Terms And Conditions

Terms and Conditions

Pairing: Triple Frontier Dudes x F!Reader (except Tom obvs) Words: 5.5K Warnings: Rough smut. Cum eating. Semi-public sex. Dirty talk. Poly-ass relationship vibes. PTSD. Ass Play. Spit. SORRY. Wall sex. Pool Sex. Laundry Room Sex. Door Sex. We out here. Summary: Santi makes you play a game. A/N: same universe as Bloom. Idk if it's physically possible to keep this much cum inside you but we play fast and loose with facts on this here ole blog baby

It keeps happening.

You’re back on home ground. You’re back to paved streets and errands and bar hopping. You all sit around a table - the same one you always do. The bar is cloying - alcohol sweet with its sticky floors and unwashed bathrooms.

The air is hot - thick with tension as you try to act normal - act fine. Every one of them had been inside you - had licked your pussy and made you cum so often you can still taste it in the back of your throat.

You’d avoided them long enough. You’d needed some time as soon as the plane landed back in the states.

You weren’t upset. You weren’t sad.

You were just confused and a little embarrassed.

Now, all four of them are staring at you - their eyes leaving prints across your skin. Will is a hot mass of muscle beside you - his arm rubbing against your own as you shift in your seat. You have a beer in front of you and you touch the condensation - circle the bottle in your hands. You want to press it to your fevered brow - your cheek. You’re flaring with the memory of them.

“Sweetheart,” Pope murmurs and it makes you peer up at him. His eyes are dark - genuine - sparked with something. His voice is edged, matching the tone he used when he’d lifted you up against the shower wall and made you shatter on his length.

You bite down on your tongue - digging your nails into your thigh before Will stops you - folding his large hand over yours and squeezing. He meets your startled gaze head-on. His face bare and handsome.

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.”

Benny’s brow wrinkles. He scrubs at his bearded jaw. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Frankie nods - fixing his hat as he regards you with concern. “We can forget it happened. We did what we had to do. We don’t - fuck - none of us see you differently.”

It’s not that. It’s not.

“We love you,” Pope finishes. Your belly clenches at that blunt remark. He’d confessed it so easily and yet you don’t know if it is rubbed in the flavor that you want - if he means it like friends or -

You shove the heels of your hands against your eyes.

“Hey,” Will soothes as he strokes your waist - the naked skin between the waistband of your jeans and the bottom of your t-shirt. “Hey - look nothing has changed.”

“Yes, it has,” you snap back. You’re close to laughing at this point - close to losing it. Tears prick behind your lids and fuck you’d absolutely die if you broke down in front of them.

“Was it really all that bad?” Benny asks in an effort to lighten the mood.

“Dude," Pope exclaims while Will elbows Benny's ribs.

Was it bad? Was it? No. Not at all. It was the most pleasure you’d ever felt in your whole damn life.

“No,” you admit reluctantly as you finally look at them straight - chin angled up and your shoulders set. You can’t lie to them. You can’t avoid them for the rest of your life. “It wasn’t bad.”

Frankie cocks an eyebrow before he reaches for your wrist - gently winding his fingers around the bones. “So what’s the problem, bonita?”

You swallow thickly. Fuck it.

“Because I want it again.”

***

It’s a 4th of July barbecue at one of Benny’s gym friend’s houses. It’s pretty packed. A lot of liquor. A lot of food. All of you together.

It’s been two months since you’d told them you wanted more - wanted them like you’d had them in that safehouse. They’d answered you by driving you back to Will’s and splitting you apart. You had shaken with the number of climaxes they'd rocked into you. The bruises. The stretch. The fact that every hole had been filled until you couldn't walk afterward. They'd scrubbed you clean - gingerly smoothing the marks they'd burned you with until you were ready to go again. They were inside you - engraved in your flesh and your tissue and the fleshy curve of your heart.

It hadn’t let up. It had only continued. Weeks packed with constant sex and a damn honey-sweet intimacy that had molded and carved your connection into something entirely new. It’s a hurricane - it’s chaos. You don’t really establish rules. You just go with it and it seems to have worked so far.

The party today would be another test - another event where you circled each other - waiting to nip or touch or taste. You had to play it cool - play it like you always have. These men are your partners - they are in your blood - riding it out as you pulse in time with each of them. It’s cosmic - it’s delicious - but it’s also highly fucking frowned upon by society’s standards. You don’t want Mary Greene from down the street clutching her pearls because Santi can’t stop kissing your neck when Frankie’s got his hand on your ass.

No one would understand and it’s not like you could blame it on a breeding drug that had made you require orgasms to fucking live. Nope. No.

You’d texted the group with clear directions:

You: No PDA at this thing.

Ironhead: Whatever you say.

Fish: Sure.

Benny: Not even a little touching?

You: No. These are my terms if you want to fuck afterward.

Benny: Fine.

Pope: You’re so cruel.

You think it’s peachy. It’s all settled.

You think that up until you pull up to the curb of the house.

It starts as soon as you step out of the passenger seat of Frankie’s truck. You can feel their eyes on you - burning across your bare arms and legs. You’re in a gauzy sundress - your flimsy swimsuit underneath.

Santi gapes at you before yelling: “Deals off.”

He marches right up to you, pinning you to the car door - the scent of him making you a tad delirious.

“Princesa,” Santi growls - his lips brushing over your ear as he wraps you up in a hug that transcends friendliness. “You really trying to kill us with that outfit?”

“Only a little,” you say - plastering an innocent smile across your face. “Also - it’s a pool party. What the hell else was I going to wear?”

“You’re gonna get it,” he drawls - subtly drifting his hand beneath your dress to cup your pussy through your bikini bottoms.

“Santi,” you hiss - your thighs clenching around his hand. “There are people.”

“We can be discreet, babe,” Benny points out from over Santi’s shoulder. “We’re kind of trained for that shit.”

You roll your eyes. “We can wait until after, you sex fiends.”

“Nah,” Santi says. “I think we could do it here - I think we could manage.”

“You’re serious?” you glance at Frankie and Will who are watching Pope practically finger fuck you against Frankie’s truck. He runs his knuckle over your covered slit - pushing into you. It’s out in the open - it’s under the hot beat of the sun and this is fucking dangerous.

“We haven’t had you in a while,” Frankie answers - quiet but still hungry. “I miss that sweet little - “

“Hey Mike!” you call out - shoving at Santi’s chest. He doesn’t even startle, just slowly turns around to glare at the poor guy who’s walking up the path to the house.

Fucking Mike,” Frankie grunts under his breath as if the guy had stumbled into you on purpose. Mike waves back before slowly dropping it to his side - paling at the way Pope is glaring at him.

You smooth your sundress over your thighs - fixing your hair behind your ears.

“Let’s go,” you tell him - them. “We can fuck after.”

But - as soon as you brush past Santi, his hand shoots out - gripping your arm and yanking you back to him. He catches your face between his palms before he crushes his lips to yours - his tongue wet and desperate as he pushes it into your mouth.

He releases you as quickly as he caught you - making you trip into his chest. His lips split into a blinding grin - smug as ever. “I think we should play a game, princess.”

Santi’s abrupt princess punches you somewhere soft. It doesn’t have that smooth, silky finish when he uses princesa or preciosa or querida. It’s because he’s not seducing - he knows he already has you.

You could say no. You could and they’d grumble but inevitably agree. They’d probably punish you later for it, but still - the boys would never do shit to you that you didn’t ask for or want.

You glance up at Santi - the silver around his hairline dripping into his black curls. His lips are sticky with your gloss.

“What are the rules?” you bite.

**

Your arms scrape across the gritty cement that surrounds the pool as you float against the side of it. It’s really too hot today - stifling. The water is cool though - it’s nice and pleasant. The smell of chlorine - the oily coconut balm of your lotion. Smoke from the barbecue wafts through the air - the abrupt nostalgic taste of summer. Benny has probably already eaten six cheeseburgers.

There’s a sudden weight against your back - the hard hump of a chest - a flat stomach. Will’s bearded jaw scrapes across your temple as he pins you to the edge of the pool.

“Baby girl,” he murmurs as he wraps a muscular arm around your waist. Will doesn’t use pet names often. He’s reserved - certainly more so than Santi and Benny. Frankie might be the only other one who isn’t as public about his affections.

You guessed he’d be the first. He’d been watching you closely from across the kitchen, his gaze following your movements as you made yourself a drink. His face dressed in a small amused smile like he was chewing on a secret. A couple of girls flitted around him - prodding him with questions and half-slurred commentary that he politely acknowledged.

“Mmm you didn’t want to stay and listen to what Emily had to tell you,” you tease as he drops his mouth to the side of your neck and sucks.

He chuckles. “Nah - I tuned out. Too distracted.”

Heat builds in your belly. Self-satisfaction.

There aren’t people out here. Most of them are in the living room, distracted by the current boxing match on television. There are a few stragglers sitting in deck chairs or playing beer pong. Not close enough to notice. Not really.

He grinds into your ass as he presses his lips to your skin. Will is good at being subtle - the best at being discreet. You’re surprised that he’s willing to fuck you out in the open, but you aren’t necessarily complaining.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he mutters as he hitches the gusset of your suit to the side - his insistent fingers prodding into you. His voice is gorgeous - rumbling through his broad chest as it vibrates against your shoulders. “You get so wet,” he praises. “Even underwater”

“Well,” you sigh. “You tend to have that effect.”

He purrs before he grips your chin and drags you to his lips. It’s a quick kiss - charged and molten as he deftly slicks his tongue against your own. “I want to make this good for you, sweetheart."

You feel his cock slide between your folds as you press your ass back into him. To anyone else, it would just look like Will’s whispering something to you. Affectionate. Intimate. You’ve always been pretty physical with the boys - maybe not to this degree - but fuck it.

He grips himself before he sinks inside you - making you curse under your breath. You’re wet enough, but there’s pressure - the chlorine finish making him a little too dry. It’s a stretch as he lazily fucks into you - his body smacking flush against your back as he grunts into your hair.

“Fuck - you feel so good.”

Your breasts are crushed into the wall as he rolls his hips against you. It’s slow and inexorable - the steady glide of his cock through your walls. In and out. In and out. He breathes hard as he holds you to him so fucking tightly. He reaches beneath your bikini top - cupping your tits - pinching your stiff nipples.

You savor the minute pain that sparks across your palms and forearms as you cling to the hot cement. The water is chilly enough - soothing despite the fact that you are burning up inside - flames flicking up your core as Will plants one hand over yours and another over your clit as he thrusts into you. Your orgasm shears its way through your veins - your nerve endings - sparking from the tips of your toes before shooting upward to burst within your cunt. You’re squeezing around him - tiny flickers - spasms - that choke and restrain him.

“You gonna keep me in there, gorgeous?” He presses closer - as he barely pulls out of your tight heat. “You’ll have to be a good girl and do it - hold me inside you so the others can feel me when they fuck you all deep.”

**

People leave the glass doors to the house open - letting the precious air conditioning float out and away. It’s humid inside and your skin feels raw from your wet bikini. Will is seeping out of you - oozing from between your legs as you try to look for a towel. You squeeze your lower muscles. This is harder than you thought.

You find Frankie - his eyes soft as he walks toward you.

He's nursing a beer that you guess must be warm and shitty because he wrinkles his nose when he sips it. He pushes a solo cup into your hands.

“Tequila and grapefruit,” he grins as his fingertips graze your knuckles. “You look a little overheated, baby.”

“I need a towel,” you grumble as you take a hearty gulp of the cocktail and then fold your arms over your soaked breasts. The burn is sweet - creeping through your veins and loosening you up.

Frankie is staring at you with a humored expression - all-knowing. You’re sure the guys know exactly who goes when - certain that he is already aware that Will had fucked you. They probably strategized this, held a damn meeting with blueprints.

You did agree to it and it’s not like you’re complaining.

No. It was slightly thrilling - fucking erotic. Kind of wonderful to have the four hottest guys here want to rail the shit out of you all over the house while no one is the wiser. You enjoy it - enjoy watching all the girls flirt with them - offering them drinks or food and they meet them with polite smiles while their eyes search for you - always searching until they find you and relax.

“I think there are some in the laundry room,” Frankie assures you. “Let’s check it out.”

Wow. Subtle.

**

“Fuck, Frankie,” you cry out against the onslaught of his mouth. His tongue is heavy and plunging. He tastes like muddled Budweiser. His beard grazing across your jaw as he makes out with you against the door.

“Turn around, preciosa,” he urges. “Let me have you.”

You do as he says and he presses his hand across your back - pushing you down into the washing machine’s hard surface. He anchors you in place - keeping you still as he kicks your feet apart before he fiddles with his belt and then sinks deep - inching and inching until his balls bounce against your thighs.

Frankie is dark with his sex - he fucks like he wants to swallow you whole. He fucks like every punch of his cock is pushing his brokenness into you. You understand him - you always have and you share in those shadowed thoughts and memories. He is so openly loving - so kind when he wants to be and it’s only when he’s with you - when he’s inside you - that you see flashes of his other-self.

You know all about me. You saw it. Had a front-row seat to those moments I fucking lost it.

Yes - you had. Both of you too trigger-happy and then too forlorn about it afterward. You let him take when he has sex with you - when he forces you to the floor and just buries you beneath him - his hips ramming up against your ass. He says your name a lot. He likes it - he likes to use it like it’s his and every slap of his hips means he owns you just a little bit more.

“Fucking hell,” he hisses as he digs his fingers into your ass cheeks - grabbing handfuls and spreading it open as he rams himself deep. He pulls you back on his length as he takes you in rough, short strokes. You hear him spit - feel the wet drop of it hitting your asshole before he gently nudges his thumb inside.

Your face burns - your fingers scrambling to find purchase across the slippery surface of the washing machine. Your skin is still chilly and damp from the pool but fuck you are melting hot inside - Frankie’s dick spearing you in half as he fucks you without hesitation and pulls at the rim of your hole in tandem.

He’s the dirtiest of them. Santi would claim that title if asked, but it’s not true. It’s Frankie. Quiet Francisco with his thick fingers and his talented tongue.

“Fuck baby - you have such a good ass,” he groans. “Just as nice as your soaked little pussy.”

You whine at that and Frankie yanks you back against his chest - his hand clasping over your mouth as he doesn’t miss a beat in his hurried pace. “Shh, honey,” he croons. “Can’t let them catch us.”

There’s so much friction inside you as he drives up - as he pushes against the cup of your womb like he could breed you right here in this empty space. The sharp clap of his skin hitting yours - the low, feral grunts from his throat as you cry out against the gag of his hand.

“You know I love you, sweet girl,” he soothes as his cock pulses inside you - throbbing and growing as he begins to hit his peak. “Love being inside you like this - how tight and pretty you are. Too pretty for me.”

You want to bite down on his palm for saying that but he’s already shoving you forward - already grunting into your ear as you feel his cock jerk inside you - the fever-heat of his spend painting your walls and mixing with Will’s.

It’s so damn nasty. The whole thing.

You feel his lips descend along your spine - his mustache tickling your skin as he strokes you tenderly. You feel his tongue in your ass as he clings to your waist and Jesus Christ Fish -

He growls - gruff and possessive as you grind back against him.

***

You smile up at Benny and he meets it in kind - white teeth flashing in the dark - the moon pulsing bright across the dark guest room.

“What do you want?” he asks as he presses his lips to your chin - your throat - sliding his tongue until he yanks your bikini top to the side so he can latch to your nipple. It makes you gasp - makes you arch into his warm, muscular body. You curl your fingers into the back of his t-shirt - pulling at it - watching it bunch around his muscles and his broad shoulders.

Blood rises in your ears - your limbs feel loose from the buzz of tequila. It certainly has made you more uninhibited but then again you were sober as a judge when you let Will thrust himself into you against the pool wall. Maybe - you’re just drunk on them.

“C’mon babe, tell me.”

It’s so like Benny. He’s goofy when he wants to be. He can be dirty, too. But he’s the guy who is down for anything - who will be willing and waiting. He asks after your pleasure - he is enthusiastic and sweet and if you asked him to mark you and ruin you - he’d do it. But he’d also play it nicely - he’d do it to your tastes and mold himself as you asked.

You like to give to him.

“I wanna taste you.” you croon as you watch his eyebrows lift.

You get on your knees - tugging at his swim trunks - watching his flushed cock bob against his stomach when you lower the band. You wrap your hand around his length before taking it whole. You like sucking Benny off - he shudders for you - his fingers twisting into your hair as he gasps and pants and loses it.

It’s a sight.

“Just fuck my mouth like you want, Benjamin,” you taunt - tongue circling the salty slit at the head. He nudges his hips forward - a test run before he sinks down a few more inches. You encourage him - massaging his balls - catching at the short blonde hairs on his thighs. He pushes deeper and you swallow down a gag - your saliva mixing with the viscous fluid that slips from his cock. He tugs your hair harder - straining your neck - the band of his silver watch scraping across your scalp. You feel his dick cram up against the end of your throat and oh Benny sighs: "Fuck you're so good at blowing me, baby."

Your pussy spasms - the hole contracting around air - still wanting and desperate despite the fact that it’s been overfilled. Everything is starting to dribble out. You reach between your legs - cupping yourself- trying to push it back in and it’s like Benny knows what’s happening beneath your swimsuit because he steps away from you, making his cock slip from your tongue.

“It’s your turn,” he orders as he picks you up - hitching your thighs around his waist before he slams you into the wooden door.

He screws you right there. Each plunge of his cock making a shameful wet noise as your cunt sucks him up. He groans as he pounds into you at a harsh, furious pace.  When his hips stutter, a broken noise drifts from his mouth and he tries to seal it against your neck. He pumps into you for a long time - the warmth of it throbbing in the cup of your sex like he’d marked you - carved you - left his name branded deep.

He is flushed with the exertion - sweat beading across his brow - darkening his hair as you smooth it back from his face. He still manages to keep you balanced - keep you impaled on the rod of his dick with his hands under your ass. You idly pet his cheekbone - push the tip of your thumb into his rose-pink lower lip. You lean forward to kiss it - chaste and reserved - even as he softens and he eases out of you with another echoing wet noise.

Benny lowers you to your feet - his broad hand sliding between your thighs as he wipes at anything that has spilled out of you: the slick and a few scattered drops of his cum. You catch his hand to suck his fingers - taste the brine and the musk and the sweat of him. He trembles - not dramatically - but enough for you to notice the effect. He straightens to his full height - all 6’2 of him looming over you - his expression dreamy and indulgent. A big puppy.

“God,” he exclaims. “You’re fucking hot.”

He shoves a hand into your hair before he kisses you - messy and possessive. He wraps an arm around your waist as he steps out of the guest room - fingers twining through yours to drag you down the hall and back outside into the humidity. Night has dipped the day in a luke-warm bath. It’s pleasant and you snatch a beer from the outdoor dining table before taking a swig to moisten your parched throat. You’re certain you’re going to be half-eaten by bugs - you’ve had no time to apply spray or sunscreen due to all the fucking.

Not like you can care. Not like your mind is anything, but pounding hormones and aching mush.

Frankie and Will are playing beer pong when Benny sidles up to them. They regard you with warmth - with sated hunger - their tongues darting over their lips. It’s...romantic. The intimacy - the pleasure shining in their expressions when they spot you. You’re addicted to the way they stare at you - like you hang the moon - like you’ve enchanted them - like you can control them with a tilt of your chin or a crook of your finger. It’s never anyone else - it’s never trailing after another girl or another guy - it’s just fucking you.

Will’s jaw clenches before he motions for you: “Wanna come be my partner?”

“Nah,” Frankie interrupts. “She can be mine.”

Benny scoffs. “Will move to Frankie’s side. She said she’d play with me.”

He says it suggestively enough that it could be taken two ways. They’re being overt at this point - their hands catching in your dress or pinching at your waist or stroking across your bare shoulders. Your skin is itchy from the touch of July sun  Their cum is leaking into your bottoms - just sitting inside you - a flushed, dirty secret.

Santi appears at your back,  wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you firmly against him.

“Hey - princess," his voice runs down your skin - soaks you fully. It’s indulgent. Husky.

“Sorry boys,” he announces. “I need her for something.”

**

“That was so obvious, Pope,” you whine as you let him tow you to the side of the house.

He spins around - his gaze perfectly frank. He steps toward you - cornering you against the wall. It drives the breath from your lungs - makes you swallow the rest of your complaints. You put your hands on his biceps - feeling them quirk at your touch.

He grabs your chin to tip it up, forcing your eye contact, and you keep it dutifully. He searches your face - unable to articulate the sincerity he wants to press into what he will give you next. You know though. You know.

“Damn,” you tease against his jaw. “I knew you’d be the final boss.”

He muffles a laugh - his hands caging in your hips as he stares down at you. It’s not exactly quiet: there’s the thrum of the huge AC unit beside them - the splashing from the pool - the drunk hoots and hollers from indoors. The ping of balls landing in solo cups and Benny’s obvious whoop as he hits dead center.

“Was my idea after all,” he says. “Let’s see how baby did.”

Pope skates his hands beneath the hem of your dress. The fabric is stiff - partially soaked in places and drying with unmentionable things in others. He reaches forward and pushes two fingers deep. Your face flares at the lewd noise of him squelching through the others and your own hot syrup-slick. “Damn - you really held them in there, little one.”

“Well, I always play to win.”

He turns his thumb so he can nudge it against your clit - it’s hard, throbbing - over-sensitive but still Pope treats it all gentle like he knows you’ve been through it.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he drawls as he slowly pumps his fingers - scissoring and spreading your already swollen pussy. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

He kisses you fiercely - salt-slick tongue dragging across the wet heat of your mouth before he eases back. He blinks at you - girlish lashes fanning over his near-black eyes.

“Turn around,” he grunts. “Let me clean you up, baby.”

“Huh?”

But he’s already forcing you to face the wall - pushing you against it. You hear him drop to his knees and then you feel him shove his face between your legs. His nose digging into your ass as he licks into your pussy from behind. He laps and laps and it’s a shameless thing to do. It makes you squirm until he cracks his palm across your ass to keep you quiet.

“Pope,” you plead - all dizzy and dreamy. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you’re asking for.

Your feet nearly give way, but Santi props you up. His tongue is cool and wet as he dips it between your folds - as he slides it into you and gets you off with a velvet-soft orgasm that makes you flutter. It’s fucking filthy - the way he’s just tasting the mess inside you. It nearly makes you cum again.

“Now,” he hums as he sinks his teeth into the fat of your ass cheek before climbing up your body. “I need to get inside that sweet pussy.”

Santi is good at sex - he really fucking is. Where Will is logical and deliberate and precise about making love to you or delivering climax after bone-shaking climax, Santi is passionate. He is often feral and there is always a tiny bit of violence in it. Nothing you don’t ask for.

Santi fucking likes it when you’re kind of mean - he likes when you talk back and when you match him quip for quip. He likes to know what a challenge you are - how you would only deign to go soft and submissive for him because you let him.

Pretty. Fucking. Baby.

He likes to rub it in when he’s balls deep - when he has you whimpering and begging on his cock.

You wanna cum? You want daddy to make you feel good?

It’s a little absurd. You let Pope do it and in the heat of the moment you respond well - go slack. You admit that you like it when he makes you call him daddy so you can hit your peak. But outside of the bedroom, you cringe - eyeing him up and down and asking did you really fucking say that, you perv.

It always silences him - startles him like you've slapped him out of nowhere.

Of course - it’s just to rev him up. Get him frustrated.

Tonight - you’re just too fucking dead to fight him - to give him sass or be a flustered brat. You let him take the reigns.

He wedges your legs apart before he’s burying himself to the hilt. He doesn’t go slow - doesn’t inch his way in but does it abrupt and almost panicked. It burns. He has a thick cock and it always scrapes its way inside you.  You gasp - your hand flying to his thigh as you momentarily stop him.

“Fuck,” he curses. “You okay? I’m sorry, I -”

“Keep going,” you breathe. “It’s fine, Pope. Just - just go.”

He growls before nipping the back of your throat. He draws himself out until just the head remains - catching on the hole of your pussy before he slams all the way forward. You sob as he screws you into the wall - the stucco creasing your skin with stinging patterns. He pushes his hand beneath your cheek - a tiny reprieve - a reminder that he’s looking out for you.

“Jesus Christ - you filthy little thing,” he hisses into your ear. “You’re so fucking tight for me - you’ve had three other cocks inside you today and you still need me to fuck you open.”

You’re drowning like this - your oxygen depleting with each rough roll of Santi’s hips. His cock puncturing you with each frantic thrust - the fatness of it stretching you open. Your skin hums with violent electricity - your vision circles and blurs to white - to black - to shadows and shapes and Santi’s hand is planted in your hair as he twists your face and breaks you apart in this narrow alley between the party and the quiet street.

His fingertips circle your clit - swift and deliberate. He matches it in time with the jut of his hips - the snap and pound of his unforgiving pace.

He angles himself in such a way that his cock begins to push against something central. The head hits again and again as he pierces that pleasure point with a talented concentration.

“You gonna cum, princesa?” he taunts.”I can feel you clenching up -you get all creamy when you do - gonna make you -”

You lose it - gush all over him as you feel it soak your feet and his cock.

“Shit - shit - you just squirted all over me, honey,” he gasps between the wet slap of his hips.

You know that it must be enough to push Santi to the edge because he fucking whimpers - his body tightening up as he gives you a few more hard thrusts and then goes slack against you - his chin digging into your shoulder.

You can’t hear very well - your whole body is shuddering as you shiver underneath his weight. You’re cold. Your cunt hurts. You can’t stop shaking.

“Calm down,” he demands - voice hushed and kind. He gently turns you around - his hands still locked to your waist before he lifts them up to cradle your jaw. “Just breathe, baby.”

There’s a moment of silence - a beat as you try to get yourself together. You could sleep for a week. Santi shrugs out of his jacket before wrapping it around you - his expression still etched with worry. He ducks his head - chewing on his lip before his gaze meets yours. “Did I go too hard?”

“No,” you assure him. “Just - just a little overwhelmed.”

You sometimes wonder if this situation is doomed. You’re being split four ways - torn between them. But it’s not like you’re the only person getting fucked here. You know Frankie and Benny have their moments. You know about Fish and Pope too and then Will who has told you - in the pleasant safe darkness of his bed about the rest.

You think it over - turning it in your hands - pressing your cheek to it - your lips and tongue. The five of you are larger-than-life people who meet death on a regular basis - maybe this just shouldn’t be weird or complicated. Maybe - it just is.

Perhaps it would always be like this - dark eyes following you around. Their bodies catching to you like shadows - like they’d stitch themselves to the soles of your heels. It makes you think of Peter Pan and none of you would ever grow up or grow out of this. It just would be yours and who knows maybe you’d pop out one kid for each of them. Maybe they’d all move to an isolated island and play at house. Maybe...maybe...maybe...

Pope wraps his arms around your neck - the smell of his aftershave pungent in your nose as you curl your fingers into the back of his shirt. You inhale. There’s the heavy drip of spend down your thighs - your sex rubbed raw and still you hunger for them like nothing else.

It works. It does. At least - for now.

There’s a crack - a splitting boom. You glance up - past Santi’s startled expression to see the explosion of light - petals of spilling color burning up the sky - fireworks.