Michael is on his back, papers and books scattered under his shoulders on the surface of the desk, sticking uncomfortably to his skin as he grips Gabriel’s hips just that much tighter and moans as he pumps up into him. This is Gabriel’s favorite position, and Lucifer’s too, for that matter – they both like watching Michael’s normally expressionless face blossom in his ecstasy, those full lips parting on every gasp and soft cry, brow creased, long lashes fluttering when he closes his eyes, everything open and on display as Gabriel moves, the smaller archangel stretched wide as both Michael and Lucifer fuck him.
This position also affords him the luxury of being the first to notice Chuck standing in the doorway to his office, openly staring, and by the low snicker and sudden press of teeth against the curve between his shoulder and neck, Gabriel’s sure Lucifer noticed too, but not Michael, and that’s fine; Michael would freeze up, humiliated, if he noticed. Chuck doesn’t look away, just stares at them, gape-mouthed, while Gabriel uses spit-slick fingers to stroke himself, moaning with his head tilted back against Lucifer’s chest. Chuck only stops staring at Gabriel and Lucifer to look down when Michael cants his head back and moans his name, surprising all three of them and bringing both of his younger brothers to shuddering climax.
The crowns of Bruce’s knuckles had gone past white until Tony was sure he was looking through Bruce straight to the bone. Every line of Bruce’s body was as taut as a bowstring, barely restrained power as he held onto the reclining chair and pushed himself against the pounding dildo. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face and across his chest, and the scent of him filled Tony’s lab as he took the machine’s cock faster and faster. Bruce’s fingers gripped the accelerator knob, giving himself another click of speed and changing the angle a few degrees.
A sharp “OH” echoed around the room as Bruce finally found the correct parameters; another moan followed with the next mechanical stroke as Bruce struggled not to squirm away from the pleasure, and Tony didn’t know if he wanted to be in Bruce’s place or the machine’s.
He exhaled hard through his nostrils and tried to keep his hand by his side, but the sight of Clint burying his face between the woman’s legs made Bruce give in to the urge to stroke himself, imagining himself licking her taste from his chin. Clint’s back arched as he ate her out, his round ass pointed right at Bruce and his hole clenching just to tease him as he worked her over.
Later Bruce watched Clint take on two men, stretching that hole wide to fit them both, but Clint’s eyes never left Bruce’s. This was for him… this was for both of them, proving that could take anything and everything Bruce could dream of dealing out. It was when strings of come looped across Bruce’s fist that Clint tensed through his orgasm too, pressed between two strangers but acting as though he and Bruce were the only people in the room.
“Oi! Let me see!” Kili hissed, and Balin moved his head aside so that he could see; currently, Thorin had his head between Bilbo’s legs, the hobbit moaning and clenching his fists in his uncle’s hair. It was really something to behold—Thorin, the great King Under the Mountain, lavishing such care and adoration upon Bilbo, and it stirred something in Kili that had only been so once or twice in his short life. Clearly, the others felt it too, for they stood with him, spying on their leader with wide eyes and wandering hands, stroking themselves or rubbing their thighs; now Thorin pressed inside of Bilbo, having properly prepared him, and Kili could not bear it any longer. He pulled himself from his breeches and stroked fast and hard, his breath hitching in his throat, and around him the others did much the same, pleasuring themselves to the sounds of Bilbo’s soft whines and Thorin’s grunts. They came at different times, but with the same quiet intensity, their voices hushed so as not to alert their king and burglar, who panted together in their own completion, blissfully unaware of their audience.
Lucifer can’t stand the sight of his brother begging — among other things, he doesn’t like not being the object of those turned-up, pleading eyes — but he can’t look away, not now that he’s got the sight in his vision. Gabriel’s eyes, round and full of desperation — his teeth, sunk into his bottom lip — his hands, clutching the endpost of the bed as he struggles to breathe, strains against the pressure, looks over his shoulder again — they’re like magnets, each pulling at Lucifer’s blood through his skin, whispering of conquest and surrender, those favorite of Lucifer’s temptations, but not to him.
No, to a demon — one who mutters and growls and gives coy sly smiles as though he knows he’s being watched, then holds back, dick fat and straining as it slides out of Gabriel, bringing him to another round of desperate pleas. “Put it back in, Crow… I’m desperate here… so empty, Jesus, just fuck me…” each higher-pitched, each more fraught than the last, and Lucifer’s own cock is hard now, his eyes riveted to the sight. It burns him, knowing it’s a mere commonplace crossroads demon Gabriel’s in thrall to, but burning means heat, and the heat flooding through him now is too addictive for him to even think of tearing himself away.
No one was fucking gonna believe this shit, and that was why Jason carried his video camera everywhere with him, just trying to catch ‘em in the act again. I mean, shit, the LT was pretty as fuck, no doubt, but this violated like a million laws of nature and a hundred more of the Corps’.
Finally, on night watch somewhere outside of Bumfuck, Iraqistan, Lilley caught them going at it behind a stand of reeds, so he crouched down and fumbled out his camera, trying to keep his finger over the little red light that flashed on the front when he was recording. He could just barely make out what they were doing, but it involved a whole fuckload of low grunting and some zipper noises, and he could definitely tell that they ain’t doing no moonlight debriefing… and then he had to hold back a laugh because they actually were debriefing sorta.
“Lilley, hold that camera still. I want a copy of this,” Brad said across the darkness.
They’re lovely together, a tangled mess of flesh and legs and arms, and Rory’s making such delicious noises as the Doctor works him over. Amy could honestly just stand here and watch and be perfectly happy, but considering how loud they’re being, she feels almost dared to come on in and help herself to the full visual buffet. So she slips onto a nearby couch, watches the Doctor take Rory’s cock in his mouth, and slides her hand between her legs. Her fingers are as velvet-smooth and perfect against her clit as they always are, and she trusts them to take her to a perfect place of sensation even without the stimulus that is now Rory turning around, sixty-nining the Doctor and gulping around his cock with every bob of his head like he can’t get enough. The boys are two pistons on the bed, and she’s luxuriating in the swells of sensation on the side, raising her free hand to cup her breasts and starting to groan aloud as her two favorite men suck and moan and gasp together.
J.R. runs a hand down Tyler’s chest, circles his cock and smiles as he tugs; Tyler gives a half-whining groan and thrust forward into the heat of J.R.’s fist. Not to be outdone, Ian slides his hand down Dylan’s back and teases at the cleft of his ass, making Dylan whine and push his ass backward into the teasing touch of Ian’s fingers.
The older men grin at each other; this is what they love about their boys — how wanton they are, how much they desire their masters — and this is why they love to share.
Because nothing makes J.R. want to plow into Tyler like seeing how enthusiastically Dylan climbs atop Ian’s lap and eases down onto him; and nothing makes Ian’s blood boil like watching Tyler go to his hands and knees and prepare to be taken from behind by J.R. As for the boys, they’re totally into their own partners, moaning and whining louder as they get more and more turned on, but Ian and J.R. just watch each other, and each other’s boys, impressed and driven wild and appreciating the gorgeous hotness-in-stereo of getting to watch each other fuck.
“You are grown, and you must learn what that means.” Thorin stood over his nephews, unlacing his robe sternly while they looked up at him, eyes full of adoration. “I will teach you what you need to know.” With that, he descended, kissing each of them full on the mouth, then turning their heads toward each other so that they stared into each other’s eyes, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. “Now, you try.”
It wasn’t long until Fili and Kili caught on, and soon they were crawling over each other, stroking, kissing, fucking each other with their tongues and their cocks. Thorin watched from afar, palming himself in the big chair by the fireplace, a wry grin on his face. It was best that they learn from each other, but he could watch, direct, guide; it was his duty, and all he could do for them now.