Roxi

I simp for DOB all day everyday

[ceriseheaven]

this is about joseph quinn & joseph quinn only!

[idylio24]

Dylan. Dylan Fucking O’Brien! 🥵👀

[freedomfireflies-deactivated202]

Apple Orchards / Bon Iver Songs (Dylan x Reader) *

Summary: You and Dylan spend the day at an apple orchard.

Who knew that could be so erotic?

Word Count: 4.4k

“That feels nice.”

You smile down at the sleepy boy on your lap, his lashes fluttering shut as he sinks into the feel of your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. Yeah.”

You resist a soft laugh as he wiggles a bit closer to you, his hands resting on his chest as you lean back against the bark of the tree.

Spending the day in an apple orchard is probably your favorite way to spend a day with Dylan. Between the hectic schedules and traveling, you rarely find a moment alone together. Especially one as intimate and tender as this one.

So, when he suggested you spend the day out in the fresh air and sunshine, you couldn’t have agreed quicker.

You’d strolled through the orchard for a while, picking at some of the apples before finding a spot beneath one of the tall oak trees to relax for a bit and enjoy the scenery.

And now, with his head in your lap as you play with his hair, you realize you don’t ever want to let this moment go.

“My pretty boy,” you whisper, more to yourself, but don’t miss the pull of his lips into a smirk. “What?”

“Nothing,” he murmurs innocently, eyes still shut. “I like when you call me that.”

“Yeah? Well, you are, you know. My pretty boy.”

“Always.”

His eyes open now, head rolling to the side so he can glance over your face adoringly and your expression softens when you see him.

He’s happy.

Something you want for him more than anything. It’s what makes you giddy. The idea that the man you love is happy and joyous.

It’s all you want.

“You know what this feels like?” you whisper, eying the chocolate brown locks as they slip between your fingers. “S’feels like a Bon Iver song.”

This seems to amuse him, his smile growing as he glances over your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You hum to yourself contently before meeting his eye. “Like that feeling you get when you listen to one of his songs. It feels like that. Feels good.”

His lips part for a moment, taking in your statement as he reaches up to brush a piece of hair from your face. "You feel like a song."

And you could honestly just melt right then and there, expression softening as you blush.

However, this sweet, gentle moment between you begins to shift on a dime as his fingers fall from your face and land on the hem of your white dress just beneath his head.

Confused, and a bit suspicious of his intentions, your brows pull together as you watch him pinch the material and pull it up your leg.

Uh oh.

Your fingers tug at his roots in warning as he begins to eye your dress with what you’re sure are devious intentions. "Easy.”

"Not doing anything," he replies casually, still tugging at the dress, but now attempting to tug it up.

"Dylan," you mumble a bit firmer, glancing around to make sure no one else is nearby. "Stop it."

The smirk returns as he’s finally able to pull the dress up past his head and bunch it right near the top of your thighs.

Your now very exposed thighs.

"Dylan." Your hiss is desperate, eyes flicking toward a family walking around down near the end of the row. They don’t seem to take notice of the two of you but you’re cautious, nonetheless.

"What?" he answers innocently, glancing up through his eyelashes as you feel your breath hitch.

His head remains at rest on your thighs, but that merely gives him a much better view of what lies beneath the fabric of the dress. Your aching cunt almost level with his eye line and you can tell he’s having trouble deciding whether to look at your hips or your face.

However, he makes his decision rather quickly as his hands continue to pull the dress up around your waist until the pastel fabric of your underwear becomes visible. 

You resist a sharp gasp as his fingers begin to crawl their way across your skin so they can trace the edge of the soft, lacy fabric where it meets your thigh. 

Then, they sneak under the dress, dancing their way up your hip to ghost over the skin there.

Your eyes remain on his while his remain on his hands, so focused on the way you begin to squirm that he almost doesn’t register the gentle whimper that slips free.

But he does notice, if his arrogant grin is any indication, and uses this as encouragement to begin moving for the waistband.

"Dylan," you whisper quickly, managing to reach out and grab his wrist just before he can. “There are people around.”

He looks up, rather pleased with himself as you hold his wrist midair, keeping it from its destination. “So?”

You do your best to remain calm and resolved but that proves nearly impossible when he slips his hand free and smooths his palm up your bare thigh, stopping right at your hip to meet your eye once more.

“Dyl…” There’s no conviction to your voice, your own body betraying you as he stills.

“What’s the matter, baby, hm?” His grip tightens but he keeps his voice soft like silk to lure you closer. “You don’t want them to see you squirm for me?”

He’s taunting you but he’s right and you both know it. You do want that. Want him. More than anything and your thighs begin to squeeze together as if to prove him right.

And of course, he notices immediately, pushing himself up until he can sit beside you. "Don't want people to hear you moan my name?" he continues, placing one hand on each side of your legs and leaning forward, now only a mere inch or two away. 

Your lashes flutter, your resolve dangerously close to extinction. His smell, his touch, his words…it’s all intoxicating and you know you don’t have the strength to fight him.

"Don't want anyone to see how hard I can make you come all over my tongue?" His head dips, nose brushing yours until you’re practically steeling yourself against the bark of the tree. 

You debate begging him to end your suffering but something about his salacious tone is almost addictive and you find yourself tugging your lip between your teeth in apprehension.

"You're too sweet for that, hmm, my sweet girl?" You feel like you’re slipping into a drunken state of bliss as he presses a lazy kiss to your jaw. "Too innocent to let everyone see me fuck you against this tree?"

Another virtuous whimper. "Dyl…please—"

"Please what?" He’s unrelenting, forcing your verbal request despite your clear struggle. "What do you want, baby? What do you want me to do?"

You inhale deeply, sneaking a glance toward the rest of the field for any signs of small children you could potentially traumatize. "I...I don't—"

“Yes, you do," he answers calmly, one hand finding your hip so he can dig his fingers into it, practically kneading the answer out of you. "Tell me, baby, what do you want me to do?"

Gee, how long do you have?

He knows what you want, but the bastard needs to hear you say it.

To urge your answer, he leans down again, pressing more open-mouthed kisses along your exposed neck as you attempt to find the words he so desperately wants to hear.

"Tell me," he repeats, lips trailing up to your ear. "Just tell me, sweet girl, what you want me to do."

The taunting is sinful and the ache between your thighs is agonizing, so you make a decision. 

Your fingers find his jaw as you pull his face from your neck until he can truly see you. See what you want.

"I want you to fuck me against this tree," you tell him with every last ounce of determination you have left. “Want you to make it hurt.”

It’s everything he ever wanted from you and the way his pupils darken with lust is indication enough that you’ll never find satisfaction in anyone else.

"Good girl," he breathes, overcome with desire as he bridges the gap to kiss you hard.

Your tongues tangle as he reaches up to grip your cheeks between his fingers and tug you even closer as you gasp against his lips. Meanwhile, you’re reaching for the buttons of his shirt in a futile attempt to get them undone, speed now your friend.

"Shit.” The throaty groan is like music to your ears as he begins trailing the kisses down your neck. “Okay. Okay, stand up."

You would likely do so if given the chance, but he’s already hoisting you up by your wrists and yanking you behind the tree as you struggle to catch your breath.

It's not a very big tree, but you imagine it will have to do for now, and you wouldn’t dare complain.

His forceful touch finds your hips as he shoves you against the bark, fingertips digging into the dress as his tongue finds a home on your neck.

You whine pitifully as you scratch down his scalp, hands in his hair as you tug at the soft locks you’d been so gentle with just moments before.

His hips press to yours, moving a bit to create that friction you’re so desperate for, and you want to smile at his eagerness. At the knowledge he’s just as much of a desperate whore as you are.

When his animalistic kisses leave your throat, you feel your chest deflate. Disappointed, to say the least. But this is quickly resolved when you see him drop to his knees below you.

That mischievous look settles behind his eyes as his hands bunch the delicate dress up around your hips. 

You attempt to brace yourself but that smirk he offers in response does nothing to help ease you into submission.

"You gonna be quiet for me, my sweet girl?" he asks now, fingers crawling upwards until they hook onto the waistband of your underwear. 

Your only response is a soft whine, which doesn’t seem to suffice as his brow quirks upward.

Did he ask a question? You can't be sure. Truthfully, you can’t seem to pay attention to anything else except the drip between your thighs.

He seems to notice the lag in response, tightening his hold to capture your attention. “Is that a no, then? You want me to stop?”

“No,” you gasp before you can truly stop. “No, please…please—”

“Then tell me.” He’s unrelenting, and you have to admire his determination as you swallow another painful whimper and nod.

“Yes. Yes, I'll be quiet. Promise, baby, just…please.”

You’ve never felt so pathetic, but this is all he wanted. Your complete submission and you can see the amusement in his expression as he finally gives in and pulls the lace away from your aching cunt.

It pools around your ankles until you’re reeling, the cool autumn air sending a chill down your spine as his eyes widen like that of a kid in a candy store. 

He never fails to make you feel beautiful. Desired. This doesn’t change now as his palms smooth up your thighs to pull them apart.

"Please," you whisper once more, and you hear him tisk disapprovingly.

"Baby, I thought we talked about patience,” he warns, finger tapping your skin expectantly and you nearly roll your eyes.

"Fuck patience and fuck me.”

This only amuses him further, his head dipping to press a gentle, tender kiss just below your belly button.

Not quite…

The next kiss is placed on the inside of your left thigh, so close yet so far from where you truly want him.

Close but no cigar.

Your other thigh is next, his teeth pulling at the fragile skin until you’re struggling to contain the desperate gasp at the pain that has you squirming.

Better…

Finally, after what feels like hours of pure, unadulterated torture…his eyes flick up to meet yours as he presses the final kiss right to your clit.

Whoomp, there it is.

Your palm finds your mouth just in time as you struggle to hide the whimper, lashes fluttering shut in bliss at his practiced touch.

His hands massage your legs, practically pulling you into his mouth as he nips and sucks with loving focus.

Your stomach muscles tense as you strain against the bark of the tree, finding it nearly impossible to hold yourself together.

Then, one hand falls to your ankle, tossing it over his shoulder like you’re weightless, and creating more room for him to ruin your cunt as he dips his tongue inside.

And for every moan you hide behind the palm of your hand, the stronger his willpower becomes, nose nuzzling into your hip as he yanks you to the edge of pleasure.

"Shit," he pants, pulling back ever so slightly to make room for his fingers. "S’my fucking girl. Soaking my fucking tongue, yeah?”

You’d nod but you’re not sure you have the strength.

He leans forward once more, kissing and licking at your clit in such specific patterns that you’re almost sure you fall into a different dimension. Exhausted from having to hold yourself up against the tree as he does this to you.

"You like when I fuck you with my tongue, don't you?" he asks, and you almost miss the satisfied groan he exhales as he swallows your taste.

This time, you do manage to nod—just barely­—but of course, this isn’t good enough, and he stops to capture your attention.

"No. Say it.” The cadence in his voice drops, scratching an itch in your brain that compels your obedience. 

“Yes,” you agree, nails scratching down the bark. “I do, I promise.”

He hums before moving back in, curling his finger just so as he murmurs, “Good girl.”

Your eyes fall shut as you press your hand harder against your lips to hide the scream you feel burning the tip of your tongue. But your attention is brought back down to the man on his knees as he stops once again right as you begin to teeter on the edge of heaven.

“No,” he tuts from below. "I want your eyes on me, understood? Want you to watch what I do to you.”

“Dyl—”

“Or I’ll fucking stop.”

The only threat dangerous enough to compel you and you pant as you lean back. “Okay. Promise.”

He gets far too much pleasure out of your surrender. “That’s my girl.”

“Shit.” His touch is skilled and sinful, your body almost unable to take so much gratification all at once. “Baby, I…I—"

"You're what, hm?" The lilt in his voice is unmistakable but hidden by the feel of his two fingers as they work you closer. “What is it, sweet girl?”

His tongue focuses on your clit before you can even respond, and as you mewl desperately, you notice something pass over his expression.

Something devious.

And it takes a moment for you to truly realize, but the second you notice him switch his technique the moment your thighs begin to shake, you understand his game.

"Oh, don't you fucking dare," you hiss, fingers tangling in his hair as you yank his head up. "I’m not kidding, Dyl. We don’t have time—"

"What?” he asks innocently. “What am I doing?" 

But he knows exactly what he’s doing because he merely does it again as he adds a third finger and sucks you into his mouth before you can answer. 

"Dylan." You’re begging now, more pathetically than you imagine you ever have before "Please, just…just let me…”

Of course, he has the nerve to smirk at your desperation, refusing to give in without a fight. “Let you? Is that what you want me to do? Want me to let you come?’

You squirm against the tree as you’re brought yet again to the edge of release only to find nothing but emptiness as he pulls back.

"Well, if you wanna come…” he whispers, and you already know you won’t like what follows. “Beg me.”

Truthfully, you don’t even have the strength to oblige to his request. And anytime you do attempt to speak, it’s nearly hidden beneath the near-pornographic moans that slip out without your consent.

"Go on," he urges, curling one finger back in as encouragement. "I know you want it, sweet girl."

You can taste the blood from your lip with the way you’re biting down on it, your fingers tugging at his roots as you beg silently for his touch.

But because it’s him and he’s a menace, he simply tisks again. "Darling, I can wait here all day for you to be my good girl. Have you panting and whining till dark till you give me what I want.”

“Please.” Your voice is timid. Soft. Lost in the sound of his fingers playing with your cunt like a toy.

"Hm? What was that?" He looks up expectantly, fighting his smug grin as his hand claws at your hip to pull you closer and his thrusts slow. 

Oh, you’ll fuck kill him one of these days.

"Please," you repeat, desperate stare on his. "Please let me come.”

He hums for a moment, mulling over your response as he dips down to nudge his nose along your clit. "I think you can do better than that."

You could scream, truly, because no. You can’t do better than that when you’re so close to the precipice of pleasure.

“Please.” Firmer this time. Anxious. “Baby, I just…I need…”

“You need me, sweet girl?” The taunt is evident in his tone as he glances up. “S’that what you need?”

“Yes,” you whisper faintly because it’s true. In every sense. “I need you, Dyl. Need you to let me come.”

And you hope the gentle whimper you add when you say his name will be enough to encourage him to give you what you want, but instead, he hesitates.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly, thumb pressing tight to your clit as he rubs in slow circles. “Think I like seeing you like this.”

Your head rolls to the side as your eyes squeeze shut, unable to look at him without falling apart.

“A panting…squirming…pathetic little mess,” he continues before thrusting those familiar, long fingers inside to accentuate his point.

It happens then before you can truly stop it. Your knuckles turning white from how hard you attempt to keep yourself from screaming across the orchard.

And he licks up every last drop, tugging you back down onto his mouth as he sucks and curls and nips you through each second of it.

The moment you just barely catch your breath, he stands, fingers wrapping around your wrists to tug them away so he can kiss you.

And shit. The taste of you. The taste of him. Together. So perfectly intertwined as he tugs your lip between his teeth and sucks the droplets of blood into his mouth.

It’s desperate and rushed, but you’re more than grateful for it, no matter what.

You begin to grow tired, body exhausted as it slumps down the bark. But he’s quick to press his hips to yours, nearly shoving you back up.

"Not yet,” he nearly purrs. “M’not through with you.”

And you’ve never been happier to hear something in your entire life.

Once he pulls his fingers out, coated and dripping in you, he reaches for the zipper of his jeans, and you quickly lunge forward to help, fumbling fingers colliding with his.

“Little desperate, are we?" he can’t help but mumble, and you answer this by leaning forward to kiss him once more.

“Yes. Hurry,” you murmur against his lips. “Fuck me against this tree, baby. Please.”

You hear the grunt of approval slip free as he does as asked, yanking the zipper down quickly and tugging at his boxers until he can fist his cock.

Again, you scan the field just to be safe, and are pleased to see nothing but empty fields before you.

In his other hand, he takes hold of the dress, bunching it quickly and moving to stand between your legs as you slip your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Easy,” he warns you, glancing down as he brushes through. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…hurry,” you plead once more as your head rolls back against the bark in anticipation.

And he does, finally pushing forward as your teeth scrape together. 

Each second feels longer than the last, the sensation deeper and more powerful than ever before. You imagine it always is, but now…

Now.

He stills, attempting to be gentle, but you notice the strain in his jaw as he clenches hard. As he tries to keep himself from hurting you. As he growls with restraint.

You do your best to encourage him, nodding quickly and fervently as a sign of consent, but still, he’s cautious, brows furrowing.

"S’okay. Go, baby…please—"

Within an instant, he understands, hips snapping forward until they meet your own, and once he’s finally seated all the way, you watch his eyes roll back.

“Shit.” He’s loud. Maybe too loud and you can’t contain your amusement as you slap your palm over his lips.

Soon, he’s grounded himself, pulling back so he can reach for your thigh and hook it around his waist and drive himself deeper.

And drive you further up the tree. 

It’s unforgiving and slow and so fucking perfect, you can hardly stand it. You can’t help the tears building at the edge of your lashes as you truly feel him. Fully and perfectly. Each thrust exactly what you need. 

His kisses are desperate but salacious as he soothes you with his tongue, tracing his name along your skin as your nails scratch down the shirt on his back.

He’s beautiful. So fucking beautiful. The sweat beading around his hairline. The sounds of his pleasure. The sound of his cock as it fucks into you without pause. Without mercy. Dripping in you. 

He’s like a drug, luring you into a state of fatigue so peaceful, you don’t doubt you’ll just slip away.

“S’my good girl,” he whispers after a moment. “Fucking taking me so well, yeah?”

And you like to think you are. It’s hard not to take him well when it’s him.

His hand finds your throat, rough fingertips squeezing at the delicate skin until you begin to see stars. Thrusting your head back against the tree as you gasp. Until your eyes grow heavy.

“Love it when I hurt you, hm?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you don’t mind. You’d do anything to hear his voice like this. Heavy and lust-filled, deep in your ear as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. “Love it when I lose control.”

And you really, really do. More than anything.

And you stand there, together. Entangled. Each thrust slower than the last. But hard. Hard enough to bring you to the edge once more as you truly indulge in the feel. As you succumb to the sway of sensations coursing throughout your body. 

When he begins to realize how close you are, his hand moves from your neck to your lips, pressing firmly as he nods his chin at you.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he pleads, brows pulling together. “S’good. Come on.”

And it doesn’t merely wash over you like it had the first time. It pulls you under. Takes you with it until you think you might disappear. It tears you apart and discards you as he follows close behind.

And feeling him come inside you prolongs your high until you’re almost sure you black out, body beginning to slump down the tree as he struggles to keep you upright.

But he does, using his body weight as leverage as he melts into you, face burying in your neck as he curses his way through his own high, fingernails scratching down your thigh.

Once calm enough to catch your breath, you wrap your arms around his neck and just stay. Stay there, against the tree as you keep him secure in your embrace.

You’ve never been so fucking happy.

“Are you…okay?” he asks softly, barely audible with the way his lips are nuzzled into your jaw.

You merely hum, nodding gently as your eyes flutter shut. “I’m really okay. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he replies before beginning to lean back. “Should probably get the fuck out of here now, though.”

You can’t help but smirk in agreement, eyes flicking toward the rest of the orchard in a scan. “Probably.”

“In a second, though,” he corrects before he slowly pulls out and tucks himself back into his boxers, despite your suspicious gaze.

“Wait, why—shit.”

The question is rendered moot once you see him drop to his knees and drag his tongue along the drip down your thigh.

The sneaky bastard, ever so pleased with himself, making sure not a drop goes to waste.

“Dylan,” you hiss, although it melts into a rather bawdy moan as you drop your head against the bark and fist his hair between your fingers. “Dyl…stop—”

“No.”

And you can’t even be surprised, just like you can’t resist venturing a glance as he hums with satisfaction at the way you both taste on his tongue. The way you squirm as he licks over your swollen cunt, much too sensitive for such an intrusion, and still doing it, nonetheless.

“Stop,” you pant desperately, attempting to pull him away. “Please…I can’t…can’t.”

And finally, he does. He hooks his fingers around your lacy underwear and brings them back up before dusting himself off.

“There,” he declares, rather proudly. “Good as new.”

You exhale slowly, needing at least twenty minutes to recuperate as he slots himself back between your thighs to find a home in your embrace. “You’re a menace,” you inform him, something he’s certainly used to hearing.

“I know. But you love me.”

And you’d likely argue if you had the strength, but he’s right. “I do,” you agree quietly, forehead finding his.

“And you love when I fuck you against apple trees,” he adds, rather cheekily, and you swallow a dry laugh.

“Yeah, all right.”

Suddenly, his hold on your hip becomes firm. Aggravated. Forcing your eyes to widen.

“Uh uh,” he warms, head cocking to the side. “Try again.”

His teasing yet dominating nature never rests and, in this moment, you can’t seem to fault him for it.

Because that’s what makes him your Dylan.

“I do,” you repeat, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead. “I fucking love it when you fuck me against apple trees.”

Pleased, he nuzzles into your touch before that devious smirk finds its way back to his lips.

“Good. Cause I think I just might do it again.”

Requested by @idylio24 (Thank you so much for your sweet words and comments 😭💞)

Full Masterlist

[freedomfireflies-deactivated202]

Insatiable | 4. The Prism pt. 2 (Harry & Dylan & Kingsley)*

Summary: Dylan and Harry are back at it again with the fight for control, but this time...it's personal.

Word Count: 10.9k (Again, you really can't blame me...look at them)

Dylan can't fucking stand it.

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't let this happen. Not again. Not when he couldn't be the one in control.

And yet... here he is, standing in front of the door with Kingsley by his side, pleading with him softly to just knock, already.

He doesn't want to. He can't. He won't. His ego won't let him.

To debase himself like this... to ask Harry—

Dylan wants to shudder, glancing down at the girl tugging on his arm, her innocent, needy eyes staring up at him expectantly.

"Dylan," she huffs again. "Just ask—"

"I don't want to," he seethes in response, stepping away from the door. "No. If you want him there so fucking badly, you ask him."

Kingsley's forced to let go of his sleeve as she places her hands on her hips, watching as he backs up until he hits the opposing wall, still shaking his head. "What's wrong with you all of a sudden?"

"Nothing," he grunts, crossing his arms. "I just don't see why we need him there."

"Dylan, it was your idea—"

"No, it was my idea to have you," he corrects, eyes piercing right through her. "You, Kingsley. And I don't want to have to fucking share you with him."

Her lips pull up in a soft smile as she takes a step toward him. "But you did last time. Did so well—"

"No, he shared you with me," Dylan corrects again. "There's a reason I had him on that fucking bench so he couldn't touch you."

"Dylan—"

"No," he cuts in, shaking his head firmly. "No, I won't ask him."

She begins to pout, stepping up in front of him as she reaches up to cup his face between her hands. "I want you there."

Her voice is like silk, soft and gentle. Pleading with him. Begging him. Feeding his ego.

He hates it.

"Kings," he warns, but she just nuzzles her nose against his.

"Please?" she whispers, lips ghosting atop his. "I need you there. Need you both. Don't want to go without you."

He huffs again, eyes fluttering shut at her tender touch. She's way too fucking good at that. "I just... I don't—"

Then... she whimpers. A sound so unprovoked and so unexpected that Dylan feels his heart drop to his ass, jaw clenching as his hands move to her hips to tug her into his body.

"Please," she repeats, a pathetically desperate tone in her voice, followed by another gentle whimper.

She's gonna fucking kill him one day.

"Don't," he warns, shaking his head once again as she slides her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Don't make me."

"Please, baby."

"Stop."

"Just need you—"

"Don't—"

"Won't ever ask you for anything ever again, baby, please—"

"Kingsley—"

"Please, Daddy."

His eyes are still shut, but his breathing has increased, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes.

She played her ace.

The one card that can make him fold in an instant and he wants to fucking slam his fist into the wall at the slight mewl in her voice.

She'll pay for that.

Her forehead is pressed to his as they wait in silence, Dylan doing his best to control his anger as his fingers dig into her hips.

Then, he spins her around and places her back against the wall just like he had been.

"Fucking wait here," he growls, letting go and stepping back so he can stride across the hall towards the door.

She's smirking, thumb coming up to her teeth as she bites her nail, pleased with herself.

Without hesitation, he brings his fist to the door and slams it three times, deciding he better do it now before he loses his nerve.

A second later, the door swings open, and Harry reveals himself.

He looks surprised to see them, eyes flicking back and forth before he frowns. "What?"

Dylan is already gritting his teeth, eyes practically rolling in his head as he grumbles, "Room five. Tonight. 10 o'clock."

With that, he reaches into his pocket and tosses Harry one of the gold-plated keys, which Harry is quick to catch mid-air.

Dylan doesn't say another word as he turns on his heel and heads for his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

That night, Harry and Kingsley arrive first, making their way into the room after a round of mozzarella sticks, just to loosen up.

Kingsley hasn't missed, however, Harry's quiet demeanor. He's not... annoyed, per se. But quiet. As if thinking. Mulling over tonight's activities before they've even begun.

She never did learn what happened that night after she left the room, leaving Harry and Dylan to... chat, or whatever it is they had done.

She had always wanted to ask, and there were times she almost did, but then she would lose her nerve and change the subject.

But she wonders now if that has something to do with Harry's apprehensive behavior.

She suspects it must, because every time a sound is made, Harry's eyes dart to the door as if looking for the man of the hour himself.

She almost finds it cute, but she knows that whatever tension is running between is anything but cute.

However, they aren't kept in suspense much longer when the door finally swings open and Dylan steps through the frame.

Harry's glare becomes apparent then, immediately standing from the bed as he strides across the room towards the gentleman making his way towards them.

Kingsley's eyes widen, curious about what might happen next, and isn't left wondering long as Harry's palms raise to meet Dylan's chest before shoving him backward.

Dylan, albeit surprised, doesn't fight the aggression as he's slammed into the now closed door, eyes narrowing as Harry steps up to him.

"Fuck you," are the first words out of Harry's mouth. "I'm not playing this game with you again."

Dylan smirks. "S'not a game—"

"You know it is," Harry hisses under his breath, his tone so threatening that even Kingsley feels nervous. 

He takes a step closer to Dylan, peering down as he nods his chin at him, their faces mere inches apart.

"Not gonna be your fucking pawn this time," Harry murmurs, and now, Dylan's arrogant façade falters. "If you wanna do this, we're doing it my way."

Dylan's eyes narrow. "This isn't about me—"

"No?" Harry's head cocks to the side before he glances over his shoulder at the poor girl on the bed. "Is it about her?"

"Yes," Dylan seethes, straightening up. "Always is."

Harry hums, moving his focus back to the boy in front of him, dipping his head down. "Maybe it's about me."

Dylan's breath hitches, something Harry is sure not to miss. 

Harry rolls his head to the side, moving in as Dylan's eyes flutter, anticipating something that Harry refuses to give him.

"I think you owe me," Harry whispers, and Dylan shifts against the door, attempting to remain unfazed but failing miserably. "Don't you?"

"No," Dylan spits back immediately. "Fuck you—"

"Exactly what you didn't do last time," Harry retorts quickly, now beginning to grin like the Cheshire cat, hand coming up to rest beside Dylan's head as he braces himself against the door. "Think I forgot your promise?"

Dylan had a feeling that night would come back to bite him in the ass, and he's not surprised to find he's right.

He really had meant to explain to Harry why he never showed, but the opportunity never presented itself.

Or maybe he just didn't create a moment.

Truthfully, he thought Harry had forgotten, and moved on. Which is why he never found it fit to bring it back up.

After all, what happens at The Prism stays at The Prism.

But now, much to Dylan's delight, it seems Harry remembers very vividly what was denied of him.

And Dylan finds himself rather eager to give it to him, but before he can respond, Harry is clicking his tongue.

"And now... you've missed your chance," he continues, eyes flicking down to Dylan's parted lips. "It's my fucking turn."

Confused, Dylan's brows pull together but before he can ask, Harry is reaching up to wrap his fingers around his throat, squeezing gently as he forces Dylan's head back against the door.

Dylan grunts to himself, jaw tense as Harry leans in, smirking. "Show me your tongue," he demands, and Dylan begins to glare.

He has two choices.

But, unfortunately, only one of them will get him what he wants.

Last time, it was easy to take control of the situation because they both had one common goal.

Kingsley.

Of course, she's still their goal, but right now, it's not just about her.

Which is why she wanted them both there, Dylan is realizing.

She might be coy, but she's not stupid, and she had picked up on their chemistry even without them speaking it into existence.

Last time, Harry was simply along for the ride, doing what was asked of him in a situation that he knew would be beneficial to him.

And now, it's Dylan's turn.

Which he fucking hates, but he can't deny that he's curious to see what Harry has in store.

Even if that means doing what he's told.

After a moment of contemplation, Dylan's mouth opens and he flattens his tongue, eyes on Harry as he waits expectantly.

Pleased, Harry reaches up to grab his jaw, giving it a good squeeze before pursing his lips and spitting directly onto the eager boy's tongue.

Kingsley can feel her legs squeezing together as she watches from the mattress, curious to see how this dynamic will play out, and beyond pleased that she has a front-row seat to what she imagines will be the best show of her life.

Satisfied, Harry squeezes Dylan's jaw once again as an instruction, and Dylan quickly closes his mouth, lashes fluttering.

Harry can feel exactly how badly Dylan really wants this, how much he enjoys it, feeling the bulge against his thigh as he leans his body into Dylan's.

And he's being so fucking good for him that Harry can't resist dipping his head down and doing what he's been wanting to do since their last visit.

He kisses him, tongue slipping past Dylan's lips in a frantic attempt to taste him, to have him.

It's rushed and messy and Dylan wants so badly to remain indifferent but... he can't. He's squirming against the door, hands coming up to tug on Harry's belt, pulling him closer even though he physically can't get any closer.

Teeth clash and tongues mesh as Dylan tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss as he groans, feeling Harry's fingers move back to his throat.

And then... he pulls away.

He keeps Dylan still with his grip and Dylan wants to roll his eyes at the dominant look on Harry's face, but he doesn't.

He waits.

Harry is more than pleased by this, watching the beautiful boy closely as he hums, feeling Dylan's pulse race beneath his fingertips.

"Easy," he warns in a hushed voice, almost gentle, and suddenly, Dylan feels relaxed. "Don't rush me."

Dylan nods once, tugging his lip between his teeth as Harry lets go... and steps back.

He turns now to Kingsley, who truthfully, doesn't look the least bit upset that she's been left alone for so long.

In fact, she's leaning back on her hands, watching with a smug smile as they finally move towards her.

"Something funny, sweet girl?" Harry calls and her head tilts as she swings her foot back and forth. 

"Not at all," she replies, a bit coyly if Dylan does say so himself, but Harry continues moving towards her.

"Do you wanna try again?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"Nope."

He begins to smirk himself, leaning down once he's reached her to grasp her chin between his fingers and tilt her head up. "Don't think I've forgotten about you."

"I don't."

She's calm. Unperturbed. The complete opposite of Dylan and Harry almost wants to feel upset that he's neglected his precious angel to the point that she's indifferent to his power.

"Is there a reason you wanted me here tonight, hm?" Harry asks her now, his voice a bit rough with lust in hopes that she'll finally understand how badly he needs her, too. 

But still, she shrugs, glancing toward Dylan. "We just had so much fun the last time."

"Did we?" he retorts, looking towards the young boy as well. "Because if I remember correctly, I wasn't having a bit of fun watching him fuck you."

"Aww... were you jealous?"

It sounds like a simple question, but Harry knows exactly what she means the moment she says it, implying that he was more upset about watching him than her.

He smiles again. "Of course. You are my little plaything, are you not?"

"I suppose."

His grip gets tighter, his smile fading quickly. "Be careful, sweet girl. Don't test my fucking patience."

"Why not?"

He leans in closer, palm moving to hoist her jaw up, fingers digging into her cheeks. "Because I don't have much left to offer."

Now she's smirking, moving closer to peck his frown as he grunts, releasing her quickly as she flops back down onto the mattress. 

"Fine," he decides, straightening up. "If you need to be shown, I'll show you."

"Good."

His head tilts as he crosses his arms, nodding his chin towards her. "Take it off."

She does, her hands slowly moving towards the zipper on her back as she keeps her eyes on him.

Their stares are locked as the sound of the dress falling from her body is heard, revealing her chest to their gazes.

Dylan's eyes flick down, having missed her fucking gorgeous tits but Harry... Harry isn't as quick to give in.

He can keep up this charade a lot longer than she can, and he proves this by nodding once more. "Good. On your stomach."

His tone leaves no room for discussion, and she smiles softly as she stands to her feet, turning around before placing her hands on the mattress and crawling forward.

You would think she would feel outnumbered with the two masculine figures behind her, against her, in control of her.

But she doesn't.

Not only because the idea of having the both of them tell her what to do is thrilling, but because they wouldn't be here if it weren't for her.

She crawls across the bed, hips swaying gently as she moves before she dips down, sinking her stomach onto the mattress as she settles in.

Harry hums his approval before glancing towards Dylan, head jerking towards the collection of items in the corner. "Get the cuffs."

Pleased, Dylan does just that, and Kingsley can't resist looking over her shoulder as she watches him walk away, long fingers outstretching to the item before weighing it in his hand.

When Dylan returns, he heads for the bed, pressing one knee into the mattress as he reaches for her hands to pull them behind her back.

He slides the metal around her soft skin, pulling it shut before his eyes flick to hers to make sure she's all right.

She smiles.

Harry is beside her next, fingers hooking beneath her panties as he pulls them away from her drenched cunt and down her legs.

Her cheek is pressed into the soft, silky duvet cover as she waits with apprehension, ready for him to touch her.

She never thought she'd fold this quickly, but here she is, sucking in a sharp breath, and willing him to fuck her into oblivion. Never needed something so badly in her life and the longer he takes, the more she wants him.

And then... that sound.

The familiar sound of the vibrator starting up and she knows she's fucking in for it as the bed dips beside her, and Harry begins to hover above her aching body.

"Since you wanna be a fucking brat," he begins, tracing the toy up her inner thigh slowly. "Then I'll let you suffer like a fucking brat."

She whines, already regretting her choices as she feels the head of the vibrator massage at her folds, forcing her hips up as she gasps.

She wishes she could see it, truthfully, but there's something so good about being forced into the mere sensation alone.

"If you cum before I let you..." Harry then warns, leaning down to ghost his lips along her cheek. "Then I promise, I will bring you to the edge so many fucking times just to drag you away mercilessly. You'll fucking beg me to let you cum until you're crying. I'll make it fucking hurt."

She sighs softly, already imagining how painful that would be, and she nods, choosing to let him believe he's getting his way.

Satisfied, he moves back, resting the toy on the bed between her thighs, just beneath her aching clit.

Again, she writhes, whimpering in her throat as her hips squirm upwards and away, so overloaded that she turns her face into the mattress to groan.

And while the sweet girl is being tortured beyond belief, Harry turns to Dylan.

Dylan straightens up, jaw clenching defiantly as he waits for Harry to speak, already foreseeing that he won't like it.

And he's not mistaken as Harry steps closer, eyes trailing up and down his body slowly, as if grading him.

"Figure it's time I pay you back," Harry begins, his voice soft but full of evil intention. "For being... so good to me last time."

Dylan huffs, sensing the sarcasm. In Dylan's defense, he thought he had been good to him. Teasing him with the wand, letting Kingsley take him down her throat, letting him watch.

But Harry clearly didn't think so and now, Dylan can feel his pulse quicken as Harry reaches out to cup his cock still tight in his dress pants.

Sucking in through his teeth, he shoots a glare Harry's way, hand flying to Harry's wrist to pause his movement. "Don't."

And Harry has to smile, a moment of deja vu flashing through his mind as he remembers how he himself was in this same position in this exact same room only a few weeks ago.

And saying the exact same thing to Dylan as he had continued to tease him against the wall, promising to take care of him before disappearing from the room and never coming back.

Harry likes to tell himself that he couldn't possibly have cared less that Dylan never showed that night, but truthfully... it drove him fucking mad.

And now he has the opportunity to show Dylan exactly what he was missing, and he can't fucking wait.

"I hear you talk a lot of shit," Harry continues, voice but a gentle murmur as he leans in. "Hear you tell me to be good. Hear you tell her she's yours. But you know what I don't hear?"

Dylan doesn't reply, eyes narrowed in a vengeful glare as he waits.

"I don't hear you begging me to touch you."

Dylan grunts to himself as Harry lets go so he can step around Dylan's body, moving behind him as he continues his intimidation.

"Cause I bet..." he whispers, his hand sliding across Dylan's abdomen and around his back. "You sound... really fucking good... when you beg."

With that, Harry's fingers weave themselves delicately in Dylan's roots, before they're grabbing, tugging, and yanking his head back as Dylan hisses, his cock throbbing from the pain.

"Don't you?" Harry murmurs directly in his ear and Dylan hesitates, his breath hitching.

Silence. Dylan can't possibly come up with a response, not one that his ego will allow, and the longer he takes, the more impatient Harry grows.

"How bad does it hurt, hm?" Harry asks now, lips ghosting over the skin under Dylan's ear, and Dylan feels his eyes flutter. 

Fucking dammit.

Harry's free hand slips past Dylan's hip, fingers tracing the belt on his pants before easily slipping beneath the waistband.

"Come on," he urges, his voice like satin, searching for a response that Dylan is still refusing to give. "Tell me... and maybe I'll take care of it for you."

Dylan knows exactly why he chose those words, knows exactly what Harry is doing and fucking damn him because it's working.

Dylan knows he can beg. He's quite good at it, under the right circumstances. And even if he had to fake it to get what he wants, he still doesn't know how, after all this time... he can beg Harry.

Of all the fucking people, he can't quite bring himself to say the words. He doesn't mind being around Harry in this context, but only when he's in charge. 

And now... well, now it looks like the only way to take back his power is by letting Harry have it.

At least just for tonight.

"Please," he grits between his teeth, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, so he doesn't accidentally see the smug look on Harry's face.

Harry's fingers pause, tapping Dylan's lower stomach in expectancy as his head cocks. "Please what?"

When he doesn't respond right away, Harry uses the hold on his hair to tug his head back further, making Dylan's eyes squeeze shut.

He looks so pretty when he's in pain, Harry notices. In fact, he might have to spend all night torturing the poor boy if that means he can watch him cry for him.

"Please, just...  just... fucking..." Dylan can't even get the specifics out, can't actually say Harry's name, or ask for what he wants.

Sensing he needs the motivation, Harry's fingers dip even lower, finding his boxers as he slips past the band, forcing Dylan's muscles to tense.

"Just... just...?" Harry repeats in a mocking tone, smirking as he looks over the boy's side profile. "Just what? Just... this?"

With that, his fingers find Dylan's cock as he swipes his thumb over the tip, making Dylan hiss in the back of his throat as he looks down, eyeing Harry's tattooed skin that's disappearing into his pants.

He feels so good, Harry thinks. Feels so heavy in his hand, so fucking needy. It's exactly what he had been picturing and thank fucking God he doesn't have to witness it as it slips inside Kingsley's cunt.

The last time was torture enough, albeit hot. And Harry refuses to let it happen again.

The poor thing is still on the bed, and Harry can hear her breathless pants mixed with the sound of the vibrator as she pulls at the cuffs, cheek still pressed into the silk as she takes slow, steady breaths.

Dylan bucks his hips into Harry's waiting hand, but Harry simply pulls away, leaving Dylan to curse under his breath, head turning to the side to meet Harry's eye.

"Fucking asshole—"

"No," Harry interrupts quickly, stopping the insult short. "That's not how you fucking speak to me."

Dylan scoffs, turning away. "Like fucking hell—"

In an instant, Harry is pulling at Dylan's roots one more time, palm cupping his cock from outside his slacks harshly making him freeze right where he stands.

"That's not how you fucking beg," Harry hisses, and after a moment of silence, Dylan finally begins to see the bigger picture.

He's desperate, he knows that. Harry knows that. Fucking Kingsley knows that, and she can't even see him. 

It's obvious. And standing here, getting fleeting touches and meaningless threats, isn't going to get him what he wants.

And what he wants is to finally see if everything he imagined to be true about Harry... is.

However, in order to get what he wants...

Slowly, he lowers his eyes to Harry's, his breathing slow as Harry begins to smirk.

"Touch me," he whispers simply. "Touch me, fuck me... whatever you wanna fucking do. Just do it."

It's like music to Harry's ears, but there's still one thing missing and as he quirks his brow expectantly, Dylan begins to huff. 

"Please," he adds bitterly, and finally, Harry is satisfied.

He pulls his hair a bit harder until Dylan is looking over his shoulder, creating enough room for Harry to reach out... and kiss him.

It's desperate, as desperate as the last one, but this time... it's Harry's damn that breaks.

He'd been doing so well, been so indifferent to his own desires, but suddenly, the taste of Dylan on his tongue is enough to have him growling in the back of his throat.

All he wants is to take care of him. To please him. To make tears stream down his fucking face as he groans Harry's name while he cums.

God, he wants to taste him, never wanted something so fucking badly and he releases his hold on Dylan's roots to grab his shirt and flip him around.

Their chests meet, kisses still frantic as Harry begins walking Dylan back towards the bed. 

His fingers are tangled in the buttons of Dylan's shirt, quickly popping them apart as he yanks the fabric down his arms, with Dylan's eager help.

The backs of Dylan's knees hit the bed, and he quickly falls backward, hands grabbing for Harry's belt as he tugs him down as well. 

And Harry is quick to place his knee between Dylan's legs to brace himself, hands resting near his head as he hovers above the pretty boy still desperately pulling at his waist.

However, before he obliges, Harry reaches beside them towards the vibrator between Kingsley's legs, the poor girl just moments from release when the toy is ripped out from underneath.

She whimpers at the loss, turning her head to meet his eye as he smiles reassuringly, motioning to Dylan.

"He's got you, sweet girl," he tells her, and Dylan's lust-blown pupils move up and down quickly as he nods.

Dylan reckons he's never felt luckier. Two of the only people he truly ever wants to fuck are in the same room, sharing their pleasure together, and instead of having to choose one, he gets both.

With that thought, Dylan quickly moves to Kingsley's side as Harry crawls out of the way.

He begins to kiss along her inner thighs as he hovers above her, fingers finding the cuffs to keep her hands still. He knows she'll want to reach for his hair, but he'll make sure she does what she's told.

The tension in the air is palpable, all three of them so fucking turned on as Harry moves to his knees to wrap his hand around the back of Kingsley's leg, pulling it further, stretching her muscle until it burns.

With better access, Dylan is quick to lick along her folds, nose nudging her ass as he dives in, humming contently at the arousal already pooling on his tongue.

Poor fucking thing. His need to take care of her suddenly overwhelms his senses, something that often happens when he's with her like this.

Which isn't a lot, he has to admit, but perhaps it's dangerous to have her spread out for him the way she is now. Because once she is, nothing can stop him from fucking ruining her tight little hole until she's screaming.

"S'feel good?" Harry calls to her quietly, and she nods quickly as her arms pull at the cuffs, needing something to hold onto, anything. "Yeah? I know, darling."

"Fuck... fuck," she whispers, almost to herself, but Dylan doesn't miss it, his ego swelling at the feel of her unraveling so quickly by his tongue.

He thrusts it harder inside her, groaning again until she whines, her body writhing away from him.

But he tightens his grip on the cuffs, tugging her back down as he flicks her swollen clit, and she reels, his name slipping quickly from her lips.

His other hand massages the skin of her thigh before sliding up to pull her open, finding new ways to assault her aching cunt with his tongue, making her moan into the mattress as she nearly begs for mercy.

"Taste so fucking good," he hums, kissing along her inner thighs again, making sure to edge just a bit. "Don't you, baby?"

She can't possibly answer, they all know this, but that doesn't stop him from egging her on anyway.

"Yeah?" he continues, his palm smoothing up the globe of her ass before he brings it down harshly, watching the delicate skin quickly turn pink. "Know you do, don't you? Know I fucking love to taste you—"

Another desperate cry, her intestines twisting like a rag as she feels the coil burn inside her.

"Good girl, meet my tongue," he urges as she begins to roll her hips back, and he's so damn pleased that he can't resist diving inside again until she's panting like there's no air in the room, no air in her lungs. 

"All right, enough," Harry suddenly grunts, reaching down to flick the cuffs undone as Dylan pulls away.

He wants to be upset he didn't get the chance to feel her flutter around his tongue but before he can complain, Harry is tossing the cuffs to the side and dipping his head down near her ear.

"Come here, my love," he whispers, crawling backward towards the headboard as she straightens up onto her hands and knees.

She moves for his lap but before she can ask what he has in mind, he's tugging her onto her ass, pulling her back against his chest as he holds her firmly between his legs.

His eyes meet Dylan's from over her shoulder before he smirks and Dylan returns the gesture, moving closer towards her as Harry uses both hands to grab her thighs and hold her open.

"Did so good for me," Harry murmurs in her ear and she bites at her lip apprehensively, eyeing Dylan who is now dipping his head down to brush his lips over her clit. "Obeyed every word, didn't you?"

She nods, subtly enough that Harry almost misses it. She then leans back into his embrace, whining softly as Dylan shoots her a glare, warning her to stay fucking put.

She's doing her best, truthfully, but what do they expect when they're forcing her to take all this fucking pleasure and never allowing her to enjoy it?

Dylan immediately gets back to work, savoring each second as he swallows her whole, tongue diving back inside, pleased that somehow she's still soaking, growing more impatient as the moment's pass.

Harry wastes no time moving over her leg to slide his fingers up her inner thigh, making her shiver until he finds her clit, pressing down harshly before plucking it between his fingers.

She curses, head rolling to the side as she squeezes her eyes shut, body writhing against Harry's. In response, Dylan growls again, grabbing onto her hips to drag her back down to his tongue.

"We'd never forget about you," Harry tells her, his voice soft as he holds her open for Dylan, who quickly takes advantage of the new position. "Hm? Always take good care of our girl."

It's the first time he's ever said our and both Kingsley and Dylan take notice, and despite the fact that Dylan still feels as if she's his, not theirs... he quite enjoys hearing Harry admit it.

As he continues to bring her closer and closer to the edge, Harry moves one hand to her chest, tweaking her nipple mercilessly as he kisses down her neck, tracing his name into her skin until she's covered in him.

It feels good to kiss her like this. He's always loved her soft skin, her gentle demeanor, and borderline innocent persona. Especially now, when she's helpless, squirming against him as the beautiful boy between her thighs ruins her repeatedly, forcing her to beg so loudly for him to go faster that the whole club can surely hear.

And it feeds Dylan's ego to no end, getting to stare up not only into her face but into Harry's. He looks so damn proud of Dylan, and Dylan's heart swells as he smirks, moving up to spit directly onto the poor girl's clit before sucking it into his mouth.

Harry can tell she's doing her best to hold off, but he wants to see her cum, wants to see Dylan's eyes roll back when she does. Needs to see.

"Okay," he whispers as he pulls her earlobe between his teeth. "S'a good girl. So fucking good. Now, yeah? Go on."

Her jaw drops as she whimpers, eyes locked on Dylan as it finally overtakes her, the stars shooting in her mind like fireworks, forcing her body to tense as it flows over and through.

She sinks into Harry's arms, and he's quick to release her leg so he can wrap both arms around her body, tugging her further into his chest as he kisses her neck once more.

"So good," he repeatedly tells her. "So fucking good, baby."

He loves praising her just as much as she loves hearing it. It's become their little tradition, each come down is followed by soft reassurances that they've both come to adore.

And while Dylan does feel a bit left out, he can't help but sit back on his knees, watching them with admiration as Harry's eyes flutter shut, holding onto the sweet girl as she places her hands atop his and melts into his touch.

He then steps off the bed so he can move towards the side where Harry is still residing, towering over him as Harry slowly looks up and over.

Surprised that the young boy guessed what he wanted before he even asked, Harry begins to smile smugly, reaching up to grasp onto Dylan's jaw as he tugs his face closer.

This time, Harry is showcasing his tongue, silently demanding a taste of her as Dylan eagerly brings his lips together and lets the spit dribble into Harry's willing mouth. 

And after he's gotten a good taste, Dylan dips his head down, fingers around Harry's wrist to get him to move his hand to his throat as he kisses him hungrily.

Happy to oblige, Harry does just that, squeezing firmly as he lets the boy explore his mouth with his tongue, grunting against his lips with satisfaction.

Kingsley, still a bit hazy, turns her body so she can kiss along Harry's neck, gentle fingers slipping down through the buttons of his own fancy shirt as she delicately undoes them.

He can't deny that he adores a bit of the attention, from both his needy little whores, and while he can't wait to show them exactly what he's capable of... he's happy to sit back and let them take care of him.

At least for a moment.

However, the moment passes as quickly as it began, with Harry releasing Dylan's throat so he can slap Kingsley's hips in an attempt to get her to move.

She does, hissing some at the sensitivity as she moves onto the other side of the bed as Harry swings his legs off the edge so he can stand beside Dylan.

He pauses a moment, taking in the curious expression on Dylan's face before nodding his chin towards the bed where she still lies.

And more than happy to oblige, Dylan moves back to the bed, crawling towards her before moving to straddle her waist, leaning down to kiss her tenderly.

This time, Harry is the one to admire them, watching as Dylan moves onto his side, with Kingsley doing the same, both of them curled into each other as he tucks her hair behind her ear, tongue gingerly slipping past her lips.

It's slow and sensual, and such a passionate moment for just the two of them.

Her hands are moving along his bare chest, feeling the dip of his stomach, the sculpt of his abs, the way his skin erupts in goosebumps at her soft caress.

She smiles into their kiss, more than pleased with herself, and with him for reacting to her so genuinely.

After a moment more of observation, Harry walks to the end of the bed, placing his knee on the mattress to brace himself as he moves toward them.

Their legs are tangled together much like their tongues, a collection of breathless sighs and eager hushed promises.

"Can't fucking stand it," Dylan is whispering to her, just loud enough to catch Harry's ear. "Never going this long again—"

"I know," she murmurs back, rolling her head to the side as he moves down her neck. "Please, Dyl… please—"

"Shh," he replies, a bit more urgently, teeth moving for the same spot that Harry made, marking her just like he had right over it until she's whimpering from the pain. 

Harry doesn't dare break them up. Why would he? He's generous after all, and he knows they need this.

So, he simply enjoys the show, his hand coming up to smooth along Dylan's leg, subtly alerting him of his presence.

He can see Dylan's breath hitch, but he makes no move to acknowledge it, simply continuing to tug the darling girl into his body as he gropes at her breast, sighing contently at the way it fits in his palm.

But Harry isn't discouraged. He slides his hand up until he can tug the zipper down, and as he works to remove Dylan's pants, Kingsley reaches down to help assist him.

She slips her tiny hands into his briefs as Dylan groans into her mouth, glancing down with lust as she gives his cock a good squeeze, her thumb quickly swiping over the tip, just to feel how fucking desperate he is.

Harry wants to smirk as she coyly glances over at him, pulling Dylan's cock from his boxers as Harry crawls a bit closer.

His hand envelopes hers, and for a moment, they work in unison, making sure each inch is being paid attention to as Dylan curses loudly, turning his face into the pillow as he groans again.

Harry breaks out in a smug smile as he meets Kingsley's eye, and she hums, moving in to kiss down Dylan's chest, flicking her tongue over his nipple.

He's quick to suck in air through his gritted teeth, glancing down with desire as he watches her pull it between her teeth.

"Fuck," he mumbles, hand sliding around the back of her neck as he squeezes. "Shit, baby—"

But she's doing it again, this time on the other side, and as her hand drops from his cock, Harry takes over.

He's being stimulated at almost every turn, his breathing erratic, chest rising and falling quickly as his eyes flutter.

When she finally pulls away from his chest, he uses the hold on her neck to tug her back up to him, kissing her deeply as Harry continues to slide his hand up and down Dylan's cock.

He's never felt happier and while a part of his ego hates that Harry is calling the shots, he can't deny that... it might be worth it.

At least for now.

Harry's movements are becoming more aggressive, trying to match Dylan's energy because he can tell the poor thing is worked up beyond belief.

He's hard and heavy and hot in Harry's hand, fucking leaking down his knuckles in such a pathetically desperate way that Harry hums and leans closer.

"Look at him," he demands of Kingsley, and she pulls back so she can glance down. "S'cute, isn't it? Pretty Boy needs you so bad, doesn't he?"

Her eyes grow wide, her mouthwatering as she watches Harry's familiar hand pump him up and down, lips falling into a pout as she gazes up at him.

And Harry smiles at her, and quickly glances towards Dylan to see that he's frowning again, clearly annoyed but so fucking turned on that he can't be bothered to care what they're saying.

So, instead, he reaches for Kingsley's throat to tug her back into him, kissing her fervently as a way to distract himself, getting lost in her feel as Harry continues to bring him closer to the edge.

But Harry can tell he's resisting. He has to be, there's no way he's not holding off when he's this fucking worked up.

His stomach is quivering, his nails scratching down Kingsley's throat, his jaw clenched tightly, despite Kingsley's delicate fingers running over it.

"What's the matter, hm?" Harry calls then, squeezing the head of Dylan's cock as Dylan turns to bury his face in the mattress. "Gone shy?"

Picking up on Harry's observation, Kingsley turns to Dylan quietly, pulling his face back out and nudging her nose against his to plead with him. "What?" she asks softly, sensing that in this moment, her friend is fighting more than his orgasm.

But his ego.

Dylan shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut as she kisses his bottom lip. "No," he whispers, the words exhaled into the air, so low that she almost misses it. "Can't."

She glances over his face, noticing the pull in his brows, and the way his expression has become tortured.

"It's okay," she tells him, just as quietly, her thumb stroking his cheek. "S'okay, Dylan. Do it for us, yeah?"

"Shit," he grunts again, shaking his head once more as Harry's movements become more determined, fucking pumping him for all he's worth. "Can't. Don't... just... I can't—"

Kingsley's heart almost breaks for him, knowing that it's not just about coming... but about letting go. Physically, mentally... emotionally.

She nuzzles her nose against his once more, kissing him softly as she replies, "I've got you, baby. M'right here, yeah? Please... please. Need it..."

And maybe Dylan shouldn't feel so worried about what coming by Harry's hand will mean, but he does, and even her soft reassurances do little to calm him. His heart races inside his chest the closer he gets, Harry's rough fingertips doing unspeakable things to his mind as he takes a deep breath.

Kinglsey is holding onto his face tight, kissing away all his troubles, whimpering softly in her throat to encourage him.

And to really put the final nail in the coffin, she adds, "Please, Daddy."

God, she's such a fucking devil. Knows exactly how to play him like a fucking fiddle, and with her needy whines in his ear... he lets go.

He doesn't look at Harry, doesn't even acknowledge him, which pisses Harry off to no end, although maybe... he can understand.

And Harry doesn't stop, continues to do everything he can to make it last for as long as possible, the most delicious moan slipping from Dylan's throat that has Harry's eyes fluttering shut as his heart pounds.

It's music. Sweet, sweet music and Kingsley dips her head down again to flick her tongue over the peak of his nipple, aiding him in his pleasure.

Poor Dylan has barely caught his breath when Harry is moving his head down, licking a strip along the cum dripping down his cock.

He hisses—loudly, fingers flying to Harry's curls as he tugs Harry back up and away, body twisting so he can look at the bastard.

And Harry smirks, hands on either side of Dylan's hips to hold himself up as he waits for Dylan's response.

Dylan can only glare at him, watching as Harry licks his tongue along his lips to get the remaining drops, and he's so fucking annoyed and aroused that he doesn't know what to do or say.

He's lying on his back now, Kingsley still tucked into his side, both their eyes on Harry now.

And with his hair still being held, Harry returns to his assault, humming as he swallows each drop. 

Dylan wants to stop him. Wants to pull him away and discard him, but... he doesn't. He lets it happen, watching intently as Harry wraps his lips around the tip to collect everything he can.

Harry might be the one in charge, but Dylan has never seen something so fucking submissive in his life.

Harry, on his hands and knees, with Dylan down his throat as they lock eyes, connected despite everything else.

And maybe that's all Harry really wanted. Maybe he just wants to make Dylan feel good the way he knows he can.

And maybe everything else is a façade just to get what he wants.

But, truthfully, it doesn't matter. 

What matters is this moment between them, one that won't soon be forgotten by any of the parties involved, and before Kingsley can really feel too wonderstruck... Harry is looking to her.

His finger raises in the air, beckoning her closer, and she quickly moves up, crawling towards where he's waiting as he reaches out to cup her face.

He brings her in for a needy and long overdue kiss, sharing Dylan's taste generously as she whines, causing Harry to smirk.

"Like it, hm?" he mumbles against her lips, and she nods zealously, running her fingers through his curls as she straightens up onto her knees for leverage, taking the kiss deeper.

And Dylan lets them, leaning back against the pillows as he attempts to catch his breath.

His eyes are glazing over with lust once more as he watches the two of them, a sight that used to cause him discomfort but now he can see it for what it really is.

Need.

A need they share and he's happy to share in her need even if he doesn't enjoy sharing her.

When they finally pull apart, Harry's eyes narrow, looking to Dylan as he grabs his ankles and tugs him closer towards where they're sitting near the edge of the bed.

Surprised, Dylan is forced into his back, arms resting near his head as Kingsley moves to the side to make room.

Harry places his palms on the mattress near Dylan's hands as he leans down, caging the poor boy in as he begins to look over his face.

And Dylan can do nothing but blink up at him, a little caught off guard but insanely curious as he waits.

"Thought a lot about how I'd have you for the first time," Harry begins, his tone hungry and low. "How I'd take you. How fucking pathetic you'd look, tied to that bench, begging me to touch you."

Dylan swallows but quickly shoots the malevolent man a glare, reminding him that he won't take this lying down... figuratively speaking.

"Thought about how pretty you'd look..." Harry continues, dipping his head down to ghost his lips along Dylan's jaw. "Down on your knees... while I came down your throat."

Dylan's lashes flutter quickly as he attempts to maintain his resentment, but it becomes much harder when Harry's voice turns to soft silk, lips mere centimeters from his own, and suddenly it's been way too fucking long since he's tasted Harry's tongue.

"But you've been so good," Harry murmurs, both Dylan and Harry nodding as he says this. "Yeah? Yeah, pretty boy. You have, I know. And I think it's only fair... I show you... exactly what you missed leaving me alone that night."

And back to this. Dylan's lips part, ready to explain, but Harry cocks his head to the side, shooting him a look of warning.

"You say this is for her," Harry continues, and Dylan glances over towards Kingsley, who sits silently, her eyes wide. "Yeah? I agree. I agree that she wanted you here tonight and I agree that she deserves to feel you."

So far, so good. Dylan can't really see the problem except he knows the other ball is about to drop.

"So I'm gonna let you. I'm gonna let you fuck my girlfriend. Just like you did last time... while making me watch," Harry continues, almost bitterly, and Dylan begins to smirk.

He isn't wrong, and Dylan begins to relive that night in his mind as Harry recalls each detail for them, and he remembers how pretty Kingsley looked underneath him. Fucking magic.

Then, suddenly, Harry pulls back, eyeing the curious boy beneath him as he mumbles, "Except this time... I'm gonna fuck you."

Now the picture is finally starting to come together, and Kingsley can feel her pulse race as she looks down at Dylan.

His eyes are wide, clearly mesmerized by the proposition, and she can hardly blame him.

Although she is a bit curious to see how well he'll respond.

And Harry is, too. His brow quirks up, waiting expectantly for Dylan to reply, to consent, to react.

But... he doesn't.

He simply blinks up at Harry, like the idea is causing a glitch in his brain.

"That's how I'm gonna have you," Harry decides to continue, letting his lips graze Dylan's for another second. "Gonna watch you fuck her while I ruin you."

Dylan's lids are shutting softly, practically getting swept up in the words alone but before he can fully succumb, Harry leans back up, resting on his knees as he looks down.

The pink and purple lights all about the room are beginning to blur like watercolors in Dylan's mind, practically lulling him into a fuzzy state of submission.   

He doesn't know how he got here. How he got to this moment. How he let himself fall into such a deep sense of desire for not only his best friend... but his best friend's boyfriend.

Labels certainly don't matter tonight, not in this room, and not between the three.

But he doesn't forget their history and he doesn't forget that this changes nothing between them.

It didn't before, it surely can't now.

And yet, even though he's unsure... he props himself up onto his forearms, holding Harry's stare for a moment longer before looking to Kingsley.

"Come here," Dylan calls for her, his voice tender, encouraging her to slink to his side.

He grabs her face when she's close enough, sitting up fully as he leans in to kiss her gently, passionately, and lovingly. 

It's much easier for him to focus on his safe person than it is to focus on Harry, so that's what he does. 

He chooses to put all his time and energy and love into her. Into her pleasure, her body, her mind.

He places one hand on her hip to shove her back, wanting her near the pillows so she can be as comfortable as possible.

She crawls back willingly, never breaking their kiss as she pushes her fingers into the roots of his hair, pulling him along with her.

Behind them, Harry is reaching for his own belt, sliding it off as he watches closely. He'll need Dylan's proper consent before he can begin, but he lets them have their fun as he prepares.

And Dylan is so fucking eager. Been thinking about their first night since he left the room, remembering the way she felt, the way she fucking squeezed him, the way she moaned his name.

He was ruining their friendship with each thrust, and he fucking adored it, pushing her face into the mattress as pulled her hair, and made her watch.

And now... he gets to do it again.

Their kiss is still slow, but somehow heavy. Heavy with the lust and apprehension they both feel as they move closer to what they want. Dylan finds his way between her legs, forcefully pushing them apart as he licks down her chest, fingers finding her cunt. 

Poor thing is still soaking, dripping down his fingers already as he feels her out, curling up as she gasps, head falling back onto the pillows.

She scratches her nails down his back and Harry watches as the red marks begin to appear, his cock throbbing as they do.

It's fucking glorious. Never seen something so beautiful in his life and he can't wait to add to the artwork she's creating down Dylan's spine.

When he's sure she's ready, Dylan fists his cock and brings it closer, debating on going easy before he thinks, fuck it, and slides inside.

It's hard and thoughtless, and exactly what she had been hoping for as her lips part in a silent whine.

He kisses her quickly, swallowing her moans before she can make them, his hips stilling for a moment to let her adjust. Her hands are on his face, pulling him into her as they share the feeling, the stretch, the fullness.

And after a second, she nuzzles her nose against his once again, nodding quickly as she whispers, "Go."

He does, pulling back and grabbing her leg to hoist it up before driving himself harder.

The new angle makes her squirm, kissing him feverishly to silence herself, fingers pulling at his cheeks.

She's soaking his cock and Dylan growls in the back of his throat at the feel of her clenching around him, so fucking tight, exactly how he remembers.

He could spend all day being inside of her, could spend the rest of the night just her and him, fucking her until the tears are staining her skin.

But that's not on Harry's agenda, and as Dylan is finding a steady but hard pace, Harry returns to his side.

He slips his fingers around the front of Dylan's throat and tugs his head back, forcing their kiss to come to an abrupt end as Dylan hisses through his teeth.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you," Harry murmurs threateningly, eyeing the annoyed boy below him. "Beg me... to fuck you."

Dylan doesn't respond right away, a glare beginning to set in as he looks up.

"Beg me... to fuck... your tight little hole," Harry continues in a snake-like tone so vile, that Kingsley leans back.

Dylan exhales harshly, lips pursed, and fingers digging into Kingsley's hip to steady himself.

"Please," he grits, so forced and so strained that Harry could be fooled into thinking he's not the desperate little whore he knows he is.

"Better," Harry demands in response, squeezing his neck a bit tighter until Dylan's lashes flutter, the oxygen disappearing quickly.

"Please... fuck me," Dylan finally seethes, and now... Harry grins.

"Good boy," he purrs, hand sliding up to his jaw before he shoves Dylan's head back down. 

As Dylan grunts to himself, eyes shut tight, Harry moves for the bottle on the nightstand, flipping it up as he walks behind Dylan's waiting body.

Kingsley, sensing his annoyance, pulls at Dylan's cheeks again, her touch so inexplicably opposite of Harry's that he begins to calm. 

She kisses him just once, a light but meaningful peck on the lips, and he sighs, wondering for a second time how he got so lucky.

And then... Harry's hand.

His rough fingertips move up Dylan's leg, alerting him of his presence, and Dylan takes a deep breath to prepare.

Harry kneels on the bed behind him, hands moving for Dylan's hips as lines himself up.

But, before he goes any further, he dips his head down... and spits.

Even Kingsley is tempted to whimper at the eroticism, but Harry doesn't pay either of them any mind as he drags his fingers through the coating, circling the rim before slowly pushing his way in.

Dylan reels, body lurching forward into Kingsley's as she quickly wraps her arm around his shoulders, her pussy fluttering around him as he hits her deeper.

"Nuh-uh," Harry calls, using his hold on Dylan's hip to ease him back. "Stay right fucking here, all right? Need to stretch you. Relax."

But Dylan doesn't respond, because he knows if he does, Harry won't like what he has to say.

So, instead, he pulls Kingsley's lip between his teeth and thrusts into her again, the gentle noise from her throat making his heart skip.

Harry doesn't stop him, however, he simply pushes his fingers in further, scissoring them slightly as he hears Dylan grunt into her neck.

He doesn't know what the noise was in response to, but he doesn't really care, he's just happy to hear it.

After a moment, Harry reaches for the bottle, the cool liquid making Dylan shiver as it's applied generously.

Harry takes his time, making sure the young boy is nothing but prepared, easing in and out gingerly before picking up the pace, moving a bit faster as Dylan's breathing picks up. He bends his finger upwards, only an inch or two deep, but finds the spot he's looking for and begins to stroke.

Dylan's thrusts have begun to falter, practically nonexistent, but Kingsley doesn't mind. She stays perfectly still beneath him, thumbs caressing his jaw as she watches his face.

His expression is beautiful. Brows pulling together, sweat beading near his hairline, teeth gritting. He feels good, feels pleasure. Like nothing before and she could stare at that expression all day.

"That's it," Harry praises from behind, his tone a bit gentler. "Easy, Dylan, you're all right."

Dylan's chest is rising and falling, his stomach tensing as the most insane feeling forms in his spine, nearly blinding him.

He hadn't expected it to feel this... good. It's certainly not the first time he's been fucked in the ass, but it is the first time by Harry, and truth be told, Dylan had figured he'd hate it.

I mean... it's Harry, and he's a fucking asshole, and how good could he possibly be?

But now Dylan knows exactly what Harry is capable of and he hates that he fucking loves it.

A moment or two more passes quickly before Harry decides he's ready, removing his fingers as Dylan finally exhales, able to breathe for what feels like the first time in minutes.

And as Harry lines himself up, he glances down at Kingsley, silently asking her permission, and also for a reassurance that Dylan is all right, and she smiles gratefully, nodding. 

Nobody knows him better than she does, and if she thinks Dylan will be all right... then Harry believes her.

"Tell me again," he murmurs, moving his eyes back down to Dylan's ass. "Need to hear you fucking say it, Dylan. Need to know—"

"Yes," Dylan replies instantly. "Yes, go... just... go."

There's a slight catch in his voice and Harry almost misses it, but he doesn't, and just when he's thinking the poor boy won't be able to handle it... he realizes what the catch was.

Pathetic, undeniable desire.

And that's all Harry needs to ease his cock forward.

Immediately, Dylan's jaw goes slack, and Kingsley works quickly to aid him in any way she can.

She lifts her hips up to meet his, and he sinks deeper into her, feeling her clench around him as the pleasure in his spine nearly doubles.

It's so fucking good, for each one of them, and Harry almost loses it when he feels how tight Dylan is.

It's perfect, but Harry forces himself to still, giving Dylan a moment or two to relax his muscles.

And as he waits, Kingsley pulls Dylan's earlobe between her teeth, biting softly as he sighs again, so overstimulated in so many spots that he can hardly stand it.

"S'good," she tells him, her soft voice like rain. "So good, Dylan."

The praise spurs him on, his thrusts beginning to pick up again, but at a much different pace.

Because every time he thrusts into her, he loses the feel of Harry. 

And every time he pulls back... the fullness.

Harry picks up on the rhythm quickly, hands finding Dylan's hips as he follows, moving his thrusts to match Dylan's, and suddenly, the room is nothing but needy moans and desperate pants.

"God, exactly what I fucking thought," Harry hisses, hand reaching out to scratch down Dylan's back, weaving his red marks between Kingsley's. "Take me so fucking well, don't you?"

Little droplets of blood form in the wake of Harry's nails, littering Dylan's back with a wine-stained promise.

Harry's eyes narrow in on the scratches, feeling his breath hitch as he lets his thumb smear the precious blood across Dylan's skin before pulling his finger to his mouth and collecting it on his tongue.

Dylan can't respond, can't even form a sentence, his mind absolutely blank as he feels Harry brush against his prostate just as Kingsley flutters around him.

"Both of you... so fucking desperate," Harry seethes, eyes flicking down to Kingsley as she whimpers softly. "S'this what you wanted, sweet girl? Wanted us to have you? Wanted us to fuck you? All you've been fucking dreaming about?"

She nods, another soft whine sweeping past her lips in response, and Harry curses to himself at the sight of Dylan's body on top of her, pressing into her, pulling her. 

He can't stop, can't fight the dominance coursing through his veins, the need to ruin them both.

He reaches out, fingers in Dylan's hair, pulling his head back. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Fuck—"

"Say it, Dylan—"

"Shit... good," Dylan pants, veins straining against his skin as he drives himself deeper, forcing Kingsley's knee into her chest.

"Attaboy," Harry growls, shoving his head back down. "Go on... fill her. Fucking fill that tight little pussy till it drips down her thighs."

"Shit—"

"Ruin her, Dylan. Fucking do what you came to do and ruin her," Harry demands. "Show me how bad you want it."

Tears are pooling in Kingsley's eyes as she squirms against the silk sheets, her eyes flicking up to the mirror on the ceiling to watch the three of them for a moment before the pleasure overtakes her.

"Go on," Dylan tells her, sensing her need. "It's okay, baby, go on... please. Fuck, gotta feel you."

His arm moves to wrap around her lower back, hosting her off the mattress and closer to his body as he fills her to the hilt, hips slamming into hers.

And she does exactly what was asked of her, exploding around him as she cries out, face burying in his neck as he holds her tight.

He could revel in the sensation for the rest of his life, could die right fucking here with her around him, it feels so fucking good.

He places her back down so he can pinch her clit, rubbing it gently before applying pleasure, and she gasps like she's on fire, whimpering into his skin as he forces her to cum for him again.

And as he does, Harry feels his own release about to overflow, the slick sound of his cock slipping in and out of Dylan almost pleasure enough.

But he won't let himself cum until Dylan has, needing him more than anything in the world, and it encourages his thrusts to go harder, to hit better.

The look on Dylan's face along with the feel of his fingers sends Kingsley into her next wave and she scratches down his back once again, the poor boy's skin now littered with memories of both their pleasure.

But Dylan could care less. All he cares about right now is how good it all feels. How good she feels, how good he feels...

And it snaps.

Suddenly and without warning but who is he to complain as he lets it engulf him, his mind going numb as it finally breaks him into a million pieces.

The sound he makes... a growl, angry and heated that quickly fades into a soft whimper has Harry's heart stuttering in his chest.

It's the best thing he's ever heard in his life and he can't even see Dylan's face but he knows it's fucking beautiful.

And he finally has what he wanted. Finally has Dylan fisting the sheets as he pounds into him, teeth finding Kingsley's shoulder as he bites down hard.

It's perfect. Better than Harry could have possibly imagined and as the tides rolls over Dylan... Harry follows. 

To be honest, he's quite impressed with himself for lasting as long as he did. After all, with the way his two little whores were egging him on, he's surprised he didn't lose it within the first thirty seconds.

But as he releases, Dylan moves back, ass meeting his hips as Harry's nails begin to scratch down Dylan's skin. 

He's panting helplessly, a sound Kingsley knows well, and as she watches him still... she smiles.

They're both so good at that.

For a moment, all they do is breathe, chests heaving as they collapse onto one another, Harry falling onto the bed on one side of Kingsley, and Dylan falling onto the other side.

Of course, true to form Dylan refuses to move, keeping his cock warm right inside Kingsley's cunt, and she doesn't mind in the least bit.

Who knows how long it'll be until she'll get to feel him like this again?

And if Harry wasn't so fucked out of his mind, he'd say this was the perfect time to give Kingsley a taste. It would be so easy to enter from this angle, with Dylan fucking into her from the front.

The image in his head is unholy, but unfortunately, he reckons that will have to wait until their next visit.

As the sounds of the club drift into the now silent room, Harry snuggles in closer, kissing along Kingsley's shoulder blades as she sighs contently. 

And Dylan does the same, grazing his lips along her neck, licking over the bruises they've made, sucking in a couple more, just to make it even.

They touch her like she's satin, smoothing their palms over her skin, devouring her eagerly.

It's the perfect way to end it, reminding her and themselves that this little fucking brat always gets her way.

And when her way involves them both...

Then they suppose they both win.

She's everything to them in this moment, and their need to care of her like she's a lost little lamb becomes their only drive.

They kiss every inch of her skin, caress each dip of her body, and murmur things in her ear that makes her cheeks flush.

"Did so good—"

"My sweet girl. Know you fucking loved it, didn't you—"

"You're okay, I've got you—"

"Easy, darling. So fucking good—"

She could listen to them talk to her all day, and while they're gentle and soft, she doesn't miss the lust still peeking through each word that drips from their lips.

It's easy to become lulled into a sense of security with them. And she nuzzles her face into the crook of Dylan's neck as he runs his thumb down her lip, smiling to himself as she wiggles into him.

And Harry holds her, arm around her hip, his chest against her back, his own face buried in her hair. He inhales her. Her scent, her body... it's fucking mythical and hasn't a doubt in his mind why she drives him so crazy.

They stay in the silk bed for what feels like hours, just whispering in hushed voices, holding onto each other as if afraid to let go of the moment.

However, before they can all fall asleep, Harry declares it's time for him to take Kingsley home, gingerly pulling at her hand to help her to her wobbly feet.

The three of them begin to reach for their clothes, slipping them back on in silence as they do their best not to think too hard about what comes next.

Once they're ready, Harry leads them to the door, opening it quietly as they slip out into the loud hallway, leaving their secrets and bad decisions behind.

Kingsley finds herself falling behind so she can walk beside Dylan, slipping her hand inside his as she grins up at him.

And he wants to be annoyed, but he smiles nonetheless, looking down at her with a roll of his eyes. "What?"

"Feels good, right?" she whispers, biting her lip with glee. "The three of us?"

He grunts, eyes returning to Harry's back. "Don't push it."

"But you have to admit you enjoyed it—"

"No. I don't."

"Dylan," she laughs, and Harry smirks to himself as he listens to their conversation.

"I'm not doing it again," Dylan finally informs her, eyes lowering back down. "I mean it."

"Sure, okay," she snorts, squeezing his hand again before following both boys out into the main room.

And Dylan leaves The Prism that night fully believing he'll never find his way back again.

But that's the funny thing about The Prism.

You always come back for more.

Previous:

~ Insatiable | 3. The Prism (Harry & Dylan & Kingsley)*

Full Masterlist

[freedomfireflies-deactivated202]

Insatiable | 3. The Prism (Harry & Dylan & Kingsley)*

Summary: Harry and Dylan don't have a thing in common except for their hatred.

That...and their insatiable thirst for her.

Word Count: 11.2k (I have no excuse for this, I was in heat)

The Prism.

Boston's very own sex club. Boston's best underground sex club. Secret, but not unknown. The Prism is nothing short of legendary. The parties, the memories, the clients, the exclusivity. All of it is what makes The Prism what it is. 

And Dylan? Dylan is the club's best participant. A rather familiar face to everyone who works there, even to most of the other customers. 

That's where he finds himself on Friday evening. After all, what better way is there to start the weekend? He'll have a few drinks, meet some new people, rock some needy girl's world, and then he'll go home. 

Typical Friday night.

What's not so typical, however, is running into people he knows.

Like Kingsley.

Or Harry.

The second he sees them, his skin pales. They must have come together; he assumes this immediately. He hadn't been paying attention, his focus instead on the girl performing on stage, but when he just so happens to look over towards their booth? 

He's not sure what he feels when he realizes it's them. Embarrassed? Surprised? 

Excited?

His eyes linger on the two of them for a moment longer, intrigued by what he sees. They're leaning into each other as they whisper about something, his hand on her knee, her hands wrapped around her drink, which he already knows is just Sprite.

Dylan's gaze seems to fixate on Harry's fingers, which he notices are slowly sliding their way up Kingsley's thigh. 

A touch like that isn't uncommon in a place like this, and it's not like Harry is trying to hide it.

But it's Kingsley's reaction that has Dylan suddenly gritting his teeth.

She's smiling to hide a gasp, he can tell, her lips parted as her pupils dilate. She's gripping the edge of the seat as she tries to close her legs, but Harold is quick to make sure she keeps them open.

And she's fucking eating it up. Dylan can't stand it, watching her look at him like he's God's gift to pussy.

He's gonna fuck her right there in the booth, there's no doubt about it, and the thought makes Dylan slam his knuckles into the table in front of him.

The club is loud, the music even louder, yet somehow, Kingsley hears the sharp smack and turns her head.

He's been made, his eyes widening slightly as she starts to piece together who he is.

Harry looks over next, his stare following her eyeline until he figures it out.

Now they're both looking at him, and he considers just storming off, until he notices Harry smirk.

Then, he leans even further into Kingsley's body and slides his fingers right up her dress until Dylan can't even see them anymore. 

And the way she immediately goes red, her face turning away from Dylan's line of vision as her jaw drops lets him know exactly what's happening underneath her dress.

And he hates it. Despises it. Him. Fucking Harold. And Dylan has to scoff to himself as he forces his eyes away.

She really thinks he's good for her? She really thinks he knows what he's doing? Pathetic, that's what it is. Delusional, too. 

He could show her in one hour more than Harry ever could in years. He could make her feel things she didn't know her body was capable of feeling. Go so fucking deep that she never wants to be touched by another man again.

She'd be all his.

All fucking his.

The idea instantly makes his dick hard. She has no idea how fucking good he could be to her. Has no fucking concept of what real pleasure feels like. She's wasting her pretty little whimpers on some second-rate fingering from a man who can't even get hard.

And she actually thinks she likes it? He has to swallow a dry laugh as he watches her lean against the seat, head dropping back as she struggles to breathe.

Harry's ego seems to grow with every second that passes, and Dylan simply glares from across the room, forcing himself to count to ten before he goes over there and fucks her while Harry watches.

Although, that's not the worst idea, and maybe dear Harold would finally learn how to make someone cum.

And he'd learn who Kingsley really belongs to. 

The thought is tempting. Maybe it's because of the three drinks already in his system. Maybe it's because of his raging jealousy and need to be in control. 

It could be a number of things, but all Dylan knows is that she's not leaving tonight without his cum dripping from her cunt. 

He makes this decision rather easily, standing from his seat and striding across the club to their booth.

Harry notices first, his smug smile growing as he curls his finger upwards, making Kingsley bury her face in his shoulder.

He'll pay for that later, Dylan decides, although he doesn't let it distract him right now. 

He stops in front of their table, placing his palms down and leaning forward, forcing Kingsley to look over and up when she hears him approach. 

She immediately pushes at Harry's hand, trying quickly to compose herself, but it's far too late.

Besides, Harry won't let his hand be moved and truthfully, neither will Dylan. It's a lot more fun to watch her try and hide from him.

"Hi," she breathes out quickly, still shoving at Harry's wrist and praying Dylan doesn't notice. "What, um... what a coincidence."

"Isn't it?" Dylan muses, eyes narrowing as the smile tugs at his lips. "This is the last place I imagined running into you."

"Oh, well," she tries to laugh. "You know, we didn't have much to do. Figured we'd check it out. I heard the mozzarella sticks are to die for."

She's rambling. It's cute. But pointless and it's not why he came over. "Is that all?"

She gives him a big smile. "Yup! That's it. In fact, we were just leaving—"

"No," Dylan interrupts, his volume dropping. "No, I don't think so."

Her eyes go wide while Harry begins to study him. He's up to something, Harry has figured out, but he's not sure what.

But he knows whatever it is, he's not gonna like it.

"Why, um... why no?" Kingsley finds the strength to ask.

Dylan's head tilts as his eyes drop down to her chest, which is heaving under the stress of the situation. Then, he dips down until they're face to face, mere inches from one another. 

"Because what kind of friend would I be if I made you cum around his fingers?" Dylan murmurs, watching the way her eyes nearly pop out of her head. "I'd say a pretty fucking shitty one."

Now Harry gets it. Sees what Dylan's really trying to do, but instead of stopping it... he watches.

Kingsley, however, still hasn't the slightest clue what's going on, but she does know she's ready to walk into traffic. 

She doesn't have a response. Dylan knew she wouldn't, he watched her tongue go numb, so he gets closer. 

"And am I a shitty friend?" he asks her, and now she's trapped. 

Harry is rather impressed with how this is playing out, his fingers tight around her thigh as he squeezes, reminding her to answer. 

She swallows as she feels it, meeting Dylan's lustful gaze. "No."

"No," he repeats smoothly. "I'm not. You know what kind of friend I am?"

She feels her breath hitch as he stares right through her. 

"I'm the kind of friend who takes you into that private room and fucks you the way you deserve."

It's at that moment, they all know what's happening next. 

Dylan can only smile smugly as he watches this sink in, with Harry shifting not-so-subtly in his seat, and Kingsley sucking in a quiet gasp. 

"Up," Dylan commands of her, and she stands so quickly to her feet, that she's convinced it was her cunt making the call instead of her brain. 

And Harry resists rolling his eyes, although Dylan's arrogant look is making it rather difficult. 

Dylan reaches out his hand for Kingsley to take, and she delicately places her palm on top of his, feeling the way he's quick to squeeze it.

He leads her out of the booth, helping her step down onto the floor, his strong hand making her feel rather safe.

Harry slowly steps out next, no one reaching for his hand, but his focus isn't on that. It's on the way Kingsley has turned into a wide-eyed doe under Dylan's watchful gaze.

It's pitiful. She's practically tripping over her feet as Dylan leads them through the club and towards a hidden hallway. She's staring up at him, heart hammering in her chest, already clenching. 

Harry knows her tells. Knows her very well. Which is why he knows that she's already soaked the pretty panties he made her wear tonight. 

Dylan continues walking down the hall, passing room after room until they stop at door number 5. 

He pulls a gold-plated key from his pocket, inserting it into the lock, and twisting.

The door swings open as Dylan looks to the two standing behind him.

Kingsley's eyes widen as she takes it in. It's a large room. A bed. Front and center. King sized, at least. Silk sheets. A mirror on the ceiling. A velvet couch on one wall. A black bench with handcuffs on the other. Toys and tools lined up and displayed in the corner.

She's not sure what excites her more. Which aspect. Which idea of how Dylan, or Harry, might utilize them. 

Harry, much to his surprise, finds himself equally intrigued. In his mind, Dylan is nothing but a little bitch boy. An object getting in his way. 

But not tonight. Tonight, Dylan has revealed a different side to him. One that Harry is rather attracted to.

But he'll fucking die again before he admits it. 

Dylan stands back so they can both enter. Kingsley walks in first, slowly, her big eyes soaking in every little detail.

Harry begrudgingly follows after, anticipating that this night is not going to go his way, but still rather drawn to the possibilities. 

And Dylan? Dylan watches them as he shuts the door before locking it and leaning against it. 

His arms cross over his chest as he waits for them to get comfortable, noticing the way Harry keeps glancing his way. 

"Problem?" he calls, and Harry's jaw clenches. 

"Just wondering what your plan is," Harry replies, and Kingsley looks between them. 

"My plan," Dylan repeats, the smile reappearing. He pushes off the door and takes a step towards him. "Well. My plan, Harold, is to show Kinglsey exactly how it feels to have my fucking cum inside of her."

Harry's fingers flex at his side, his eyes narrowing. Kingsley, on the other hand, feels lightheaded. 

But Dylan isn't through. He takes another step, keeping his eyes on Harry. "And my plan... is to make you fucking watch."

Harry doesn't wipe the annoyed look off his face, but for some reason, he doesn't reject the idea.

And when he simply continues to grit his teeth together, Dylan knows he's right in the palm of his hand.

So, Dylan looks to the panting girl on his left. "Sit him down," he commands, nodding his chin towards the bench.

Harry scoffs as he looks away, not amused by Dylan's idea of dominance, but then Dylan steps closer. 

"What's wrong?" he smirks, stopping right in front of him. "Don't think you can take it?"

Harry's glare intensifies as he meets Dylan's gaze, yet he still doesn't have a response. 

"Is that it?" Dylan pushes, his hands now coming up to Harry's chest, feeling the way Harry's breath hitches. Then... he shoves. "Can't fucking stand the idea of watching me fuck her?"

Harry stumbles back only slightly, but catches himself, and returns to his spot, sucking on his teeth. "I just don't think you can do it."

"No?" Dylan replies, his eyebrow raising. He shoves him again. "Sit down."

"You don't fucking—"

Dylan's fingers are tangled in Harry's roots before he even realizes what's happened. "Sit the fuck down," Dylan hisses, his lips dangerously close. "And maybe I'll be good to you, too."

Harry's ego tells him to do anything but obey... and yet the way his dick is twitching in his nice pants has him wanting to do exactly what Dylan says.

And he fucking hates it.

Dylan already knows this won't be easy for him, so he glances back over to Kingsley, who is both worried and aroused by the sight in front of her. He nods at her, and she steps over to them, taking Harry's hand gently.

Dylan doesn't let go of his hold on Harry, not yet. He makes sure Harry is looking him right in the eye as he smirks, and whispers, "Attaboy."

It's condescending, and arrogant, and everything Harry hates, especially from Dylan.

But he lets Kingsley pull and guide him over to the bench as Dylan's hand slowly lowers.

Harry grunts under his breath, irritated as he looks down at the sweet girl just trying to do as she's told. 

Her eyes are still mesmerized by whatever spell Dylan has put her under, and Harry finds it rather cute, if not a little annoying. 

She continues to lead him by the hand over to the bench, before looking back at Harry expectantly as she waits for his next move.

He huffs to himself as he considers what he's about to give up. 

Control.

He fucking adores having control, especially over her. And the second he sits down... it's out of his hands. Quite literally.

But he's taken with Dylan's promise and even more taken with watching Kingsley fall apart. Not to mention, he's curious to see if Dylan is as good as he says he is.

Because if not, then Kingsley will have no choice but to admit she really was made for Harry.

And that thought alone has his cock throbbing. 

So, he sits. Rather angrily, as he doesn't want Dylan to think he's enjoying himself. Even if he is.

He sits, and once he does, both Kingsley and Harry look to Dylan.

He's still smug, arms crossed over his chest again as he looks to Kingsley. "Hands."

He doesn't need to elaborate for her to know what he wants. She reaches for Harry's large wrists and lifts his hands to the restraints hanging off the back. 

His eyes are narrowed and jaw tense as he allows this, feeling the way her fingers shake ever so slightly. 

She slips his hand through, tightening and locking his wrist into place. Then, she moves to the other side to repeat.

Harry tugs on them, just to test them out, and is surprised by how little room for movement he has. 

It's exciting, invigorating, arousing. But he keeps his expression flat as he's locked into place, eyes shooting to Dylan who looks nothing but pleased.

"Good girl," he calls to Kingsley once she steps back. 

Her face flushes as her legs squeeze together, something both boys notice, although they don't comment on it. 

Dylan walks closer to them, coming up behind Kingsley as she looks over her shoulder.

With his long, beautiful fingers, he sweeps her hair off to the side so he can graze his lips along her neck. "Take off your panties."

Harry leans back further in the seat, his legs spreading as he angrily watches Dylan smirk at him. 

But Kingsley does what she's asked, face returning forward as she leans down to slip her hands underneath her dress. 

Harry can tell she's a little stunned, maybe stuck in some sort of horny state of shock, but it's still rather amusing to watch.

She pulls the lacy material down her legs, Harry's eyes noticing the way she has to take a deep breath to compose herself. There's no doubt she felt herself dripping, no doubt she accidentally on purpose grazed her little clit, and no doubt she'll be unraveling before the night has even started.

Once they're off and in her hands, Dylan looks over the side of her face, watching her swallow as her eyes flutter from his close presence. 

"Put them in his mouth."

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead as Harry finally rolls his eyes, grunting to himself as he looks away. 

"Go on," Dylan repeats, nodding his chin towards the annoyed British boy on the bench. "Let him taste you. Cause this is all he's gonna fucking get."

Then, he places his hand on her lower back and gently pushes her forwards. 

She hurries to reach out and grab the underside of Harry's jaw, turning his head back and lifting it up.

His gaze is venomous and clearly annoyed as she looks him over. She smiles softly, brushing his cheek with her thumb. "Come on now. Be a good boy and open up."

He grits his teeth as he shoots her a look, but she just smiles. 

His lips slowly part, mouth widening just enough for her to take the soaked fabric and shove it inside.

Then, she uses her grip on his jaw to lift and shut.

His tongue is immediately immersed in the taste of her. A taste he's so used to, so familiar with, so enchanted by... that he groans. 

It comes out as more of an annoyed grunt, but Dylan is still pleased. 

Kingsley lets go of his jaw and steps back, her body colliding with Dylan's chest as he reaches out to wrap his arm around the front of her stomach and keep her tight.

"Think that'll keep him quiet?" he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as her eyes roll back.

She can feel his hard cock pressed to her ass, subconsciously grinding against it, but if he notices, he doesn't say.

He just keeps his lips close to her, breathing along her skin in such a soft way, that she shivers in his arms. 

He grins as he brushes his nose along her cheek. "How's it taste, Harry?"

Harry's eyes shoot a glare right through him, his arms pulling at the restraints. 

"That good, huh?" Dylan replies, his fingers beginning to pull at the fabric of Kingsley's dress. The hem begins to lift higher and higher up her thighs and the cool breeze makes her lean further into him. "Guess I should have a taste for myself."

Harry's eyes immediately dart down as the dress is pulled up and over her hips, balled into Dylan's fist near her stomach. 

She's soaked. They both knew she would be, but once they finally see it for themselves?

Harry grunts again and leans back even further, eyes heavy with lust as her throbbing cunt sits before him. Right in his fucking face.

Dylan looks over her shoulder and down at the masterpiece before him, the smug smile growing. 

His other hand moves down her side, slowly crawling its way to her hips before his fingers begin to lower.

Her eyes are trained on his every movement, watching as his palm smooths down her belly and towards her cunt. 

Her breathing has gotten faster, her chest rising and falling as she hears him chuckle from behind her. 

Then... he reaches his destination.

A small whimper leaves her lips as she jerks against his chest, but his arm keeps her still.

She can feel it, Harry can see it... it's so simple, yet she's about to lose her damn mind.

His fingers slide through her wet folds, feeling her out slowly, up and down. He spreads, he presses, then he dips his fingers inside.

A loud gasp rips from her throat as she squirms, but before she can really indulge in the pressure, he's pulling out and leaving her to whine. 

After all, he hadn't wanted to give her what she wanted just yet.

He simply wanted a taste.

His eyes move back over to Harry's as he brings his fingers up to his lips. His tongue drags along the drops falling down to his knuckles before he takes them in his mouth.

Hearing him suck the ever-loving shit out of them has Kingsley turning her head away and squeezing her eyes shut. It's too much, too good. She can't stand it and she can feel herself clenching around nothing.

Harry, however, can see it. Can see the way her body reacts to a simple sound, and he loves it. Loves seeing her fall apart, even if it's by Dylan's hand.

"You were right," Dylan hums, lowering his hand. "Fucking delicious."

Harry exhales through his nose slowly, his mouth watering, and teeth clamped down on the panties soaking his tongue. 

Dylan releases the dress until it falls back down her body before removing his arm and stepping back, making her turn around to face him. 

He runs a hand through his hair, the dark strands falling onto his forehead and making her heart swell. He's always been mesmerizing to look at, but under these lights? In this moment? She doesn't think she'll ever be able to look away.

When he notices her staring, his lips curl up. "C'mere, baby."

Still in a trance, she steps forward immediately, stopping in front of him as he hooks his finger under her chin and tilts up.

He moves in to kiss her, her eyes fluttering shut as she breathes out in excitement, finally something to go her way.

But then, he pulls back, his lips so close yet so far. 

She shoots her eyes open and sends him a pleading look.

"Take off your dress," he whispers, head tilting as if going in to kiss her again.

And again, she feels herself reeling, but he moves away before giving her what she wants, and she huffs as she reaches behind her for the zipper.

She slips the sparkly fabric down her arms before letting it fall to the ground, stepping out of it quickly.

Her eyes move back to Dylan's, subconsciously looking for his approval, and he graces her with a satisfied look.

He wants to rake his eyes up and down her body, but he's saving the gawking looks for later. 

Harry, on the other hand, has no problem letting his eyes trail up her soft skin, from her ass to her shoulder blades. It's gotta be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, the way her body curves, or dips at her hips, or moves when she moves.

He reckons this might be the night she ruins him.

"Now take off my shirt," Dylan instructs next and eagerly, Kingsley reaches for the hem. 

She pulls the black material up his stomach and over his head and arms, tossing it quickly to the ground before her eyes fall down to the newly exposed skin and she takes it in.

Without realizing it, her teeth tug at her lip, and Dylan's ego swells. 

"Pants," he commands next, stepping out of his shoes, and her greedy fingers lunge for his zipper.

The band of his briefs has her heart thumping in her chest, the idea of what lies beneath practically calling to her.

But she hasn't been instructed to go there yet, so with a huff, she pulls his jeans down to the floor.

Once they're off, and discarded to the side, she glances from his hips to his eyes, practically begging him to let her remove the last item of clothing. 

Fucking adorable, Dylan thinks to himself. He nods his chin towards where Harry is still brooding behind them, and she glances over. 

Dylan steps closer to her again, liking the ability to leave her floundering with just his presence. "I want you to take off his pants for me," he tells her, his tone low, nearly vibrating throughout her body. "Take them off, so you can watch him leak for you."

Harry's chest nearly caves in on itself as his eyes widen, but he's quick to shoot an angry look Dylan's way.

Dylan just smiles.

Kingsley, in all her naked glory, slowly walks back over, kneeling down before him as she reaches for his belt.

Harry looks down, his pulse racing at the beautiful sight at his feet. She's looking at her hands with those big eyes, her cunt still throbbing as she tries to squeeze her thighs together, lips parted in wonder.

It's getting more difficult to breathe, Harry's fingers digging into his palms as his outstretched arms are forced away from that pretty hair he'd love to get a fistful of. 

She's so fucking close to him, so close to what he already knows is his painfully hard and red proof of what she's doing to him. She loosens the pants and then tugs at them, indicating she wants him to lift his hips.

He does, only slightly since he hasn't much room to move, but she manages to pull them down his legs and onto the floor. 

His black dress shirt and boxers are all that's left, and Kingsley takes a moment to look him over.

Another beautiful sight, and she lets out a slow breath at the idea of riding that thigh tattoo for a second time. How pretty it would look, glistening from her arousal, dripping down his skin before she cleans it up.

But that's not on Dylan's agenda, and he clicks his tongue to call her attention back to him. "Take 'em off," he repeats, eyes on the only thing left between them and Harry's cock.

Kingsley glances up, her eyes on Harry's face, even though he's too busy staring Dylan down.

She reaches yet again for the band around his hips and grazes her fingers underneath.

His stomach quivers under her cool touch, another shaky breath being exhaled as his eyes flutter, and he looks down. 

For the first time all night, he's practically pleading with her, and she feels her breath stagger. 

She reaches in further, feeling already how sticky he is, how pathetically aroused. They both seem to gasp as the contact is made, and Harry's eyes can barely stay open.

He wants to indulge in her touch, especially since he can't even do anything about it, but before she can lower her hand, Dylan clears his throat.

Grunting behind the underwear in his mouth, Harry shoots a menacing look towards the tall man still cockily standing to the right. 

He just blinks.

Kingsley continues her task of removing his boxers, tossing them to the side and trying very hard not to stare at the hard dick right in front of her eyes.

Otherwise, she might just drool.

Dylan gives it a quick glance, however, rather satisfied with how Harry's body tells him what Harry can't. Proves just how much of a needy little bitch he really is. 

And Harry is fucking humiliated under their stares, leaning back against the bench, and pulling at the restraints, veins straining against his hot skin. 

"What did I tell you?" Dylan muses, leaning down until he's closer to Kingsley who is still on her knees. "Look at the way he needs you. Fucking leaking for you. Pathetic, isn't it?"

She nods mutely, her eyes still transfixed like a kid in a candy store.

Dylan notices, and decides maybe just this once, he'll be nice. "You wanna taste him, yeah?" he whispers, and she nods again. "Go on then. Fucking taste him."

Her eyes lift to Harry's, whose breathing is getting shallower by the minute, before she places her hands on his knees and straightens up. 

She moves in, eyeing him closely as she drags her tongue up the veiny underside of his cock.

Harry's head immediately drops back, eyes shutting as he groans. 

Her fingers dig into his thighs as she situates herself between them, moving up to his tip and wrapping her delicate little lips around it. Her tongue swirls and she whimpers for effect until Harry nearly loses it.

And Dylan notices, eyes narrowing in concern. The last thing he wants is Harry cumming down her throat.

But why not let her torture him just a little longer? Get him right to the edge before he makes her stop.

So, he allows her to take him deeper, watching the way Harry's stomach rises and falls with the fast breaths he's taking.

Her fingers dig into his thighs as she lets her tongue dance circles along his throbbing cock, finding each and every sensitive spot. And every time she does, he sighs loudly, refusing to look at Dylan as he does.

Now he's even closer, maybe right there on the edge, and Dylan decides he's been generous enough. He reaches down to Kingsley and takes a handful of her hair, tangling his fingers in it quickly until she lets go of Harry.

He tugs her to her feet, her jaw dropping, and lips coated with Harry's precum, before he spins her around and kisses her.

His tongue is in her mouth, tasting her from the inside out, and she moans. He can taste Harry all over her and while part of him fucking despises it... he also fucking loves the taste.

So, he indulges in it. Hand coming up to her throat to squeeze another moan from her, forcing her body to melt into his. Her fingers graze his stomach as she tries to steady herself, but her knees are weak, and she realizes she's never been so aroused by a fucking kiss.

With the hold he has on her hair, Dylan slings her towards the bed just behind them like a fucking ragdoll, watching the way her body crashes onto the soft mattress.

Her tits bounce from the force, an excited gasp slipping out as she looks up at him. She moves back to make room as he follows her, crawling onto the bed and hovering above her, practically caging her to the mattress.

He's like a wild animal and she feels like an innocent little deer just waiting for him to fucking eat her alive. She's impatient, legs already spreading as she pleads with him, hands grabbing for his face to kiss him again.

But he grabs her throat and forces her head up, making her hands drop back down to her own stomach.

"No," he warns, his voice raspy. "You do what I say, understood?"

"Please," she whispers, hoping the catch in her voice will persuade him for just one little touch.

But Dylan knows the trick. Knows she's a greedy little whore aching for anything he'll give her. He might be generous, but he's not stupid.

"No," he repeats, feeling her pulse race underneath his fingertips. "No, you're gonna stay right here. Right fucking here until I come back."

With that, he stands from the bed, and she pushes herself up to her elbows, watching him walk away with sad eyes. 

"Where—" she begins, but once she realizes he's headed for the toys, her legs snap shut.

Harry looks between them quickly, already annoyed with whatever Dylan has in mind, and even more annoyed that he agreed to just sit there quietly in the first place. 

Dylan takes his time looking over everything in front of him, even though he already knows what he wants. But keeping Kingsley dripping on the sheets in anticipation is much more amusing, so he pretends to deliberate. 

And Kingsley finds it getting harder to breathe as she waits, so aroused, she's sure she's in fucking heat. Her eyes flicker over to Harry for a brief moment, and seeing him still stretched out across the bench, still hard and needy... it's the final straw and she drops back down onto the bed with a sigh.

Dylan finally retrieves the toy he'd been looking for, feeling it in his hands, weighing it, running his fingers over it. He turns to the bratty girl still eagerly waiting for him and begins to walk back to her. 

Harry notices the toy and while he's a little peeved that Dylan gets to be the one to use it, he also knows that it'll be a fucking sight to see. 

And after all, he's got a front row seat.

Kingsley still hasn't noticed, however, her eyes on the mirror above her, watching as her tits raise with each breath she takes.

The sight alone of her naked body squirming on the silk has her sighing contently, wanting more than anything to slip her fingers down to her cunt and get just a little relief.

She almost does it, too, until she feels Dylan looking at her, and her head rolls to the side as she meets his stare.

Her pupils nearly blow out with lust as she recognizes the vibrating wand, realizing very quickly why Dylan chose it.

However, he doesn't rush to her side and put it to use, like she'd hoped. Instead, he looks over at Harry.

And Harry grunts, fingers digging into his palm as he realizes exactly why he's being stared at. 

Dylan can only smile with arrogance as he moves closer to the shifting gentleman, fingers sliding towards the power button. 

Harry's head tilts as he tries to communicate with his eyes, warning Dylan to fucking watch it, but Dylan doesn't pay the pleading look any mind.

Instead, he crouches down, eyes flicking between Harry's as he breathes out a laugh. "Something wrong?" he taunts quietly, the vibrations from the wand getting louder as Dylan increases the power.

Harry simply exhales harshly through his nose, shooting daggers Dylan's way, but Dylan just grins. 

The second the head of the toy grazes Harry's already aggravated cock, he's forced to groan loudly, eyes shutting and head turning away as if he can't even allow Dylan to see him like this. 

But that's alright. Dylan can see him no matter what Harry does and he's incredibly pleased with the control he has over Harry's pleasure right now.

"Do not fucking cum," Dylan can't help but warn, enjoying the teasing, but enjoying the edging even more.

Harry tries to scoff, but the way his dick is twitching has him worried he might not be able to hold off.

Which is exactly what Dylan wants. Wants him to be so close to release, that he'll even beg Dylan for it. Wants to bring him to the edge and leave him there while Dylan fucks his pretty girlfriend right in front of him. 

And Kingsley watches from the bed, whining to herself as her thighs squeeze together, panting lightly. Harry's eyes meet hers briefly and he has to take another deep breath, commanding himself to stay strong. 

He's close, too close, but Dylan finds it difficult to stop. There's something compelling about watching Harry like this. The snarky attitude nowhere to be found as he becomes puddy in Dylan's hands.

After all, Dylan had promised to be good to him, too. Maybe he lets Harry cum all over his stomach and maybe he makes Kingsley clean it up.

But Dylan decides to stick with his original plan, pulling the toy away from Harry's cock and powering it down. 

Harry lets out a shaky breath and looks back, still in a daze, but also still annoyed. 

The look on his face, angry but deprived, makes Dylan's stomach flip. It's the perfect expression on the perfect face and Dylan's lips part. 

Harry notices this, his chest heaving with lust as he looks over the pretty boy at his feet. And in that moment, Harry realizes he'll let Dylan have all the power if that means he can have him.

At least for tonight.

But Dylan still has someone else who needs him, and no matter how happy Harry's desperation makes him, it's nothing compared to teaching him a lesson.

So, he stands to his feet and turns around to the poor, dripping thing still lying on the bed. 

She whimpers the second his eyes trail down to her cunt, the look alone nearly sending her over the edge, but then he steps closer. 

She rolls her lips into her mouth as he kneels on the bed, returning to his previous position, before starting up the vibrator.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

She nods frantically, her thighs spreading again to invite him closer, but he isn't fooled.

He takes his time, reaching out to grab her ankle and slide her down to him, a surprised gasp slipping out. 

The toy comes alive in his hand, ready for use, and she eyes it like it's a cool drink of water on a hot day.

But still, he's patient. He takes the large head and brings it up to her sternum, dragging it down her chest slowly as her head drops back onto the bed.

Her eyes find him in the mirror above, watching the way his back muscles move and strain as he continues teasing her. Everything about his body is like a work of art. He's addicting, top to bottom, and she wonders how she never noticed before.

He drags the vibrations over her hardened nipple, and she whines again, writhing against the sheets and away from the sweet feeling.

But he doesn't stop. He makes sure to circle and push the object into her aching body until she's panting his name.

And he loves to hear his name on her lips. Loves to hear the quiet whisper of her voice as she breathes it out like she's breathing just for him. 

Slowly, he takes it down her stomach, watching the way she watches him do so. She's enthralled with everything he does, and his ego nearly triples in size.

That's right, he thinks to himself. All fucking mine.

He can tell just by her expression that she's never been teased like this. Never been treated like this. Because nobody bothered to take the time to worship her the way she deserves to be worshiped. No one has ever put her pleasure first.

Dylan will. He always will. From now until the rest of time, her body belongs to him. Her orgasms will be by his hand, his tongue, his cock. She'll be ruined for anyone else. He'll fucking see to that.

Hell, he hasn't even really done anything yet, and she knows she's in for it. Knows he's the best she'll ever have. Knows nobody knows her the way he does.

"Watch," he commands, now hovering near her hips. The vibrator is dangerously close to her aching cunt, and her eyes linger on his. "You fucking watch me make you cum."

She'll happily watch him ruin her, happily gaze upon his structured face as he pleases her out of her goddamn mind.

And right as she's deciding that maybe this isn't so bad after all, he presses the vibrations up against her clit, and her nails immediately dig into the sheets as she pulls and arches her back. 

Dylan breathes out slowly, his eyes trained on the magic in front of him. She's so fucking wet, soaking the toy, soaking the bed beneath them. And it sounds like heaven. That, plus her whimpering his nickname, and begging him to let her cum? Music. 

However, he can't help glancing over his shoulder to see how much Harry's enjoying the show.

But Harry's got his eyes closed as he steadies his breathing, squirming around the bench as he rests his head back against the wall behind him. 

Poor thing, Dylan coos to himself. He honestly does feel bad, but he knows this is exactly what Harry fucking deserves.

He considers forcing Harry to watch him, too, but he knows he will. Knows he won't be able to resist watching her cum around the toy or losing her last drop of self-control. He'll watch because he's just as fucking desperate as she is.

So, Dylan returns his attention to her, adding even more pressure as she continues to cry out, squirming so violently he's worried she'll hurt herself. 

It's no surprise she's close already, and while he'd love to edge her all night long, he knows he can't possibly edge himself any longer. He needs to feel her. Needs to feel her stretching around his cock. Needs to feel her soak him, needs to hear his skin against hers, needs to fucking fill her with his cum and leave her swollen. 

So, he will. He'll fucking abuse her tight little hole until it's practically molded just for him and his cock. Until she's fucking imprinted with him, so everyone knows who she really belongs to.

It's an odd concept, truthfully. The idea that he'd feel so possessive over her the way he does now. He's always been protective of his close friend, but tonight? Tonight, she's not just his friend.

She's his good fucking girl. 

His good girl who is so eagerly waiting to taste him. Who would do anything he fucking asked. She's a fucking dream. But she's real. He can't believe heaven was right next door to him all these years.

But now that he's found it, he's never losing it again.

"C'mon, baby," he mumbles, leaning down to kiss her hip bone as she whimpers. "I know you can do it. Give it to me, please."

He's begging her to cum and the sound of his voice gruffly pleading with her is what does it. 

It hits her like a fucking truck, her head turning to the side as she nearly screams, her toes curling and fingers twisting the sheets. 

It has to last for at least a minute, the overwhelming exhaustion that follows leaving her to gasp for air like never before. 

But Dylan isn't giving her even a minute to rest, instead tossing the vibrator to the side and tugging at her wrist until she sits up. 

She does, groaning softly in protest at the way she's not allowed to revel in the feeling before he moves to kneel behind her, her back against his chest.

His fingers are quick to reach around and slide across her throat, squeezing gently as he forces her eyes to land on Harry.

"Look at him," Dylan hisses in her ear, his chest firmly pressed to her bare back. "Isn't it so sad? Isn't it so fucking pathetic the way poor little Harold is leaking for you?"

She swallows another moan as her eyes trail down to the angry red tip literally calling out for her. For both of them. It's a sight to behold and Harry grinds his teeth against the panties as they stare at him.

"Can't stand the idea of watching my cock ruin what he thinks is his," Dylan continues to taunt, making sure Harry is looking him right in the eye. "Can't fucking stand knowing you cum for me and me alone."

She leans back into him as if she can't possibly stay upright, and his grip gets tighter. 

"You want that, too, hm?" he whispers, letting himself inhale her intoxicating scent. It's a mixture of perfume, and sex, and Harry. He's all over her and it drives Dylan insane in the best and worst way possible.

He brushes his lips along her cheek for just a moment, wanting to give in and kiss her the way he's always thought about, but yet he resists. It's much more fun to leave her begging for more.

But this time, she's the one who refuses. Refuses to waste another moment missing him and wishing for the taste of his lips on hers.

So, she turns around. She moves down onto her hands and knees as Dylan's head spins from the switch in position. 

She grabs his hips and leans forward, dragging her tongue along his toned stomach, and his breathing begins to stagger.

He doesn't know what she's planning but suddenly, he can't possibly be convinced to stop her. He's curious, and hard, and possibly just as needy for her as she is for him.

Harry watches with labored breaths, noticing the way Dylan's eyes widen and flutter as he watches her move up his body. It's annoying, and aggravating, and so goddamn hot.

Dylan could watch her pretty pink tongue assaulting his skin for the rest of his life, and even though this is a moment to remember, it's not what he had planned.

She finally reaches his neck, moving to kiss underneath his ear in hopes that he'll buckle under her touch.

But he sees it coming from a mile away, and if she thinks she's in charge tonight, she's dead fucking wrong.

So, before she has the chance to use those lips against him, ghosting them on top of his, he grabs the back of her neck and tugs her head back, making her gasp. 

Her jaw drops as she looks up at him, dripping pathetically down her thighs from the force, and from the way he's glaring at her.

"What did I fucking say?" he murmurs, the dominance behind his tone enough to leave her weak. 

She can only respond with a shaky breath, one that would almost make Dylan worry, if he didn't know what a fucking whore she was.

"Please," she finally finds the strength to whisper, and Dylan tilts his head. 

"Please what, hm?" he questions, dipping his head down to brush their lips together the way she wanted. "Hurts, baby?"

Even as he says it, she feels the strange rush between her thighs, the way she feels so completely empty. The way her body is literally begging Dylan to fill her, fuck her, cum inside of her, drip down her thighs, down her throat, down her fucking tits. 

She whimpers from the mere thought of it, making Dylan's ego swell. She just needs him to touch her. Needs it. Her own fingers won't do. They're so small, can't get her off a fucking inch the way he can.

"Hurts," she repeats pathetically. "Please, Dyl."

His eyes fall across her face as he considers it. "What do you need? Tell me."

He already knows what she needs. Who she needs. But she knows he wants to hear her say it. 

And not for his benefit. 

But Harry's.

So, she gives him exactly what he wants. "Need your cock, Dylan, please. Need you to ruin me, need it so fucking bad."

"Yeah? What else?" he pushes, nearly groaning. God, he loves hearing her beg. Loves watching the way her eyes go dark with lust. The way that sarcastic attitude of hers vanishes into thin air the moment he touches her. 

"Need to taste you," she gasps, just the idea of it making her shiver. "Need to feel your hands around my neck. Wanna see you on my skin for weeks."

"Yeah? Why."

She knows why. He knows why. Even Harry knows why, and he's this close to chipping a tooth at Dylan's little performance. 

"Because I'm yours."

There it is. Exactly what Dylan wanted. Her pussy, her mouth, her—they're all his. 

Not Harry's. 

Not Harry's. 

So, straightening up on his knees so he can tower over her, he tugs her hair once more for good measure. "Show him."

He lets her go now so she can comply and like the good fucking girl she is, her hands move to his briefs.

Harry's eyes move down, already glaring as he watches Dylan smile at her. 

And she's so fucking excited. Can barely keep her fingers from trembling as she pulls the elastic band down his thighs.

He's hard, and red, and ready. He's wanted this since before he saw her in the club. He's wanted it since he heard her fuck herself in the shower this morning and now, he's gonna give her exactly what she had been imagining while she did it.

Harry having to watch is just a happy bonus. 

"Turn around," Dylan instructs, nodding his chin towards the other side of the bed.

Her heart rate speeds up as she realizes what he wants, and she swallows a small moan as she turns around and steadies herself on her hands and knees.

Dylan grabs her hips and gives her exactly half a second to prepare before he brushes his tip through her wet folds. It's intoxicating and she reels the moment the contact is made.

He's losing his control, and decides that she's had enough teasing, and so has he. He reaches forward and grabs a fistful of her hair and tugs her head up until she's facing Harry.

Leaning down, he growls, "You watch him. You fucking watch him while you clench around my cock. You watch him while I fuck you, do you hear me?"

She tries to nod, but his grip is too tight. "Yes," she pants, eyes already locking on Harry's.

Harry lets out a slow breath.

Satisfied, Dylan finally gives in to everything he's wanted to. He continues to keep her head up in one hand, guide her hip with the other, and bury his cock inside her.

And when he feels her... he finally loses control. He'd been doing so good, but she's so fucking tight. And warm. And wet. And fucking squeezing the shit out of him in a way that makes his head pound.

"Dyl," she whispers, so overloaded with the pressure in her stomach, she's not even sure she said it until he curses. 

"God, I'm so fucking good to you," he grunts, releasing her hair so he can scratch his fingers down her spine, marking her the way she wants. "Take such good care of you, don't I?"

"Yes." She can't stand it. Can't breathe. Can't see straight. 

"I let him watch you just the way you like," Dylan continues, and her eyes roll back. "Don't you, hm? Like to be watched like the pretty little whore you are. Makes you feel so fucking good, doesn't it?"

"Uh huh," is still all she can muster when he slams his hips into her ass.

"I let him watch," he murmurs, still thrusting into her so hard and deep that she's convinced he really will ruin her. "I let him watch me use what's mine. Let him watch you soak me. Let him see exactly what it looks like to own you. That's what you want, isn't it, princess?"

Her answer comes in the form of another gut-wrenching moan, echoing through the room as he grazes her g-spot and sends her down onto her forearms. 

Harry's breathing is getting heavier, the underwear in his mouth soaked from the way he's nearly drooling, and his cock still aggravated beyond belief. It's fucking torture, sitting so close yet so far away, forced to watch them have all the fun.

But there's also something addicting about watching Dylan clench his jaw when he thrusts, or feels her clench, or hear her moan his name. It's almost beautiful, Harry notices, and suddenly he's not paying attention to Kingsley anymore.

Dylan's muscles flex whenever he pulls at her hip or pushes her head down onto the mattress, her cheek tight against the silk. His thighs are strong as he holds himself up, beads of sweat forming at his hairline, locks of messy brown hair falling onto his face. 

And the noises he's making... low grunts of pleasure. Sometimes it comes out as a needy whimper, but he covers it quickly by cursing loudly. 

But Harry doesn't miss it. Doesn't miss as Dylan loses a little more of his self-control. It's a sight to see and Harry can't look away.

Dylan doesn't notice, however, instead more concerned with how he's already so close to filling Kingsley up and spilling out of her. And even more concerned with how he never wants this night to end. If he had it his way, they'd fuck all night. 

Over and over and over, until she was raw and weepy. Until the tears were staining her cheeks and she was scratching patterns down his back. Until the whole club knew exactly who her pussy belonged to.

But he fears this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Once they leave this room... the fun comes to an end. He doubts they'll ever speak of it again, so he figures he needs to make every second count. 

"Look at him," Dylan finally demands of her again, and her eyes flicker up to Harry's face. "Look at the way he wants to taste you on my cock. How he wants anything I'll let him have. But you're mine, aren't you? Fucking tell him. Tell him who you were really made for."

She can't seem to speak, her tongue numb as she subconsciously begs him to go harder.

Sensing she needs the encouragement, he leans down once more, brushing her hair off her back as he kisses her shoulder. "Aren't I good to you? Sharing you the way I do? Letting him watch?"

She nods vehemently as she whimpers, and he smirks as he glances over to the man on the bench, who just huffs angrily.

Then, Dylan reaches around to grab her jaw and force her to look back at him. "But this tight little hole? It's fucking mine. Isn't it? Yeah? Say it then. Tell him who you really want."

"You," she breathes out immediately, no room for questions or hesitation. And maybe tomorrow morning she'll feel differently, but right now she really is his and only his. 

"Good girl," he hums, releasing her chin. "But I think Harold's a visual learner. You need to fucking show him. Show him that I'm good to you. Show him that he's never going to be good enough."

Without warning, she hears herself moaning his name, stretching out across the mattress so she can take him deeper. It's too fucking good, too much to comprehend, but she does know that she's close. 

Dylan knows it, too. And he wishes he could see the look on her face, but the view of her ass is a good second option. He watches his cock slip in and out of her, coated in her, stretching her.

He gropes her skin softly before giving it a firm smack, just so he can hear the sound and hear her groan with pleasure. 

Even Harry growls to himself as he looks away... although he immediately looks back, refusing to miss a second of it. Much to Dylan's amusement.

"You're close, aren't you?" he taunts, reaching for the vibrator as she nods. "Attagirl, c'mon now."

He reaches around her hips to place the vibrator against her clit, and she realizes what he wants before he says it. 

She grinds down against the toy, biting at her lip as she feels how perfectly he fills her and makes her feel complete from the inside out. It's so much, so perfect, so overwhelming that she balls the sheets in her hand again to brace herself. 

Her hips move and slide up and down the vibrator as it pushes her even further into that blissful state. Almost, so close, just a little further... and then she's fucking gone.

Dylan feels her fluttering around his cock and the second he sees her dripping down her silky skin, he follows. 

He's grunting in her ear, and she hums to herself at how much she enjoys his sounds, reaching around to tangle her fingers in his hair when he dips his head down close enough. 

It's a beautiful moment for just the two of them, connected completely as he fills her, spilling inside of her, making her warm. He drips down her thigh exactly the way he'd imagined when he saw her earlier tonight. It's perfect.

And then there's Harry.

He's getting antsy, hoping that now that it's over, it's finally his turn. But yet the two on the bed take their time to regroup and catch their breath, seeming to forget he's still waiting across from them. 

Finally, Dylan's eyes trail over and meet his. At that moment, Harry's breathing catches and he pulls his eyebrows together.

And Dylan smiles as he takes in the writhing man on the bench, his hands balled into fists and black shirt unbuttoned just enough to showcase his sweaty chest and tattoos.

Dylan leans down and kisses Kingsley's shoulder once more before saying, "Stay right here, darling. Don't fucking move."

She nods weakly as she straightens back up onto her hands and Dylan begins to pull out. 

He's still at least halfway hard, which isn't very surprising, and he's sure with a little time, he'll be ready to ruin her again.

Standing from the bed, he pushes his hair back and moves towards Harry, who watches with weary eyes. 

"Don't worry," Dylan breathes out with a smug smile, but Harry's expression merely darkens. 

Reaching a hand out to rest on the back of the bench near Harry's shoulder, Dylan leans down, their faces much closer than ever before.

Harry tilts his head up as if defying Dylan's presence, but Dylan isn't deterred. 

"I'm gonna let you go," he tells him. "And you know what you're gonna do?"

Harry answers by exhaling harshly through his nose. 

"You're gonna fuck your fist while we watch."

Their eyes lock for a few moments, Harry realizing that maybe Dylan isn't so bad, while Dylan simply smirks and reaches for the lock.

He clicks it open, and Harry's wrist drops down to his side, his eyes shutting with sweet relief. 

Dylan moves to the other hand and repeats the process, and once both Harry's hands are free, he lifts his hand to his mouth and takes the panties out, balling them up and tossing them onto the floor. 

"Fuck you," is the first thing he decides to say and Dylan grins as he looks him over. 

"I think you mean, thank you," he corrects as he straightens up. "You wanna cum, right? Then go ahead, cum all over your pretty hand."

With that, Dylan turns around and heads back to the bed where Kingsley is curiously waiting.

In all honesty, she had expected any interaction between the two of them to be much more hostile, but she's pleasantly surprised by the way they seem to be getting along. 

Especially because they're two of the prettiest men she's ever seen and watching them fight for control has to be the hottest thing she's ever seen.

Dylan is quick to return to her side as she rolls over onto her back to look up at him. He places his hand near her head as he hovers over her again, smiling. "How do you feel, baby?"

"Good," she hums contently, reaching up to run her fingers down his cheek. "You're so good to me."

"I know," he retorts with a teasing smirk, before dipping his head down and grazing his lips over her bottom one. "Can't fucking stand not feeling you around me, baby. Let me?"

She's confused what he means for a moment but once she realizes and sees the hopeful look on his face, she nods quickly, parting her legs again. 

He's a lot gentler this time around, guiding himself inside, and pulling her hips taut to his. 

So fucking warm, exactly what he'd wanted. And it feels rather complete for her, as well. 

Not to mention, he likes knowing Harry is just a few feet away, already fisting himself as he watches Dylan keep his cock warm inside his girlfriend. 

Kingsley, on the other hand, doesn't really pay Harry much mind, too enthralled with the way Dylan is leaning down to finally kiss her. Their lips meet softly, tenderly, brushing sweetly. 

He bites at her bottom lip as she lets him in, feeling the way he's deepening the kiss exactly like he's deep inside her.

And Harry watches. Watches as Dylan plays with her tit in his large hand, fingers rolling her nipple around the pads of his thumb. Watches as she sighs and wraps her legs around his waist to pull him in even further. Watches Dylan look up at him as she kisses down his neck. 

The smug son of a bitch knows exactly what he's doing and much to Harry's chagrin... it's working.

Having spit in his hand (although it's hardly needed), he runs his palm up and down his hard cock, squeezing the tip as his head falls back into the wall from pleasure. 

Dylan keeps his eyes on the movement as he does so, sensing that eye contact is one of Harry's turn-ons. And who is Dylan to deny such a pleasure?

As Kingsley runs her hands and lips along Dylan's body, Dylan runs his eyes down Harry's. 

He's happy the satin shirt stayed on, loving the way the rolled-up sleeves showcase the veins in Harry's arms. Or the way his chest heaves with anticipation. Or the way his cock looks in front of it.

And Harry is close to ruining that pretty shirt with the way his movements are getting faster, more sporadic. He's trying to hold off, loving the way he's being watched, and truthfully not wanting this night to end either. But it's been far too fucking long, and his body won't let him hold off any longer.

But he tries. He tries so he can take in Dylan in all his glory for just a few more minutes before it all comes to an end. 

Dylan is already groaning roughly as Kingsley licks a stripe along his jaw, his eyes fluttering shut as he buries his lips into her neck. Her head rolls to the side for better access, sighing with lust at the feel of his fingertips.

He runs his palms up her stomach and chest before landing on her throat and squeezing. He kisses her hard and deep as she whimpers against his lips, pulling him in by her legs once more.

Fuck, they're a sight, and Harry wishes he could save this moment for the rest of his life. He would if he could. He'd watch them for the rest of his miserable existence.

"So good," Dylan whispers, although he's not sure who he's talking to. "So fucking good for me."

But both of them bask in his praise, Kingsley gazing up at him as she runs her fingers through his hair and Harry as he sucks in a breathless whine, his dick twitching in his hand. 

Dylan recognizes the telltale sign and shoots his eyes back over just in time to see Harry make a fucking mess of himself. Coating his hand, his shirt, his thighs. And Dylan's lips part as he looks it over, wondering just how good it tastes.

The idea of taking Harry on his tongue is making Dylan throb and Kingsley notices, squirming a little as she whimpers, and he looks down.

"Sorry, baby," he whispers, kissing her lips again. "Can't help it if you're gonna look at me like that."

She bites her lip to contain her smile, her cheeks turning bright pink at his compliment. "Can't help it if you're gonna touch me like that."

He smirks at her response, kissing her once again, but slower. He savors the taste of the sweet girl beneath him who might not be so sweet after all. She's a fucking devil and he's happy to finally meet her.

Knowing they can't stay in their little bubble all night, or this room for that matter, Dylan finally pulls out. He licks along Kingsley's thigh to clean her up, dick throbbing once again as he tastes them both on her skin. 

Still fucking delicious, he muses to himself before standing up and reaching a hand out for her to take. 

He lifts her gently from the bed, steadying her when she stumbles, her knees still weak thanks to Dylan. 

He bends down and retrieves her dress from the floor, handing it to her as she smiles gratefully. 

He begins pulling on his own clothes as he looks over to Harry, who is still panting on the bench as he angrily reaches for his own pants.

He's looked upset all night, even though Dylan knows he thoroughly enjoyed himself. Of course, he'll never admit it, but Dylan finds himself thinking about it. Thinking about what it would take to actually make Harry beg. Actually, have him down on his knees like the fucking brat he really is. 

Once everyone is dressed, the now silent bunch begins to head for the door, with Kingsley leading the way.

However, once she makes it to the hall, Dylan reaches out his hand and places it on Harry's chest, stopping him from taking another step. 

Kingsley glances back with a raised brow, while Harry shoots Dylan a glare, but Dylan just offers them an innocent smile. 

"We'll be right out," he calls, nodding once to assure her.

She's skeptical of Dylan's intentions, but also too worn out to fight them. So, she returns his smile and heads back out to the main room.

Harry's eyes narrow as he pushes Dylan's hand away. "The fuck are you doing?"

Dylan doesn't answer as he steps forward and shuts the door, smirking when he turns back. 

"Wanted to talk to you," he says simply before returning to his previous spot. 

"No thanks," Harry scoffs, moving to brush past him, but Dylan only tilts his head. 

"I wasn't fucking asking," he warns, and Harry steps back. 

Dylan steps forward. Harry steps back. Again and again until Harry collides with the wall, teeth gritting together as he glares at the annoying boy now caging him in. 

Dylan's hands come up to rest near Harry's head, eyes falling down to his lips for a moment, and that's when Harry realizes this might not be a trap. Or if it is... it's one he's okay with. 

Neither of them speaks as Dylan contemplates what he's about to do, wondering if he really should poke the already angry bear, but deciding... why the fuck not?

So, his eyes flutter back up to Harry's, his arrogant expression fading as a more sincere and hopeful one takes its place.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers gently, anticipating Harry's rejection, but silently desiring his permission. 

Harry's heart nearly stops as his own glare begins to fade, his mind racing with possibilities and propositions. 

His automatic reaction should be no, yet with the way Dylan has him placed between his strong arms, the smell of his cologne, and the fullness of his lips has him second guessing.

He can't physically find the strength to answer, so instead... he nods once. 

Dylan's heart soars as he smiles, leaning in to brush their lips together gently, Harry's eyes falling shut as Dylan continues to watch him. 

He needs to make sure Harry is just as affected as he is, and when he sees the way Harry is already letting his walls fall away, he feels satisfied. 

Once their lips connect for the first time... everything changes. The entire mood of the night shifts on a dime and suddenly, Dylan wonders if he did all this for Kingsley... or Harry.

Either way, it doesn't change how they feel right now, so engrossed in each other that they can't think straight.

Harry's back is firmly pressed to the wall, but his hands come up to grip Dylan's jaw, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. 

And Dylan allows it, smirking against his lips as he lets himself be manhandled, just this once. Their tongues clash and sighs melt together as their chests meet, practically disappearing into each other.

It's wonderful and Dylan can't resist reaching down to cup Harry's cock in the palm of his hand. Even through the pants, he can tell Harry's still worked up, and he wastes no time giving him a light squeeze. 

Harry curses into the kiss as he quickly turns his head to the side to suck in a sharp breath. "Don't."

"Why not?" Dylan taunts, repeating the action and making Harry throw his head back. "You like it, don't you?"

"Fuck you," Harry says for a second time, the glare returning. "Stop."

"No."

Another squeeze and Harry's jaw clenches, fingers tight around Dylan's throat. But Dylan uses his other hand to easily brush Harry's away, moving in to kiss along Harry's neck until he gives up and consents to Dylan's eager touch.

"Don't start something you can't fucking finish," Harry warns darkly, but Dylan just chuckles. He can feel Harry growing in his hand, just as needy as before, and he hums contently.

"I plan to," he promises but then... he lets go and steps back. "Just not right now."

With an annoyed scoff, Harry sneers at the boy. "You—"

"You're gonna take her home," Dylan declares, nodding his head towards the door Kingsley disappeared out of. "Gonna take her home with your cock fucking dripping for me. And you're not gonna do a damn thing, understood?"

Harry wants to laugh at the audacity, but Dylan isn't finished.

"No touching, no grinding, no nothing," he repeats. "And if you're good and do what I say?"

He leans in again and brushes their lips together, causing Harry's frustration to falter. 

"Then maybe I'll take care of it for you."

With that, Dylan pushes off the wall and heads for the door, swinging it open and disappearing into the club. 

Harry is too stunned to move, his eyes magnetized to the spot Dylan just was, heart racing and dick throbbing as he leans back. 

And he can only think one thing.

Maybe Dylan's not so bad after all.

Next:

~ Insatiable | 4. The Prism pt. 2 (Harry & Dylan & Kingsley)*

Previous:

~ Insatiable | 2. Sparks Fly (Dylan & Kingsley & Chris)*

Full Masterlist

[freedomfireflies-deactivated202]

Insatiable | 2. Sparks Fly (Dylan & Kingsley & Chris)*

Summary: What do you get when you give Dylan, Chris, and Kingsley jumper cables as nipple clamps?

Well...a very dented Lamborghini.

Word Count: 9.2k (listen, can you blame me?)

"Are you even pushing?"

"Of course I'm fucking pushing, are you pushing?"

"Yes, I'm pushing but it's not fucking moving."

Aggravated, Kingsley rolls her eyes as she and Dylan struggle to push her tired, old car towards Chris's mechanic's shop.

He's already waiting for them, leaning against the garage door, arms crossed and smirking as he watches his two friends bicker.

He could probably go help them but... truth be told, it's much more amusing this way.

They continue grumbling as they shove the hunk of junk towards the shop, slowly but surely, and once they got close enough, Chris steps up to investigate, laughing at their tired and aggravated faces. 

"What's the damage?" he calls as Kingsley huffs her way to a stop.

"Flat tire, engine won't start, and just overall a piece of shit," she tells him before glaring at the car. "And while you're at it, can you fix Dylan, too?"

Dylan scoffs and sends her a sour look while Chris just smirks. "I can help with the car, but as far as Dylan goes, I think you're better off just getting a new one."

"Fuck. You. Both," Dylan grunts before leaning on the hood of the car, while Kingsley sticks her tongue out at him.

Chris shakes his head at the two before crouching down to inspect the car, eyeing it carefully and with precision. "Dylan, can you go grab the air compressor? It's on the left. Next to Arthur's office."

Dylan lifts himself off the hood and drags himself into the garage, eyes raking over the different tools and parts until he finds the rather large item.

He picks it up off the floor and gets ready to turn around when he notices something that catches his eye.

There had already been a car parked inside the shop, which is why they couldn't roll Kingsley's car all the way inside, but Dylan hadn't really paid it much attention.

It was covered by a large tarp and didn't really attract much focus but as Dylan is getting ready to pass it, he notices that the front bumper is uncovered.

Stepping closer to investigate, he identifies a very familiar emblem that immediately has his heart racing.

Lamborghini.

His eyes widen as he sets the air compressor down, grabbing the edge of the tarp and flinging it over the rest of the car.

Holy fucking shit, he thinks as he takes in the magnificent vehicle.

A 1971 Lamborghini Miura. A rare 1971 Lamborghini Miura.

Dylan can hardly believe it, his eyes unable to focus on just one thing as he takes in the glorious ride. 

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life and that's including the time he got to ride in an actual DeLorean from the Back To The Future movies.

What it's doing in Chris's shop, Dylan has no idea, but his wonder filled gaze slowly turns to his friends who are still waiting just outside the garage.

"What the fuck is this doing here?" he calls, voice loud so it carries.

Both Chris and Kingsley turn to look, Kingsley confused by Dylan's new excitement, while Chris just laughs knowingly. 

"That's Arthur's," he explains while Dylan looks back at the car. "Got it as a gift a couple weeks ago and we're working on restoring it."

Dylan's jaw practically drops as he finally bends down to grab the air compressor once again and bring it outside.

"So... does that mean there's a chance he'll let me drive it?" Dylan asks hopefully while Kingsley smirks.

"You?" she taunts as Chris motions for Dylan to bring the compressor over to the flat tire. "No way in hell."

Dylan passes off the machine to Chris before turning to her. "I don't know where I got this reputation for being a shitty driver but it's not true."

"You crashed into a light pole," she reminds him.

"Crashed into the McDonalds drive through," Chris adds.

"You even crashed into a parked car," Kingsley finishes. "I mean... how did you even get a license?"

The truth is, Dylan aced his driving test. The written and the physical. It wasn't that he didn't know how to drive... he just liked to go fast, and who could blame him?

"Fuck you," he retorts. "You're just jealous cause I get to drive a Lambo and you don't."

Chris just shakes his head as the two begin their bickering before kneeling down by the tire to begin filling it with air.

It's a hot summer day, the sun now beating down on the three friends as they work on the crappy car. Well... as Chris works on it, and Kingsley and Dylan lazily wait for him. There's not a lot to do in Boston in the summer, except find air conditioning, and that's the only thing on Kingsley's mind.

Tired from just standing there, she stoops down so she can sit on top of the air compressor and rest until Chris's finished with his work.

The machine has a slight vibration to it, but she hardly notices, instead more focused on the fact that she doesn't have to stand any longer.

Chris, however, is finding the tire to be difficult to work with and with a huff, turns up the power in hopes that more air will help.

The machine starts to vibrate at a much greater power and now Kingsley begins to notice the movement beneath her. 

Subconsciously, her eyes widen as the tingles spread up through her body, and she clears her throat as if that'll somehow calm her down.

But the vibrations aren't stopping and the more aggressive they get, the more distracted Kingsley becomes.

Slowly, she pulls her propped up legs together in hopes that it'll aid in the feeling beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.

Unfortunately for her, though, it only seems to make it worse, as the shorts she had decided to wear today seem to be working against her, the seams adding friction in the very place she doesn't want it.

She should stand up. That's the obvious solution to her problem. She can stand up, and the feeling will go away, and everything will be fine.

So why isn't she standing up?

Her brain is telling her to do just that but yet her legs don't move. They keep her right there, sitting on top of that air compressor as it continues to worsen the torture.

But that's just it.

She likes the torture.

And what's so wrong with that? After all, it's a harmless vibration and all she's doing is sitting... it's not like she's breaking any rules. So, what's the problem?

The problem is that it's beginning to feel too good, her eyes flickering shut and legs squeezing together so hard she's sure she'll pop a blood vessel.

As long as Chris hurries up and finishes with the tire and they move on to something else, she'll be just fine, and can pretend like this never happened.

But Dylan can't pretend.

Dylan can't pretend like he hasn't noticed her beginning to squirm or that he didn't see her snap her legs shut.

He hadn't been sure but the second he saw her take a shaky breath and close her eyes... he knew.

And he can't look away. Can't look at anything else except the way she's digging her nails into her arms and biting at her lip to keep any sounds from coming out.

It feels forbidden to watch her like this. Feels strange to enjoy it.

But he does. He enjoys every second of the struggle she's putting herself through. Every second of the way she's teasing herself and the way he gets to witness it.

Is Chris doing this on purpose? he wonders to himself, glancing over at their friend, whose focus remains on the tire.

He can't possibly know what she's doing. He hasn't looked over at either of them since he started and yet he continues to increase the level of power in the air compressor, forcing Kinglsey to work that much harder at containing herself.

It's incredibly intriguing to see her suffer like this, almost entertaining, and he wonders if she realizes he's watching.

Dylan bets if she did realize... she'd love it. He imagines she loves to be watched and admired. After all, why else would she be so willing to do this only two feet away from her friends?

Finally, Chris powers the machine down and begins to stand back up to his feet, indicating he's finished with the tire while Kingsley quickly scrambles to her feet as well, a very hazy expression on her face.

Dylan simply crosses his arms and leans against the car as he looks her over, amused that she doesn't even notice he's looking at her. But she can't seem to look at anything else except the dirt under her shoes.

Sly little slut, he smirks to himself. She could act as innocent as she wanted, but now Dylan knew better.

"Alright, that should do it," Chris declares as he reaches down to pick the air compressor up.

Kingsley backs away from it, cheeks heating up as she watches him grab the machine and begin carrying it back into the garage.

Now that the moment has passed, she begins to relax, exhaling a deep breath as she watches Chris collect a few things from his shop.

"Feeling better?" a voice suddenly murmurs behind her and she nearly jumps out of her skin as she whirls around and sees Dylan.

He's got that arrogant look on his face as he studies her and her hand rests over her rapidly beating heart.

"Uh... yeah, I guess?" she replies with a sigh, assuming he's referring to her newly fixed tire.

However, his head only tilts. "Are you alright? You seem a little... on edge."

Her face begins to flush as she averts his gaze, shrugging casually. "No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he pushes, now stepping closer, and making her eyes widen. "Couldn't help but notice that you're looking a little flustered."

I'm gonna kill him, she thinks to herself before shrugging again. "No, it's just kind of hot out."

His smile grows at her horrible lie before he leans closer, his lips ghosting her ear as he whispers, "Do you really think I don't know what you were doing?"

Her jaw nearly drops once she realizes what he means but doesn't get the chance to scold him or ask any questions as Chris begins strolling back over, forcing the two to act casual.

Chris notices the odd expressions on his friends faces and raises a brow, looking between them. "Did I miss something?"

Kingsley is quick to shake her head, hoping that Dylan will do the same, but of course... he just grins.

"Actually, you did," he answers casually, grabbing at Kinsgley's waist the moment she tries to walk away.

He keeps her planted firm in front of him, his head leaning to the side so he can peer over her shoulder.

"Would you like to tell him? Or should I?" Dylan hums in her ear, eyes flicking up to Chris's face.

She begins to grit her teeth together, now incredibly annoyed with Dylan's condescending attitude, and need to always be in control.

And who is she to let him have control over her? 

"You missed me sitting on the air compressor and nearly coming in my fucking shorts," she says bluntly, eyes fixed on Chris's.

Both boys are surprised by this confession, Dylan rather shocked she admitted it herself while Chris is shocked to learn it had happened at all.

But Kingsley simply stands her ground, expression flat as looks over her shoulder at Dylan. "Happy?"

Dylan's amused smile only grows. "Delighted."

She rolls her eyes in response before they both look to Chris, who still hasn't said anything.

She begins to feel a little bad that her innocent friend is now caught in the middle of their game. After all, he doesn't seem to be a very sexual guy, at least not that she's ever seen. He's shy, quiet, and from what she can tell, gets embarrassed just from looking at a girl.

She offers him an apologetic smile in hopes that they'll be able to just change the subject and Chris steps closer.

"Wow," he finally muses, looking between the two, and she anxiously waits for him to scold them. "Well then guess it's a shame I didn't let you finish, hm?"

A silence falls over the group as Kingsley's eyes nearly pop out of her head.

That was the last thing she had expected him to say but Dylan isn't surprised. He'd always figured there was more to their shy friend then they knew.

And he's happy to discover he was right.

His fingers get a little tighter around Kingsley's waist as he dips his head down again. "It is a shame, isn't it?"

She can feel her heart rate picking up as Chris takes another step closer to them, his eyes beginning to darken in a way she's never seen before.

Dylan's grip is relentless, even when she begins to squirm from the tension forming between the three of them, and she begins to mentally curse him to hell.

"I don't think it's fair we leave you like this," Chris adds, now so close, she can see the specks of green in his eyes. "And we're not cruel... are we, Dylan?"

Dylan can't wipe the look of smug superiority off his face as runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "Not unless we have to be."

Both boys are watching Kingsley closely, her eyelids fluttering as the pressure begins to build.

She wants to say something, wants to speak up... but she can't seem to. Not with them looking at her like this, not with them taunting her, teasing her.

She might have been able to if it was just Dylan... but Chris's looming presence, his broad shoulders, and lustful expression are throwing her off.

She's never witnessed him like this before and she's more than intrigued, wanting to know how far he'll go, and hoping if she stays quiet, she'll find out.

Thankfully, this plan seems to work in her favor as Chris closes the distance between them and reaches up to run his thumb down her bottom lip, pulling at it as he watches.

"Should we leave you like this?" he asks, his tone silky but deep. "Leave you a squirming, pathetic mess?"

Dylan can barely contain his glee as Kingsley's eyes grow wider, filled with wonder as she breathlessly looks up at the man before her.

She can only shake her head, the words still stuck in her throat, but Chris doesn't mind. 

He smiles at the gesture, loving the way she's practically shaking under his simple touch.

He wonders how far he can push her, how well she'll behave.

How well they both will.

For a brief moment, he has to pause, reminding himself to go slow. He can't let himself go too dark because if he does... he might not be able to pull back.

But here they are in front of him, practically begging him to take control, and he can't find the willpower to say no.

"I think he asked you a fucking question," Dylan's low tone rings in Kingsley's ear, his lips brushing her neck. 

Chris smirks at this, gaze trained on Kingsley as she slowly swallows. 

"Please," is all she mumbles, practically in pain, and both boys seem to be satisfied with this.

Dylan and Chris lock eyes, eager to get started, and Chris finally offers her a smile.

His hand moves from her lip and down her arm where he grabs her palm between his fingers and begins pulling her forwards. "Let's go inside," is all he says before leading her into the garage.

Dylan is right behind, hands shoved in his pockets as he watches the two of them, the anticipation growing.

The three of them come to a stop just in front of the Lamborghini and Dylan's interest is peaked as Chris begins to smirk at him.

"Sit down," he instructs Dylan, who just raises his eyebrows.

But, nevertheless, Dylan does as he's told, moving to the hood of the rare car before leaning back against it.

Now, Chris looks down at the mesmerized girl in front of him, letting go of her hand as he nods his chin towards Dylan. "I want you to sit between his legs, okay?"

Nodding quickly, Kingsley gently takes a couple steps back, her eyes still on his as if waiting for his approval. 

Dylan scoots back on the hood and grabs her hips to help adjust her, pulling her back until she's pressed right up against his chest.

Satisfied, Chris looks at the sight in front of him, Dylan's hands resting on her thighs, while Kinglsey anxiously bites her lip.

Stepping closer and crouching down, Chris's palms begin to smooth up her legs, watching the way her eyelids flutter at the feeling.

He brings them up to her thighs, ever so slowly, and she has to hold back a satisfied sigh from his touch. 

His fingers move to the button of her jean shorts before he undoes them and begins pulling them down her legs, swiftly discarding of them.

Kingsley can't contain her wonder as she looks down at him from between her legs and he doesn't dare look away from her, either.

He likes that he has her attention, likes that she's desperate for him, and likes that there's power in their eye contact alone.

"Show me how soaked you are," he demands, his voice about two octaves deeper.

Dylan's head tilts as he looks over her shoulder, watching as she slowly brings her hand between her thighs, and grabs the lace of her underwear.

Pulling it to the side, her eyes flutter, the cool air adding another sensation to her already sensitive skin.

Chris's gaze moves down, taking in the magnificent sight in front of him, and he can feel his jaw clench.

She feels his fingers digging a little deeper into her thighs, maybe in an attempt to ground himself, and the pain makes her gasp.

His eyes flicker back up at this sound, now desperate to hear more before he looks towards Dylan. "Hold her open."

Gladly, Dylan wraps his hands around the top of her thighs, forcing her legs open. 

Breathlessly, she begins leaning against him a little harder, but he doesn't mind or even notice. He only watches Chris, eager to see what he has in mind.

"You wanted to get yourself off," Chris now says to Kinglsey, whose heart is pounding inside her chest. "Wanted to do it right in front of us, yeah? So do it."

Her pupils get a little wider at this request, feeling the way Dylan's grip tightens around her legs, and Chris continues to stay crouched below her.

She wants to beg him to touch her, not to make her do it herself, but the way those blue eyes drill through her... she can feel what it does to her willpower.

She does like to be watched and to be watched by him, the way he is now... she doesn't waste another moment. 

With one hand holding her panties to the side, she uses her other to feel her soaked little hole.

The slight contact is enough to have her whimpering, the buildup of tension almost unbearable. Just feeling how worked up she is, how wet, how fucking needy... well that's reward enough.

She drags her fingers through her soaked folds, teasing her clit for a moment as she squirms against the hood, trying to squeeze her legs shut.

But Dylan is much stronger, forcing them even further apart as he tsks in her ear disapprovingly.

At the same time, Chris's head tilts, his expression disappointed as he raises an eyebrow.

"You know better than that," he warns. "Are you gonna be good?"

Panting, she flicks her clit, causing her to gasp again instead of answer.

"You heard him," Dylan adds, his tone almost threatening.

She cusses under her breath as the pleasure begins to build, wondering how they expect her to think, let alone actually answer.

"You will," Chris finally decides for her. "You will because if you don't, we don't let you cum."

The worst possible punishment, especially with the way she's feeling right now, and all she can do is look at him through hazy eyes, practically begging him to go easy on her.

But that was never his plan, and he simply looks right back, unrelenting and she whines.

She continues touching her soaked cunt, her fingers teasing her dripping hole as her body begs her for that feeling. The feeling of being full, of being fucked, of being abused.

She lets one finger slide in but it's not nearly enough and when she finally slips in a second, she feels Dylan's hands dig deeper into her skin.

His lips graze her exposed shoulder, moving up to her neck as he kisses where he can reach, and she sighs at the feeling.

And Chris watches. Watches the two of them, the slight sting of jealousy beginning to nip at him, but he doesn't acknowledge it. 

No, instead, he wants to see how far they'll go. How well they'll obey him.

And there's something mesmerizing about watching Dylan hold her open, kiss her, bite at her skin.

He can tell he's getting hard just from the sight and it's painful but it's so fucking good. 

They watch as she adds a third finger, filling herself until she's squirming even harder, the sound of her soaked fingers practically music to their ears.

But she needs more, and Chris stands by the statement that he isn't cruel, so his eyes flick up to Dylan.

"Help her out," he instructs to which Dylan grins.

His large hand releases her thigh before coming up to her desperate clit, pinching it between his fingers as she drops her head back onto his shoulder.

"Don't fucking move," he hisses but she couldn't stop even if she tried. The sensation is much too powerful and she's much too sensitive to ever be able to stop.

And Dylan is determined to force her to take as much pleasure as he can, playing with her clit like it's nothing but a toy, pinching it, pressing it, and then telling her to suck his fingers before he does it again.

It's wonderful to watch but Chris isn't done, instead eyeing the two before adding, "Feel her. Fucking stretch her out for me."

Knowing just what he means, Dylan happily obliges, moving his fingers down besides hers as they both slide them inside her dripping cunt.

It's almost too much but the pain of being stretched is too good and she whimpers when she feels it.

Her back arches and she tries to close her legs again, but Chris is quick to make sure she can't, raising that same eyebrow as a warning.

She decides right then and there that they were wrong, they are cruel, and she doesn't know how much longer she can stand it. Not with Dylan pumping her so slowly. Not with Chris pressing a kiss to her inner thigh and teasing her with what might have been. And not with the way she's forced to keep going.

Chris almost feels bad for her until he notices the way her nipples are straining against her tiny tank top. He wonders if she wore that on purpose, just for him, just for him to see her.

And if that's what she wanted, then he might as well give it to her, reaching up to grab the neckline before ripping it down, exposing her aching tits.

She gasps at the aggression and then at the way the air hits her, the noise turning to a moan as she continues to squirm against Dylan, who still doesn't budge.

And Dylan lets himself admire her, looking down at the sweet flesh before him, a little upset he can't touch it, tease it, lick it. He'd love to get her nipple between his teeth, would love to see her whimper for him, or feel her pulling his hair.

But something else might have to do for now, and the second he sees it, that mischievous grin is back.

Chris notices his change in expression and gives him a quizzical look, but Kingsley doesn't notice either one of them as she continues abusing her tight hole and soaking both their fingers.

Dylan nods towards the object as Chris glances over his shoulder to see.

And when he sees it, his own grin appears. 

Standing up, he walks over to retrieve it, wondering if maybe this will be too much, but deciding he'll let Kingsley decide.

At the loss of his hand, Kingsley's eyes flicker open as she watches him walk back over, her gaze falling over the items in his hands.

Surprised, she looks back up at him, but he just gives her a reassuring smile. "Do you think you can take it?"

The rhythm of her hands begins to slow as she considers it, debating just how much she's comfortable with.

But she can't deny she's intrigued, and she knows if she should trust anyone with it, it's Dylan and Chris.

So, she nods ever so slightly. "Yes," she forces herself to reply verbally, although her voice is barely a whisper.

"That's our girl," Dylan smirks to himself and Chris has to agree.

Nervous, but incredibly turned on, Kingsley watches as Chris holds the jumper cables, one in each hand before sparking them together. Little flecks of light fly out from the contact, falling onto the ground, and disappearing. They make a very electric sound as they're struck together, and her eyes get even wider, but Chris just breathes out a laugh. 

"Don't worry, baby, the power is on the lowest setting," he assures before crouching down beneath her again, his expression hardening. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She nods quickly, the idea new but enthralling, and she knows he wouldn't put her in any danger.

Besides, she thinks. They're basically just... fancier nipple clamps.

That doesn't really make it any better, but she couldn't care less, instead focused on the way Chris holds them in his hands and gets closer.

"Attagirl, stay still," he commands before gently placing the clamps around her hardened nipples.

Instantly, she sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes nearly rolling back as he squeezes the handles to make sure they're on just right.

He was right, there doesn't seem to be any power in them, but that isn't her concern right now. The sensation is one she's not used to but it's making her ache like she never has before.

And Dylan can tell, continuing to finger fuck her the way he had been, but she doesn't join in, still breathless from the jumper cables, so he whispers, "Did he say you could fucking stop?"

She shakes her head briefly before resuming the pace, but she knows it's useless, she can't hold out much longer even though she wants to.

But she does her best, struggling to do that and hold her panties to the side, and she can feel her body growing weaker as the pleasure courses through it.

And she's doing such a good job, that Chris thinks it's only fair to turn up the heat, so to speak. 

So, reaching for the power source, he gently adjusts the dial and Kingsley's back arches as she moans with ecstasy. 

It's not a painful feeling, rather a sharp sting, but it feels so fucking good. She can't really understand it herself but it's exactly what she needs, her body unable to hold off on the pleasure any longer.

She writhes against Dylan's chest, whimpering pitifully as the feeling overpowers her, but he doesn't stop. He holds her open with one hand and fucks her with the other, mercilessly. 

And it's Chris's new favorite thing; watching her cum. He wants to watch it on a loop, over and over and over again.

Her sweaty body, her glistening skin, the way her chest heaves up and down. It's addicting and he decides he needs to see it again. Needs to hear it again. Needs it.

He stands back up to his feet and places his hand under her jaw, forcing her head up as she wearily looks at him. "So fucking good for us, aren't you?"

She nods, unable to do anything else, and Dylan laughs to himself.

"I know, baby. Gonna do exactly what I say, aren't you?" Chris adds next and her heart begins to thump before she nods again.

He lets go of her jaw and takes the jumper cables in his hand, taking them off and tossing them to the ground, while the other two slowly get down off the hood.

Her tits are now a deep red, her nipples still swollen and hard, but still so fucking beautiful and he can't help but admire them for a moment.

Then, he looks to Dylan. "You're gonna fuck her."

It's not a question or a suggestion and Dylan's eyebrows raise as he looks at him.

"You're gonna fuck her on the hood of this car and I'm gonna watch," Chris continues before looking to Kingsley. "I'm gonna watch him ruin this tight little pussy and I'm gonna watch you fucking take it."

His demand goes straight to her aching cunt, her mind hazy as she can finally squeeze her legs together now that Dylan has let go.

But Dylan doesn't release her for very long, now reaching over her shoulder to wrap his hand around her throat, adding some ever so slight pressure.

Then, with his nose pressed to her cheek, he inhales and whispers, "Say please."

She's breathless as Chris watches them, amused by Dylan's little show.

"Come on," Dylan urges. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Please," she whispers back quickly. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me," she corrects. "Please, Dylan."

She never thought in a million years that she'd be moaning Dylan's name but there's a first time for everything. 

And Dylan is fucking thrilled to hear it. To hear his name on her lips and he grins at the sound.

Then, he spins them both around and pushes her down, her exposed tits pressed against the metal of the hood.

Her head spins at his animalistic behavior but can't help loving it, even if she shouldn't.

He doesn't waste any time in dropping his own jeans and pulling out his cock, fisting it a few times before ripping the delicate lace panties down her legs.

With her cheek against the car, she takes a deep breath as she feels him tease her, the feeling of his hard tip alone sending a shiver along her spine.

Bending her over the hood of a Lamborghini and fucking her senseless has to be Dylan's greatest accomplishment and he wonders how anything will ever compare.

But that's a problem for a later day, his focus now on the beautiful sight in front of him, grabbing at her hips as he lines himself up.

Her hands ball into fits as she feels him, her jaw dropping at the sensation, and the way even stretched, it's still overwhelming.

She whimpers when he stills, knowing it won't be for long, but wanting to scream at him to move so she can feel him.

Eventually, he does, pulling back so he can thrust into her again, a rather easy task to do with the way she's dripping down her thighs.

And she's so fucking tight, practically gripping his cock in a way that makes it hard for him to think straight and feeding his urge to completely ruin her.

He's holding her hips in his hands, gripping them. He knows he's leaving bruises but that just makes it better. He fucks into her relentlessly, the pressure building deep in his spine, his grunting practically echoing in her ear.

He loves watching her bent over in front of him. He loves reaching forward to keep her down, body against the hood, tits aching.

But he loves that he can grab a fistful of her hair and hold her still while he fucks her. That he can control her in more ways than one.

"Is this what you wanted?" he taunts after a moment, thrusting into her after he says it. "Sitting there, practically coming in your shorts? Did you want us to see you?"

Well, no, that hadn't been what she wanted but right now, she's so glad they did. She nods her head, cheek scraping the hood as she tries to answer him.

Dylan smirks at this. It's not often she's speechless but he's glad to fuck the words right out of her.

"Tell me, princess, do you like being fucked like a dirty whore?" he asks with a quick pull to her hair, forcing her head up. "Huh? Or do you just like being one?"

She struggles to breathe as she hears this question, the idea of hearing Dylan degrade her not one she had expected, but one she learns to need. "Fuck."

He's unrelenting, however. "Use your fucking words, dollface. Do you like Chris watching me fuck you? Watching me fucking split you in half?"

She nods, leaning on her forearms as the car windshield before her becomes fuzzy. "Yes, yes."

But Dylan isn't satisfied. He needs more. "Give me your fucking hands." 

Gingerly, she reaches only one arm behind her, but Dylan decides he'll make her if he has to.

Forcing her head back down to the hood, he grabs her other arm and secures her wrists between his fingers, holding tight.

Whimpering, she feels herself clench at the pain and aggression, and Dylan feels it, too.

He then moves his foot to help shift her legs further apart, forcing her open so he can go deeper.

He'll go as deep as he fucking has to and he doesn't plan on stopping.

With his other hand, he reaches around to tease at the very clit she can't reach, resuming his work from earlier.

It feels so good between his fingers and knowing how much power it has over her makes him grin.

A simple flick of his thumb has her reeling, the feeling of both him and his fingers just what she needed.

She's panting and squirming against the hood, her back arching every time he hits just the right spot, and wishing more than anything that she could touch him.

"Please, Dylan," she whines after a moment and his attention is caught. "Please just..."

She's not entirely sure what she's asking, after all, she couldn't really touch him even if he released her, but she needs him, needs something to help her.

Dylan only smirks as he keeps her arms taught. He releases her clit but only so he can grab her hair again, force her head to the side, and whisper, "Say my fucking name."

So she does. She moans his name immediately, so consumed with lust that she knows this orgasm will be the best of her life.

And Chris watches. He watches how Dylan grits his teeth in pleasure, how Kingsley's tits slide against the hood of the car with each thrust, and how her ass fits perfectly in the palm of Dylan's hand as he gropes her skin.

He watches as she soaks him, watches him disappear into her, watches her moan his name at the feel.

And he can't fucking stand it.

That jealousy he'd felt before is much more prominent now, making him see green, his jaw clenching every time Dylan pulls back and thrusts back in, his hips slamming against her ass.

He'd wanted it, he'd wanted to see it, wanted to hear her scream... but not because of Dylan. He can't bear to hear her whimper his name again or watch him cum inside of her.

Fuck, the idea of Dylan coming inside her is the last straw, and Chris angrily steps closer to him.

He reaches for the back of Dylan's neck, his fingers weaving through the roots of his hair before tugging his head back.

"Do not fucking cum," he grunts in Dylan's ear.

Dylan sucks in a sharp breath but doesn't say anything as Chris continues to keep a tight hold on him.

"Do you fucking hear me?" Chris repeats. "You do not cum inside her."

Dylan does his best to slow his movements and keep himself from coming, but the slower he goes, the worse it gets.

And Chris notices. He hears the way Kingsley begins to whimper a little more pathetically and hates the way she's enjoying it. The way Dylan is enjoying her.

With another tug to his roots, Chris growls, "Go, you're done."

"Fuck you," Dylan seethes, the idea of stopping out of the question, but Chris reaches around and grabs his jaw, forcing his head to the side so he can look at him.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" His eyes are dark, his expression angry, and his grip on Dylan's jaw almost too tight. "You're lucky if I let you cum at all."

Dylan just glares at him, digging his fingers into Kingsley's skin as if to prove a point, and trying to jerk his head out of Chris's grasp.

But Chris doesn't let go. "Is that what you want? Wanna watch me fuck her while you get to watch? Knowing you can't fucking do anything about it? It hurts, yeah? Well I'll fucking make it hurt."

Dylan doesn't want to stop, doesn't want to let Chris have this, have her but he knows right now, Chris is the one in control.

And while on a good day, he'd have no problem telling him to go to hell, there's something about looking at Chris that makes him feel submissive.

He knows he can keep him from getting what he wants, and he decides at least this time, it's not worth it.

When he doesn't respond, Chris takes this as a sign of obedience, and scoffs. "That's what I fucking thought. You're gonna stand right over there and you're gonna fuck your hand. And while you do, I want you to watch her."

Dylan's annoyance grows as he glares at the taller man who still hasn't let go of his jaw.

"You're gonna watch as I fuck her," Chris continues, a smirk beginning to form. "You're gonna watch as I cum inside her and then? You're gonna fucking clean it up."

The idea is both sinister and appealing to Dylan and finally, Chris releases his grip rather aggressively, shoving his head to the side as he does. 

"Go," Chris barks again and Dylan eventually slows his rhythm and pulls out.

Confused and so fucking on edge, Kingsley whines as she pushes herself off the hood to assess the situation. 

Her breathing is shallow, her skin hot, and cunt throbbing as she looks from a very annoyed Dylan with his dick in his hands to Chris, whose expression is hard and determined. 

He doesn't say anything as he reaches for her and spins her around until she's in front of him. Then, he leans back until he's resting on the edge of the hood, placing her between his legs.

Her eyes are wide as she waits for his next move, hands falling onto his shoulders to brace herself.

He almost wants to smile at her flushed cheeks and hopeful gaze but chooses instead to reach up to her throat and squeeze. 

"Take my belt off," he instructs as he applies a much harsher pressure than Dylan had, and she quickly obeys as her head begins to spin.

Her hands move from his shoulders to his waist where with shaky fingers, she begins to undo the buckle.

He smirks at her frazzled movements but doesn't release her delicate throat, instead using it as a way to make her move faster.

She does, pulling it from the loops as quickly as possible before tossing it to the ground.

"Good girl," he coos, now bringing her down closer to him. He ghosts his lips over hers while watching her eyes flutter shut, head tilting as he whispers, "Now take my cock out."

Her eyes open again as she looks at him, the familiar yet handsome face leaving no room for discussion.

She does as asked, pulling down the zipper of his jeans and reaching her tiny hand into his boxers.

The second her fingers graze him, Chris wants to take a deep breath, but he doesn't. He just watches her expression, her eyes growing at the feel of him and lips parting as she wraps her hand around his large cock.

She pulls it out and looks down, mesmerized by the sight in front of her and wondering how the fuck she's meant to survive this.

Chris would make it work, no matter what, she was gonna fucking take him. And he could hardly wait as he glanced down as well, seeing the way he looked in her palm, it was fucking perfect, made to fit.

His eyes move back up to hers and she looks at him as well, waiting with anticipation.

"You're gonna fuck me," he says simply, putting the power in her hands. "You are. You're gonna fuck me and cum around my cock, gonna fucking soak me. And I'm gonna let you. And then I'm gonna fucking fill you, gonna cum inside you so deep that you don't leave this garage without my fucking baby inside of you."

Her pupils practically double in size as she nearly whimpers from his words alone, but he doesn't notice, he only looks over to Dylan, still pouting by the wall.

Bringing Kingsley a little closer to him, Chris smirks at the pitiful excuse for a man beside them. "And Dylan's gonna watch, isn't that right? Gonna watch me fill you and then clean up whatever's left. Look at him, go ahead. Look how pathetic he looks with his tiny little cock in his hands, missing your cunt."

Kingsley slowly glances to the left as she watches Dylan scoff to himself, his head resting against the wall behind him as he fists himself.

"He's gonna watch you fuck me," Chris whispers into her ear with a wicked grin. "So give him a show, yeah?"

Overwhelmed with lust and need, Kingsley turns back to him and kisses him hard. He hadn't really told her she could, but she can't seem to care right now, all she wants is to taste him, to feel what it's like to kiss him.

And he considers punishing her for this, but deep down, he'd been wanting to kiss her, too. After all, Dylan hadn't, and he was glad he didn't, because if he had... well, Chris might never have forgiven him.

So, he lets Kingsley sigh into their kiss, lets her tongue explore his, and lets her bite at his lip as her fingers begin to thread through his hair.

He likes the feeling of her touch, maybe more than he'd like to admit, but he simply drags his hands up the back of her thighs until he can feel the way she's dripping.

His eyelids flicker shut at this feeling, an indulgence he hadn't given himself to before, and curses under his breath.

He grabs the back of one leg and hoists her leg up until her knee is resting on the hood beside his hips.

This brings their bodies even closer and his exposed cock is pushed up against her aching clit.

She nearly collapses at the sensitivity, her forehead dropping down to rest on his shoulder as she whines miserably.

How is she supposed to take charge when she can barely stand up? She decides for the second time that Chris is wickedly cruel for this but even still, finds pleasure at the idea that the power is all hers.

"What did I say?" Chris reminds her lowly although he doesn't discipline her quite yet. "Be our good girl, yeah?"

With a shaky breath, she nods and straightens up, Chris's large hands helping to steady her as she does so.

With determined focus, she trails her hand down his chest, mostly to feel his large muscles before taking him in her hands.

They both watch as she guides him to her soaked opening, straightening up before sinking down with a gasp.

He exhales deeply through his nose when he feels her, eyes flicking up to her face immediately so he can watch the way her eyes shut, and her head drops back. 

She thought she'd reached her limit with Dylan, but nothing can ever compare to this.

Sure, size doesn't matter and all that shit, but Chris is more than enough. 

There's no way she can fuck him, she can't possibly figure out how she'll find the strength, but Chris doesn't let her hesitate for even a moment.

His fingers dig into her sides as he looks up at her, rolling her hips against his cock as she makes noise after uncontrollable noise.

The whole garage is echoing with his name on her tongue, and he couldn't be happier about it.

And Dylan watches, fisting himself as he watches the way Chris disappears into her, the way her tits move when she moves, and the way his nails are scratching down her back.

He's not happy about it but it is nice to watch.

Kingsley doesn't notice anyone or anything but this feeling that she's been kept from for what feels like eternity.

She does her best to use her leverage to rock against him, to bounce on his cock, and fuck him the way he asked.

But her strength is fleeting, and her mind is fuzzy, and Chris is so pretty. So fucking pretty, his scratchy beard, his colorful eyes, and his strong jaw.

And the way he's touching her just makes him that much more beautiful in her mind.

He'd watch her forever if he could, but all he wants to do is stimulate her everywhere he can think of, including her soft tits that are currently in his face.

He brings one hand up to squeeze while his tongue attacks at the other, smoothing it over her swollen nipple.

His fingers leave a grease stain behind on her skin from when he was working earlier, and he's worried for a moment until he sees how fucking pretty her tainted body looks.

It's beautiful, like paint, and proof of his touch. A physical reminder that her body belongs to him.

And so, he does it again, smearing her skin with the black substance as he gropes another moan out of her, her movements staggering as she struggles to keep consistent.

He wraps his other arm around her lower back to help guide her, making sure she can't stop, because he needs to keep feeling her, needs to cum inside her, it's all he wants.

And he's so fucking deep, he's never loved anything as much, and with his other hand, grabs her wrist and places it on her stomach.

He presses her palm flat against her skin before growling, "You fucking feel that? That's how fucking deep I am."

And she can't believe it, but she can't keep herself from gasping at the feeling of his hand pressing down on hers, the pressure that she feels inside.

She's so close and he knows it, but he won't let her cum until he is, so he reaches behind her neck to grab her roots and tug her head back. "Not fucking yet," he hisses before thrusting up into her. "Do you hear me?"

She nearly screams at the feeling, the power he holds over her being possibly the best part, before whimpering her answer.

He's making it impossible, however, for her to hold off and she knows it, just adding it to her list of reasons why he's a fucking sadist.

He doesn't release her hair, instead wrapping it around his hand so he can force her to look over at Dylan. 

"Fine, you wanna cum?" he taunts. "Then you watch him. You watch him while you cum."

Another pathetic noise leaves her lips before she pants, "Please."

"Please what?" Chris sneers in response. "Don't wanna watch him fuck his hand, is that it?"

She shakes her head, and this makes him smirk. 

"Wanna watch me fuck you, don't you?" he corrects. "Yeah? Wanna see yourself drip down my cock? Is that it?"

Nodding eagerly, she gasps again, and he loosens his grip on her hair so she can look back at him.

He doesn't release her though but she doesn't mind, she likes the feeling.

"So fucking watch me then," Chris hisses. "Watch me fuck you so hard that you feel for me a week. That every time you move you fucking feel me inside you. That you remember how fucking pathetic you look on top of me."

She breathes out a string of curses as her hands scratch down his shoulders, trying to ground herself, although it doesn't help, and she feels just as powerless as before.

He continues thrusting his hips upwards, fucking into her mercilessly, and forcing her to take every ounce of pleasure as she rolls against him, trying to match his pace.

And they find a rhythm that works well, maybe too well, and he knows he won't last much longer. The visual stimulation is already enough. 

They both hear Dylan begin to grunt beside them and Chris uses his grip on Kingsley's hair to force her eyes back over. 

"Watch him," he instructs in her ear, and they both do.

Dylan cums all over his hand, eyes screwed shut, and body sliding down the wall as if he can't fucking take it anymore.

And Chris scoffs, a look of disgust on his face as watches. "See how fucking pathetic he looks? You think he can fuck you like I can?"

Kingsley shakes her head no but still can't find her voice, eyes growing weary as Chris's grip tightens.

"Huh?" he pushes, tugging a little harder to force her to keep watching Dylan. "You think he could fucking fill you like I can?"

"No," she breathes out, body growing weaker.

Pleased with her response, Chris releases her hair so he can finish the job, thumb flicking at her clit until she writhes against him. 

"If you wanna cum so fucking bad, then do it," he leers. "Do it, soak me. Right fucking now."

His words alone send her over the edge, and she finally, finally gets that sweet relief. 

And feeling her clench around him, feeling her cum around his cock is enough for Chris to decide he can't wait any longer.

With a final thrust inside her, the warm feeling spreads throughout her body, filling her exactly the way he said he would.

They both surrender to the sensation, the power, the control. Mind numbing and jaw dropping. 

Chris swears he's never fucking cum so much in his life, never felt so connected to a person, and never been so fucking hard.

In fact, he's tempted to go again, his cock still aching for more of her, maybe this time from behind.

But it'll have to wait till next time, when Dylan hasn't tired her out first. 

He grunts to himself at the thought but soon turns his focus to the girl on his lap and the way she's clutching onto him for dear life as she struggles to breathe again.

Feeling her arms around him and her face pressed into his neck makes him smile, his hand smoothing up and down her back in an attempt to comfort her.

"So fucking good," he whispers, kissing down her neck. "You're so good for me, yeah?"

She nods lazily. 

His grin grows. "We're almost done, baby, but Dylan has something to do first."

She tries to move, but whimpers pitifully at the way her body rejects the idea. She's sore in almost every muscle and her poor cunt is ready to call it quits, but Chris only laughs as he helps lift her off and set both feet back on the ground. 

Then, he turns her around and places her back between his legs, pulling her against his chest as he looks at Dylan.

Dylan, now a little less agitated, eagerly walks in front of them, eyeing Chris as he waits for his instruction.

Chris nods his chin. "On your fucking knees."

Shaking ever so slightly, Kingsley watches as Dylan slowly kneels down before her, hands gripping her legs as he gets closer.

Then, with his eyes locked on hers, he drags his tongue up the inside of her thigh.

Both she and Chris drip down her skin and Dylan takes every last drop on his tongue, lapping at her like she's a fresh glass of water on this hot day.

His grip is tight on her leg, bringing it closer to his mouth as he grazes his teeth up until she shivers, and finally taking his tongue up to her dripping hole.

From top to bottom, Dylan doesn't leave anything behind as he takes her in his mouth. He nips, sucks, and licks like it's his job and thanks to Chris, it is.

Kingsley's hand flies to his hair as she feels him, her other hand digging into Chris's thigh as she leans back.

It's quite entertaining to Chris, but his jealousy is yet to be tamed, and he finally decides Dylan has had enough.

He clears his throat and gives Dylan a stern look, and Dylan, who could have eaten pussy all day, begrudgingly stands to his feet.

Kingsley sighs contently as she's finally allowed to relax, head resting on Chris's chest as she works to steady her heart rate.

The boys exchange a knowing and satisfied look before Chris reaches around and pulls her tank top back up, covering his greased-up masterpiece.

"You did good, baby," he praises and Dylan rests his hands on the hood beside Chris's legs and leans forward.

"Our good girl," Dylan whispers with a smirk which only makes Kingsley laugh herself. Then, he kisses her.

A very gentle kiss, not deep, but just enough so she can taste herself on his tongue, resulting in a satisfied moan. 

Chris wants to be annoyed, but after everything he decides to allow it. After all, if anyone is gonna kiss her, he guess it should be Dylan.

Eventually, the kiss breaks, and Dylan adds, "Aren't you glad your car broke down?"

Chris laughs as Kingsley groans, now slapping at his chest. "Fuck you."

"Maybe next time," he retorts, and she hits him again. "Well, are you at least glad you sat on the air compressor?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"What? It's a serious question?"

"I'm never speaking to you again."

He shakes his head with amusement as the two push off the hood of the car and Chris retrieves her clothes.

He crouches down in front of her and helps her slip them back on, making her blush, before reaching up and brushing her sweaty and tangled hair off her shoulder. 

He cups her chin, brushing his thumb down her lip once again, before grinning. "I'm glad you did."

She grins at this and he gives her a quick wink before Dylan exclaims, "Who the fuck chipped the paint?!"

Their heads turn at the outburst as Dylan angrily points to the hood of the car. "This is a priceless car! Oh, I knew you two would fuck this up for me. You fucking chipped. The paint. And this is the original paint job. Oh, Arthur is gonna kill you."

Chris just rolls his eyes as he throws his arms over Kingsley's shoulder and leads her back outside.

Dylan just keeps ranting.

"Do you know how rare it is to find this specific black?" he yells to them. "Very rare. And Chris's fat ass might have left a dent! Oh this is not good. Do you see this?"

They continue to ignore him as they head out, but Dylan doesn't notice.

Once they finally reach the driver's seat of Kingsley's car, Chris instructs her to pop the hood so he can get a better look at the engine and see what's going on.

She opens the door and gets ready to do just that, when Chris's eyes travel to the backseat.

"Huh, got a lot of room back there," he muses, and Kingsley's eyes begin to sparkle at his tone.

"Yeah," she agrees with a coy smile. "Very comfy... you should check it out."

Laughing, Chris shakes his head and looks forward. "Nah, I need to check the engine, gotta make sure you can get home."

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Kingsley gives him an innocent look. "Well... maybe that's the thing. Maybe the engine is fine."

Confused, his head tilts.

"Maybe the engine was always fine... and I just wanted an excuse to come see you," she admits and a wicked smile bursts out across his face.

"Is that right?" he hums and she nods.

"It is."

Shaking his head with amusement, he glances around as he wonders how he got so lucky, before finally looking back down at her with a grin.

"Meet me in the backseat."

Next:

~ Insatiable | 3. The Prism (Harry & Dylan & Kingsley)*

Previous:

~ Insatiable | 1. She Loves Control (Dylan & Kingsley)*

Full Masterlist

[clotpolesonly]

Stiles had hoped that going out clubbing with his brother would help pull him out of the funk he was in lately. But Stuart had always been able to see right through his fake smiles. They may not have a whole lot in common anymore, or be as close as they were when they were kids, but when it comes right down to it, nobody knows him like his twin.

And unlike his pack, tiptoeing around the issue for fear of upsetting him, Stuart isn’t going to let him hide from his problems or pretend they’re not there.

Maybe, ultimately, that’s what he really needs.

[idylio24]

The eye contact gets me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME

[idylio24]

I really need more Dylan O’Brien & his characters stories 😫 if anyone has any recs that would be GREATLY GREATLY appreciated!

[djobriens]

Empatheia ✽ Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: Scott begins to learn the ups and downs of being a werewolf, whilst Stiles helps Y/N figure out what she really is. Words: 10.8k Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence and injury, mentions of dead body Gif source: Fandomslash ✽ Series masterlist ✽

Chapter Two: 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞 /Part 1

The past week was one of absolute discontent; everything that you thought you knew was being challenged, and the headache it had brought was showing no signs of leaving ever since it struck in the early hours of last Saturday morning. You were finding great difficulty in accepting that your mind had become fractured and impulsive, that supernatural creatures weren’t one of fiction, and that Stiles Stilinski had somehow slipped himself back into your life as if nothing had happened. You thought back a week ago when you desired something more from your life, a change in yourself. It was only ironic that this mismatched incongruous chain of events gave you everything you wanted, in its own twisted way, with the addition of two zany boys adopting you so easily as one of their own. Ever since that night in the Preserve, they didn’t leave your side, and it was made very clear early on that they weren’t planning on doing so. You were in this together now, like a secret club, a union bound by surreptitiousness and somewhat of a common ground. You were starting to find friendship in the last place you’d look, and it was honestly gratifying. But the good had to stop somewhere, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger was about to get in your way, warnings of inevitable danger sounding in your sleep and twisting your gut; you had never felt so on edge.

You stood by your locker, books exchanging between the small metal shelves and your bag to prepare you for whatever study you had tonight. The school day had dwindled to an end, and luckily you hadn’t come across anything to spur your emotions or to trigger Scott’s McCall’s newly profound abilities. You hoped the excitement was over for now, until you looked down the hall, Scott’s face pale and bewildered, as if he had the oxygen knocked straight out of him. He was walking slowly, a stumble ever so often, and you could tell by his far-off gaze and agape mouth that something was definitely wrong. Your locker slammed and you moved toward him, meeting the boy halfway before slightly ducking to match the height of his hung head.

“Scott, what happened? You look like you just witnessed a murder.” You questioned, positioning yourself until you caught his soft brown eyes. He didn’t answer, so you assumed the worst, your voice expelling in a shouted whisper, “Please tell me there isn’t another dead body.”

Scott shook his head in denial, shifting his position as he swung his bag over his other shoulder.  He sighed, a hand rubbing down his face, “Just when I thought this werewolf thing couldn’t get any harder.” He suddenly lent back, groaning in distraught, and you tried to ignore the other students as they watched on. You smiled, trying to wave them off, and the little embarrassment that fell over your features. Scott peered to you as he ignored his peers, “We need to find Stiles.”

Keep reading

[theinternetisfulloftrash]

Far Away From L.A.

Story Summary: Dylan arrives ahead of production to a new filming location to get a break from L.A. It’s a small town in eastern Canada that’s remote and serene. While he’s enjoying the touch of anonymity that comes with filming in a rural town where most people couldn’t care less who he was, he meets Amelia.

Pairing: Dylan x OFC

Warnings: eventual smut, RPF, slight angst, general naughtiness

Authors Note: Uhhhh. I didn't really expect this to be the last chapter, but shit happens? Enjoy? Sorry? I love you?

Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Epilogue (Coming Eventually)

Chapter 20: If You Love Someone (Dylan POV/Mia POV)

Dylan drove, his foot heavy on the pedal, perhaps heavier than it should be on a narrow, country road. The yellow lines flashed by in the spray of his headlights as he replayed what had just happened in his mind until it had him feeling so torn and frayed that he had to pull over on the gravel shoulder. 

He sat there, looking out through the windshield at the high grass lit by his headlights, at the dark sky beyond, and then slammed his hands on the steering wheel, cursing so loud his ears rang. 

He didn’t want to be driving away from her. Away from the only genuine connection, he’d felt for another person in years. Of course he didn’t, but that was precisely the reason he had to. He refused to allow the affection he felt for her to cloud his judgment. He couldn’t be what she needed. What she deserved. How could he? His lifestyle was nearly that of a vagrant. What could he possibly be to this girl who deserved far better than he knew himself capable of offering? He ached at the thought of how quickly everything had seemed to curdle and sour. He’d been so willfully blind, entranced by her and chasing the high of how it felt to be in her presence. He’d been selfish. To assume this day, this entire thing, could have gone any other way was foolish. 

He buried his face in his palm and rubbed his temples to try to coax away the beginnings of the headache that was forming between them. The slow creep of these realizations had been nauseating him all evening, but it was Amelia’s father’s words playing over in his mind that had the bile rising in his throat. ‘Haven’t seen her this happy in so long. She’s smiling again. I suppose I have you to thank for that.’ All of those words should have been more comforting to hear from her father than they were. Instead, each of them only stung. Their implications were biting and cruel. ‘You’ll be the next reason for her sadness. You’ll rip away that smile. I’ll have you to blame.’  

Continue Reading on AO3!

I don't know what to say, everyone. I hope you enjoy the final chapter. I've been working on this damn thing for more than a year... Which is just insane? I will be writing an epilogue, so please do not despair ;) I do want to say thank you to all of my readers. You guys have no idea how much your faithful dedication to this story has meant. I really appreciate each and every single one of you so much more than you could ever know! <3 Much love, and happy reading! Trashy xoxo

[tay-swifts]

✧ DYLAN O'BRIEN ‘Not Okay’ Interview | Twitter (July 29, 2022)

[idylio24]

DYLAN O’BRIEN TWERKING EVERYONE! 🤣🤣

[idylio24]

NAHH. This character has made me fucking FERAL!!

[idylio24]

Dylan’s ✨SlUt ErA✨ is in full swing!! 🤣🥵🔥🫠😎

[theinternetisfulloftrash]

Collision Course Coachella

Pairing: Dylan O'Brien x Reader (Female) Synopsis: The last person you expect to see dancing his way around the Coachella venue right in front of you is Dylan O'Brien, but sometimes the universe just puts you in the right place at the right time. Tags: Coachella, Dancing, Semi-Public Sex, Slow-Burn in a One-Shot? Rating: Explicit (obviously) Author’s Note: You wanted it, I stayed up all night to give it to ya ;) It’s juicy, and I’ve decided to turn it into a limited series due to popular demand! A three-part saga of the weekend the reader and Dylan spend together at Coachella 2022. Index: Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 3

Day 2: Careeneing (Dylan POV)

Dylan woke up feeling a bit worse for wear, but by the time he’d fallen asleep in the soft bed of their vacation rental, he’d mostly sobered up, and hydrated himself enough that he didn’t feel like death when he finally peeled his eyelids open. He wasn’t free from the dull ache behind his eyes, or the dry mouth that had him smacking his tongue. Thirty was no joke, you can’t go ham without consequence. 

He promised himself he wasn’t going to sleep in too long—didn’t want to miss too much—but by the time he rolled out of his sheets and hauled his ass to the shower, it was already almost noon. He shuffled into the bathroom off his bedroom, adjusting the semi in his boxers before he stood in front of the large mirror over the long vanity and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. He appraised himself, leaning in to see how bloodshot his eyes were, ran his hand over the pink flush of the slight sunburn he’d managed to get across his chest the day before. The consequences of his wardrobe choice brought a little smile to his face. 

Walking around the festival practically shirtless had been pretty freeing. He couldn’t lie. He was generally a bit more reserved, especially in public, but he’d grown a little tired of being on his best behaviour. He just wanted to have a good time. Bare chest in the California sunshine, a little to the left of sober, and nestled between thighs of a charming as hell stranger. 

He could hear the others in the common area of the shared suite laughing and chatting. 

Today was going to be a good time. Pre-drinks at the hotel, a few others were meeting them before they headed over to the festival grounds, but he needed to be a little more awake before he was ready to entertain guests or field any more questions about the night before. The guys badgered him a bit more than he liked on the walk back, but he pretty effectively deflected. The two of you had eventually met back up with the others. 

Dylan smiled as he turned on the faucet of the shower and let the water run until it warmed before he stepped in. Last night had been fucking wild. The whole day really, but it wasn’t like he frequently fucked women he’d only just met in bathroom stalls, so the event was kind of a stand-out. He supposed it was partly an extension of the letting go he’d been trying to engage more in. Just let go of some of the reservations that he’d always felt held him back from really enjoying the fuck out of life. And this girl? She was definitely something he’d enjoyed.   

Continue Reading on AO3!

So... Listen, was this update meant to be fucking 15k words? NO. Absolutely not, but these two refused to be rushed? Who the hell am I to argue. Please let me know what you think! I shoot your feedback right into my muhfuhkin veins, dude. I live for it <3 Happy reading! -Trashy xoxox

[idylio24]

The fucking QUEEN of smut has done it again! 🥵🥵🫠🫠🔥🔥

[idylio24]

Hello

Heyy!

[idylio24]

Coachella Dylan was a VIIIIBBBEEEE!!! 😎🥵👑😅