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It had been a long fucking day.
Retrieving these golden boughs isn’t light work; neither is watching his friends re-traumatise themselves on a daily basis.
For Gregor, a rest and a smoke are well needed and well deserved. He sinks heavily into his seat, eyes gazing out the window as the sun sets. The others partake in idle chitchat around him, but nothing stands out enough that he feels the need to butt in.
However, in the corner of his eye, he notices something odd. Heathcliff is sitting awfully close to Sinclair. In fact, upon closer inspection, he can just barely see Heathcliff’s fingers poking out around the boy's waist, holding him flush up against his side.
Have they… always been that close?
He swears just the other day Heathcliff was calling Sinclair a wimp, yet here they are all snug.
It doesn’t look particularly platonic either. Heathcliff has a sly smirk on his face, and his eyes are practically glued to Sinclair’s face as he whispers something in his ear, and of course, in return, the boy's face is bright red.
It’s clearly a private moment, but there’s a pull deep down in Gregor's gut to know what he’s saying to him, to know what’s caused such a bright blush over that… pretty face.
Fuck… has Sinclair always looked so damn cute? Of course, Gregor had noticed that the boy was good-looking with his round, golden eyes, long lashes, slight frame and fluffy hair, but it never struck him just how beautiful he was.
He tries his best to tear his eyes away from the pair. It’s none of his business after all. Although he might need to ask Rodya if she’s got any gossip on the matter a little later.
It isn’t long until Dante and Faust give their close-of-business announcement, and the sinners begin to disperse. Gregor can’t quite find it in himself to move just yet.
He sits back until the only people left in the front of the bus are Vergilius, Charon, Faust and Dante by the wheel, and Heathcliff and Sinclair standing by the back door.
He watches them through the corner of his eye. Sinclair has a shy hand resting on the other's chest while Heathcliff slides a teasing hand down the side of the boy's neck, to his shoulder, then his arm and finally around to the small of his back before spinning him around by his waist and guiding him through the door into the back of the bus.
Gregor's cheeks heat up just from watching the intimacy of the moment. Not that it was particularly raunchy, but just because of the oddity of the pairing and the unexpected tenderness between the two. Never in his life did he imagine Heathcliff could touch something so gently; perhaps Sinclair just brings out that side of him.
Not wanting to get in the way of any administrative tasks Dante needs to get up to, he finally drags himself out of his seat.
“G’night, Manager Bud,” he mutters to them as he makes his way towards the back door.
He hears the ticking of a “goodnight, Gregor” from behind him as the door shuts.
Finally. Finally, he can just get to his room, have a cigarette or two, shower and just go to sleep.
The hallway is completely empty when he gets there, everyone having gone their separate ways through the seemingly magical doors of Mephistopheles.
As he grabs hold of a doorknob, he wonders about Heathcliff and Sinclair. Were they still together, cuddled up in one of their beds? Is Heathcliff biting and sucking marks onto the boy's soft skin? The kid always bruised easily. Is he gentle with him? Lying him down slowly while he runs a large hand over his body, taking his sweet time until he starts to beg. Or is he rough? Gripping and grabbing at whatever he can as he pounds into him so fast that Sinclair can hardly-
Fuck.
What’s he even doing, thinking about things like that? He’s gonna have to have a serious chat with himself when he gets into his room.
He turns the doorknob while shaking the thoughts out of his head. Once again, it’s none of his business what those two get up to.
“Gregor?!”
He’s mid-yawn when he enters the room, but is stopped in his tracks when he hears his name called in a high-pitched panic.
His eyes fly open and-
Oh.
Sinclair, face as red as it can possibly go, is on his knees with his legs spread open, sat between Heathcliff's legs and the side of a bed that does not belong to Gregor. One of Heathcliff's hands is fisted tightly into his hair and shows no sign of letting go despite the sudden intrusion.
“Want something?” Heathcliff asks. The question finally pulls Gregor's eyes away from the boy. Surprisingly, however, the tone of the question held no hostility despite Gregor's uninvited presence and the fact that he had been caught staring at the man's partner just seconds ago.
He snaps back into reality, “No! No. No, I don’t even know how I uh… ended up in this room. Stupid magical door,” he lets out and awkward chuckle, not daring to look at either of them, “I’ll uh… just get going now-“
“Wait.”
Heathcliff says, calm but as assertive as ever.
“I’ve seen you staring at him before. He’s real pretty, don’t you think?” he begins, stopping Gregor in his tracks, “You can look at him y’know, I’m not the jealous type.”
Shit. He can't believe his ears. He really shouldn’t look at him; he shouldn’t even still be in this room. Even just taking a glance would affirm everything that Heathcliff just said. More importantly, he’s not sure if Sinclair would even be comfortable with that.
Or at least that’s what he was telling himself until he heard a quiet, “I-it’s ok, Gregor,” come from his spot on the floor.
Hearing his voice is what pushes him over the edge. As soon as the permission is granted, his eyes snap down to Sinclair.
His clothes have been ruffled up, his tie is loose, and his shirt is slightly unbuttoned. He’s still sitting in that same tantalising position, his back is perfectly arched, and his hands are clasped behind his back as if he’s been told to keep them there. The boy looks up at him through long lashes with those beautiful eyes, and it’s like a feast has been laid out in front of him, just out of reach.
Now that he’s been given permission to see him in such a state, he’s not sure he can ever see the boy the same way again.
The hand that was gripped tightly in his hair loosens, brushing through the golden strands and down to one of his cheeks, “Beautiful, eh?” Heathcliff asks.
He clearly already knows what Gregor thinks, but he mutters a quiet, “yeah, he is,” anyway.
“Wanna touch him?”
“What?” It’s official. Everything he’s been through has finally caught up to him, and he’s begun hallucinating. He stands stunned, stiff as a board, waiting for Heathcliff to explain the joke or to begin yelling at him for even considering it.
“Do you want to touch him?” Heathcliff says casually, as if it’s the most normal question in the world, “Like, wanna join? I don’t mind sharing. He doesn’t mind either, eh, Clair?” The nickname slips out naturally as if he’s been calling him that for years.
He glances at Sinclair and shit, he wishes he didn’t. The boy leans forward until the side of his face hits Heathcliff’s thigh, eyes still on Gregor and nods. Heathcliff brings a hand back to his hair, petting him gently as he murmurs a quiet “good boy,” which earns him a whimper in response.
“I… just don’t think it would be appropriate,” Gregor tries, but all it does is provoke a chuckle from Heathcliff.
“‘Not appropriate’, huh? So you’re seriously trying to tell me you don’t want to fuck him?”
Gregor's heart drops to his stomach at the sheer vulgarity of the question. What is he meant to say? Whatever he could answer with to deny him would be an obvious lie. He doubts that there’s a single sinner on this bus that wouldn’t fuck Sinclair if they were given the chance. So, should he really waste the opportunity in front of him? What about afterwards? Do they just go back to being friendly like it never happened?
And of course, does Sinclair want Gregor to fuck him? Sure, he agreed with Heathcliff when he asked, but did he really mean it? Or did he just feel obligated under his partner's command?
He decides to take a leap and just ask, “Uh, well… what do you want, Sinclair?”
The boy lifts his head up, his face burns bright red as he looks down at the ground and mutters, “I- of course I want you to… do that.”
Heathcliff hums in approval and motions for Sinclair to stand, “So, you in?” He turns to Gregor and asks.
“I…” he hesitates at this last moment to leave before he’s completely overtaken by his desire. He hasn't felt the close touch of another person since... well, he can't quite remember when. It's not exactly common to find people willing to even so much as hug someone with a massive bug claw for an arm. In the end, of course, desire wins out, “If Sinclair’s alright with it,” he finally says with a sigh.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Heathcliff says gruffly as if Gregor were an idiot for standing in his stupor.
Slowly, he takes small strides towards the boy. He hesitates for a moment while standing in front of him, unsure of what to do next. Heathcliff’s presence doesn’t help either. He’s got his arms crossed and a smug smirk on his face, taunting, teasing and waiting for Gregor to make a move.
With the overwhelming pressure coming from the man, Gregor finally reaches a shaking hand out to Sinclair’s slide, tracing his fingertips over his ribs before landing on his waist and pulling him closer.
He brings the blunt side of his claw up to mirror his movement gently on the other side, mindful not to press too hard as he drags his hands down to the boy's hips to give an experimental squeeze with his hand.
Of course, Gregor has stolen glances at Sinclair’s body in the past, but he always assumed that he was rather bony just based on his size. However, as his touch trails from his hips, down to his behind and then back up to his waist, he notices that the boy is just the slightest bit squishy in a way that sets his gut on fire.
“Hey, you just gonna feel him up all day, or are you gonna make a move? I’m sharing him with you, make use of it,” Heathcliff asks, chuckling once again, smug as ever.
Gregor clicks his tongue in annoyance, “What, never seen a man take his time with someone? Give me a break…”
Thankfully, Heathcliff doesn’t say anything else, but he does move to stand pressed up against Sinclair’s back so that he is sandwiched between the two taller men. The pressure behind him causes him to move his hands up to Gregor's chest for support. His hands are so warm it feels like they’re burning him through his shirt.
When Sinclair looks back at Gregor after taking a glance behind him, he tilts his face up to meet his gaze and…
Gregor’s never seen anything quite like it. The boy's cheeks are flushed, the redness creeping all the way down to under his shirt collar, his breathing is heavy and accelerated, as if the doubled attention is overwhelming, and his eyes are round and foggy with arousal.
It’s that sight that pushes him over the edge. He brings his hand up to his cheek and drags him in for a kiss.
It’s all teeth, sloppy in the best way. The boy's mouth is warm, wet and eager, opening up beautifully for Gregor's tongue. He’s vaguely aware of Heathcliff’s eyes on them as his own mouth works its way down the back of Sinclair’s neck. He can feel him practically vibrating with excitement from where his claw still rests against the boy's waist.
It’s easy to get caught up in the moment, he’s not sure how long they remain like this until he feels Heathcliff reach around Sinclair to unbutton his shirt all the way, “tie off, baby. Gregor, you get started on his pants,” he commands both of them.
“Uh… right,” he mumbles, slightly nervous at being given such an intimate job, although he guesses that things are going to get a lot more intense shortly.
He tracks his hand down Sinclair’s torso all the way down to his belt, glancing up at him quickly for permission. Once he receives an eager nod in return, he forces his shaky hand to still enough to unbuckle his belt and unzip the fly.
As he pulls the pants over the boy's hips, Sinclair’s arousal becomes abundantly clear. It’s a little bit shocking, the fact that a boy as seemingly innocent and nervous as Sinclair could possibly get so excited at the prospect of being taken by two men at the same time. What's even more shocking is that his arousal hasn't dissipated at the sight of Gregor or the feeling of chitin against his skin.
He only has a moment to admire the sight in front of him, Sinclair’s soft, milky skin, scattered with white scars and small bruises from previous battles, his slightly toned muscles and his slim waist before Heathcliff commands, “Alright, kid, bend over for us,” with all the casualness of asking for the time.
Gregor watches in shameful captivation as the boy obeys immediately without question. The position doesn’t look particularly comfortable; his chest rests on the bed slightly elevated by his elbows, his back arches in a way that’s completely irresistible and of course, the lovely curve of his ass has become very visible through his boxers.
“Fuck,” he breaths, beginning to feel a bit nervous at the sight laid out in front of him. Here he is, ogling his coworker. His friend. And there is Sinclair, looking right back at him with a downright sinful expression that might as well be a plea for him to touch him.
“So, whatcha wanna do with him?” Heathcliff asks conspiratorially while running a hand over the boy's spine, over his behind and giving him a firm squeeze that makes Sinclair jump.
Gregor is a bit dumbfounded at the question. He’s a guest here; it’s not up to him what they do, right? He brings an awkward hand up to the back of his neck, “uh, I mean… I don’t know, I didn’t think this far ahead.”
Heathcliff hums, considering his options and his eyes rake lazily over Sinclair’s shaking body, “Wanna fuck him while I take his mouth?”
Gregor can’t do anything but guffaw at the situation he’s gotten himself into. It's been an age since he's heard such crassness in this context, and never once did he think he would be witness to Heathcliff propositioning him in such a way, “You really have no shame, huh?” He chuckles awkwardly.
“Why would I? Clair doesn’t mind; he likes it when you take what you want. Ain’t that right, lad?”
Sinclair, although shy, nods eagerly, arching his back and shifting his hips slightly in anticipation. With that confirmation, Heathcliff tugs the boy's underwear over his hips and drops them down his legs, leaving him fully exposed.
His ass looks just as good as Gregor imagined, and his cock stands hard in between his legs. He expects Sinclair to squirm in embarrassment, but instead, the boy looks at him with those hooded bedroom eyes and a slightly open mouth with dampened lips. He’s almost siren-esque like this, drawing Gregor towards him in a way that he never thought possible.
He stands stiffly as Heathcliff climbs onto the bed and towards Sinclair’s head. Suddenly, he’s left with the reality that he’s been trusted with the job of actually fucking him. He reaches his hand out to his ass, caressing the soft flesh and gently pulling his cheeks apart. As if the boy himself wasn’t convincing enough, the sight of his hole certainly is something else entirely.
“You’ll need to stretch him out. S’been a while,” Heathcliff instructs from the bed while unbuckling his belt slowly in front of Sinclair’s face, “lubes in the drawer.”
Trying to avoid giving himself time to chicken out, Gregor takes a step back to reach into the drawer and pulls out the sizeable bottle of lube.
He flicks the lid open with one hand, “Sorry, it’s gonna be a bit cold. Can’t really do this part properly with one hand.”
“It’s o-ah!” Sinclair gasps as the lube hits his warm skin. Gregor is quick to toss the bottle on the bed and to begin coating his fingers with the slickness.
His fingers rest at Sinclair’s entrance as the last bit of doubt fizzles inside him valiantly. He can’t help but ask once again, “Are you sure this is what you want, kid?”
Sinclair, who was seemingly entranced by Heathcliff slowly stroking his cock mere inches away from his face, still had the courtesy to crane his neck and make eye contact with Gregor.
“Please. Wanna be full,” he breathes, wistful like his mind is already fucked out. It’s not only an affirmation, but a plea. Gregor can’t fight with that.
“Fuck. Keep saying things like that, and you won’t be full for long,” He mutters, trying to calm himself down with a few deep breaths.
He feels Sinclair shift his hips impatiently, as if he’s trying to press Gregor's fingers into himself. Finally taking the hint, Gregor slowly pushes in his middle finger to the second knuckle, savouring the long whine that works its way out of the boy's throat.
Gregor finally glances up to see what the pair is up to and is met with a sight that sets him on fire.
Heathcliff lazily leans against the wall with a hand running through Sinclair’s hair as he slowly drags his tongue along the length of the man’s cock. It’s not something that Gregor ever imagined himself seeing, but holy shit, is he thankful he’s seen it now.
He’s well aware of the arousal that has been growing in the confines of his own pants since he walked into this room, but he decides to focus on his task of stretching Sinclair out. He works a finger in and out slowly, taking his time feeling the warm insides, enjoying the way the boy desperately cants his hips back and the wet sounds coming from the bed until he hears Sinclair gasp for breath as he pops off of Heathcliff's cock.
“C-can’t you put it in already?” Sinclair begs, high-pitched and desperate in a way he didn’t expect but still with the signature shyness that seems to follow the boy like a curse.
“That was only one finger, kid. I’m not that small,” Gregor mutters under his breath while he adds a second finger. It seems to do the trick for now, Sinclair humming in contentment.
Heathcliff chuckles a hearty laugh, “Ignore him. Lad’s a greedy slut, I’ll tell you that.”
“Heathcliff…” Gregor scolds, ready to come to the boy's defence, but when he looks up, Sinclair is nuzzling even further into the man’s hand and getting back to work with little embarrassment at the degrading comment. Heathcliff flashes him a wolfish smirk and a raised eyebrow as if to say, ‘I told you so’.
Gregor shakes his head and returns to his task, trying to hurry up for Sinclair’s sake. He scissors his fingers as much as he can, slowly but surely stretching him out. He can hear the soft moans and whines coming from the boy's occupied mouth; he can also see the effect the vibrations are having on Heathcliff, and it further spurs Gregor on to get himself into Sinclair as soon as possible.
He removes his fingers and gets to work on unbuckling his own pants. Sinclair removes Heathcliff’s cock from his mouth once again, looking back at Gregor with dazed eyes. He maintains that eye contact as he pushes inside him, only breaking it once fully sheathed, bending down to rest his forehead on the boy's back and wrapping his arm and claw around his waist.
Sinclair lets out a deep, satisfied hum at the fullness and returns his mouth to Heathcliff. Gregor takes a moment to breathe against his skin, savouring the warmth of his insides wrapped tight around him. That is, until Sinclair wriggles his hips back, seemingly trying to fuck himself.
Gregor hisses through his teeth, grabbing the boy's hips with a bruising grip to still them, “Shit. You’re impatient, huh, kid?”
“I’m telling you, he’s a whore,” Heathcliff chuckles from the top of the bed, “Lad’s always trying to get my attention, just hoping I’ll drag him somewhere and fuck him. Though he probably wouldn’t care if I took him in front of everyone either. Ain’t that right, Clair?”
It’s utterly filthy, the words coming out of the other man’s mouth. Filthy, rude and degrading. He should stand up for him, reiterate that he knows Sinclair isn't really like that. But Gregor can’t help the way his cock twitches inside the boy, and it’s clear that Sinclair feels it too. He looks back at Gregor once more, “Please move, I n-need it.”
Fuck. Honestly, Gregor needs it too.
And who is he to deny him? Without further fanfare, he begins a slow, rocking pace, letting Sinclair feel every inch of the drag and enjoying the long, drawn-out whine it pulls from him.
He watches as Heathcliff grabs Sinclair by the jaw, bringing him back face to face with his cock in impatience. The boy clearly understands the wordless command, putting double the amount of effort into sucking on it as he had before. It spurs Gregor on as he begins to speed up, listening to the vulgar sounds of skin slapping against skin.
“Good boy,” Heathcliff huffs and lets out a small grunt of pleasure. He winds his fingers into Sinclair’s hair, forcing himself as far as he can go into the boy's throat, “yeah… good fucking boy. Taking both of us at the same time. You were made for this type of stuff, eh?”
He releases Sinclair’s hair, who pops up gasping for breath. Gregor can’t see the expression on his face, but he’d bet a lot of money that he looks absolutely wrecked as he replies, “y-yes! made for it. Made for you,” and resumes his work with a new level of desperation that makes Heathcliff buck his hips and hum in approval.
“I had… no idea he was- mn… like this,” Gregor manages to say through his grunts, moans and shortness of breath.
“You disappointed?” Heathcliff asks, his face showing he knows very well that Gregor is anything but disappointed.
He chuckles at the question, “he’s better than I ever imagined,” Gregor says without thinking before realising what he just admitted to. His hips stop moving, flush against Sinclair’s behind, “not that… that I uh… imagined this before today.“
Heathcliff throws his head back in a boisterous laugh, “It’s fine,” he says, clearly not buying it, and pulls Sinclair off his cock by his hair, turning his face in Gregor's direction.
The sight is absolutely stunning. His eyes are watery, distant, and his pupils are so enlarged he can barely see the beautiful, orange irises he knows so well, his mouth is agape, looking well used and welcoming, and his chin is dripping in spit. Heathcliff gives a small tug to his hair once again, “This one's thought about getting fucked by every sinner on this bus at least once, hell even Vergilius, but I know he’s been thinking about you even longer than I’ve been screwin’ him. That’s why today worked out so well, ain’t that right, kid?”
Sinclair nods eagerly, licking his lips as if that will help clean up his face in any way, “I… see,” Gregor mutters, beginning to rock his hips again while Sinclair is brought back to Heathcliff.
The concept of being wanted isn’t one that has been familiar to Gregor in a long time. Furthermore, the concept of being wanted by a boy as young and beautiful as Sinclair is even more foreign and has him feeling a way he didn’t think he could feel anymore.
He speeds up his thrusts with more fervour than he had previously, pushing Sinclair forward with every slap of skin and anchoring himself with a tight grip on his hips. He can faintly hear the small sounds being punched out of him every time he bottoms out.
There’s a stretch of time where neither of them speaks. Simply enjoying the boy's body and listening to the sweet noises he makes. Gregor can barely handle all of the stimuli, the tight heat wrapped around him, the feeling of soft skin under his fingers and the sight of Sinclair and Heathcliff in front of him.
He risks a glance downwards to watch himself disappear inside the boy. The view is even more transfixing than he thought it would be, and that brings him dangerously close to the edge, the unmistakable twisting in his gut that can only mean one thing.
He doesn’t want to finish yet; he’s not done feeling this closeness he hasn’t felt in who knows how long. His hips slow to a stop, and his chin drops to his chest.
“Close?” Heathcliff asks, startling Gregor out of his daze. When he looks up, he sees the man in a similar state. His shirt has been unbuttoned halfway, his tie has been loosened, and his hair is ruffled up from where it’s pressed up against the wall. His bottom lip is stuck between his teeth in what Gregor assumes to be an attempt to hold back noises, although he’s still grunting anyway.
“Uh…” the sight puts Gregor into a momentary stupor before he comes back to himself, “yeah.”
“Me too. He’s bloody good with his mouth,” Heathcliff says, smiling down at Sinclair with a fondness that seems out of place for such a sexually charged comment, “wanna swap? He can use his hands. He’s good with those, too.”
Gregor nods, pulling himself out of the boy and hissing at the unpleasant temperature change. However, the view of his hole, stretched out and glistening, is enough to make up for the sudden cold.
They trade places as quickly as they can with their pants half down their legs, both eager to get themselves back within Sinclair’s reach as soon as possible, and if Gregor thought the view from the other side was incredible, this side is a whole new experience.
Sinclair’s face, flushed, sweaty and desperate, with wide, watery eyes and spit running down his chin. And if he looks further, his ruffled, golden hair is followed by the expanse of his body. From this angle, he can still see the beautiful, elegant curve of his back, hips and ass, and it all creates a stunning image that he could stare at for hours.
Presented with a cock in front of his face, Sinclair brings his hand to it as fast as he can, working him in a way that has Gregor fighting the urge to throw his head back in pleasure so that he can keep his eyes trained on the boy in front of him.
No. He doesn’t want to miss a moment.
He fists his hand in the boy's hair, pulling his face back so as to get an even better view as Heathcliff pounds into him at a pace Gregor could never dream of reaching at his age. Sinclair’s eyes roll back, and he lets out a long, drawn-out whine as the man brushes a particularly sensitive spot inside him.
“Shit. Still so tight even after already getting fucked,” he hears Heathcliff mutter. When he looks up, he sees the man, the bottom of his shirt lifted and held between his teeth, revealing his heavily toned stomach while he slams his hips against him, “like your body’s just begging for it.”
Gregor watches as Sinclair’s eyes flutter at the stretch, brushing a thumb across his cheek in silent comfort, allowing the boy to nuzzle into his hand.
A horrible urge to further explore the wet cavern of the boy's mouth creeps up on him as he watches him pant and whimper.
Heathcliff’s words flash in his mind. He likes it when you take what you want. So, he pushes his thumb inside, sliding across Sinclair’s lower teeth. He stops on the canine, pressing down and savouring the feeling of it digging into the pad of his finger and the hot breath coming from the boy's throat.
He pushes further, sliding to his back teeth and onto his tongue, pressing down until the boy gags around his finger, eyes growing even more watery than they already were.
His hand feels heavenly around Gregor's cock, soft skin but with a firm grip that slides easily from the left over lube.
Sinclair is getting more desperate with each passing second. They’ve been using him from both ends for who knows how long now, and not once have they given any attention to the boy's own pleasure.
Half of Gregor feels immensely guilty for the neglect, but another part acknowledges that Sinclair has clearly been having the time of his life. He wants this. He wants to be used. Taken roughly and pulled apart.
But even he seems to have his limits. His hips are bucking, attempting to get some kind of friction on his cock from the side of the bed. His moans have turned into mindless noises that get punched out each time Heathcliff slams against him.
The sounds turn into whines and small sobs when Heathcliff stops suddenly.
“Desperate slut,” He chuckles, grinding his hips flush against Sinclair’s ass. Gregor only flinches slightly at the degradation before Heathcliff asks, “You wanna come?”
He says it with a sly, condescending smirk, almost teasing the boy as if he and Gregor haven’t been using him for the exact same goal.
“P-please, I wanna- hah, need to come, please touch me, please, please-“ Sinclair’s pleas continue and become senseless as he shoves his face into the bed in embarrassment.
Sinclair’s hand has long since stilled on Gregor's cock, so he gently nudges him off and takes over on his own. With his hands now free, the boy clenches his fists into the blankets as if to brace himself for whatever Heathcliff is about to do.
He feels a bit like a perv, sitting back and watching two of his friends go at it while he jerks off, but what’s happening in front of him is far too hot for him to care about any of that.
“Well, since you begged so pretty for us,” Heathcliff praises before starting up a slow, dragging pace while reaching an arm over Sinclair to wrap a hand around his cock.
Gregor can tell his pace is slow there too, torturing the boy with just a hint of the release he’s been begging for. It’s absolutely cruel, and Gregor has never been so turned on. His hand begins to speed up over his own length.
It isn’t long before Heathcliff can’t resist the noises falling from Sinclair’s lips, his hips speed up to that same slamming pace, and his chest rests on the boy's back while his hand moves furiously on his cock.
Gregor can hear himself making pathetic noises he hasn’t heard in years as the events unfold before him. The sight is too much, too intimate, too close, too hot.
He’s dangerously close to the edge, but he doesn’t stop himself this time. He keeps his eyes glued to Sinclair’s face. His tongue has rolled out of his salivating mouth, just slightly. His usually well-kept hair is an absolute mess from being pulled, his cheeks are bright red, and there’s a thin, glistening layer of sweat on his forehead.
But what strikes Gregor the most, yet again, is his eyes.
The Sinclair he knows, the Sinclair he knew, his eyes were sharp, always alert and ready to pick up on threats. And even in the times they weren’t sharp, they were kind and intelligent, sometimes full of worry and fear, but with a deep-rooted bravery and determination to do what he believes is right. Despite being more than a decade his senior, Gregor always looked up to Sinclair. It’s inspirational, the way his slight naivety about the world allows him to still imagine a better future.
But this Sinclair…
This Sinclair is mindless. He’s desperate. He’s… stupid. The only thing he can think of right now is getting off. When Gregor tilts the boy's head up with his claw to get a better look at him, his eyes are glazed over, he’s looking up at him, but nothing is processing.
It seems Heathcliff is noticing exactly what Gregor is thinking about. From the other side of Sinclair, he chuckles, deep and satisfied, as if his goal has been achieved.
“Oh, baby,” Heathcliff coos in a way that is somehow both tender and condescending, “you don’t even know where you are, do you?”
Gregor looks down at Sinclair again. He doesn’t reply in any coherent manner; he doubts he’s even capable of that at this moment. Instead, a wide, satisfied smile stretches across his face, and he hums happily like he wouldn’t want to be doing anything else than lying limp as Heathcliff slams into him over and over, and Gregor is struck with a realisation.
Heathcliff has teased him about it multiple times, and Gregor has always tried to dispute it either externally or internally, but it has become abundantly clear that there was a whole other side to this boy that he had no idea about.
This Sinclair is a slut.
He wants his mind broken. He wants to be slammed into until all he can think about or feel is the cock inside of him.
The crassness of his own thoughts pushes him over the edge. His fist works himself in small bursts, grunting and panting, drawing out his release as he paints Sinclair’s face, who, of course, accepts it greedily with his mouth wide open and his tongue out.
The boy swallows whatever lands in his mouth and leaves Gregor to enjoy the view of whatever is left on his face. He’s stunning like this, and he’s sure that if he were much younger, his cock would be perking up again at the sight.
Coming down from the haze of his climax, Gregor can finally sit back and watch as Heathcliff’s thrusts grow messy and uneven as he approaches his own.
He pulls out of Sinclair, swiftly reaching underneath him to flip him over onto his back. The boy's head lands in Gregor's lap and gives Heathcliff a great view of the cum on his face.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” the man grunts, slamming back into Sinclair and picking up the pace with his hand.
The view from here is spectacular, and with Gregor's mind clear from his orgasm, he can fully take in - and mentally catalogue for later use - the scene playing out before him.
The expanse of Sinclair’s chest is too tempting not to touch. He reaches out his hand to brush over the soft skin, catching on his nipple as he moves past it. The boy jumps, letting out a yelp at the sudden sensation.
Feeling the burning heat of Sinclair’s body through his hand is unlike anything Gregor’s ever experienced. He’s so warm it feels like he’s cooking himself just from where the small amount of contact is. He can feel the muscles rippling under the skin as the boy writhes on the bed, approaching his release.
“You’re beautiful,” Gregor whispers, not exactly meaning to say it out loud, but the reaction it garners from Sinclair is enough for him to double down, “so damn pretty. Such a good boy.”
Sinclair lets out a cry, gasping for breath, arching his back off the bed as he comes, splattering all over his stomach as his body is wracked with pleasure.
The feeling of him clenching around Heathcliff must be enough to send the man over the edge as well, “shit, so fucking good, Clair. Gonna fill you- ngh,” He grunts, muttering small praises as he grinds himself impossibly deeper, fulfilling his promise of filling him up.
Sinclair’s whimpers at the feeling, hand clutching onto whatever he can grab, including Gregor's arm, while he strokes his hair as some form of comfort.
The moments after are silent except for the heavy breathing of everyone involved. Heathcliff eventually drops his forehead onto Sinclair’s chest and whispers a private, “damn,” to himself.
“You ok, Kid?” Gregor asks eventually. Sinclair seems unable to answer with anything more than a sleepy nod, “Should we get him cleaned up?” He asks Heathcliff.
The man nods, slowly pulling out of Sinclair with a wince. Gregor doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger on Sinclair’s hole, most likely dripping with Heathcliff’s come. Whether or not he was jealous of not being able to see it isn't something he wishes to disclose to anybody.
They work together to clean him up, using two warm, wet wash cloths to wipe him up and wrapping him up under the blankets of the bed.
The other man takes his place on the bed next to Sinclair like it’s a birthright, snuggled up against his side with a protective arm around him.
It's this sight, this vulnerability that makes him realise something. These two are not 'dating' in any traditional sense. They don't have time to go on dates, they don't love each other, maybe they couldn't give less of a shit what happens after this journey is over. But what they have is two people yearning for comfort and closeness in order to cope with the shitty hand they've been dealt in life in a way that they know how.
And if that means Sinclair getting fucked silly until he doesn't have to think anymore, if that means Heathcliff getting to rip someone apart and then care for them afterwards or if it means Gregor finally not feeling like the vermin he is, just for a second, it's something to take the edge off the constant trauma and bloodshed they're subjected to.
But this moment isn't for him to intrude on. He's overstayed his welcome. He'll find comfort in the other ways he knows how, in cigarettes and emptiness.
“Well… I’ll uh… get going now,” Gregor mutters awkwardly, turning around and heading for the door.
“Wait,” Heathcliff says, similar to how he did before any of this happened, “you can stay too, y’know. If you leave now, you’re just gonna feel shitty. Trust me, I'd know.”
Gregor swallows, slightly nervous that this is a massive overstep. But he’s right. As much as he wants to pretend that he'd be fine, the idea of returning to his own room after all of this fills him with a dreadful loneliness.
Too tired and desperate for comfort to argue, he climbs into the bed, wrapping himself around the other side of Sinclair and enjoying the feeling of closeness for the first time in a while.