Archive of Our Own

Nothing good ever comes from III being bored.

Unfortunately, when you're packed into a tour bus and on the road for a couple months, there will inevitably be some downtime. Downtime that III has decided is his responsibility, nay, his right to fill with absolute fucking nonsense.

Like trying to get a rise out of his bandmates by doing dramatic readings of the stories their fans come up with and post online.

Which wouldn't be so bad if he stuck to the weird, esoteric, almost poetic lore interpretations - Vessel won't say it, but he kind of likes hearing those, has definitely sought out a few to help build upon the lore in his own mind. Some of them are really well-done.

But no.

III likes the ones where they're fucking.

Each other.

"II gasped as Vessel's hands wandered, letting out a breathless whine when those big hands gripped the meat of his ass-"

"III!" II's bark of his name had III dissolving into hyena-esque laughter where he lounged on the couch, flailing to not fall off as the bus tilted along a curve. "You have got to be fucking joking," II hissed, "always with this bullshit. This is obscene."

"I know, right?" III giggled, bringing his phone up to his face again, "it's like they've never even seen you. 'The meat of your ass?' What meat?" If looks could kill, III would be dead. Unluckily for II, III had never met a line in the sand he wouldn't gleefully skip right over, and his reading picked right back up again. "'V-Vessel, we can't,' II whimpered-"

III had no choice but to stop when II attempted to smother him with a throw pillow. IV had to pull him off, holding II back while III fled towards the bunks, II screaming all the while that he "has never whimpered in his life, III, where the fuck are you finding this shit?"

It gets even worse when III somehow recruits both Vessel and IV to his cause. IV could be excused, he has a natural propensity for getting swept up in III's ill-advised schemes, but Vessel? II feels betrayed.

"Sleep's altar glowed before the four men, a whispering susurrus filling the still air of the attic as the god made His presence known," III read, pitching his voice lower for dramatic effect. Vessel and IV each peered over a shoulder, eyes locked on the screen III held as they waited for their lines.

II rolled his eyes and tried to concentrate on his book. At least their dicks weren't out in this one.

"'My Lord,'" Vessel piped up, dutifully speaking for his character-self, "'we have answered your call. We await your command, ready and willing to serve.'"

"'I appreciate your commitment, my vessels, for this ritual will be a taxing one,'" III recited. II almost laughed at the bizarre growl he was using to represent Sleep before remembering that he was against this, actually. Biting his lip to contain his expression, II tried to force his attention back to his own reading material: some pseudo-historical fiction book he'd picked up at a charity shop two stops ago. It was pretty good, if he was honest - even if III made fun of him for reading "Tudor era bodice-ripper smut." As if he had any room to talk. At least II's choice of reading material didn't feature his own bandmates, thank you very much.

II managed to filter out the voices around him, and he was almost finished with the chapter when a high-pitched, breathy, honest-to-God moan ripped his attention away.

"'Ivy, please,' II moaned, bucking against the strong, callused hands that trailed down his stomach," III said. What?

II's head snapped up.

Vessel's cheeks were stained pink, and IV had a hand clamped over his mouth, eyes wide as III continued with gusto, "the rough drag of IV's fingers was like electricity dancing along II's skin as the smallest vessel was manhandled over the altar."

II distantly felt his jaw drop.

III elbowed IV, and after a low mutter of, "your turn, mate," IV blinked several times and said, "'You heard Sleep, II. We won't be finished until you've-'" He broke off with a shocked gasp as his eyes darted across the screen. "I'm not saying that, III!"

III rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll do it. 'We won't be finished until you've taken each and every one of our loads in your pretty little hole-'"

"What the fuck?!" II yelled, only for III to start laughing yet again. "No, you know what?" II stood and gathered his things, stomping back to his bunk. "I'm not fucking listening to this. Have fun with your- your fucking porn party, you absolute fucking weirdos."

Vessel and IV were calling out to him, their apologies overlapping, but II ignored them, climbing into his bunk and yanking the curtain shut so fiercely he almost tore it clean off.

III made it barely four sentences into the next one (because of course he did it again) before II demanded he stop, not wanting to hear about his own supposed "delicate omega scent."

What the hell did that even mean?

And why did III only ever read the ones where II was getting fucked? Surely that wasn't all there was… right?

II will maintain that he cannot be blamed for what he decides to do next. His actions are no longer his own choice, they're a result of being pushed past his breaking point.

He's on a fucking fanfiction website, looking for stories about them.

There has to be at least one where II is the goddamn top, and when he finds it, he's going to show it to III and demand that he read that one, if he insists on keeping this up.

II's plan has been days in the making. He had to make an account, because he overhead III yapping to Vessel about how "all the best shit is locked to people with accounts only," and II will be damned if he misses any examples of what's apparently a rare commodity: him putting his dick inside someone instead of taking it.

II kind of feels like he's committing a crime as he navigates to the search function. He checks "complete works only;" he needs to find something that he's certain has made it to the sex. Between him and his bandmates.

Fuck, how does III do this? II's face is flaming already, and he's alone in his bunk, the red and white of the website casting him in a pale glow. He sets the language to English and starts typing in the fandom section, cursing under his breath when it suggests "Sleep Token (Band)." He clicks it.

II scrolls to the next section and stares at his phone until the screen goes dark, grinding his teeth before waking it up again and selecting "Rating: Explicit."

He scrolls past some of the other options; he wants to cast a wide net. His only concern is that he's topping - he'll comb through the results and find one that suits his purposes once he sends the search through. He types into the bar for additional tags, and sneers when both "Top II (Sleep Token)" and "Top III (Sleep Token)" pop up. He taps "Top II" and pointedly ignores the other one.

He gives the other fields a quick once over, and hits "Search."

31 results.

That's… maybe not as many as he was hoping for, but it's definitely more than III's selections made it seem like there would be. II was expecting, like, five; or God forbid, none at all.

II glances around, suddenly self-conscious, and almost smacks himself for it. Firstly, he's still in his bunk, curtain drawn, and the bus is dark and quiet except for the hum of the road beneath them. Everyone else is asleep, or doing their own thing in the scant privacy of their own bunks.

He's got nothing to worry about.

Right.

II breathes in deep, lets it out slow, and starts to scroll.

It takes him nearly an hour to find one he thinks will work, discarding several stories for being too long, or too kinky (and if his eyebrows crawl into his hairline and his face is hot after Google teaches him a few new words, well. That's his own business). He's not like III, he's not trying to shock anybody, he just wants to interrupt III's clearly purposeful "bottom II" streak. Honestly, at this point, it's not just that he's always the bottom; II would like to think of himself as progressive, and there's nothing wrong with however anyone likes to fuck or be fucked, but.

III always reads him as so whiny, is all. Fragile.

II is not fragile. He might be the smallest among them, but he makes his living by beating the shit out of his instrument, for Christ's sake. He's plenty strong. He's just got to prove to III that he's not some flimsy little waif.

II finally settles on a relatively short "getting together" type story between himself and Vessel. He's pleased that it's set in the very early days of the band: III doesn't even show up in this one. II's going to make him put his ridiculous ego aside and read some shit where II is in control.

Yeah.

This is gonna go great, he's sure of it.

II keeps the tab open in his phone's browser, opening up a few searches for random drum parts to push it backwards until it's hidden.

Now all that's left to do is wait.

II gets his opportunity a little less than 48 hours later. They'd played a show the previous day, and upon finally trudging back to the bus, everyone was far too exhausted to do much more than scroll on their phones in silence for maybe 20 minutes before passing out.

Today, however, is a day off.

Which means III is likely to strike.

II's noticed he only ever does his dramatic readings in the evening. Maybe the cover of darkness lets him get his freak on easier, or maybe that's just when he runs out of things to distract himself with. Whatever the reason, II doesn't know or care. What matters is that the sun has just sunk below the horizon, the curtains have been drawn, and they're all quietly lazing about in the bus's common area.

II realizes he's actually looking forward to when III inevitably starts reading aloud, and firmly stomps his anticipation into the dirt.

This is about revenge. He's not excited, he's focused.

He's stalking his prey, watching III tip-tap at his phone out of the corner of his eye. II sees the smirk crawl across III's face, sees him inhale and open his mouth, and knows it's time.

He's had the link waiting to be pasted into his text thread with III for at least 30 minutes. He holds, hits "paste," and fires off the message.

II barely suppresses a devious giggle at the way III's eyebrows scrunch in confusion, and he does have to disguise his laugh as a cough when III's eyes snap wide and his mouth drops open.

Link clicked, bait taken.

"II!" III crows, delighted, "what's this wonderful little morsel you've dropped in my inbox?"

II shrugs, forcing himself to appear nonchalant. "I got sick of hearing your choice of reading material, so I figured I'd put in a request."

III is practically glowing as he sits up straighter, scrolling quickly as he skims the fic, and II is starting to wonder if his frankly joyous expression means trouble. His fears are confirmed when III says, "oh, no, mate, I'm not reading this."

"What?" II balks. He hadn't planned for III flat-out refusing to read his selection. "Why not?"

"Well," III equivocates, "I won't read all of it."

"And what is that supposed to mean," II replies, guardedly. III's sharklike grin isn't doing much to ease his apprehension.

"If you want us to read your recommendation, you've got to voice yourself this time." Ah, there it is.

"Fuck no." II is not fucking doing that. The whole point was to make III read it.

III heaves a dramatic sigh, saying, "well, then, I suppose we'll just have to go with my choice of material for tonight." He clears his throat and begins, "II was the oldest hybrid remaining at the shelter. He'd seen younger bunnies come and go, walking out-"

"No, no, no," II interrupts waspishly. He is not going to sit here and listen to III describe him as- what, a fucking rabbit? Again, where the hell does he find this shit? "I'm not fucking listening to this."

"We'll do the one you picked if you voice yourself," III reminds him primly.

"Fine," II grits his teeth, "fucking fine." Revenge, he thinks. It's all part of the plan. Yeah, right.

III whoops and actually pumps his fist in the air, and II begins to feel like he's made a terrible mistake.

"You have to act it out with Vess, too!"

"Fuck you, you didn't say that!" II splutters.

"I'm saying it now," III says, now. Smirking all the fucking while.

"No, I'm not doing that. I refuse. Someone has to draw the fucking line somewhere." II crosses his arms and sinks sulkily back into his seat. "You guys have never acted it out before."

"No, we haven't," III acquiesces, "but that was before we had all four of us." His grin has turned downright predatory.

"Well, you can forget it," II huffs, "because I'm not doing that."

"Suit yourself," III shrugs, and starts right back up again. "Sure, II wasn't the youngest or flashiest hybrid in the place, but he was still plenty cute. Big blue eyes, soft lop ears, and the most adorable little cottontail right above his pert-"

"Fine, fuck!" II practically shouts. "Jesus, fucking- just stop fucking reading whatever the hell that is, my God."

"Yes! Vess, come on," III hoots, prompting Vessel to finally look up from his Switch and pluck out an earbud, "II's gonna read with us!"

"Really?" Vessel's looking at him in pleased surprise, and II buries his face in his hands. What is wrong with his bandmates?

"Hold on, I'll go grab Ivy," III says, already up and moving towards the bunks, steadying himself on the gently rocking walls of the bus.

II barely ekes out, "no, wait, he's not even-" before III is already back, with IV in tow. "Come on, Ives isn't even in this one."

"Ohoho, you've read it already?" III waggles his eyebrows as he speaks.

"Fuck off, I had to make sure it was- up to my standards," II manages, III's expression only growing more suggestive as II stutters.

"Well," III says, "I, for one, am very excited to see what could possibly bring the illustrious II into the fold. The slick, wet, glistening petal-pink folds-"

"Jesus fucking Christ, will you shut the fuck up and get on with it already?" II snaps. III's vocabulary has gotten entirely too colorful since he picked up this little habit.

"Ok, ok," III waves a hand and sits back down on the couch opposite where II sits, skimming briefly again as IV settles next to him. "Uh, you're both standing up, I think." Vessel, having put away his game, rises to his feet immediately. All three of them gaze at II expectantly. "C'mon, II, up you get," III encourages.

Fuck II's stupid fucking life. He groans and stands up, placing himself in front of Vessel, who looks far too interested in this little charade.

"Oh, shit, wait, lemme-" III taps at his phone a few times, and the other three phones in the room all go off a second later. "Your scripts, gentlemen," III beams. II kind of wants to try that pillow-smothering thing again. Instead, he picks up his phone and opens the link as Vessel and IV do the same.

"So, what, I just- read it?" II asks.

"Yeah, basically," IV pipes up, "you read when it's you speaking in the fic, Vessel reads when it's him, and so on. III will take care of the narration."

"Of course you have a fucking system going," II grumbles. "Fine. Uh," he glances down at his phone, noting that he apparently speaks first, and looks back up at Vessel as he says, "'Vess, you're being weird. Weirder than usual.'"

"Vessel fidgets uncomfortably," III intones seriously from the couch, and sure enough, Vessel starts shifting his weight and toying with his sleeves. "He'd been trying to hide it, hoping II wouldn't notice the longing that had slipped into his life."

"'I'm not sure what you mean, II,'" Vessel demurs, glancing at his phone for his line, "'I'm fine.'"

"'No, you're not,'" II says, trying to 'object' the way the fic says he does, finding himself surprised at how seriously he's taking this.

"'I'm just,'" Vessel sighs, "'I'm not sure how long I can keep going like this.'"

"'Keep going like what, Vessel?'" II pleads. "'Please, just talk to me.'"

"'I can't. Not about this,'" Vessel replies, and are those tears gleaming in his eyes? II had no idea he was such an actor. "'I couldn't bear it if I ruined the band. What we're doing here, it's special. I can't let my-'" He cuts himself off, just like fic-Vessel does.

"Vessel's breath caught at what he had almost let slip," III reads. II glances over to see him and IV paying rapt attention to himself and Vessel, like they're watching a particularly engaging performance. II supposes they are. He kind of expected this to be funnier, though. III usually laughs during his readings, and Vessel and IV are often morbidly intrigued. There's no laughing happening here, just a thick, weird sort of tension settling over them.

"'Your what, Vessel?'" II murmurs, reading his next line. "'What are you holding back?'"

"'My… my feelings,'" Vessel practically spits the word, and II's a little worried those tears might start falling as he continues, "'I can't, I won't let my fucked up emotions get in the way of our dream.'"

"II furrows his brow," III reads.

II does just that, saying, "'Vess, if the songwriting is getting to you, we can take a break. I know it's hard for you to dig all of that back up.'"

"'No, you don't understand,'" Vessel replies, voice shaking. He definitely could have gone into acting if he hadn't pursued music; II is almost getting worried for real. "'It's not the songs, it's- it's-'"

"II steps closer to Vessel, reaching for his hands the way he always does to comfort him," III reads, and II does exactly that; although he only grabs one of Vessel's hands so they can both keep hold of their phones.

"'Vessel, please,'" II begs, absentmindedly running his thumb over Vessel's knuckles the way he would if he was actually trying to comfort his friend, "'you're worrying me. I just want you to be okay.'"

"Vessel pulls away, looking distraught," III says, as Vessel does both of those things. II steps after him without a second thought, realizing it was instinct only as III continues, "II follows him, lifting a hand to gently cup his cheek." III gives him a pointed glance.

II does as he's bid, placing his hand softly on Vessel's right cheek as he swaps his phone to his own right hand, barely needing to glance at it now. "'You know you can tell me anything, right?'" II asks, and he knows he's said that exact phrase to Vessel more times than he can count. "'You're not going to scare me away. I'm in this for the long haul.'"

"Vessel gazes into his bandmate's, no, his best friend's eyes," III reads, and his voice sounds oddly far away as Vessel does exactly that, capturing II's gaze with his own, "and breathes the words before he's even realized he's said them."

"'I'm in love with you,'" Vessel whispers, and II isn't prepared for the way it punches him in the gut.

"Oh," II forces out around the sudden fluttering in his chest, unsure if that's even actually his line. Vessel still hasn't broken eye contact, and II couldn't look away if he tried.

"II leans in, slowly closing the gap between them," III says, still sounding distant, "and they both gasp as their lips meet for the first time."

II doesn't even think to question it. He leans in and presses his mouth to Vessel's.

There's something that sounds like the mentioned gasp, but it's coming from his left, definitely not from the man in front of him.

No, II knows the gasp isn't coming from Vessel, because Vessel moans into his mouth. There's a clatter, and then Vessel's arms are wrapping around II's shoulders, his tongue swiping along II's lower lip, begging entry. II grants it, his own phone slipping from his fingers as he wraps his arm around Vessel's waist. The muted thunk of his phone hitting the floor barely registers; how could it, when II's got his arms full of a suddenly squirmy Vessel, their tongues sliding against one another?

II only registers they were moving, that he was moving them, crowding Vessel backwards, when Vessel's back thuds against the bus wall. Vessel pulls him in desperately, fisting a hand in II's hair and gripping at his back to haul II more firmly against him. Their mouths meet and part and meet again, and, lost in the wet heat of it, II drops his hand from Vessel's face to his throat. He doesn't squeeze, just rests it there, but the weight pulls an airy moan out of Vessel anyways.

Vessel rolls his hips against II, and II responds immediately, knocking his legs further apart with his knee, pushing his thigh up into the space between Vessel's. He's rewarded with a deeper groan and Vessel bucking into the pressure on his rapidly-hardening cock. II grinds his thigh upwards a few times, using the hand he still has on Vessel's lower back to rock him into it, relishing the bitten-off little noises Vessel can't seem to hold back.

II finally disconnects their mouths with a nip to Vessel's lower lip, a corner of his mouth pulling up when Vessel tries to chase him, lashes fluttering. He slides his hand up Vessel's throat, brushing his thumb over the swell of his mouth, spreading the wetness lingering there. He's pleasantly surprised when Vessel doesn't hesitate to pull his thumb into his mouth, laving his tongue along the underside and sucking. II's breath leaves him when Vessel looks up from under his lashes. His pupils are completely blown, barely a ring of color visible around the half-lidded pools of black.

II removes his thumb from Vessel's mouth, and he chases that too, greedy thing. II slides his other hand to Vessel's side and pulls his thigh back as well, about to change his angle and go for another kiss, maybe plant a few on Vessel's gorgeous neck, when the breath really does leave him.

Because without the support of II's leg, his arm, Vessel just kind of… drops.

To his knees.

Right in front of where II is suddenly aware that he's visibly straining in his track pants.

II has just enough time to register that Vessel is eye level with his extremely hard dick before Vessel is leaning in and mouthing at the bulge.

"Fuck!" II bites out, his left arm flying up to brace himself against the wall as his other hand busies itself cupping the back of Vessel's head, weaving his fingers through his hair. He's panting already, chin dropping to his chest as he groans, watching and feeling Vessel make out with his tip through the stretched fabric.

The pleading look Vessel shoots up at him is downright sinful. His hands are wrapped weakly around II's calves, like he doesn't have the strength to get them any higher.

"You want it, baby?" II grinds out, and Vessel is rubbing his face against the bulge, nodding desperately before II's even finished the question.

"Please," he whines, almost slurring, and now it's II's turn to nod frantically as he detangles his hand from Vessel's hair to tug his waistband down enough to free his cock.

Vessel sucks him down to the root in one smooth glide, II's hand flying back to grip his hair, and the groan that punches out of II is almost enough to cover the breathy "holy shit" from the couch to his left.

II turns his head, peering under his arm where it's still supporting him against the wall, and makes eye contact with a very red III. His phone sits dark on the cushion beside him, one of his hands pressed between his legs. IV isn't faring much better when II glances at him, one hand covering the lower half of his flushed face and the other gripping the couch so hard it looks like it might rip. There's a noticeable bulge in his pants.

II turns his attention back on III. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Your own- oh, fuck," II moans, swallowing hard as Vessel does something outright insane with his tongue, "your own personal show. Fucking- oh, shit, Vessel, that's so good- fucking pervert." Vessel moans around him, and II fires off one last remark at their audience before refocusing on Vessel. "Go on, touch yourselves. You've got such a great view, after all."

And it's true, II realizes as he looks down again. All three of them can clearly see his cock sliding wetly in and out of Vessel's mouth, but Vessel himself only has eyes for II. II curses again at Vessel's hazy look, tears finally slipping down his cheeks as he moans again when II's eyes meet his. II's hips snap forward involuntarily, and Vessel chokes for a split second. II's already opening his mouth to stammer out an apology, trying to pull Vessel off and let him breathe, when Vessel moans louder than he has all night and shoves himself roughly back down.

II thinks he might die right here, and he couldn't be fucking happier.

"Is that it, baby?" He coos, adjusting his hand for a better grip on Vessel's hair. "You want me to fuck your pretty throat?"

Vessel moans loudly again, trying his best to nod with a cock in his mouth, and II vaguely registers muffled cursing and the sound of zippers being pulled down from his left.

II firms his grip on the back of Vessel's head and cautiously rolls his hips forwards. Vessel takes it with no problem, moaning again as soon as there's room in his throat for noise. II repeats the languid motion a few times, noticing how Vessel's brows are steadily pinching together, and he's about to ask if he's okay when Vessel pushes his own head forward even more aggressively than last time, glaring accusingly up at II.

"Fuck," II breathes, "shit, yeah, okay, I'll give it to you, sweetheart." Vessel shifts on his knees, settling, and II takes a deep breath before starting up a punishing rhythm, thrusting as forcefully as he would if he was trying to fuck someone through the mattress.

Vessel's eyes squeeze shut, little gasping exhales from his nose hitting the heated flesh of II's dick as he moans every time II withdraws. His hands clutch at II's calves as he lets his jaw go slack, opening his throat for II to fuck his way into. The sound is filthy, II's own groaning accented by the slick sounds of skin-on-skin coming from the couch, the wet click of Vessel's throat, his garbled moans sending shocks of vibration up II's cock.

II drops his gaze to where Vessel's mouth stretches wide, lips glossy and drool spilling down his chin, and he has to speak. "Taking me so fucking well, Vess. Like you were- ah, fuck- made for this." His words are interspersed with moans and sprinkled curses, but Vessel's eyes snap open as soon as he starts talking, a low keening starting up from his abused throat. It cuts off rhythmically every time II's hips snap forwards, and he groans again. "Doin' so good, fuck, so good for me- such a good fuckin' boy," and Vessel's noises jump up an octave as his brow creases, this time in pleasure.

II's own pleasure, sparking up his spine, coiling hot in his lower belly, is ratcheting higher and higher and higher still, and he gasps out a warning. "Vess, baby, gonna- ah, gonna fuckin' cum, where- oh my God- where d'you wan' it?"

Vessel whines and tries to squirm even closer to II, squeezing weakly at his calves and sliding his tongue sloppily against the underside of II's cock.

"Fuck, yes," II moans, "gonna cum down your perfect fuckin' throat, get so deep you won't even taste it, 's that what you want?"

Vessel lets out an absolutely shattered noise, and II pumps his hips once, twice, then buries himself as deep as he can possibly get, fisting Vessel's hair and holding him down as II moans his name, guttural and broken. Vessel's throat clenches and spasms, milking II's cock as he empties himself into the velvet heat.

After what feels like years, II rocks back on his heels and guides Vessel off of him, slipping out of his mouth with a nasty slick sucking noise. Vessel chokes and coughs, and II, already feeling like his legs are made of jelly, drops to the floor with him, clumsily wiping at his face with tingling fingers.

"You okay, sweetheart?" II mumbles, tongue thick and slow in his mouth. Vessel grabs his wrists, nuzzling his wet face into II's hands, nodding. "Did so well, baby, so good for me," II murmurs, wiping off the worst of Vessel's drool and snaking his hand downwards, "lemme help you, you earned it, lemme-"

II stumbles to a stop when, instead of finding the hard length of Vessel's neglected cock, his hand meets yielding, soft flesh and a slick wet spot. His eyes snap up to Vessel's blotchy face.

"'M sorry," Vessel slurs, "felt too good."

II lunges forward, capturing Vessel's mouth with his own. What they're doing can hardly even be called kissing, their tongues sliding together messy and slack-jawed as they pant into each other's mouths. II grapples at Vessel's hips, tasting his own skin on Vessel's tongue (but barely any salt - he shoved himself too deep for that, just like he promised he would), and they topple to the side, only breaking apart when Vessel yelps as his elbow bangs into the bench of the bus's couch.

II, however, is shunted against a pair of warm, sturdy legs, and he looks up to meet IV's wide eyes. His pants are undone, and there's cum smeared haphazardly on the hem of his shirt. II slides his gaze over to see III with his spent cock slumped shamelessly out of his fly, and dragging his eyes higher has him choking on a disgusted noise.

"III, are you eating your own cum?"

III sucks his fingers clean and replies, "don't be dense, II. It's Ivy's."

Turns out there are some consequences for wildly facefucking your singer. They have to take Vore off the setlist for a few shows, and they get a very stern, long-suffering lecture from their stage manager about "not overdoing it when they're yelling at each other over video games."

Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice that none of them can look him in the eye the entire time he's talking.

II is reclined in his bunk as they trundle towards yet another city and yet another show, trying to decide if he wants to doomscroll some more or take a nap when his phone vibrates with a notification from the band group chat. He opens it, curious.

It's a link.

To that fanfiction website.

II peeks his head past the curtain and finds III leaning casually against his own bunk across the narrow hallway. III glances up and grins wolfishly.

"I found one about me and Ivy. Your turn to be the audience, I should think."

Maybe this whole fanfiction thing isn't so bad.