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They'd talked about this, before, on a humid night when they'd all first started sleeping together, still on the road and early in their exploration. About the things they wanted, things they didn't. The three of them had managed to wrangle this one out of Grand -- the dreams he's had, the deep-seated wanting to be used , to be taken and passed around and not consulted in the matter at all, a toy to be played with and discarded when finished. He'd been flushed, nervous under his arrogance but the way Gig's grin widened and Echo's breath came just a little faster and Even smiled, understated -- well.
Now, they're on the floor of the big tent the four of them share, the cool night air outside kept at bay by the canvas walls and soft padding covering the entirety of the floor. There’s murmured conversation that Grand doesn't really participate in -- he knows what the night holds and it consumes his focus, anticipation curling in his gut as he waits for the scene to start.
It begins with Gig pulling Grand into the space between his legs, back up against his chest -- Grand is bigger than him, but Gig is tall and wiry, more than strong enough to move Grand where he wants him (and if Grand took the time to retrospect on his past lovers, perhaps he'd find that the ability to manhandle him has been a common theme). Gig's hands are clever, stroking up the lines of his thighs and tracing the angle of his hips. It's innocent enough from the outside, the quiet conversation continuing around him, but there's a fire settling low in his belly made worse by the way Gig hooks his chin over Grand's shoulder and continues with whatever he's saying to Echo, as if Grand isn't there .
Gig's hands creep under the waistband of his shorts, nails running up his inner thighs the way he knows makes Grand squirm, and Gig presses his delighted smile into the side of Grand’s throat. Grand bites his lip to muffle his noises and he catches the sharp flash of Echo’s eyes on his mouth.
“He’s not much use to us dressed,” says Even, casual, like it’s just the next step in their conversation.
“You’re so right, Even,” Gig replies, curling his fingers around Grand’s waistband and sliding his shorts down his thighs. Echo leans forward to pull them the rest of the way off him as Gig wrangles him out of his t-shirt and then he’s fully naked, exposed to the others’ appraising glances.
“That’s better,” Gig says, running lips down the line of Grand’s shoulders, biting at the nape of his neck. He teases at Grand’s throat, slides his fingers down to circle his nipples and Grand is embarrassingly hard already, cock heavy between his legs. He knows from experience that Gig takes his pleasure in teasing him until he squirms and begs for release, and the anticipation of it just makes him harder. Gig wraps a hand around him and his lips fall slack around a moan, eyes fluttering closed.
“Looks like he needs something in his mouth,” Echo remarks, and Grand can feel Gig’s grin against his shoulder blade.
“I think you’re right,” he replies and suddenly there’s a hand gripping the back of Grand’s neck and shoving his head towards Echo’s lap, forcing him onto his hands and knees to stay upright. Echo threads a hand through his hair, grips tight and Grand groans, face mashed against their thigh. They laugh, opening their fly enough to expose their arousal and tugging him in to get his mouth on them, hot and wet and slick, their grip unrelenting.
“That’s pretty,” says Even as Echo throws their head back, tugs at Grand’s hair. “Gig, would you get him ready for me?”
“Sure thing.” The nonchalance of the exchange has Grand shuddering deliciously -- they could be talking about a mech or a machine or a meal but they’re talking about him . He’s just a toy for their use and it makes him moan around Echo, mouth full of them. They tighten their grip, thighs trembling on either side of Grand’s head, laughing.
“Don’t let him enjoy it too much,” they say, “or he’ll be useless later.”
And then Gig’s slick fingers are teasing at his entrance and Grand’s mouth stutters on Echo, whining around them when Gig slides one long finger fully into him, then two. Echo yanks on his hair, a sharp reminder of the task at hand, and he bobs his head, takes Echo into his throat -- there’s so much sensation , Echo’s taste on his tongue and Gig stretching him open and his neglected cock hanging heavy and aching between his legs and all the while, Even’s eyes on the three of them, his gaze steely and intense.
They keep him trapped there for what feels like hours, caught in the push-and-pull and desperate, so desperate for anything they’ll give him. Eventually, Echo comes down his throat, gasping and gripping his hair with both hands. Gig’s worked him up to three fingers, is teasing a fourth, and he’s so full he’s going to burst.
“That’s enough,” comes Even’s voice through the haze. “Give him to me.”
Gig withdraws his fingers and Echo pulls him off them and he’s empty and aching and then there are arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him into Even’s lap, legs wrapping instinctively around Even’s hips. Without any preamble, Even presses two fingers into his slick entrance, probing, as if testing that he’s open enough. His fingers hit his prostate and Grand cries out, face pressed into the crook of Even’s neck, clinging, and Even hums, seemingly satisfied. In a moment of cruelty (or mercy, Grand isn’t sure), he crooks his fingers, rubs circles over Grand’s prostate to make him pant and whine and writhe on his lap -- it’s so much, it’s not enough , and he’s begging, half-formed words against Even’s skin, but Even seems to understand perfectly.
“He’s ready,” Even decides, picking him up bodily and repositioning him so he’s back on hands and knees, facing the other two. Gig’s in Echo’s lap now and Echo’s tracing lazy circles around Gig’s clit, unhurried. Their eyes are intense and delighted, respectively, Echo’s mouth a focused line and Gig’s quirked up into a grin as they watch him.
Finally, finally , Even slides home, filling Grand so fucking well and making him sob. He collapses down onto his elbows, ass in the air and so debased , obscene and desperate and slick with sweat and with some of Echo’s come still on his lips and Even fucking into him steadily, steadily. It’s too-slow, it’s infuriating, it’s amazing .
“How does he feel?” asks Echo, sly smile hidden in their voice, and Even laughs through short, sharp breaths.
“He feels amazing,” he pants, tightening his grip on Grand’s hip and drawing his other hand back to slap Grand’s ass, hard. Grand sobs again, head falling to rest on his arms. His cock aches, his knees burn and still Even doesn’t speed up, just keeps fucking into him steady and languid. He thinks he’s begging -- he’s not really sure.
Grand almost doesn’t notice when Gig comes with an ecstatic gasp on Echo’s fingers across from him, too focused on the rhythm of Even’s cock inside him. Gig moves out of Echo’s lap to crawl over, brushes his hair out of his face before getting a handful and yanking Grand’s head up to look at him. He can feel the flush in his cheeks, can only imagine the hazy desperation in his eyes, and Gig laughs, guiding his thumb between Grand’s lips. He sucks without hesitation, operating solely on reflex -- just a tool, a doll to be used however they want, and he can’t -- he can’t --
“C’mon, Even, I think he’s had enough,” Gig says, and Grand yells as Even speeds up and wraps a hand around his cock. It’s so much, so much , he can’t process the overload of sensation, can’t keep up, just mouths at Gig’s thumb and arches his back and squeezes his eyes shut and feels, feels, feels --
Coming is almost painful, pleasure so sharp and white-hot that he screams, sobs through it. Distantly, he feels Gig take his thumb back and card through Grand’s hair, feels Even pull out, feels him come in ropes across the small of Grand's back.
He comes back to himself in fits and starts, distant awareness that someone is cleaning him up, is spooning him, is stroking over his hair and his back and his cheeks and whispering soft praise into his ear.
“How are you doing?” murmurs Even, and Grand’s just aware enough to slur out, “m’good”. And he is , he’s so good, loose-limbed and fucked-out and warm. He drifts to sleep between the three of them, pliant and satisfied.