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. He wonders if he’s part of that deal. Wonders more, how fucked up it is that he hopes he is.