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It was good to be The Boss.
His feet kicked up on the coffee table, he watched, one arm thrown across the back of the couch, observing the mayhem before him like a king looking out over his kingdom. All that he saw was his; the beautiful penthouse, the stylish decor, the expensive electronics, and the writhing mass of bodies strewn over every inch of the room, flesh slick with sweat, lube, and body fluids, swaying to a symphony of lurid grunts and moans. His hand slid slowly along his cock, lazily stroking himself as he let his eyes wander, surveying his lieutenants and allies.
The Saints had recently acquired a new batch of members: a set of nine mercenaries one under the employ of a shadowy gravel company named Builder's League United. Their blue uniforms had been quickly replaced with a stylish violet upon the purchase of their contracts, though now those uniforms lay in a pile in the corner, along with the rest of the room's occupants' clothing, cast aside upon entering the space designated for the night's festivities.
It was a celebration, of sorts. Of the first successful job of the new Teufort Saints, as they had been dubbed. Of the integration of their new allies into the structure and culture of the Third Street Saints. Of Kinzie having impulse-bought a fifty-five gallon drum of lube online one drunken night of unprofessionalism. It was almost tradition now, having an orgy to commemorate big events, and when Medic had mentioned how much fun one could have after huffing kritz, well, it seemed a foregone conclusion.
A haze of pale blue fume hung in the air, and it made The Boss idly think about speaking to the German about perhaps seeing if he could change the colour to be a bit more thematic. At the moment, he found he didn't care enough to bother. Particularly while Medic was occupied as he was.
The middle-aged doctor always seemed so professional when he was quiet. His uniform pressed and stylish, presenting a very prim and proper image with his shiny boots and stock-straight posture, his hair perfectly combed and his wide jaw clean shaven. The moment he started talking, his giddy titters punctuating a heavily-accented stream of what was usually either terrible jokes or terrible ideas, that air of dignity was easily dispelled, but even so, the giggles of the mad scientist were still a far cry from the sounds leaving him presently.
His voice came in rough groans, muffled around the fat cock filling his mouth and fucking his throat with little regard for his ability to keep up. Spit dripped down his lips and chin, slurped loudly on the occasional long stroke. Heavy's broad hands cradled his head, fingers carding through his mussed hair as the Russian thrust against his willing tongue. Croaking groans hummed against his flesh, punched from the German's throat by the rough invasion he was enduring from the giant Russian at his other end. Oleg's jaw was grit as he pumped his hips, gripping Medic's waist with his oversized hands and tugging him backward to meet each thrust into the doctor's slick, eager ass. He grunted roughly, taking the smaller man with ferocity, his eyes not on the German between them, but on Heavy, half challenging him, half exulting in the pleasure the other Russian's lover brought both of them.
Neither Russian had gotten along as well as everyone had expected at the start. A pair of massive geniuses who revel in violence as much as they do intellectual endeavours? It seemed like a brotherhood ready to be born.
Until Heavy learned about Oleg's past in the KGB and political leanings. And Oleg learned of Heavy's family history of counter-revolution and personal history gulag-destroying torture and arson. Things grew icier between the massive men, thawed only by a mutual interest in chess (though Heavy was able to claim a victory over Pierce, something he quietly held over Oleg, much to the other Russian's silent frustration) and fucking Medic into a sweaty, drooling heap.
That was something they were always willing to collaborate on, much to the doctor's delight.
The Boss chuckled, entertained by the sight of watching two Russian giants plow the prim and proper doctor into oblivion. He squeezed the base of his cock, hoping to stall himself off, and took a deep breath, only to have it forced out of him when a peachy blur plopped itself into his lap. He gasped, looking into a pair of blue eyes, half-hooded and full of intent, his mouth claimed by one bearing buck teeth, his tongue teased and caressed by another. With neither pomp nor circumstance, Scout had straddled The Boss' hips, threading his fingers into the gangster's hair as he tasted every corner of his mouth. His lithe body undulated, rolling his hips to grind his tight ass against The Boss' heated cock, and he moaned as he let his calloused hands rove the older man's body.
“ Heya Boss,” he teased, sitting back and wiggling his ass, delighting in the lustful look on The Boss' face. “Havin' fun?”
“Could say that,” The Boss said with a grin, hands petting along the smaller man's hips and thighs. “Thought you were off with Pierce.”
“Man, who gives a fuck about Pierce? Blew 'is load the second 'e got in my ass. Didn't even get a good fuck first. He sure talked a big game for a two-pump chump.”
“That's bollocks,” The Boss chuckled. “Give 'im hell about it later.”
“Oh man I plan on it. But for now, I'd rather you give it to me.” He grinned broadly, buck teeth endearingly on display, and dove in to bite at The Boss' neck gently.
Sighing, The Boss spotted movement through his half-lidded eyes, looking over Scout's shoulder. Hot spikes of pleasure radiated across his skin, and he struggled to focus. Finally, the black hair and heavy makeup clicked in his mind and he realized what he was staring at. “Oi, Matt!”
Scout sat up in surprise and turned to see a similarly surprised Matt Miller, pausing in getting a drink of water as if he'd been caught stealing. “What, I ain't good enough?”
“You're plenty good, love,” The Boss teased, his hand slipping between them to stroke the mercenary's cock. “Which is why I want to see what you and Mr. Miller can do.” He motioned for the hacker to come and Matt made his way over, stepping around Shaundi, who was clutching at Soldier's helmet, his head between her thighs, nearly roaring as a fresh orgasm ripped through her.
“You, er, called?” Matt asked, climbing onto the couch beside The Boss. Regardless of how much water there was under the bridge between the two men, and how many times the cagey hacker had sucked his cock, The Boss always managed to intimidate Matt a little. All the same, his eyes were quickly drawn to Scout's lean frame, lazily rubbing his tight, runner's ass against their leader.
“Do us a favour and 'ave some fun with Scout here, yeh?”
“But what about--”
“Don't you worry about me. Gimme a show,” The Boss chuckled, shoving Scout off of him and onto the younger man.
Scout landed in Matt's arms with a yelp, the pair falling backward onto the couch in a heap of skinny arms and legs. Pulling himself up onto his elbows, the mercenary grinned down at Matt. “You just get in 'ere? That lipstick 'a yours looks way too intact.”
“I—It's smudge-proof. All day—“
“We'll see about that,” Scout chuckled, pursing his lips against the hacker's, nipping lightly before pressing in for a kiss.
Matt responded immediately with a moan, wrapping his arms around the older man and arching against him. His lips parted easily, allowing Scout to taste him and swallow his groans, their hips grinding, cocks pressed hotly together. Nails dug into the runner's shoulders, and when he finally pulled away, Matt's eyes were drawn to the smear of blue along Scout's lips. He heaved out a laugh, matched by the runner's.
“Your lipstick is smudged,” Scout teased.
“All over you, it is,” Matt replied with another breathless laugh.
“Oh yeah?” The older man rolled his hips, grinding against Matt with a soft grunt. “I bet it'd look even better smudged somewhere else.” He looked over his shoulder at The Boss, who had tucked himself against the arm of the couch, watching with amusement at the rutting twenty-somethings beside him. “What'chu think, Boss?”
“Suck his dick, Matt,” The Boss shrugged, stroking himself slowly.
Matt didn't really need to be told. Honestly, he was planning on asking Scout anyway. But when The Boss had made it an order, the lanky athlete hadn't given him the chance to offer. Or change positions. He simply scrambled around, turning about-face atop him, straddling the hacker's head and bringing his own lips down to meet the younger man's warm skin.
With a waggle of his eyebrows to The Boss, Scout wrapped his mouth around Matt's cock, letting out a moan when the Saint did the same to him, their voices thrumming against their sensitive flesh.
Scout's breath was hot, his mouth even hotter. His tongue, which saw so much use with his incessant chatter, now proved its usefulness in the way it undulated against his head. It was overwhelming; just this side of painfully too much, and it made the hacker buck into Scout's throat, only to be welcomed with ease. It made Matt wonder how many dicks the mercenary had sucked. He certainly was skilled.
He slurped around Scout, squeezing his ass as he cocked his head to the side, grinding it into the couch to find a comfortable angle. The older man's balls rested against his nose, threatening to cut off his air, and it took a bit of fidgeting and nudging to get them off of his nostrils. One he had, he let himself relax into the pleasant sensation of hot flesh in his mouth, its firm weight against his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Scout smelled sweaty, a little musky, but wholly pleasant, just like his taste. Bucking up again, Matt took a deep breath and buried his face between the mercenary's thighs, letting him slide into his own throat and shivering as Scout did the same to him. He couldn't breathe, tightness in his chest and cheeks as the lanky runner thrust deep, choking out sounds that were almost whimpers around him. His throat was so hot, so wet, and with each shuddering sound, constricted around him, drawing the hacker's guts into a knot and making him quiver.
The Boss reached over, and with an open hand, slapped Scout's ass hard, making him yelp and rear back, a line of spit between his lip and Matt's cock. It drove his hips down, shoving himself as deep as he could go into the younger man's mouth, and with a cry, he shuddered and came, pulling back to let Matt breathe and swallow.
Gasping, the hacker swallowed down Scout's load, shivering at the taste of him. He barely had a chance to catch his breath before the runner was back on him, slurping at his cock like it was a life-or-death situation. His tongue swirled against his head, peeking beneath its ridge and teasing at him. He pulled back to lip at his foreskin before diving down again, swiftly disarming and disassembling him with just that skilled mouth.
Matt couldn't hold back long, never one for impressive stamina, and gripping the mercenary's ass tight, he arched up and came with a shout. Scout swallowed him down, sucking at him until he had nothing left. When Matt sagged to the couch, finished and panting, he looked back to The Boss with a broad grin.
The gangster nodded his approval, smirking at the excitable mercenary. If he were honest, The Boss was relatively sure that acquiring BLU had been worth it, just to have the eager-to-please, easy-to-flatter twink around. He talked entirely too much, but he made up for it by being effective, having the right attitude, and being amazing at sucking dick.
All three being very useful attributes for a Saint to develop.
“ Do y ou like this, Doktor?” Oleg growled, snapping his hips and forcing a howl from Medic , making his voice gurgle around Heavy, who hissed in a breath at the sensation. His grip fisting in the doctor's hair, the mercenary stalled, taking a moment to compose himself lest he come too soon. The heady haze of kritz fumes combined with the wet heat of his lover's throat, his desperate cries thrumming through his sensitive flesh and the sight of Oleg fucking his ass viciously served as sufficient stimuli to drive Heavy swiftly to the edge. He pulled out of Medic's mouth, shivering at the sound of the older man's loud slurp, and took a few breaths to steady himself.
Medic rocked with each thrust of Oleg's, his cheek rubbing against Heavy's shaft, gasping for breath as the air was punched out of him from behind. He crooned his pleasure, his agreement, his need, and lapped desperately at his lover's cock, whining to have it back in his mouth.
“My beautiful Doktor,” Heavy purred, cupping Medic's chin and rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “Want to paint your face.”
“Schatz,” the doctor sighed, bunting against his lover's hand, “please.”
Heavy looked to Oleg, raising an eyebrow, “Kak blizko vy?”
“YA mogu poyti nemnogo dol'she,” came the other man's near-breathless reply. He didn't stop or even slow his thrusts, challenging Heavy.
“Horosho,” came the mercenary's reply. He took hold of his cock and guided it back into Medic's mouth, his eyes falling closed as he was again engulfed in the wet heat. The doctor moaned around him, glad to taste his lover again, shivering as Heavy tightened the fist in his hair. He thrust into Medic's mouth, fucking his face in time with Oleg's rhythm. He would not be outdone when it came to fucking the handsome German.
A rough cry ripped through the room, followed by a few whistles and hollers of approval. The Boss looked up from his distractions to the pool table, where three bodies moved in unison, to a crowd of masturbating and cat-calling onlookers.
Demoman laid on his back, sweat soaking into the felt tabletop, his arms wrapped around Sniper's slim, writhing frame atop him, back pressed to his belly. He bit at the bushman's shoulder, his feet planted against the bumper of the table, hips snapping as he pistoned his cock into the taller man's ass. Kneeling between their legs, Johnny Gat joined Demoman in filling Sniper, their cocks sliding together in the bushman's tight ass. Naked save his sunglasses, Gat held the Australian's legs aloft, one slung over his shoulder to free his hand to hold a bottle of liquor. Biting his lip to anchor himself amid the haze of pleasure and the kritz fumes in the air, the Saint thrust against Demoman, into Sniper, spreading him open wide around them.
Sniper arched against the Scot, his head falling back against his shoulder. He was somewhere between tense and utterly boneless, a mess of taut muscle with no direction to it, merely moving with the men fucking him into a gasping heap. He was so full, stretched so wide, and between the murmured words of love and encouragement of Demoman and Gat, who looked down at him like he was a toy, he didn't think he could possibly get more turned on. His cock ached, untouched, his own hands too shaky to do more than clutch his own head and Demoman's arm around him, and he could feel himself sliding toward the edge.
“Shhh, enjoy it, love. Yer doin' great. Feckin' sexy, ye are,” Demoman soothed, pressing a kiss behind Sniper's ear, trying to calm him. One hand slipped down to Sniper's cock, taking hold and stroking him in time with his own thrusts, letting Johnny set his own pace.
Another rough groan left Sniper, his growling voice reduced to breathy, plaintive moans as he gulped down air and rode out the aggressive invasion he was enduring. Demoman felt so good inside and beneath him. His hand was calloused but gentle. And Johnny was taking his pleasure with such casualness that it lit fires in the bushman's belly.
Taking a swig from his bottle, Johnny picked up speed. He was close to drunk, close to high, and close to orgasm. When Demoman had suggested the two of them get up to no good, he had expected to make a few molotovs and throw them at rivals, or maybe take his sticky launcher out for a spin and blow up something expensive and extravagant. Really rack up some property damage. Mayhem.
Demoman had explained he wasn't nearly drunk enough for that sort of work, which was a thought that both confused and intrigued the destructive Saint. Instead, he suggested they go wreck something else. Namely: his boyfriend's ass. And possibly the pool table.
Gat leaned over to see a particularly large white stain near the corner pocket that was none of their faults. Someone else had wrecked the table before them. Oh well.
Another swig from the bottle, and he felt himself beginning to sway. It was time to finish up before he lost his rhythm. Dropping the whiskey to spill over the bumper, Johnny grabbed hold of Sniper's hip and steadied himself as he continued to rock into the bushman, Demoman's cock hot and firm against his own, the bushman's body trembling between them.
“Gonna come,” Sniper gasped, clutching Demoman's arm tight.
“That's good, Mickey. Give us a show,” the bomber teased, nipping lightly at his lover's ear.
A few more thrusts, and Sniper was gone, his back bowing up off of Demoman as he came. His hips juttered, the bomber milking his release out over his belly and chest in thick spurts. His voice came out in a creaking whine as he clenched around the men inside him.
Johnny pushed in against the tight muscle trying to force him and Demoman out, burying himself deep inside Sniper. His pelvic floor fluttered in spasms, drawing him over the edge, and with a strained grunt, he came inside the lanky Australian, a shout from beneath them signaling Demoman's climax in turn. When at last Sniper went still, flopping bonelessly atop the Scot, Gat pulled out, smirking at the sight of his and Demoman's mixed semen leaking out of Sniper's stretched hole.
“Scheiße!” Medic yelped around Heavy's cock, his voice slurred and rough from the abuse his throat had been receiving. He wouldn't last much longer like this, Oleg hammering into his ass like he was trying to break it and Heavy doing the same to his mouth, both men as entranced with their rivalry as they were with fucking the increasingly frenzied doctor.
“You are beautiful,” Heavy grunted, strained, on the edge but unwilling to give in. “So beautiful with lips stretched around my cock.”
The German hummed in appreciation, his tongue cupping the underside of the larger man's length, letting him thrust and use his mouth as he pleased. Heavy was always so tender, even when he was being rough; something Medic found forever endearing about the giant.
Not like Oleg, who was practically punishing Medic's ass, plunging deep inside with force. He fucked the doctor hard enough to make stars dance in his eyes, his hole blissfully sore but pleasantly stretched, hot and slippery and twitching as he neared the edge. He clenched consciously, squeezing Oleg, urging him along.
It was working. Oleg's pace became unsteady, hurried, and he was fairly growling as he bucked into Medic. The man's ass was a work of art, terribly fit for his age, and deep inside of it, the Saint found he was losing himself. He was so tight, clenching at him like he wanted to keep him inside forever, urging him in, further, deeper, more, more. Oleg set his jaw, his last reserves of control slipping. The slap of flesh to flesh, the squish of lube as their bodies slid together, and the doctor's lurid gurgling moans filled his ears, drowning everything else out. He cast a look over to the bar, where Kinzie sat, recording the whole thing with her phone.
She had a small collection of videos of Oleg fucking other men. They were securely buried in several folders, behind a series of passwords and four different kinds of encryption once uploaded to her computer, and were always removed from the recording device immediately upon upload. She couldn't be too safe. But all the same, she couldn't help but keep the little mementos.
She cast a hopeful look to Oleg, shuffling to keep the phone steady between her handcuffed hands. He had been merciful, letting her watch the act rather than just listen. Normally he kept her blindfolded, sometimes hooded, when he fucked other men, sometimes tying her up to keep her still. This time, since they were at an orgy rather than setting up a scene together, they hadn't gone for anything so involved. She simply sat on a fat dildo, her ankles cuffed to the barstool, her wrists cuffed together, and a cloth gag in her mouth. She wriggled on her seat, penetrated comfortably, and tried her hardest to maintain a steady shot with the phone. Curse her quivering hands. This was why she preferred to just set up a tripod.
Oleg smirked at Kinzie, her breasts practically spilling out of the tiny corset he had her wearing that night. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and he knew quite well that tomorrow, after having re-watched the video, she'd take it out on his ass the way he was wrecking Medic. Possibly with him in his own corset.
He shuddered at the thought, a thrill running through him, and he turned back to the task at hand. Oleg felt his balls tighten, a prickle run up his spine, and he could hold back no longer, Heavy be damned. With a roar, he slammed into Medic once, twice, and stalled deep inside of him, pumping the quivering German full of his seed.
Medic's harsh cry around his cock was all Heavy needed, and he matched Oleg a moment later with his own bellow of triumph. He pulled out of the doctor's mouth and took hold of himself, holding his lover's head steady by the chin. He tugged himself to release, shooting his load onto Medic's face, painting his cheeks, nose, and lips in sticky white.
The doctor's eyes fluttered open once he was sure they weren't hit, and he looked up at Heavy, the giant's eyes filled with lust and adoration in equal measure. He cradled Medic's chin, sweating and spent. It was a look that always sent a thrill through the doctor. He licked his lip, tasting Heavy's come, and moaned. One hand slipped between his legs, and with the barest effort, he tugged himself to completion, coming on his fingers and on the carpet with a hoarse sob, clenching tight around Oleg, who groaned and doubled forward at the sensation.
The three men collapsed to the floor, Medic slippery, sticky heap between the Russians. Oleg pulled out of him and sat back to catch his breath while Heavy gathered the doctor into his arms, chuckling as Medic lazily licked more of his come from his own face.
The Boss stretched out on the couch, kicking at Scout and Matt until the cuddling twinks slunk off to go rejoin the festivities. Reaching over to an end table, he picked up his drink and took a swig. He had no idea what expensive bourbon was versus the middle shelf. All that mattered to him was that it cost more than the couch on which he reclined. It was important to have expensive taste. When an invisible mouth wrapped around his cock, he was reminded greatly of that. Spy uncloaked with a waggle of his eyebrows, stretched out along the couch with his legs over the arm. One gloved hand gripped the base of his cock, his other coming up to cup his balls. Pulling off, careful not to slurp, the rogue asked, “Some company, mon ami?”
“Yeh, get to it,” The Boss grinned. “And cloak again. I like watching that.”
“But of course,” Spy said, and pressed his watch, fading from sight once again before resuming his blowjob.
Relaxing back and letting the mercenary do his magic, The Boss decided that expensive taste clearly extended to hiring hot mercenaries. And it was important to have expensive taste.