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Pedri could have sworn everyone left.
That's why he was even willing to do this right here in the first place. Willing to approach Joan, flirt with him for the nth time just to see him blush and stutter, preen at the sight of Joan contemplating if Pedri really is flirting or if it's just in his head. It's a welcome power trip, watching him get so flustered.
And now. Pedri had insisted that everyone went home. And that doing this right here in the lockers was safe. All to watch Joan try to collect himself, scramble to meet Pedri's lips when he kissed him, undoubtedly unable to believe this was actually happening – a sight that has Pedri's ego through the roof. They had ended up on the bench and Pedri had hurriedly prepped himself because he needed Joan inside him now, needed to feel that stretch he's been fantasising about for ages.
The stretch was much better than he could have imagined. Joan is huge. He had pressed in slowly, his large hands around Pedri's waist digging to keep him still, cursing and moaning as he slid inside.
Whimpering, Pedri pushes back against Joan, his arms trembling as he tries to maintain himself propped up on the bench.
Everything’s fine and perfectly, perfectly well until Pedri hears the door open.
The rapid switch from arousal to panic is a feeling much like submerging one's body in ice-cold water in one swift plunge. Dread courses through him and makes his heart drop, his brain short-circuiting as he tries to determine whether he should sit still and try to be quiet or flee for his life.
No, no, no, please, he chants in his head. This was a fucking mistake. He's thankful that they're sort of hidden, but whoever it is will definitely see them if they enter just a little bit more. For fuck’s sake.
Pedri tries to move away. Honestly, anything would be better than to be caught in the act – but Joan's grip is so hard it hurts, keeping him flushed to his hips, his dick buried all the way inside and pressing fucking everywhere against him.
“Who's there?,” Joan asks. Pedri wishes the ground would swallow him whole. His body is tense as he tries to quiet his breathing, trying not to think about Joan's iron grip and how his absurd cock is forcing itself a space into his insides. Anything would be better than to be caught like this. He squirms in an attempt to signal Joan to let him go but it's no use – if anything, his grip tightens, pulling him back further and digging his cock impossibly deeper inside him.
“Ferran,” answers Ferran, and Pedri deflates. Thank God. “Is someone with you?”
Joan must sense that Pedri's relieved, because now he's relieved too, his grip loosening and hips rocking as if he really can't help himself.
“Yeah.”
Joan's pace quickens and Pedri's on fire again, his hand frantically trying to push at Joan's hips to tell him to slow the fuck down. If Pedri knew Joan would feel this good inside him he would have done this way sooner. But Ferran's here and while Pedri isn't in full-blown panic-mode anymore, he's still utterly humiliated and would much rather escape than to be seen like this.
“Are you having sex in here?,” Ferran asks before finally appearing around the lockers, Pedri sees him in his peripheral vision and looks away in embarrassment, body curling in on itself. “Woah.”
“Fuck,” Pedri says, giving up at trying to push at Joan's hips and gripping the bench instead. “I thought – canyouslowdownplease?”
Ferran laughs, the bastard, and Joan's hands move down to Pedri's hips to pull him close instead, opting to grind upwards slowly, the pressure of which makes Pedri's eyes flutter.
“No, no, don't mind me,” Ferran says. “I just forgot something, didn't mean to interrupt.”
Pedri's palms are wet with sweat, sliding grossly against the wood. He's never felt so humiliated in his life. His face must be red, more than red, he can feel heat radiate off his skin and his heart beat so hard it makes his bones shake. It feels good. It feels so good he might cry.
Pedri can't suppress the desperate feeling to explain himself – but how could he, when Joan's dick is throbbing against his walls and his tongue feels swollen in his mouth?
Joan, especially. Pedri wants to explain to Joan. He must be trying to determine what kind of relationship Pedri has with Ferran; friends, lovers, something inbetween – what an odd relationship it is, intimate enough to fuck but not quite enough to invoke a feeling of possession. Pedri isn't sure he even understands it himself. He just hopes Joan doesn't think less of him now.
The problem is, he must.
He must be at least somewhat curious over who else has fucked Pedri. How easy he must be. Maybe he gives blowjobs out like it's nothing, as a reward after a good game. Maybe he could've just pushed Pedri down to his knees ages ago and skipped the pointless flirting. They were both dancing around it, weren't they? It would've happened eventually. Pedri would have let it happen.
Pedri doesn't know how to handle this. Joan grinds upwards again and it's delicious, it makes Pedri gasp and push back against him before he realises what he's doing.
“It's fine,” Joan says, as if he's the one Ferran was talking to. Wait – who was Ferran talking to? “You're not interrupting.”
Joan's hand finds Pedri's jaw then, two fingers shoving inside his mouth blindly and pressing down to open his mouth. Pedri shakes his head in an attempt to make him let go but Joan holds him still, making him look up at Ferran – Pedri closes his eyes, refusing to see the undoubtedly smug expression on Ferran's stupid face.
“You could join,” Joan adds, his fingers wiggling against Pedri's tongue like he's trying to make him puke. “He's empty here.”
Pedri whines, feeling how the salty taste of Joan's fingers is making him salivate – he closes his lips around the digits in fear of drooling all over himself and worsening his position fiftyfold. Of course, Joan misinterprets the action, and starts thrusting his fingers in and out of Pedri's mouth.
“See, I think he wants it.”
Fuck, what happened to the flustered gentle-giant thing Joan had going on? He whines again, eyes still shut tightly. This is not how he imagined this going.
Ferran chuckles – did he get closer?
“He’s embarrassed,” he comments. Yes, he did get closer. Close enough to comb Pedri's hair with his fingers. “But he likes being embarrassed. Dunno if you noticed.”
Stop talking about me like I'm not here, Pedri wants to scream.
Joan's fingers leave Pedri's mouth, pushing him so he's properly propped on his hands, gripping his waist again.
“Do what you want,” Joan says, tone final, speeding his thrusts up again and Pedri's head hangs as pleasure overtakes him. It's pointless how frustrated he is when Joan's cock feels so good. The way it slides out and rams back in, the pace hypnotising, dick so girthy it presses hard against his prostate with each pass over it. Humiliation always felt like something adjacent to pleasure – Pedri can't possibly ignore how all the telltale effects of humiliation make him lax with arousal. The raised heartbeat, that uncertain feeling in his stomach, the way his head spins and face sets on fire. Especially now that the danger of being caught ebbs and only leaves this sick fiery thrill behind.
Pedri wants to talk, because he probably should talk, but can't find any words. He's uncertain if he would even make sense, his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton. He moans when he hears Ferran unzip his pants, stomach flipping at being treated this way. Get yourself together, Pedri, Joan probably thinks you're a whore.
Pedri's eyes peer up to look at Ferran for the first time since he walked in on them. His eyes are dark and face flushed – Pedri's seen that expression countless times now but it makes his head spin all the same. He glances down to where Ferran's wrapped a hand around his own hardening dick – fuck, this is absurd.
Ferran's hand in Pedri's hair tightens to tilt his head up, inching slightly closer. Pedri's never done anything like this before, only really seen it in porn, and he has no clue how he's supposed to do this without choking and gagging like an amateur. He has to lean forward and to the side slightly to reach, wrapping his lips around Ferran's cock tentatively, trying to regulate his breathing. Joan doesn't slow down behind him, his pace is constant and punishing and wrings a pathetic sound out of Pedri before he can stop it.
Ferran places both his hands on Pedri's head, gripping his hair firmly and pushing forward slightly. Pedri leans in, trying to take Ferran’s dick further in his mouth but chokes immediately, tearing up as he struggles – Ferran tuts as if it'll make Pedri behave, holding him still and scratching his head with one hand in an attempt to soothe him.
All the while, Joan is ramming into him. How is this going to work?
A particularly desperate whine makes Ferran pull back. “Ah, ah, Joan,” Pedri chants, arms too weak to hold him up but Ferran’s grip in his hair is holding him in place. Joan squeezes his hips reassuringly, and Pedri can't say anything else because Ferran's dick is tapping impatiently against his lips, asking him to get on with it. He opens his mouth to try again, already feeling overwhelmed.
He whimpers as he leans forward. This time he makes more progress – Ferran moans above him and the sound makes Pedri's whole body tremble, tightening around Joan who strokes Pedri's back with both hands absentmindedly. He doesn't manage long until he gags again, struggling to concentrate, tears welling up once more when Ferran holds him still and rocks forward impatiently.
“Come on,” he mumbles, and Pedri whines around him. You try it, bastard, he wants to tell him.
Ferran tuts and pulls out again, pulling Pedri's hair up and slapping his dick across Pedri's cheek. “He's too distracted. Focus, Pepi.”
“I'll bite it off,” Pedri says with probably the least amount of threat possible, glaring up at Ferran uselessly. Ferran grins in response. It's not like Pedri's in any position to be threatening.
“Don't force him – hold on,” Joan says, giving him a squeeze and pulling out which makes Pedri squirm, feeling much too empty and open. “Get on your back, Pedri.”
With a whimper, he complies, hoping that they don't notice how his limbs tremble as he moves into position. He feels so exposed, driven insane by having two men look at him like this, having them try to figure out how to make Pedri take two cocks at once without getting too overwhelmed. God.
Joan pushes him up the bench as soon as he's on his back, making him slide upwards a few inches until his head reaches the edge of the bench and beyond, so his head hangs upside-down.
“Oooh,” Ferran says, and Pedri closes his eyes as a warm feeling settles in his stomach. Joan lifts his hips and settles underneath them, his dick pressing against Pedri's hole and entering swiftly like it's where he belongs. Pedri moans at the intrusion, perhaps a bit too loud but is there really any use trying to act collected?
Joan curses and moans when he's pressed all the way inside, hips rocking which makes his dick rub deliciously against Pedri's walls. “That alright, Pedri?”
Oh, now he asks?
“Yes,” Pedri responds, whimpering when Joan grabs his wrists and pins them next to his hips. Joan must really be trying to kill him, Pedri thinks, squirming in his vice-grip but he doesn't budge, only rocks his hips forward some more.
When Ferran approaches, Pedri opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out wordlessly, closing his eyes as he feels Ferran press his cock against his tongue. He slides inside easily and Pedri gags, writhing at the feeling but Joan holds him still, his wrists still pinned to his hips only letting him clench and unclench his hands.
“Fuck,” Ferran breathes above him, and Pedri chokes around his dick as Joan starts moving, his fat dick thrusting in and out of his hole like it did before. Pedri's movements are extremely limited – he tries to twist his hands out of Joan's grip but he's not strong enough, especially not when he's twitching like this and especially not when Ferran places his palm on Pedri's chest to limit his squirming even more.
Pedri's head feels like it's going to explode. He can't do much but take it – Joan's grip on his wrists is starting to hurt and the pain goes straight to his dick, neglected and throbbing against his stomach.
Ferran pulls out to let Pedri breathe – he gasps wetly, the rush of oxygen giving him the strength to arch off the bench. “Ah, agh, Ferri –”
“Having fun?,” Ferran asks, and Joan thrusts harder than before which has Pedri keening. “This is like, your wet dream, isn't it?”
Pedri moans, too distracted by Joan's thrusts to reply. It's like every pass against his prostate jumbles his thoughts further, making him unable to think about anything other than dick. Ferran teases the tip of his cock against Pedri's lips and he opens his mouth immediately, sticking his tongue out and letting Ferran shove his cock down his throat again. He fucks his face languidly, slower than Joan's pace – Pedri's legs tremble around Joan's frame, feeling tears coat his eyelashes as he shuts his eyes tightly. He wishes he wasn't held so firmly in place – he feels stuck between them, his body held in place by two pairs of hands and fucked from two ends. He gags but Ferran pays him no mind, moaning at the feeling of Pedri's throat twitching around him.
Pedri hears Joan curse above him, and then Ferran says something he doesn't catch. He tries to twist his wrists free again but to no avail – Pedri can hear them talking above him now, but isn't able to make the words out, deafened by his heartbeat in his ears.
They both stop thrusting promptly, and Pedri feels Ferran lean forward – are they kissing? They might be. Shit, they are, they definitely are. He writhes, body hot, feeling like a toy they're sharing. His body tightens around Joan, kicking him to catch his attention, desperate for air.
It feels like ages until Ferran pulls back and Joan starts moving again – Pedri gasps, chest shaking with each gulp of air. Despite Joan being adamant on keeping Pedri's wrists pinned he keeps trying to free himself, feeling too constrained.
“Sorry, Pepi,” Ferran says, and Pedri can hear the fucking grin on his face. “Forgot about you.”
Pedri only heaves in response and Joan tuts, displeased. “Don't be mean to him.”
Ferran chuckles. “Sorry, sorry. Catch your breath, darling.”
Pedri wants to talk. He wants to say something rude like fuck off. But he can't seem to catch his breath – Joan's thrusting so hard against him he feels it in his throat and there are bolts of electricity shooting up his spine, so intense he can't figure out how to say anything meaningful. He can't stop whimpering, can't stop trying to shy away from Joan and not managing.
“You're doing so good,” Joan tells him, as if Pedri could do bad at being held down and fucked. The sentiment still makes his dick throb and he moans, hips tilting up eagerly. It's been a while since Pedri felt this good, he almost feels drunk, vision hazy and desire clogging his thoughts. When Ferran's cockhead teases his lips again he opens his mouth obediently, not making a fuss, humming in an attempt to suppress his gag reflex.
“There you go,” Ferran says, leaning back and thrusting forward again, and fuck, how Pedri loves it, can't get enough of it. A muffled moan escapes him, feet kicking the air as euphoria washes over him. Ferran fucks his throat harder, almost syncing with Joan's thrusts, and Pedri's hips twitch, trying to maintain composure and be good for them.
Joan curses above him, stilling and grinding against Pedri, alternating between thrusting and moving his hips in circles like he wants to dig himself even deeper inside. Pedri feels the sparks of pleasure all the way down to his toes – he moans again, squirming with pleasure, unable to do much more.
“You look huge next to him,” he hears Ferran say, and Pedri whines underneath them at the words. Joan laughs in an exhale, releasing Pedri's wrists to grab his thighs – God, his hands feel big, and it must look every bit as insane as it feels.
Joan pulls out then, ignoring the way Pedri's hips chase him, letting his hard dick rest against Pedri's trembling stomach.
“Look,” Joan says above him, and Pedri's promptly set on fire. "The difference. So fucking hot.”
Pedri thrusts upwards blindly, feeling desperate. He doesn't know how much more of this he can handle – if they talk about him instead of addressing him directly one more time he might cum on the spot. He bangs his fists against the bench and Joan – he fucking shushes him, grabbing his wrists and pinning them right back next to hips before sliding back inside and fucking him hard. Pedri wants so badly to be loud but Ferran's cock is shoved down his throat and keeps him quiet. He squirms, feeling frustrated and helpless, managing to twist his wrists so that he can dig his nails in Joan's forearms.
Ferran's hips stutter against Pedri's face. Yes, yes, yes, he thinks, head spinning with the lack of air. Give it to me.
He tries to hollow his cheeks properly and rub his tongue against Ferran's length – the attempt backfires and he chokes pathetically, throat convulsing as he gags. God, he feels pathetic. At least the choked sounds seem to push Ferran closer to cumming, it only takes a few more thrusts until Ferran's gasping and moaning above him, spilling warm cum down his throat.
“Fuuck,” Ferran groans, grinding uselessly – Pedri wishes he could push him off by the hips so he can breathe. “So fucking hot.”
Joan stills against him as Ferran pulls away and Pedri's whole body shakes violently with overwhelmedness, gasping loudly and frantically, his heart beating so hard he feels like he's panicking. Ferran urges him to sit up, mumbling to Joan to back off a bit so he can sit behind Pedri which he obliges easily. It's much more comfortable to rest across Ferran's lap, he moans contentedly when Joan starts moving again, arching up into Ferran's touch.
Ferran leans forward to gather Pedri's wrists in one hand, holding them against Pedri's chest not nearly as tightly as Joan did, and scratching his nails against Pedri's scalp with his other hand.
“Gentle now, are you,” Joan asks with a grin, his hands stroking Pedri's thighs pleasantly.
“He worked hard,” replies Ferran, and Pedri would curse him out if he could. Instead, he moans, voice tired and raspy, feeling how his whole body melts in Ferran's lap. The pleasure from Joan's thrusts is morphing into something deeper and warmer, his skin must be scalding to touch and he can't seem to keep quiet at all. Moans and whimpers escape him easily, loud and frantic, he couldn't control it even if he tried.
“God,” Joan mumbles, and his hips are stuttering too now. “He feels so fucking good.”
Pedri's going insane. Why isn't he addressing him directly, instead of telling Ferran that Pedri feels good?
“Ah,” Pedri manages. “I wa – I want –”
Joan's pace quickens and Pedri feels delirious with pleasure. “Yes – yes, yes, Joan, yes,” he babbles, voice high in his throat. His dick still feels so large inside him, stretching him wide and punching the air out of his lungs with each strong thrust. He gasps wetly, desperation welling up in his chest. “Touch me, fuck, please.”
Joan does – he wraps a large hand around Pedri's dick and jerks him off with fast strokes. Pedri whines at the intensity, hips bucking forward into his hand automatically and writhing with oversensitivity.
Ferran's blunt nails are still scratching Pedri's scalp and it all feels so good, paired with Joan's hand and his dick filling Pedri so well, he feels like he's on a cloud. He’s never felt this tiny before but he can't get enough of it, splayed across two larger men's laps and feeling absurdly like they're taking care of him. He arches, feeling his thighs quiver as his orgasm builds.
“Oh, oh, fuck,” he pants, trying to brace himself.
Ferran's grip on Pedri's wrists tighten when he tries to twist them free.
“Breathe,” Ferran says, at the same time as Joan says, “I got you, baby, I got you,” and Pedri can't get enough of it, pushed over the edge by their words. He squeals as it overcomes him, moaning and gasping loudly. Joan's hand speeds up, passing over the sensitive cockhead and tilting up to aim the ropes of cum at Pedri – he digs his thumb against the slit meanly which wrings a high-pitched sound out of Pedri, legs shaking wildly.
He hiccups with oversensitivity, body seizing. “Ah, ah, Joan, please,” he babbles, and Joan releases his dick to grab Pedri's hips tightly instead, pace turning more and more passionate as he loses it himself. The pace makes it impossible for him to settle down – he tries and fails to catch his breath, body tightening at the sensation. God, he wants so badly to feel Joan's dick throb inside him and fill him up – he moans at the thought, tilting his hips up despite feeling so oversensitive.
“Please,” he breathes, whimpering when Joan's hands move to Pedri's thighs and hold him there.
What feels like ages later must have been a few more seconds at best – Joan's hips thrust hard against him a few times, hard enough to make Pedri's whole body rock up into Ferran, throbbing thickly against Pedri's walls as he feels that warm burst inside him that he's been craving, been absolutely starving for.
Pedri clenches around him in an attempt to empty him further – it earns him a satisfied moan from Joan, grinding forward like he wants to stuff it all inside. “Fuck, yes,” Pedri says, body feeling unravelled. “So deep.”
Pedri feels so good, better than he has felt in a long while. He squirms happily, sighing and closing his eyes as he tries to come down from his high. He can't tell how much time passes until Joan moves, pulling out gingerly with a curse.
“That was hot as shit,” Ferran says which Pedri doesn't dignify with a response, keeping his eyes shut. Joan hums in response, hands stroking Pedri's thighs soothingly.
“Did so well, Pedri,” he says, and Pedri doesn't dignify that with a response either.
Ferran pats his head. “Don't fall asleep, Pedri.”
Pedri groans and blinks his eyes open blearily. He would love to sleep right here but Joan's pulling away already, rubbing his eyes and throwing them a curious look.
“Are you two..?”
“Nope,” Ferran answers easily, and that's that. Joan raises his eyebrows in response but nods, pulling his pants up and getting ready to leave.
“I don't,” Pedri starts urgently, clearing his throat, “I don't fuck the whole club, please don't think I do.”
The statement makes the men laugh – Ferran louder, of course, but Pedri doesn't care.
Joan shakes his head reassuringly. “I didn't think that for a second.”
“...Good.”
With that, Joan leaves. Pedri manages to wake himself up enough to get up and head to the shower – not before making Ferran promise to drive him home because he cannot be bothered to do anything right now.