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It started with Skov giving Swan a blowjob.
This is not a shocking occurrence, considering it happens at least three times a week. Skov and Swan have been fucking for months, choosing different locations each and every time, but not usually in Joseph Kavinsky’s private bedroom. Mostly because Kavinsky would kill them for doing that gay shit anywhere near where he occasionally sleeps. Except, tonight, Kavinsky is not in charge.
“Coming,” Swan grunts, blowing his load in Skov’s mouth one breath later.
Skov accepts his prize but instead of swallowing, he turns to face Jiang, mouth open, tongue out, Swan coating his pink tongue. Jiang leans down to kiss Skov, accepting the load before he kneels down in front of a waiting Prokopenko, swallowing him down without question. Kavinsky remains in his seat, watching them with as little care as he would show his schoolwork. He wants to speak up, tell them to stop, but he can’t stop watching.
He’s not even sure how they got to this point in the evening, but he’s pretty sure it’s because someone found gay porn beneath his bed. He did three lines and his brain is scrambled but he’s crashing now. His mood, his libido, both quick to crash and go up in flames before he’s had a chance to have any fun. He can still feel their eyes on him, stripping away his layers, looking behind the curtain.
They all knew. No one had been shocked or surprised.
“Let’s pop Joey’s little gay cherry,” Skov suggested with a sharp laugh.
“You ever taste cum, Kavinsky?” Jiang had the follow-up question.
Kavinsky refused to answer. His silence was loud enough. Now they’re here. Yes, this is how they ended up here. He could stand up and leave but he can’t make his legs work. He’s hard in his joggers, eyes trained on Prokopenko’s breathing, the way his freckled cheeks turn pink, and how his lashes flutter against his cheeks when he comes. Kavinsky’s cock twitches. Jiang accepts Proko’s load, before Swan kneels down to accept the next kiss in the train.
Kavinsky’s eyes narrow when Proko looks over at him, his blue eyes completely black in the dim lighting. He ignores Swan blowing Skov because he doesn’t care about them. The only thing he cares about is how Jiang stands up to kiss Prokopenko afterward, Proko leaning down to accommodate his shorter friend. Kavinsky’s fingers twitch, where they’re resting on his stomach, lounging on his bed like he has no care in the world.
He looks away, forcing himself to focus, trying to ignore how his erection is throbbing. The sounds of Skov draw him back to the present and he closes his eyes, focusing on how Skov whines and whimpers. His drug-addled mind thinks of Lynch, imagining what he would look like on his knees sucking his dick. The image of Lynch’s icy eyes flooded with tears, his mouth pink and swollen from taking all of their cocks one by one, accepting their loads has him feeling itchy and hot all over.
Kavinsky shudders, looking up when he hears Skov cry out loudly, knowing he’s finished. Swan stands up, mouth full of cum, and he watches as he kisses Prokopenko, letting Proko accept the load of cum, and Kavinsky knows what’s next. He knows what’s coming and he can’t stop it. He stiffens on the bed and his boys all look at him. Proko closes the distance but Kavinsky stubbornly doesn’t open his mouth. Until Proko places his thumb on Kavinsky’s lower lip, tilting his chin upward.
He melts immediately beneath Proko’s cool gaze. His mouth opens and Proko leans over him, half spitting, half kissing the load into his mouth. With the combined cum of all of his boys in his mouth, Kavinsky chokes, taken aback by the awful consistency. The taste isn’t any better. He coughs and sits up, wanting to spit it back out, but half of it goes down his throat anyway. With all of their eyes on him, he swallows it all down, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. His entire body grows hot with humiliation and Proko’s fingers slip through his hair, pulling his head back.
“Good boy,” Prokopenko says, his voice silkier than Kavinsky’s heard it before.
He whines immediately, wishing he could be their good boy.
“Such a little faggot, Joey,” Skov teases, climbing over to put two fingers in Kavinsky’s mouth. “Bet he wants to take all of our cocks.”
Kavinsky moans around the digits, still hard and close to coming without being touched. It’s embarrassing. He’s the biggest fag out of all of them. He sucks Skov’s fingers, sliding his hand down to jerk off in his joggers, imagining himself sucking dick instead. He’s always wanted a cock in his mouth but he’d never admit that out loud. Skov’s face is pleased, and he lets Kavinsky treat his fingers like a cock, a smirk on his plump lips.
“Fuck,” Swan grunts. He walks over, his dick half-hard still. “He can suck on something bigger.”
Skov pops his wet fingers out of Kavinsky’s mouth and places his hand on the back of K’s neck instead. He pushes and pulls, urging Kavinsky off of the bed, until he’s on his knees, looking up at his boys who are quick to surround him. Swan’s huge cock quickly lines up with his mouth and Kavinsky has no idea how he can fit any of it down his throat, let alone anywhere else. He slides his tongue out experimentally, and Swan drags the head of dick across his tongue.
“Never thought I’d get Joseph Kavinsky on his fuckin’ knees,” Swan chuckles. “Fucking cockslut, aren’t you?”
God, yeah, he really is.
Kavnisky closes his eyes, not wanting to face the consequences of his current actions. He opens his mouth wider, unsurprised when Swan presses inside slowly, until his mouth is so full his jaw and cheeks hurt. Kavinsky moans around Swan’s cock, saliva running down his jaw and neck. He tries to suck, bobbing his head like he’s seen in pornography, but he’s clumsy and awkward. Swan grunts, his big fingers wrapping in Kavinsky’s hair, guiding him instead. Kavinsky tries to stay loose and relaxed when Swan guides him along his dick, his own still throbbing.
“Don’t come, Joey,” Skov says.
Kavinsky whines when he’s told not to come. He puts his hand in his pants to wrap around the base of his cock to try and prevent the inevitable. His joggers are damp with precome and he can feel it dripping down his hand. He wants to come but he wants to be good. He wants to be their good boy. He wants to hear them say it again.
“Someone take a video,” he hears Swan say.
Kavinsky’s face turns hot when he feels the camera on him, light shining down to highlight exactly what he’s doing. Tears do run down his face this time, especially when Swan gives an experimental thrust. He immediately chokes, gagging, and drooling all over himself. Swan groans but he doesn’t thrust forward again.
“Stand him up,” Jiang prompts. Swan grunts in annoyance but his cock leaves Kavinsky’s mouth.
He takes a moment to breathe, trying to catch his breath, before he’s pulled to his feet, and his clothes are taken off. Kavinsky stares at all of them, staring at him with hungry eyes.
Kavinsky and his pack of dogs. They close in on him, starving, salivating wolves, ready to have their fill. One moment he’s standing, no one touching him, the next he has four pairs of hands on him. At one point, he ends up pressed into Prokopinksy’s chest, while Jiang spreads his cheeks, and he feels someone kneel behind him, and a tongue press right onto his hole. Kavinsky gasps, rising up on his toes, hands digging into Prokopenko’s biceps.
He twists, trying to glance down at who is sending pleasure right down his spine. The top of a blue-haired head eagerly shifts, licking, while he sees Jiang and Swan stroking their dicks at the image. Kavinsky turns back around, groaning in pleasure while Skov’s tongue continues its work. He drops his forehead against Prokopenko’s chest, still up on his toes, whimpering softly. They told him not to come but he’s not sure he can hold back much longer.
“Stop,” Kavinsky gasps. “I’m going to— I can’t hold—”
Skov stops, panting. “Should we let him come, boys?”
“No,” Jiang pants. “Not until we do again. Put him on his knees.”
Prokopenko forces Kavinsky backward, pressing on his shoulders until Kavinsky slides down to his knees in the middle of his boys, looking up at him, covered in drool and panting. They’re quick to surround him, all of them jerking off, grunting, and panting. They call him fag and slut , and he loves every moment. Skov crumples first; with a strangled moan, he comes, and covers Kavinsky’s face in the mess. After Skov, it becomes a train — Jiang comes second and Kavinsky opens his mouth to accept it, throwing all of his sensibilities out the window.
Prokopenko and Swan race one another to the finish, panting, and groaning, both trying to outlast the other. In the end, Prokopenko comes third, covering Kavinsky’s tongue in his load. Lastly, Kavinsky turns to Swan, looking up at him with desperate eyes. Swan growls, grabbing his hair, and pressing his cock inside of his mouth, slamming his hips forward when he comes. The sudden sensation of Swan halfway down his throat leaves him choking and gagging. When Swan pulls away, Kavinsky leans forward, coughing up a mix of spit and cum, shuddering at the mess.
“Show us what a fucking faggot you are, Kavinsky,” Swan pants. “Jerk off to a bunch of guys.”
Kavinsky whimpers but he sits up again, weakly wrapping a hand around himself. He doesn’t have to try too hard, three strokes, and he comes. The mess is thick and the amount makes him turn red. He can’t remember the last time he jacked off. His boys all grin, wild and savage in the dark.
“Say it, Kavinsky,” Swan prompts. “Say you’re a faggot.”
Kavinsky shudders. “No,” he snarls. “I’m not—”
“Say it,” Jiang growls. “Tell us how much you love cock.”
Prokopenko kneels down, cupping his face in both of his hands. “Say it, Joey. Tell us you’re a fag. Like us.”
“Like us,” Skov echoes.
Kavinsky closes his eyes, swallowing back a lump in his throat. When he opens his eyes again, he meets Proko’s, swimming in blue, and feeling a bit of comfort in them. His boys won’t hurt him. They won’t use this knowledge against him. “I’m a faggot,” he whispers, barely audible.
“So they can hear you,” Proko whispers.
“I’m a fucking faggot,” Kavinsky snarls, louder.
Immediately, his boys surround him, sliding down onto the floor to practically dogpile him. They kiss his mouth and his neck and his shoulders. They wrap him in their arms, they hold him, keep him safe and warm. Eventually, they all settle down on the floor, cuddling on the floor together. Kavinsky lies with Swan at his back and Proko at his front, his mind slowly melding into quiet bliss. The anxiety and pain drift away, leaving behind nothing but relaxation. He closes his eyes, and for once, Kavinsky sleeps without dreams.