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They bind his hands behind his back with his own belt. Rough and good, pulling his arms into position carelessly enough to make him ache. A promising start. But then there’s an issue with the fucking socks.
“Dirty ones? Don’t you think we should use clean?” Sam’s voice is low and hesitant; there’s color high on his cheeks. “It isn’t very sanitary.”
“It’s not about being sanitary, it’s meant to be degrading,” reasons Jacob, because he’s got smarts and also a nice little nasty streak. He holds up the pair of socks he’s arguing for. “I didn’t work out in them or anything, just wore them around a bit today.”
Sam still looks skeptical and Eric is getting impatient. “I came here to get fucked, not listen to laundry tips,” he snipes, with perhaps too much authority for someone bound naked on his knees, waiting for two much younger men to take advantage of him. But this is far from his first rodeo.
Jacob shoots him an irritated look—no doubt he’s feeling protective of Sam’s sensitive feelings—which only makes Eric’s grin grow. “You want to shut me up, there’s a simple way to do it. Come on, do what we all came here for, stuff a—mghfff.”
Jacob’s determined little stride over to him, socks in hand, has his cock leaking even before the fistful of fabric is shoved into his open mouth. It’s a pair bunched together to make them extra…girthy, and they stretch Eric’s big fucking mouth so that it aches just right. He huffs out a satisfied breath through his nose. They nixed his original suggestion of duct tape so he could still probably spit them out if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want to.
“You know you can tap out if you…” Sam starts earnestly, but stops when Eric expansively rolls his eyes, proving he can communicate eloquently even without words.
“I think he knows, love,” Jacob says. “We’ve all heard his stories about the Folsom Street Fair.”
Eric’s nostalgic trip down memory lane is only discarded when Sam and Jacob finally strip off their shirts, giving Eric something more interesting to concentrate on. They are both stupidly handsome, and look stupidly good together—which Jacob, at least, seems to know. He pauses to pull Sam to him and give him a kiss—whether to reassure Sam or give Eric a show, it works either way. Sam’s eyelashes flutter prettily as he loses himself in Jacob. He has it bad, Eric thinks. Perhaps worse than he knows.
Ahh, youth.
But it’s not his job to counsel them; it’s his job to be a bratty old man, and he intends to deliver. Sam and Jacob are getting a little too comfortable kissing sweetly—god, he bets when they fuck just the two of them, they’re like a couple of lesbians: soft music and clean sheets and lots of sensuous candlelight. He makes an impatient sound around the sock-gag. He is over seventy and his shoulder muscles are starting to burn a bit; they could be more considerate!
“All right, all right,” says Jacob, pulling away. (Eric notes the way Sam’s hands linger in the shape of their lost hold on his hips.) “Someone’s feeling needy, eh?” He takes Eric by the chin: squeezes, a little, against his stuffed cheeks. “What do you need?”
“Cock,” Eric demands, incomprehensibly around a mouthful of sock. But he trusts that the message gets across.
“Mm-hmm, we can tell. Well, don’t you worry, baby, Sam’s gonna fuck you now.”
Sam’s moved behind him where he can’t see, but Eric feels the bed dip. He also sees Jacob look up, give a reassuring smile. Sam is…not a natural dom, and listen, no judgement! But Eric knows he wouldn’t be doing this if Jacob hadn’t been so curious about what Eric got up to (bragged about), and then so into it. Maybe he got too into character as Louis in Season 2, maybe he has a natural proclivity, maybe Assad said something that sparked his interest. Eric’s not going to question a gift cock in the ass, or however the saying goes.
“Yeah, he’s going to give it to you good,” Jacob continues. Then his grip tightens and he jerks Eric’s head sharply up. “Though you don’t really deserve good treatment, do you, after how bad you’ve been?”
Eric makes a noise of agreement. He knows exactly how bad he’s been.
And lucky for him, the punishment is the same as the reward.
He feels Sam’s finger skirt the edge of his hole and then press inside him. He’s using too much lube, being too gentle, but Eric knows what he’s packing and it’ll get good if he can just be patient. Patience: what he’s known for. He moans with eager desire and rocks his hips.
Sam stills, two fingers just stretching his rim. “Are you okay? How’re your knees?”
Eric shoots Jacob a desperate look. Jacob laughs. “He’s fine,” he tells Sam. “He’s gagging for it.”
“Mrf frh fhhr mrph,” Eric agrees, around his actual gag.
Sam grips Eric’s bound hands by the belt and tugs him back, a little like he’s pulling the reins on a horse. The fingers on his other hand push deeper. Eric lets out a moan. “Good?” Sam somehow questions.
“Yeah baby, that’s real good,” Jacob responds. He climbs up onto the bed, squishing Eric between his and Sam’s bodies like he’s not even there, so he and Sam can smooch some more.
“You start fucking him, babe,” he says when he pulls back. “I’m going to get the camera.”
Sam, at least, is good at taking direction. The removal of his fingers leaves Eric aching, but then there’s the blunt head of Sam’s big Aussie cock pushing into him. He drools into the socks. If Sam weren’t holding him up, he’d be collapsed face first against the mattress, grinding his fabric-stuffed mouth against the sheets. Sam’s not even fully seated yet: Eric is proud of his own fat cock, but Sam is long. He whimpers happily.
Jacob returns with his—Eric’s—cell phone. “Mmm, looking good,” he says.
Sam pant-laughs, pushing further. Eric’s prostate sings. “Just…not my face, okay?” Sam says, anxiously. Accident or not, his grip on Eric’s shackles tightens. Eric is going to need one hell of a massage tomorrow. (Worth it, obviously.)
“Course not,” says Jacob.
“I trust you,” Sam adds.
Turning his head, Eric catches a corner of Jacob’s soppy smile. Jesus Christ.
But then Jacob, to his credit, is back to business. “Arch your back and look pretty,” he tells Eric.
Eric does not need to be told twice. He knows he looks a sight: gagged, bound, being fucked. Being fucked by a blond. Shameful. After this photo reaches its intended recipient, Eric’s gonna save it so he can show his wife. The gift that keeps on giving.
Jacob takes a bunch of shots, the phone camera doing its thing soundlessly, without any visual cues except Jacob’s slight repositioning. Eric misses the blinding whiteout of a camera flash, the way it could echo or accentuate the emptying of his mind as someone fucks the sense from him. Fortunately, the ache in his shoulders, what little air he’s taking in just through his nostrils, and Sam’s pounding picking up pace thanks to Jacob’s encouragement are getting him there anyway. He realizes he’s a little teary when Jacob’s hand returns to support his chin, thumb sweeping over Eric’s cheek and wicking the moisture away.
“Had enough of these?” Jacob asks.
It takes Eric a moment to realize he means the socks. Eric shakes his head; he can take his punishment, he can.
“What if I replace ‘em with my cock, hmm?”
Oh. Okay. He nods eagerly, allowing himself one last moan around the socks as Sam slams home again and his whole body shudders. Jacob’s smell is all around him even before he eases the damp wad of fabric free and feeds Eric his cock instead. Thick and sweet and uncut, it has Eric slobbering. With his hands bound, he can’t cradle the balls and swallow down the shaft the way he usually likes, but being helplessly pinned between his two beautiful costars is a fair trade. Jacob starts fucking his mouth and it pushes him back against Sam in the best way. He hopes they’re Eiffel Towering above him, but he can’t really see, or think.
He loses track of who comes first; he just knows there’s a moment when Sam moans and collapses against his back, and another when he’s choking with Jacob’s come dribbling out of his mouth. Then there’s a bit where Jacob’s massaging feeling back into his unbound shoulders, rubbing down the length of his arms, and he sees that his belly is covered with his own spend. Sam’s kneeling over him with a washcloth, but then, with a little flick of a glance over Eric’s shoulder, he bends down and licks and nibbles at the soft, spunk-splattered skin before glancing back up at Jacob, who’s cradling Eric against his muscled chest. The look in Sam’s eyes is weighty: loving and desperate, heady with the desire to prove…something.
“You’ve been a good dog,” Eric says muzzily. “Not like me. You can have your treat. Right?” he asks Jacob.
“Yeah,” Jacob rasps.
Eric can feel Jacob’s breath quickening against the back of his neck as Sam licks him clean.
They clearly need a private moment after that, so Eric rolls over and gropes for his phone. Jacob dropped it carelessly at the edge of the bed and Eric’s surprised none of them kicked it across the room. But no: there’s his screen with its wallpaper photo of him and Jo, their faces covered by a notification for a text from Assad.
Under the pic of Eric getting his back blown out (possibly literally) by Sam, which Jacob had sent with the message wish you were here, Assad has replied:
dear, is that a stein?
Eric snort-laughs so loud that Sam and Jacob pause their lesbian makeout sesh to look at him questioningly. Eric holds up the screen and gets some appreciative guffaws, though nothing like he thinks Assad’s wit deserves. He hunches back over the phone.
you made me laugh so hard I distracted the lovebirds from sucking face
He stares at the bobbing dots of Assad composing his reply until they disappear.
those crazy kids might actually be able to make it work if we stopped getting in their way :)
though you seemed to enjoy being in the way today ;)
More emojis than Assad usually uses. Eric wonders if he secretly is jealous, despite playing it cool. He wonders if he wants him to be.
you know how I get with a mic in my hand, I was very naughty and needed to be punished. sucks you weren’t here to keep me in line
you’re better at it. a natural :)
Shit, there he goes. But it’s true: Assad had taken to disciplining him so naturally, eagerly—fully and completely committed to the role. He thinks about the session they’d done with Jo directing, remotely—how well Assad had adapted to her style, the only one since her who’d instinctively understood him.
He realizes he’s grinning down at the screen, watching the dots dance again, his own face a :) Fuck.
Assad types for a long time, but the text Eric receives is relatively short. Eric wonders what he chose not to say.
you flatter me :)
yeah
you deserve it, kid
He pauses. Types. really do… Pauses, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
Ironic, Eric thinks, that the “punishment” may have finally had its desired result: he’s thinking before he speaks, being circumspect with his words. Lying here listening as Sam whisper-moans Jacob’s name, trying to decide whether or not to hit send.
really do miss you