big boy brain rot. big boy sandwich. aether/mountain/ifrit. make mountain tremble, absolutely keening, between them.
big boy brainrot INDEED. 970 words of it
Mountain is losing his mind. Pressed between Aether and Ifrit, their hands gentle on him, him clinging to them. Aether’s cock is already buried deep inside him, and Mountain rocks down onto it, whining. He bumps his face against the crook of his shoulder; all he wants is to bury his face against him, but he’s restricted by his muzzle, jutting out and keeping him far away from Aether’s skin. He whines louder, turning to Ifrit and dropping his forehead on his shoulder. Ifrit’s hand strokes through his hair, over the straps across the back of his head, lingering.
Mountain lifts his head, pleading silently with him. Ifrit’s face crumples into sympathy and he leans forward, pressing his lips to Mountain’s forehead.
I know. I know, I wish we could take it off, but we can’t, Ifrit murmurs, stroking his hand down Mountain’s back. We’ll make you feel good, though. I promise.
He makes good on that promise, dropping a hand between them to take Mountain’s cock in hand, stroking him slowly. Mountain groans, rocking between Ifrit’s hand and Aether’s cock and it’s overwhelming, but it’s not enough. He chitters low in his throat, reaching to where Ifrit’s cock presses against his thigh, pitching forward and halfway pulling off Aether.
You want me too? Ifrit asks, his touch so gentle on Mountain’s cheek as he nods desperately. Behind him, Aether lets out a low groan, pressing closer as his cock twitches and he buries himself in Mountain again.
Yes. Please. Please, I–
Okay. Okay, we got you. We’ll take care of you, Ifrit says, his voice soft and taking the edge off the burning desperation that fills Mountain’s entire being.
He bows his head against Ifrit’s shoulder, trembling and whining softly as Ifrit shifts, moving him with little effort until the head of his cock presses against Mountain beside Aether’s. He can’t help it; his claws sink into Ifrit’s arms as he sinks in, the stretch sending hot pleasure unfurling up his spine. He’s begging wordlessly, clinging hard until Ifrit finally bottoms out. Mountain lets out a broken groan, melting back against Aether’s chest, turning to bury his face against him, but Aether’s hand catches his jaw before he can, redirecting him to rest his cheek against him instead, saving Mountain the frustration.
Easy, we’ve got you, Aether murmurs, pressing his cheek against the back of Mountain’s head as he starts to move, to slowly fuck up into him. Mountain shudders, his whole body shaking with the overwhelming intensity of it, already feeling like he’s unraveling at the seams.
Aether’s arms settle around him, holding him tight. Mountain melts into it, another broken sound falling from his lips as Ifrit starts to fuck into him too. It’s slow, the two of them settling into an alternating pace, dragging inside him, burning him up from the inside out. Mountain’s head lolls, dropping back against Aether’s chest one moment and forward to Ifrit’s shoulder the next. He can’t keep still, struggling to rock down onto them, to lean into the fullness and let it shatter him apart.
Mountain, Aether’s voice filters in through the blood rushing in Mountain’s ears, and he manages to look at him. His face is flushed, lips parted and his fangs digging into his lower lip and Mountain wants to twist around and kiss him. He can’t, though, and Aether is asking him something. Do you want us to knot you?
Mountain just groans, low and long, heat flooding him at the idea. He needs it. He’s going to die without it, and it’s going to be his undoing.
We need an answer, babe, Ifrit prompts, cupping Mountain’s jaw and leaning forward to kiss at his temple.
Yes, Mountain manages, nodding, melting forward against Ifrit, bumping that damn muzzle against him and giving a loud whine of frustration. It burns more than the stretch of Aether’s and Ifrit’s cocks inside him, but Ifrit’s hand on him, his slow strokes of his cock distracts him, turns the whine into a moan.
It’s not long before their knots start to swell, before Mountain is even more of a wreck, lost in the overwhelming heat twisting through him at every subtle move. Ifrit comes first, his hand on the back of Mountain’s neck tightening as he groans and shudders through it, filling him up. That sends Aether over the edge, his head dropping to Mountain’s shoulder as he gasps and twitches and adds to the mess. Mountain’s far too stretched out by now for any amount of knotting to keep their cum inside him, and he lets out a low groan as he feels it start to drip. He’s full, so full, so overstimulated in all the best ways.
Ifrit’s still catching his breath, panting against Mountain’s neck as he mouths at him and starts to stroke his cock in earnest. Mountain is sure that he’s going to shatter into a thousand pieces, but he just clings to Ifrit and Aether and loses himself in it. It’s impossible to tell where the edge is, but he knows he’s tumbling over it when all the heat in his belly tightens and unfurls. His vision goes white as he comes, ears ringing and every muscle in his body locking up tight, trembling.
The next thing he knows, his forehead is pressed to Ifrit’s shoulder, there’s hands on him, stroking over his skin so gently. He’s shaking, his chest heaving for breath. Ifrit and Aether are both speaking to him, but the words have no meaning. Their softness sinks in anyway, gently piecing him back together until the sound returns to the room, his heart slows to a heavy thudding in his chest, and he melts between them.
Good boys. Cumulus’s voice filters in from somewhere across the room, and Mountain just whines quietly.
okay look hear me out, i've had this thought in my head for days and it won't leave me alone and you're the only one i trust with it
swiss is (outwardly at least) utterly unbothered by being muzzled because rain puts him in one recreationally more often than he'd admit to
THANK U MAL i love this one and i literally wrote it in one sitting just now sdjjsf
It’s a quiet evening in the abbey, most of the pack scattered across the couches and armchairs in one of the common rooms. There’s a movie playing on the TV, though only a few of them are paying attention to it, half of them dozing, the quiet snuffles and snores of sleeping ghouls mixing with the sound of the movie. Swiss is curled up with Cumulus, his arms snug around her and his head on her chest while she idly runs her hand through his hair. It’s comfortable, quiet, and most days he’d be happy to drift off like this.
Today, he’s waiting. It creeps slowly up his spine, churns quietly in his stomach. He tries to pay attention to the movie, to focus on the warmth of Cumulus and the steady stroke of her hand. He doesn’t look at Rain. He’s on another couch, tucked up against Cirrus with a book in his hands.
It’s eons before it comes. Rain’s voice curling around his thoughts, telling him It’s time.
Swiss lets out a long breath of relief, the waiting turning into buzzing anticipation, but he doesn’t move quite yet, instead taking a moment to press his face more tightly against Cumulus’s chest. Her hand drifts down to rub at his back for a moment, before giving him a soft pat.
You’re being called over, baby, she murmurs. Something hot curls in Swiss’s stomach; he’d thought Rain had been communicating privately with him, but now he’s not sure if he’d broadcasted that to the whole room, or just to Cumulus. He slowly picks himself up, allowing her hand on his cheek to pull him down into a soft, short kiss, and then he’s on his feet, swaying for a moment.
It’s time. Time for Swiss to leave the room, to come back with the muzzle Rain had set out earlier today, to kneel before him and hold it up like some kind of offering. Rain takes his time marking his place in his book and setting it aside, sitting up a little to lean forward. Swiss’s body is alight with a buzzing heat, his muscles trembling slightly as Rain finally takes the muzzle from his hands and presses it gently to his face. His touch is light as he snugs the straps down tight, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Swiss’s ear when he’s done.
Swiss sits back on his heels and looks up at Rain, who gives him a quiet little smile and a tiny nod. Just that small bit of acknowledgement sets Swiss’s chest aglow, and he wants to stay here and bask in it, but he needs to go before Rain has to tell him to. So he murmurs a thank you and picks himself up off the floor, feeling pleasantly floaty as he drifts across the room. He can feel Rain’s eyes on him as he wanders over towards Aether and tucks himself against his side, but he doesn’t let himself relax completely. He stays sitting up, swaying slightly and struggling to keep his attention on the screen. Aether settles a hand on his thigh, the other busy keeping Dew at bay from his other side. Swiss is vaguely aware of the spiced, sharp scent of him, pent up and wanting. If Dew decides to launch himself across Aether at Swiss, he wouldn't bother defending himself. He’s drifting, sinking into that brainless, contented state.
He’s supposed to be watching the movie. Swiss’s gaze has drifted, and he realizes he’s staring at the carpet. It takes effort to raise it to the screen, to get his eyes to stay there before they go unfocused and hazy again. Sometime later, the sound of a soft growl snags his attention; his gaze goes slowly to the source and finds Dew staring hard at him. How he manages to look so rigid while he’s leaned back against the couch and tucked against Aether’s side is anyone’s guess. Swiss doesn’t care about Dew, though. He has to be good and watch the movie.
He drags his attention back to it, still swaying as he tries to sit up on his own, to look like he’s focused. Eventually, Aether’s arm wraps around his shoulders, pulls him close and he gives in, melting against him. As long as he keeps his eyes open and on the screen, he’ll be okay. Rain will praise him when he takes him back to his room and everything will be right in the world.
