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There’s a cigarette wedged between Strahm’s fingers. It’s still burning despite the lack of attention it’s received since the very first drag he took what must’ve been minutes ago – but who can say when time passes like sand between fingers, like teardrops through heavy lashes.
Whatever he took was too much. Something Perez brought home, something she promised would make him “feel good” and he knew better than to doubt her when she’s never been wrong.
“Peter?” Perez is calling. She’s been gearing him for an answer, but she hasn’t been able to muster much from him and his empty eyes. Speaking’s beyond him now, but he’s here, present, just floating away from it all. The weed in his system leaves him pleasantly warm with a burning heat between his legs.
Someone takes the cigarette out of his hands. Perez’s chest is even warmer against his back, but her hands are wrapped around his front, one of her hands resting on the exposed skin of his neck. He’d been ignored for a while – fine by them to float off to the sounds of Hoffman and Perez kissing over his shoulder.
His eyes lazily blink at Hoffman’s drunken expression. He has a better tolerance than the both of them, so he doesn’t hesitate to finish off Strahm’s cigarette, blowing the excess above Strahm into Perez’s face.
He hears her give a weak cough before they’re kissing again, and Strahm finally remembers what must’ve pulled him out of his trance. They’re too loud, too energetic, on a level that Strahm can’t keep up with right now. He hates the feeling like he’s spiraling out of control, hates that he can’t find any hard ground while floating off between them.
His hand reaches behind him to dig his nail into Perez’s side. He’s reaching around for her ass, and she lifts up her hips to give him room, laughing at his clumsy attempts to grab her.
“Were we ignoring you?” Perez coos. The saccharine sweet in her voice pisses him off, his clumsy fingers gathering enough coordination to pinch her ass. She squawks at him before pushing him off his lap towards his least favorite person in the world.
Hoffman accepts him with ready hands, taking him into his arms long enough for Perez to get up off the bed.
“Gonna get the brat some water,” she says, sounding more amused than anything else as she lazily walks off into the kitchen, bumping the wall to prove her coordination isn’t exactly perfect either.
“Greened out, Strahm?”
Ugh. He tilts his head to the side, impossibly lazy. He doesn’t want to do anything, and he definitely doesn’t have the energy to talk to Hoffman, much less look at him. Even hearing him talk is too much for his exhausted self to deal with right now. He’s asking him something he can’t even register, just hears his name on his lips sounding so atrociously sinful.
He rolls over onto his belly to ignore him. He has peace for a few seconds before a calloused hand trails down his calf. Hoffman pokes at the sole of his foot, and Strahm immediately kicks out at him and tucks his knees closer to his chest.
“You’re less annoying like this,” Hoffman notes. Strahm groans, loud and obnoxious, and he can only hope it’s enough to drown his voice out. (It’s not.)
Strahm isn’t a light weight in the literal sense, but Hoffman is trying to treat his dead lax body like he is. He lifts from a hold on Strahm’s legs to twist him over, Strahm not putting up much of a fight between being rolled over.
“Where’d you drift off to?” Hoffman is asking like he genuinely wants an answer. Strahm can’t meet his eyes. “While I was fucking your partner better than you ever could.”
“...Fuck off,” Strahm barely manages, lifting up his knee up towards his chest before kicking out, coming to rest flat against Hoffman’s chest. He doesn’t smack him away, holds him around his ankle and keeps him pinned there. Strahm jerks his leg back. It doesn’t budge.
“Only snapped out of it because you wanted to come? Didn’t even care about Perez, did you?”
“Bully him the second I leave,” Perez chides as her soft footsteps pitter patter back into the room. She passes him a water bottle he gladly accepts, chugging about half of it in one go before Hoffman takes the rest and finishes it off. “Hey – lay down. ”
Perez barks at him so roughly in an unnatural voice that Strahm almost lays down. She doesn’t speak like that to him, not usually, and not in front of Hoffman. And, she wasn’t. She hadn’t been talking to him based on the way Hoffman drops the empty bottle carelessly and moves to lay down on the bed.
“Lift your hips,” Perez commands, and Hoffman obliques without a complaint. She fluffs a pillow underneath his ass and when she steps off the bed, Strahm knows what she’s reaching for.
Her movements are half-coordinated, messing with the buckles and hardware of her strap. Strahm watches her struggle until it’s completely fastened, a beautiful purple cock that suits her perfectly.
He must’ve been drooling because Perez presses a chaste kiss into the corner of Strahm’s lifts before nodding her head in Hoffman’s direction.
“I don’t want him to fuck me,” Strahm says matter-of-factly. It takes all of his concentration to get the words out. “I want your strap. You can have him.”
“Aw, I think you’re much too out of it to be fucked, Peter, I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding apologetic at all. “You don’t even know what you want.”
Except, he does, and he just told her that. Perez tsks at him like he’s stupid and doesn’t know better, and,
maybe he doesn’t.
“You wanna be good for us, don’t you?”
He doesn’t want to be good for Hoffman, only Perez, but it’s hard to refuse her sober, and he’s far gone now.
He climbs over Hoffman, glaring him down as Hoffman’s hungry eyes follow down his arms, legs, down to the wetness clinging to his thighs. Hoffman’s hands reach up for Strahm’s sides like he needs the help being guided down to sit on his belly. His hips are canted up so Perez can have enough room behind him.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Strahm says with a grimace. Hoffman won’t take his eyes off him, and like this he can’t even see Perez behind him. A cap of lube pops open, Strahm’s cunt aching even though those fingers won’t be meant for him. Hoffman’s still staring at Strahm, only breaking away to lick his lips when Perez starts him with two of her skinny fingers.
She raises an incredulous eyebrow at Strahm when he starts to turn around, mesmerized by the way Hoffman’s hole squeezes around her fingers, wants to see her split him open with her cock first instead. He thinks he’d like it, too, would probably beg to be fucked after just having the silicon head poke past his rim.
“Sit still, Strahm,” Perez tells him. “Face him or I won’t let him touch you at all.”
“Don’t want him to, anyways,” Strahm grumbles even as he obeys her words, turning back around. His hip aches in the position, balanced on the decline of Hoffman’s tummy where his hips are hiked up. He stretches his legs out to alleviate some of the cramping, and Hoffman’s hand wraps around his kneecap, holding it where it tries to straighten out, and digs his nails into him. “Hard time?” There’s meant to be more words along with it, but his brain is moving slow and fuzzy. Hoffman’s not unaffected either, his cheeks flushed and a small gasp escaping him, a gross sounding squelch coming from his hole when Perez slips her fingers out.
“Make him beg,” Strahm says. He makes a soft whimper beneath him, and he wants him to make it again. But he’s not the one fucking him, Perez is, so he does all that he can do – reaches up to attack him with his teeth.
He wishes he had that cigarette between his fingers to put it out in his neck.
He improvises with his tongue, lapping at the open area of his neck before teasing at it with his teeth, gradually increasing the pressure of his jaw until Hoffman squawks.
“Muzzle your fucking dog, Perez,” Hoffman grunts.
“Please,” she sighs, “I have enough trouble just getting him to sit.”
Strahm was going to send another glare her way, but then Perez is telling Hoffman to relax.
He feels it when Perez enters hip.
His cock slaps against skin where it’s ignored behind him. At the least if he was turned around he could wrap his hands around the base of it, squeeze his cock until it hurts. But Perez told him to sit like this, so he does, set on straightening his back as best as he can and watches Hoffman’s face as he falls apart for her.
Small, wipsy breaths escape Hoffman as she bottoms out inside of him. She’ll need something bigger next time, split him open and make him bleed with the stretch of it all. Wants him to cry out frustration because he still needs it bigger, nothing ever being big enough to ruin him. Needs Perez’s fake purple cock and Strahm’s own just to feel satisfied.
“There you go, Mark,” Perez coos, all sweet and a voice that’s not for him.
Strahm squeezes his sides with his knees and uses his fingers to clench his cheeks. His thumbs dig in hard enough for his mouth to fall open into a hopeless moan, a desperate ah-ah.
“You’re less annoying like this,” Strahm mocks his words from earlier. Hoffman’s eyes are welling with tears, fuck. “Just needed a cock in you, to shut you up. Good to fuckin’ know.”
The bed creaks under the weight of Perez’s next thrust, Hoffman’s fingers sent digging into the fabric of the bedsheets. His face is screwed up like he’s trying to hold himself back and failing spectacularly.
He heaves his next breath, a snarl towards Strahm. “Jealous?”
As a matter of fact, no.
His dick is hard against Hoffman’s soft belly. He grinds his hips down into him, squeezing like he has anything to work. He has half of a mind to palm at himself, but even that seems like it’d be too much of an effort when there’s two bodies around him. A work that shouldn’t be his job.
“Too greened out that you’re horny but can’t do anything about it,” Hoffman says, all talk for a man gripping onto the sheets like his life depends on it. “Too lazy to even rut – no wonder you can’t fuck Perez like you mean it.”
“Mark!” Perez all but growls, and Strahm laughs earnestly at the way he jolts up, trying to arch his back off the bed but has all of Strahm’s weight on him. Strahm reaches around him, finds his cock twitching underneath Perez’s hand. Knows the blunt of her nail is digging in cruelly to the slit of his cock. “Clearly I’m not fucking you hard enough if you’re still talking.”
“He never stops talking.” Perez lets go off his cock, Strahm taking the place of her hand and hoping she doesn’t tell him to let go. He keeps a loose grip of his hand, just barely holding the head of his cock, letting it slide against his fingers, neither of them providing the movement because Perez does it for them – fucking into Hoffman hard enough his head passes through the circle of his finger and his thumb.
“Fuck,” Hoffman seethes between his teeth. His lips are permanently strewn open. He looks pitiful with his head lazily flopped to the side, head trying to lift up to watch before getting fucked back down. Strahm’s hand rests against his tit, squeezing the little that he can, thinks about having a strap of his own and trying to fuck them.
“Pretty,” a high thought escapes him, something he’d never dare say sober. He looks too damn pretty like this, face blissed out like he was meant for it. Strahm drags a finger across his chapped lips, broken around his steady string of cries.
Suddenly, Hoffman’s lips clamp around his fingers, teeth pressing in between the bone of his pointer finger. He sticks his fingers in further, another coming to rest along the first, pressing down on his tongue even as his teeth threaten to tear into the back of his hand.
“Wanna fuck your mouth,” Strahm says, but Perez said he couldn’t, so he won’t. He wasn’t sure if he could even hold himself up, if he wanted. His cock aches impossibly hard, his hole leaking around nothing, only the sounds of Perez’s cock filling up Hoffman and his pathetic little cries.
Perez is grunting with the effort. She’s said it before – how pegging always gets her off, but it’s never quite enough, the pressure of the base of the toy against her clit.
“Don’t come,” Perez warns, but it’s her favorite game to play, a warning she only says when it’s already far too late. Strahm finds the head of Hoffman’s cock again, hand leisurely stroking so it can be Lindsey that throws him over when he’s not supposed to.
“Please – fuck, Lindsey, please,” Hoffman cries so prettily, so pretty that it pisses Strahm off, fingers tightening around his head in a dirty little move. He jerks him roughly – too quick, too sudden, and his cock violently twitches before coming into nothing.
He shakes through the aftershocks with nothing but Perez’s lazy thrusts taking him through it. He whimpers pitifully all the way to the end of his orgasm, and then, finally, Perez grants herself her own win, reaching for her favorite trick up her sleeve Hoffman wouldn’t know about.
He’s never taken her before, not like this, so Strahm keeps his mouth shut as Hoffman struggles to regain his composure while Perez fiddles with the toy.
“Told you not to come.”
He whimpers a soft apology, Strahm snickers, and before Hoffman can apologize again or chew out Strahm for laughing, maybe even taunt him –
There’s the flip of a switch.
“Fuck – fuck, I’m sorry,” Hoffman’s head thrashes against the bed, Perez using him as a leverage to fuck the toy into him, hit his prostate as leverage to press her end of the toy harder into her clit.
Strahm leaks over their sounds – dizzy with his own arousal and the unfairness of it all. Perez fucks Hoffman until she comes, going still and barely moving as she savors it, throwing herself forwards and a hand steadied on the mid of Strahm’s back.
He gets the memo, kneeling himself flat against Hoffman. She’s trying to tower over them both, despite her small frame, but he knows she needs it like this. He tries to make himself small, Perez never full sliding out of Hoffman, just bending forward and trying to smush Strahm between their chests.
She’s chasing his lips again. Strahm groans. Her cock is still buzzing, and Hoffman’s still whimpering, and he’d just like to add – he still hasn’t gotten to come once.
“Fuck me,” he says quietly.
Hoffman scoffs.
“Still got a lot to complain about?” The overstim must get enough, even for Perez, because she turns it off with a sigh, nestling over Strahm’s back and trying to close the gap, sandwich Strahm small between them.
She’s so small compared to the both of them, using her breasts to push against his back while her cock is dripping lube and any slick that escapes her.
“Now I’m all tired, though,” Perez sighs. Hoffman winces when she pulls out of him, his hole gaping in the absence of her. She slips out of her harness, lets it hit the floor roughly before climbing back into the bed. She sits with her shins against the bed, and Strahm gapes at her.
“Huh?” he asks brainlessly. Hoffman has the audacity to yawn.
“Wanna cuddle now,” she mumbles, moving to lay down. Hoffman not-so-gently moves Strahm off of him like he’s some useless sort of toy good for nothing but holding him down and lays down too, still leaving enough space like they both silently expect him to just lay down.
…And, well, he might be a little tired, too.
Strahm whines to show he’s not happy about it still – impossibly turned on but too tired, too drugged out to do anything about it.
“Linds,” he pleads quietly, head dropping against the pillow.
“Gonna whine about not being fucked while tucking yourself in?” Hoffman laughs, but he’s pulling the covers over them. Strahm almost wants to cry, Perez pressing kisses into his eyebags.
“It’s okay, baby, just need a little something to help finish off the high, right?” Perez always knows what to do, so he nods weakly, cries out in relief when lube – and when did she still have that out? – squirts over her fingers.
His hole is already slick from watching them, slick from his own desperate need from the weed. She opens him up with a lazy ease, good, because neither of them have the energy for it.
He jolts when Hoffman moves under the covers, steering clear of Lindsey’s way to spread his folds apart. The blunt head of a wand rubs down over his dick, Hoffman telling him to squeeze his legs together.
“Fuck me,” he says, a useless plea, knows he won’t be getting it. Perez crooks her fingers, not even reaching his g-spot – but she doesn’t need to. He already feels weak, close to coming, and Perez tells him to listen.
So, he does. With the little energy he has, he clamps his thighs around the wand, Hoffman turning it on a low setting, a pleasant buzz. He doesn’t work it against him, just holds the base of it in a loose hold like Strahm had his cock.
His orgasm is slow approaching, starts so early that he’s not even sure he’s coming, but it builds, builds, and he shakes through the height of it, slick gushing out of him, and Perez crooks her fingers into him harder before slipping out completely, Strahm crying out pathetically.
“Fuck – what the fuck,” he cries, the head of a toy – (and if he’d been sober, he might’ve just noticed it being planted on the nightstand all along) slips without any intrusion, with no hesitance, buries him until the hilt, and Perez flicks it on.
It’d be too much normally. Strahm can’t even cry to say it’s too much, can’t do anything except twist away from Perez, push away from the very person he’s always so good for. He finds Hoffman’s neck, teeth clashing against his skin as his hips raise and move with no rhyme or reason.
Hoffman is trying to chase his cock with the wand, but he just won’t sit still between them. His head never leaves the pillow, even as he tosses and turns, but his hips rise and lower, torn between grinding against the toy he was so desperate for and escaping it.
“You waited so long, Strahm,” Perez says, intertwining her legs with his, reaching over Strahm to grab Hoffman’s hand – sweet, tender, too intimate and soft with Strahm crying weakly between them. “You can come.”
Strahm cries when he comes the second time, this one over too quick and ruined from the onslaught of overstimulation. His chest is warming him from the inside and out, overfilled with pleasure that all he can do is hold on and trust the two warm bodies aside him to fulfill their promise to make him feel good.
He listens, going limp, rewarded with the wand being discarded. The toy twitching on its own in his cunt stays, nestled between his slicked thighs, and Hoffman pinches at his numb t-dick. Pinches it hard enough to try and bring life into it before swiping his thumb up-down it.
“Fuck, fuck,” Strahm says with closed eyes.
“Falling asleep? Really? ” Hoffman says incredulously, but he can’t help it – overwhelmed with pleasure and the deep contentment for his partners. Drifts off with a hum as something tries to build once more, low and deep in his stomach.
“You can rest, Strahm, you did good,” she tells him sweetly. He’s already out, darkness closing in for what feels only like a blink before he’s waking up feeling like he’s being split open, wetness gushing between his legs, and loud, obnoxious crying in his ears.
“Aw, did I wake you up, baby?”
Waking up when he was hardly asleep at all, and based on the hard weight of Hoffman’s cock against his backside and Perez’s hungry gaze, when he finally falls asleep, well, he’ll have something to wake up to in the morning.
For now, Strahm weakly tries to keep the toy steady between his legs and closes his eyes, fully intent to drift off into a dreamless sleep.