Archive of Our Own

“Stop squirmin’.” Horror’s voice is a low growl in his ear. Cross heeds the command, stilling as best he can, even though the order isn’t meant for him. The hand Horror has resting on his waist splays on his stomach, and it’s so nice and warm that Cross can’t help but sag back into the larger skeleton’s body. The position hurts his wrists a bit, tied behind his back as they are.

Horror notices this, and Cross hears and feels the soft, rumbling purr he lets out in response. “Not you, Crossy. You do all the squirmin’ you like.” His hands ghost over Cross’s conjured thighs, lightly so as not to irritate the fading bruises there, and Cross feels Horror’s head lift from his shoulder.

“You three, on the other hand…”

Cross had almost forgotten about them, so focused on Horror’s gentle ministrations. On the floor in front of them, Nightmare, Dust, and Killer sit in a row on their knees, hands tied behind their backs by Horror, just like Cross’s own.

Killer is leering at him, as he usually does, but he’s been obediently following Horror’s “no talking” rule. Dust’s stare is less predatory, but no less piercing, and he fidgets against his bonds every few seconds. Vaguely, Cross thinks that his shorts must be uncomfortable, with the erection tenting them, but the thought is too fleeting to focus on. Nightmare is completely still, save for his eye, which flicks from Horror’s face, to Cross’s face, to Cross’s pussy, and then back again. Even his tentacles hardly move, only twitching behind him every now again, and some deep part of Cross is so pleased with that, because it would be so easy for Nightmare to escape if he really wanted, but he’s being so obedient, because Horror wants to do this to please Cross.

Horror’s hand slides up from his thigh and back to his pussy, pushing all coherent thought from his head. Unconsciously, Cross spreads his legs wider, though his knees are hooked across Horror’s femurs already. Horror just chuckles a little, gently rubbing two fingers through Cross’s slick.

“This is a punishment,” he continues, his fingers still only grazing Cross’s folds. “So no squirmin’, no speakin’ unless it’s your safeword…” Someone makes a sound in front of them, but Cross can’t focus.

He hears Horror chuckle again above him as he pushes one finger in Cross’s entrance, just to the knuckle, and pulls back out slowly. Cross gasps, and Horror mumbles above him, directed to the whole room, “Cross’s gettin’ my attention now, but I’ll take good care of you all later, mhm… Lotsa cuddles and a nice hot meal, would you all like that?”

Cross whines, and tries to nod, but he’s already far gone and he’s not sure he manages it. Slick fingers cup his cheek. “I know you like that Crossy, but I’m askin’ everyone else.” Cross opens his mouth, begins to apologize, but Horror interrupts, hooking those same wet fingers into his mouth. It stops him, but it also only allows him to make a few incoherent noises. “No, no, don’t apologize.”

The fingers leave his mouth, and they stroke his cheek gently. Cross leans into it, and he can feel the purr building in his chest. “One word answers,” Horror tells the others as he pets Cross. “Would you like that, some cuddles later… a nice meal?”

“Yes,” Dust gasps immediately. “Yes, yes, yes -”

“Dust,” Horror warns, and Cross barely registers the sound of a jaw clicking shut.

Killer must not answer verbally, because Horror only murmurs, “So enthusiastic, Killer…” He maneuvers Cross’s head to look at the other. He’s so focused, and his SOUL is wavering, beating so fast that Cross can barely follow. “Enthusiastic and behaved, don’t you think, Cross? I told him not to speak before and he hasn’t, even though I gave him permission to…”

Cross nods weakly in agreement, jolting a bit when Horror’s other hand slips down from where it’s been holding his waist to stroke at his hips, just above his clit. “What do you think, Cross?” Horror prompts again, his voice a rumble against Cross’s skull.

Cross opens his mouth to answer, but Horror chooses that moment to let his hand dip down and pinch Cross clit, so instead of an agreement, Horror gets a yelp. “Ah - ah! I - he’s…”

“You’re so cute, Crossy,” Horror mumbles, just resting a finger on his clit now. He taps it a few times, to the rhythm of his speaking. “So,” tap, “good,” tap, “for,” tap, “me.” Cross keens, pushing his hips up into the stimulation, but Horror just laughs and promises, “Soon, honey,” as he lets his fingers rest on top of Cross’s mound.

He must raise his head, because there’s a hissed “Yes” from their final partner. Nightmare has, as far as Cross can tell from Horror’s gentle admonitions, been obedient and apologetic this entire time.

“Hm,” Horror hums, running his fingers up and down Cross’s slit. He sounds distracted. If Cross was more lucid, he might consider how embarrassing this is - spread out on the couch, completely naked while everyone else remains clothed, and probably dripping his purple slick onto the floor. But he’s not quite lucid - Horror has been touching him for so long, and all he can really focus on his fingers, and how he still hasn’t cum. “...I could make chili tonight.”

Cross whines, bucking his hips up. His head lands in the crook of Horror’s shoulder as he does, and Horror’s bright, blood red eyelight is filled with nothing but soft love for him. “Oh, but you like tacos… not too hard a switch, nah… Just gotta cook it in a pan instead of the slow cooker, mhm.” He presses his finger into Cross, finally finally finally, and Cross keens, his entire body arching away from Horror’s.

Horror fucks him slow, so slow, no matter how Cross whines. It’s painfully gentle, and his finger wiggles every few thrusts, trying to find Cross’s g-spot.

Then, his other hand is on Cross’s ribs, and Cross forgets how to breathe. Horror’s finger doesn’t leave his pussy, though it slows to a stop. “Know your safeword?” Horror asks quietly, just for him. “‘M not gonna hurt you, you know that. But tell me your safeword, what is it?”

“It’s… ‘oreo’…” Cross wheezes softly, and Horror strokes his ribs, from his side to his sternum, before slipping down to the level of his floating ribs hesitantly. Horror’s eyelight seems to study him, before he gently wraps his free hand around the floating rib that Dust had broken two weeks before.

Cross twitches, more out of nervousness than arousal, but Horror is gentle with him. He treats Cross like he’s made of glass, and maybe once that would have annoyed him, but right now the world is just Cross on Horror’s lap, his legs spread and his rib in Horror’s big, warm hand.

The end of Cross’s floating rib is sensitive, having been newly healed with a combination of magic from Horror and the others, and healing salve, and Horror knows this. He uses his thumb to rub the surface, and Cross throws his head back, his pussy clenching around Horror’s finger.

He feels Horror smile against his neck, and the hand lets go, but it still strokes the newly healed rib in time with the restarted pumping of his finger. In fact, Horror seems to have decided that now is the perfect time to add a second finger, and as he does, he lets his palm grind against Cross’s clit clumsily.

Cross moans, and Horror says something low in his ear as he does. It sounds encouraging, but he can’t focus between the hand in and on his pussy, and the other caressing his rib. Then, Horror bites his neck softly, his fangs barely making indent, and Cross registers it when he repeats himself:

“Cum for me, Cross?” The fact that it’s a question, not an order, makes it all the sweeter, and it sends him over the edge.

The sound Cross makes is long and drawn out, and if he had any presence of mind he’d be embarrassed, but Horror has moved his hand from his rib to his face, caressing his cheek again, running his thumb over the scar there, and his fingers are still pumping slowly, making Cross twitch and clench around him each time.

“Ain’t he a sight,” Horror sighs, a rhetorical question to the others but a question nonetheless. As Cross calms from his orgasm, the fingers remove themselves, Horror’s whole big hand instead settling over his pussy, and Cross shivers at the contact. The hand on his face tilts his head downwards, to look at the other three.

He’d honestly forgotten they were there, but now Horror’s hand forces him to look at them.

Nightmare seems to be trying to look unaffected, but his tentacles are thrashing behind him, and the cyan glow against his black everything is bright, shining through his shorts, finally showing in the summoned ecto at his knees. His eyelight is a tiny pinprick of cyan.

Killer is still staring unabashedly, but his face is flushed, and his SOUL is pale pink, almost a normal inverted heart instead of a target shape. Cross can’t tell if he’s manifested his ectobody, but his tongue hangs out of his mouth.

Dust’s mismatched eyes are piercing, and he tugs against his bonds like he wants to jump Cross’s bones and ravage him. His hood has fallen, and Cross can see the purple glow of his ecto tenting his shorts. They look wetter than before, and Cross finds himself purring uncontrollably at the idea of Dust cumming in his pants just from watching him to be very, very enticing.

Horror finally lets go of his chin, Cross pants, leaning back against him. He can see the other’s face now; his eyes are narrowed like he’s thinking. After a moment, he murmurs to Cross, “How would you like to let them show you how sorry they are?”

The deep rumble of his voice cuts straight to Cross’s core, and it’s enticing, but… Horror must see the nervousness in his eyes, because he cradles Cross’s face again, with the most careful hands, and asks, “You can say no either way, but do you think I’d let them hurt you?”

Cross considers this, best he can in his current state. Horror had been livid when he’d found Cross two weeks ago, beaten and broken and sobbing. He’d held Cross tightly and wiped his tears away, spoonfed him and stayed by his side as the others offered their apologies and then held him some more as Cross cried once it was just the two of them again.

Horror wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He’d been so careful, so gentle this whole time. He’d even let Cross choose the safeword, and he kept reminding him of it. Not to mention that he’d given each of the others a safeword specific to only them, and made them recite it both before and after he’d tied their wrists up.

Horror wouldn’t let anything happen to any of them, Cross was sure.

So he nods, slowly, and Horror smiles. “What’s your safeword, sweetpea?”

“‘Oreo’,” Cross recites obediently.

“Good,” Horror praises, nuzzling his head, and Cross feels nice and warm and fuzzy deep in his belly. “How d’you want this to happen?”

Cross pauses. He’s still not quite thinking straight - Horror’s other hand is still lightly cupping his pussy, almost shielding him from the view of the others, and when either of them shifts he almost twitches from the pleasure.

He knows he doesn’t want any of them to fuck him. Fingers were fine - fingers couldn’t tear him open. And mouths couldn’t, either. (A small voice in the back of his head reminds him that Horror wouldn’t hurt him either, and that thought by itself makes Cross squirm…)

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Horror repeats, soft against his neck. He nibbles on Cross’s collarbone, and Cross whimpers.

“I-I want,” Cross pants. Horror laughs at him a bit.

“What do you want, sweetpea?” His fingers spread Cross wide again, and Cross shivers. He bucks his hips into Horror’s hand. “Want them to eat you out ‘til you’re crying? And I’ll keep touching these pretty ribs of yours…” Horror’s hand leaves his pussy, making Cross whine, even as he skims over Cross’s ribcage. “Or maybe you wanna summon something up here for me? I certainly wouldn’t mind, honey, I’ll take whatever you give me…”

Cross is still panting. It’s hard to focus, but when Horror’s hand goes back to his stomach, he manifests his breasts. Horror makes an appreciative grunting noise, somewhere between a groan and a purr. The hand on Cross’s face moves down to meet its partner at his waist, and Horror splays the fingers of both hands over Cross’s belly.

“You want anything specific?” Horror asks, tapping his fingers, pinky to thumb and back again, over the soft ectoflesh beneath them. “You want them to only touch a certain area, or not touch a certain area?”

Cross wheezes a bit, makes a few incoherent sounds, and Horror only continues his slow tapping, waiting patiently for Cross to form words. “L-leave their hands tied… please?”

Horror growls protectively, appreciatively, one of his hands slipping to ghost the underside of Cross’s newly conjured breast. “‘Course, ‘course, honey… they don’t touch anything ‘nless it’s with their tongue.” He sounds all too pleased with this.

Louder, Horror says, “You wanna show him how sorry you are?”

Cross watches all of them close as he can, his brain addled by pleasure as it is. Nightmare doesn’t react outwardly except for a terse nod, though his tentacles undulate behind him in anticipation. Killer nods, more enthusiastically than Nightmare, shifting a bit. Horror growls warningly at him, low and frightening.

“You can go last now, Killer,” he says, voice still a grumble. “You come closer when I tell you to.”

Killer is wide-eyed, frowning, but he stops and slouches. Cross almost feels bad, but not really. Beside him, Dust is ramrod straight, his only movement the rapid glancing of his eye, and the normal fidgeting of his body that Horror seems to have given him a pass for.

“Dust,” Horror says. “C’mere.” One hand leaves Cross, and he whines softly, but it’s only to stop Dust when he’s about a foot away.

“Rules go for all of you,” Horror tells them. “Don’t touch ‘im, except with your mouth. No biting. Nippin’s alright.” He feels Horror grin against his neck. “So’s teasin’, but don’t be too mean. He says ‘oreo’, you stop.” He pauses, resuming his previous tapping on Cross’s stomach again. The muscles there flex unconsciously, and Horror smooths his palm over them placatingly as they twitch. “An’ if you need to safeword but you can’t speak, send an attack up when you were sitting before. Got it?”

Dust, right in front of them, nods frantically. If he hadn’t been told not to speak, Cross thinks he’d probably be begging. Killer and Nightmare both give short nods of their own, and Horror spreads his femurs beneath Cross’s knees in response.

“Enjoy the meal,” Horror rumbles, and Dust lunges forward, mouth open and dripping with saliva.

Cross screams at the sudden stimulation, claws digging into Horror’s sweatshirt behind him best he can manage. His legs can’t close; Dust may not be able to hold them open with his hands, but Horror still has his own femurs beneath Cross’s knees, spread wide open to keep Cross visible to everyone. Dust is sloppy, though it’s probably because he doesn’t have his hands to aid him, and he’s just as worked up as Cross, possibly more.

His tongue slips through Cross’s folds messily, one minute aiming for his entrance, the next in the crease between his pussy and his summoned thigh, and the next hunting for his clit. There’s no technique, but it’s so, so good.

Behind him, Horror is still nibbling his neck, hands busy running up and down his torso, skirting his nipples. He’s not mean about it, thankfully; Cross doesn’t know if he could handle all of that stimulation at once.

No sooner has the thought left his fogged mind than Dust has managed to begin aiming for his clit. At the very same moment, Horror decides he’s been nice enough to Cross’s chest, and slowly pinches his right nipple.

Cross makes a warbled noise, a mix between a moan and a yelp, as Dust presses his entire skull into Cross’s pussy. Horror uses both his hands to grope at Cross’s chest; his breasts are small, and Horror’s hands engulf him.

“Bein’ so good for us, sweetpea,” he says. His purr is loud and grounding behind Cross. “Why don’t you watch what Dusty’s doin’ to you…?” One of his hands cups the back of Cross’s skull, and as he tilts his head down, drool falls from his mouth.

It’s embarrassing, but he can’t focus on the shame right now, not when Cross is licking into him with his nasal ridge pressed right into Cross’s clit, staring up at Cross with those mismatched eyes.

Horror’s let go of his head at some point, but Cross can’t tear his gaze away. Dust draws back a bit, swirls just the tip of his tongue on Cross’s clit, and then dives right back in when Cross bucks. At the same time, Horror tweaks both of his nipples hard, and Cross reaches his peak for the second time.

Dust slows to small, gentle licks as he does, tense and unable to make much noise aside from a noise that might be a sob. He twitches as Dust pulls away, still staring at him with those piercing eyelights.

“Say thank you, Dust,” Horror says. His hands rub up and down Cross’s humeri comfortingly. “Thank him for the meal, ‘nd for forgiving you.”

“Thank you, Cross,” Dust says in his raspy voice. With a smirk he adds, “You taste delicious.” He presses a last toothy kiss to Cross’s clit, laughing a bit as Cross twitches in response, and scoots back to his spot across from the couch, on the right side of the lineup.

Cross pants heavily. He must be dripping; vaguely, he wonders if the couch or the floor will be stained purple after this, but he finds he doesn’t care. Horror flicks his head, a gesture for Nightmare to come forward.

Nightmare seems to have a harder time moving in this position than Dust did, but he manages it. Instead of diving right in, he stares at Cross for a quiet moment, his cyan eye so piercing that Cross has to look away

Horror doesn’t say anything, aside from, “No tentacles.”

Nightmare rolls his eye in response, but they fall limp behind him after a moment, with only slight twitches near the tips. Then, he leans forward, until Cross can feel his breath on his pussy.

Cross clenches on nothing. He’s so sensitive, and even though Horror’s the only one who’s fingerfucked him, he’ll probably be sore tomorrow. Horror doesn’t speak, but Cross can tell he’s getting impatient; he squeezes Cross’s humeri gently, and then moves his hands back to his torso.

Finally, Nightmare begins, and it’s torture. His tongue is freezing, though he’s more skilled than Dust, using only the smallest bit of his tongue, teasing Cross’s clit with only tiny kitten licks, and Cross wants to beg Horror to make him go faster. The only problem is that Horror said teasing was fine, as long as they weren’t too mean.

With Horror deciding what “too mean” is, Cross figures he could be in for a long time. He can’t really form words, so instead he just whines, pressing his body back against Horror’s broad ribs as Nightmare licks up his slit torturously slow.

Horror laughs, deep and rumbling, skittering his fingers over Cross’s belly, tapping them in a random rhythm. “Know I said it, but you’re so cute, Crossy… Bein’ so good for me, lettin’ everyone apologize to you… Real good, sweetpea.”

Cross whines again, but Horror only lets his hands slide up Cross’s chest, groping him again as Nightmare finally starts going faster. Beneath him, Cross realizes that Horror is summoned, and hard, and the thought of Horror fucking him after all of this makes him wail in pleased anticipation as Nightmare presses his teeth gently against his folds.

He arches his back, hard enough that it hurts a little, and presses himself further into Nightmare’s mouth and Horror’s hands. Horror accepts it with an easy chuckle, but Nightmare has to rouse his tentacles to catch himself, although he narrows his eye like he’s accepting a challenge and doubles down on his efforts.

One of Horror’s hands slips beneath him, holding his back up, and the new angle allows Nightmare to reach him better. His tongue slides from Cross’s clit down to his entrance, and inside, and Cross keens as Nightmare presses it against his walls. It feels like someone’s pushed an ice cube inside of him, and Cross can’t help but clench around him.

Nightmare curls his tongue, runs it back and forth along his walls, and it’s all absolutely glorious torture. Cross doesn’t notice he’s started crying until Horror’s other hand leaves his body and then reappears on his face, wiping away the tears dripping down it.

The fact that Horror is holding him up with one hand barely registers, because Nightmare chooses then to press his face as close to Cross’s entrance as he can. There’s a wet sucking noise as Nightmare eats him out that makes Cross’s face feels warmer than it already is with muted shame, and he dully hears Horror gently shushing him, large fingers rubbing away the tears beneath his eye sockets.

“Please, please,” he tries to say, but it comes out as an incoherent sob. Horror traces his fingers beneath Cross’s cheeks again.

“He’s beggin’, Night,” Horror says, but his voice only registers as the feeling of his chest rumbling behind Cross. “Better give ‘im what he wants, mhm?”

Nightmare does. As Horror lets Cross fall back into his original position, both his hands holding him protectively, Nightmare’s tongue slips out from inside him and instead focuses on his clit once more. Cross can’t tell if he screams, but his throat feels hoarse. Horror shushes him softly. “Gonna hurt your throat again, sweetpea,” he murmurs, and Cross nods slowly, though it’s more like his head just falls to his chest because he can’t really move it anymore.

His head feels stuffed full of cotton, and everything is soft around the edges. Nightmare has pulled back to sit on his haunches, and any and all contact Cross is receiving is from Horror. “Doin’ good, huh, honey?” Horror murmurs against his jaw. “Y’alright?”

Cross is more than alright, but he only manages to nod clumsily against Horror. His body shakes as Horror laughs, and tells him, “Good boy. Why don’t you look at Nightmare while he thanks you, mhm?”

The shame from earlier is gone, and Cross barely thinks about the fact that he’s spread out for all of them to see, soaked and dripping and absolutely debauched, as Nightmare presses his teeth gently to Cross’s thigh, between two ugly, discolored bruises, and murmurs, “Thank you, Cross,” into the purple ectoflesh there.

While Nightmare maneuvers himself back to his original spot, Killer sits up straighter. Horror doesn’t move much, or wave him forward. Instead, he brings his hand down to Cross’s entrance once more. The temperature difference between Horror and Nightmare is stark, and Cross flinches a bit. Horror’s fingers are so warm, rubbing right over his entrance in slow, steady circles.

“Killer,” Horror finally says. Killer doesn’t move for a moment, waiting for Horror to continue, but all Horror says is, “Don’t piss me off.”

Killer nods, and carefully makes his way between Cross’s legs. Cross moans a wordless plea for them to continue - he’s cum three times already, but every time Horror works him up it just makes him want more.

Killer goes slowly, like Nightmare, but sloppily like Dust, and just the slow press of his tongue into Cross’s folds has him clenching his lashed hands tightly into Horror’s sweatshirt. Horror’s hand has moved from his entrance to allow Killer to eat him out; now, one rests below his collarbone. The other, wet with Cross’s own slick, holds onto his hip, keeping him relatively still.

Horror is nothing if not a big teddy bear, though - every time Cross tries to arch against that hand, he simply lets it happen. Cross is sensitive now, three orgasms in and counting, and Killer seems to just know. Each time Cross pushes towards his mouth, he purposefully aims his tongue away from Cross’s clit, and it’s awful and wonderful at the same time.

He can barely manage a whine anymore, only soft, sobbing pants, and Horror seems to just know, rubbing firm circles into Cross’s hip. His other hand leaves Cross’s body, pushing Killer’s head back to make eye contact with him.

Which is even worse, because now no one is touching Cross, and it’s a fucking tragedy. Killer is staring at Horror, and the small part of Cross that’s still vaguely aware of what’s happening is sure that Horror is glaring right back at him. After a quiet moment, interspersed only by Cross’s broken whines, Horror orders, “Give ‘im what he wants, Killer.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Killer replies mischievously, pressing against Horror’s hand.

“Ain’t gonna get any fun if you don’t give ‘im what he wants,” Horror threatens. “Don’t test me.”

Killer snorts, but when Horror lets him go, he leans forward and finally starts eating Cross out in earnest, with more technique than the others, and the niggling little voice in his skull reminds him that they say Killer has a silver tongue for a reason. The reason being that he is so, so good at this, alternating between nipping at Cross’s labia and swirling circles around his clit with his tongue, though sometimes he moves down to lap at Cross’s dripping entrance, too.

He’s close, so close, and as Killer continues licking into him, Horror gropes his chest again, and as Cross arches into that touch it finally sends him crashing past his peak. The moan he lets out is weaker this time, not a scream like when he came on Nightmare’s tongue. He’s tired now, tired and satiated.

Horror is still holding onto his chest, kneading his breasts softly, but Killer hasn’t moved yet. Cross doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s too out of it to be worried. Everything is so foggy, so soft, and Horror has him. Horror won’t let anything happen to him.

Killer leans forward again, and Horror growls, low and threatening and protective, but it turns to a deep, pleased purr when Killer simply kisses Cross’s still-sore perineum apologetically and then sits back again. “Thanks, Crossy…” He looks like he wants to say more, but he seems to decide against it, awkwardly pushing himself back between Nightmare and Dust.

Horror is still rumbling his pleased purr, having shifted his hands to Cross’s humeri again. Cross whines - he wants to touch him. He can still feel Horror’s erection against his hands, but there isn’t much he can do when they’re tied behind him. He still flexes his wrists anyway, hoping Horror will get the hint.

“Tell me what you want,” Horror says, gripping Cross’s hips firmly. “‘M not gonna do anything else, ‘cept maybe make you cum again, ‘nless you tell me.”

“Wanna touch you,” Cross slurs. He’s completely forgotten about his audience, but they’re all enraptured with his show, still tasting him on their tongues. “C’n I help?”

Horror chuckles at him, petting the top of his skull. His other hand unties Cross’s wrists, and guides one hand to his tented shorts. “With this?” Despite the teasing, his face is concerned. “Y’sure, Cross?”

Cross can’t really think long enough to answer verbally, so he nods, fast and messy, nearly knocking his skull into Horror’s mandible. Horror laughs.

“Words, sweetpea.”

“Yes,” Cross pants, “yes.” Even though his hands have been untied, he can’t get them to listen to him. Horror takes care of it, though.

“Gonna move you,” he murmurs. “Hold on.” Cross finds himself on the carpeted floor in front of the couch, knees bent in front of him. His head is near Dust’s knees, and Horror, settled with his hands on Cross’s ankles. To the others he muses, “Maybe I should let you go… Should I untie them, Cross?” Horror’s fanged grin is slightly mocking, but his fingers stroke along Cross’s ankle gently. “If I untie them, they’ll get off to me fuckin’ you… What do you think, Crossy?”

Cross thinks that if Horror doesn’t touch his pussy right now he’s going to combust, but he can’t articulate that. Instead, he tries to sit up and reach out because Horror is right there. Horror pushes him back down with a single hand, though, and repeats, still with his amused smile, “Y’want to see them jerk off while I fuck you, sweetpea?”

Nothing would please him more, although he reconsiders that as Horror gets up and removes the soft ties from each of their hands. Sternly, he tells them, “Only touch yourself. You touch any of the others and I stop… Don’t wanna upset Cross again, do you? ‘Cause I’ll stop fuckin’ him, too.”

Cross can really only see them in his peripheral vision, but all of them nod in agreement. Then, Horror is descending on him again, and it’s all he can focus on.

His neck is Horror’s primary target, the bigger skeleton suckling and nibbling on each of his vertebrae, never hard enough to bruise, but sometimes he leans up to nuzzle Cross’s mandible, too. One hand holds Cross’s hip down against the carpeting; the other traces along his folds for a moment, before Horror slips in a finger, and then another.

Cross whimpers - he’s overstimulated, but Horror hasn’t had his turn yet, and he needs Horror to fuck him, needs it like his soul needs magic. Horror hushes him softly, stretches his fingers inside Cross as he does so. “Wanna make sure this doesn’t hurt,” he mumbles against Cross’s neck in explanation. “Las’ thing I wanna do is hurt you…”

A third finger slips in, and Cross keens. He tries to push against Horror’s hand, but the one on Cross’s hip holds him flat against the carpeting. Horror presses his teeth to Cross’s mandible, his collarbone, his sternum… and then he stretches his fingers out again. It makes a squelching noise, and Cross almost cringes.

“So wet…” Horror says. His hand leaves Cross, and Cross begs incoherently. “Sh, honey. Don’ worry,” Horror assures him, using that same hand to pull his cock from his pants, and give it a few pumps. Cross starters unabashedly. It’s big, but Horror’s prepared him. Big and bright red, with the familiar knot at the base.

Horror lifts Cross’s left leg and places it over his shoulder. The stretch is strange, because the rest of his body feels like jello. “Deep breath,” Horror orders, and then he presses inward.

There isn’t much sound left in Cross’s body, so whatever sound does leave his mouth doesn’t quite sound like him. Horror is big and warm inside him, and Cross feels so wonderfully full that he thinks Horror could stay like this, not even move, and he’d be perfectly content. Horror leans forward, to press his teeth to Cross’s, and then to bury his face in Cross’s neck again.

Then, he starts thrusting, and all coherent thought leaves Cross’s skull.

He sets a pace that’s gentle but fast, thrusting deep into Cross each time. Horror’s panting breaths are wet - or maybe it’s his tongue on Cross’s neck again. He’s too far gone to be sure. It doesn’t matter, though - everything is dampened except the sensation of Horror’s thrusting, and Cross loves it.

He cums earlier than Horror, clenching tight around his cock and trying to stop his legs spasming as Horror fucks him through it. The only sound he makes is a little groan, though it turns to a yelp when Horror reaches down to rub his clit again. He can’t stop himself from twitching, and all of his panting breaths are Horror’s name.

Finally, Horror thrusts one last time, hilting deeply into Cross. Cross only gasps when Horror’s knot pops into him, rough on his oversensitive pussy. His mouth opens in a silent scream as Horror cums into him. Horror purrs as he finishes, and even with Cross tied to him, he seems to decide that now is the time for action.

Cross whimpers when Horror moves him, picking him up, to awkwardly cradle him against his chest. “Sorry Crossy,” Horror says as they walk, a little weak from his recent orgasm. “Gotta get everyone else cleaned up, too.”

It takes only a few minutes for his knot to go down enough to detach Cross, and by the time Horror has cleaned him off and deigned it time to take care of his other, idiot mates, Cross is fast asleep.