120
that we shine
McFly (GSF)
3,047 words, nc-17, third person. Charity!fic for Jess, because she asked for Telepathy and GSF and it just kind of turned to porn all on it's own. I don't even know. I don't write porn that often, so concrit on the subject is very much encouraged. A huge thank you to moorfaerie for reading it over for me. ♥
"“The fuck?” Tom says, still half asleep. “Which of you fuckers is in my house, and why are you jerking off? I didn’t give you guys keys just so that you could use my bathroom whenever you like.”"
Tom wakes in his bed, alone, to the sound of someone moaning somewhere close to him.
“Bzuh?” he says, squinting into the sunlight streaming through his window. His bed is warm. He wants to be sleeping.
Oh, yeah, he hears, fuck that’s good, mmm.
“The fuck?” he says, still half asleep. “Which of you fuckers is in my house, and why are you jerking off? I didn’t give you guys keys just so that you could use my bathroom whenever you like.” He’s not sure which of his band mates he’s talking to, but it sounds most like Danny - like Danny’s talking about how good his hand feels, and. That’s not something Tom was ever expecting to hear first thing in the morning. He’s heard Danny jerk off before, sure, they spend copious amounts of time on a bus together, but Danny doesn’t usually - he’s usually quieter than this. The moaning stops, abruptly, and Tom makes a disgruntled noise. Why does it have to be in his house? “You are truly a sick man, Danny,” he says, even though. Well. It’s not exactly an unpleasant sound, for one.
The fuck. Tom? Yeah, definitely Danny.
“What?” Tom scrubs a hand through his hair, and wonders why Danny would sound so startled. Danny’s the one breaking into his house to beat off.
I’m not - Danny starts, and then Harry, of all people, interrupts.
He’s not in your house, Tom. Tom blinks, and sits up.
What? he thinks, thoroughly puzzled. He knows, knows that he’s missing something big but he can’t - he doesn’t get it.
“What?” he says, and he can hear Harry laughing, which is really - what the fuck?
I’m in my own fucking house, Tom, Danny is saying, or, actually. When Tom thinks about it, it’s not really hearing, not with his ears, it’s just. Hearing.
Guys, guys! And oh, shit, Tom did not need to hear Dougie that loudly, pretty much ever. Guys, I can hear what you’re thinking!
“What?” Tom says, mouth gaping open. He hadn’t gotten that far, yet. He’s only been awake for about a minute and a half, so he cuts himself some slack.
I know, Dougie, Harry says, a clear eye-roll in the sound of his - thoughts? Whatever. Can you maybe think quieter?
Sorry, Harry, Dougie says - thinks - much more softly. Tom shakes his head, already confused.
Shit, Danny thinks, and then Tom can kind of - feel. How turned on he is. It’s not something he thought he’d ever -
“Danny,” he says, and yes, he does realize that he’s technically talking to himself out loud, but he figures - they can hear, him, anyway.
You are so turned on right now, Danny, Dougie says, and he’s kind of laughing, or he’s thinking about how he’s laughing, or. Tom doesn’t even fucking know anymore.
Why yes, Dougs, I have realized this. Tom wonders if Danny’s hand is still in his pants, and then he realizes that they can probably hear him, because Harry’s thinking about what it would look like, and Dougie is biting his lip and Danny’s hand is in his pants, and.
“Fuck,” Tom says. He lets himself thud back onto his bed. It’s like the more he wakes up, the more he can hear then, and he wasn’t prepared for - for Harry wanting to watch Danny jerk off and Dougie wanting to help out. Wasn’t prepared for how much he likes that thought.
Party at Tom’s house? Dougie thinks, his voice - mind-voice - whatever - tinged with hope and arousal, and Tom is thinking about how he might be blushing, how the pink tinge of his cheeks would look. Harry suddenly imagines Tom and Dougie kissing, and then makes this noise, and.
“How fast can you guys get here?” Tom asks, and Danny is pushing his hips forward into his hand, and thinking about - the sound of Tom’s voice, and Harry’s breathing is picking up. Dougie already on his feet, pulling his shoes on without socks, and thinking,
Shoes, where, shoes. Fucking. God, Danny. Stop it, fuck, and Danny closes his eyes.
Okay, he says, okay.
Harry’s closest, but Dougie drags Danny out first, and so they arrive at about the same time. Tom can hear them as they get closer; they’re louder, clearer, and easier to tell apart. Tom’s still in bed, and he’s - trying not to think about how much he wants to stick his hand down the front of his boxers, and he can feel how much Danny wants to touch himself and how much Harry wants to touch Tom, and how much - it’s too much. It’s too much and they’re still outside.
“Fuck,” Tom says, and arches his hips up, into the air, and he doesn’t know what he looks like, but he knows they can hear him thinking about how he wants to put himself on display for them, and how the fuck - how has this gotten out of hand so fucking fast? He’s only been awake for fifteen minutes. Less, maybe. He has no idea.
Tom, Tom, Danny is thinking, about how he can feel the cool air on Tom’s skin and how he hates how many stairs there are in this fucking house. Dougie’s about four seconds from just pressing his lips against the back of Danny’s neck, and Tom can hear how much he wants to sink his teeth in.
“Hurry the fucking fuck - hurry up,” he says, and they can hear him speaking, now, just outside the door. They hear his voice and his thoughts twice, like feedback, loud and unwelcome.
Don’t - Harry starts.
Don’t talk, Danny finishes for him and when the door opens, they spill out in a tumble. Harry takes a step toward the bed, and Tom doesn’t know - if he should be sitting up, or stretching himself out, or.
We don’t care, Harry says, and then he’s close enough to press his palm flat against the bare skin of Tom’s chest. Tom can feel Harry’s fingers, warm on his skin, and he can feel Harry feeling his skin on his hand, and it - he can’t help arching up, because he knows how much Harry wants to touch him, and that’s - new.
Not new, Harry says, smiling, and kneels beside him on the bed. Tom can feel Dougie’s tongue swipe into Danny’s mouth, fingers curled in Danny’s t-shirt, and Danny is. So fucking hard. He wants to press his hips against Dougie and just grind, and Dougie knows and so does Harry.
Here, Tom thinks, Tom wants. Bed. Danny groans out loud, the sound rough in his throat, and it’s the first noise since Tom last spoke. Tom shivers at the sound of it, and curls his finger into the sheets. It’s Dougie who pushes Danny down onto the bed, and Harry leans in, his breath hot against Tom’s neck, and Danny is - pushing his hips up, against Dougie’s thigh. Pleasure is coursing through Danny’s spine like electrical sparks, and Tom has to clutch at the sheets to keep from crying out.
Too much, he thinks, I’m not sure if I can - and he doesn’t have to finish, because they know, but Harry’s lips are on the side of his neck, tongue sliding wet and slick over his skin, and he’s still kneeling over Tom, so Tom uncurls his hands from the sheets and slides them up under Harry’s shirt. Harry gasps against Tom’s neck, teeth nicking the skin. Danny’s back is pressed snug against Tom’s knees and thighs, and he knows that it’s uncomfortable, but he also knows the Danny doesn’t mind.
Danny’s hand comes up to wrap in the elastic of his boxers, not brushing against him, not at all. Dougie’s mouth still pressed against Danny’s - they pull away far enough to breathe but don’t disengage. Tom wants to see their skin, wants to feel it against his tongue and his fingertips, but more than that, he wants Harry’s shirt over his head, wants to push Harry’s pants down just enough to see the skin of his hips. Harry sucks hard on his neck and he gasps, because Harry wants to leave marks all over Tom’s body, at the joint of his hip, just under his jaw. High up on the inside of his thighs. Just where his thigh meets his the curve of his ass.
Fucking, Dougie thinks, do it, do it do it, but Tom doesn’t know immediately what he means - Dougie wants to pull Danny’s pants around his ankles, wants his tongue on the underside of Danny’s cock, and - none of them mind. Dougie wants to see the marks on Tom’s skin tomorrow and know that Harry put them there.
Harry’s tongue dips into the hollow of Tom’s collarbone, but Tom’s just pushing Harry’s shirt up as much as he can manage, raking his nails over Harry’s chest and stomach.
Off, he thinks, and Harry pulls back enough to shrug it over his head, to pop the button on his jeans, and drag the zipper down. He presses his nose against the wet skin on Tom’s neck and bites down again, his naked chest pressed sideways against Tom’s. Danny’s fingers tighten in the waistband of Tom’s boxers, thumb stroking the skin just under his belly button, and Dougie is sliding down Danny’s body, fingers clumsily working down the zipper of his pants, pulling them with him as his knees hit the carpeted floor.
Harry’s pushing his hips against the bed, searching for some sort of relief, and biting, this time, into the skin just under Tom’s ear. Tom thrusts his hips up, but only hits air, and Dougie’s mouth is watering, Danny just this side of desperate, biting his lip and digging his fingernails into Tom’s belly hard enough that Tom can feel the pulse beating against his fingertips.
Harry rakes his fingers up Tom’s ribcage just as Dougie pulls down Danny’s boxers, kissing the top of Danny’s thigh. Danny can’t help but thrust his hips up, cock brushing the side of Dougie’s face, his cheek. He doesn’t mean to, exactly, thinking,
Oh, oh, shit, sorry, but Dougie just sucks Danny’s cock into his mouth, the palm of one hand pressing firmly against his thigh. Danny’s mouth gasps open, head going back against the bedspread in an effort not to arch his back, not to just fuck his way down Dougie’s throat, take what he wants. Dougie makes a noise, and Tom can hear it, can feel Danny feel it around his cock, and he wants - he wants Dougie hoarse tomorrow from Danny’s cock in his throat. He knows that Danny hears him think it, because he thrusts again then, just as he thinks,
Fuck, Tom, his fingernails digging harder into Tom’s belly in a way that makes Tom thrust up. He needs someone to fucking touch him, he - he can feel Dougie slacken his jaw, swallow around Danny, stuff his hand down the open zip in his shorts to touch himself, rough fingers brutal against his skin, tacky with sweat. Danny thrusts into Dougie’s mouth again, and he can’t seem to stop, because he sits up, wrapping the fingers of his free hand in Dougie’s hair to hold him close. Keep him still. He tugs, hard enough that Dougie moans in the back of his throat, making Danny gasp.
Harry, then, bites into the skin just above Tom’s belly button, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Danny’s thrusting hard into Dougie’s mouth, Dougie swallowing almost convulsively to try to keep the saliva from running down his chin, and Harry’s mouth is moving sharp and hot over Tom’s stomach and hips, stinging teeth and consistent pressure.
Harry, he thinks, Harry, Harry, Harry. Harry is rubbing off against the bedspread, and Tom wants to see. Harry growls in the back of his throat, and pulls his mouth away from Tom’s skin. Tom grabs Harry’s head between his palms, and pulls. Harry comes willingly, and Tom bites into Harry lips, hard, before licking into his mouth. The change in position means he can feel the thrust of Harry’s hips just against the edge of his thigh, and he wants. He wants.
He knows that Danny is close to coming because he’s not even thinking in words anymore, images, sounds; he’s just a blur of pure pleasure, and his hand pulls away from Tom’s belly to clutch at Dougie’s head, holding him still as he fucks in - Dougie is thrusting into his own hand, knees spread as far apart as he can make them, shorts still pulled up over his thighs.
Tom can’t - he can’t stop himself, he kisses Harry almost desperately, and shoves his hand down the back of Harry’s loose pants and boxers, pushing down at best he can from underneath. Harry’s skin is soft and warm and just beginning to sweat, Tom’s fingers sliding down the curve of his ass and the back of his thigh.
C’mon, c’mon, he’s thinking, over and over, and Harry lifts his hips up enough that Tom can push his pants down. Not off, but. Enough.
So impatient, Harry thinks at him, but Tom knows that he wants this just as much as Tom does. Harry’s naked hip is against his thigh, the drag of his cock slightly wet against Tom’s skin, but hard and warm.
Then Harry yanks down Tom’s boxers, forcefully, and thrusts up against him - right - right there, and Tom can’t help but gasp for air against Harry’s mouth. He doesn’t know when his eyes slide closed, but he knows they are, because all he can see or hear or feel is Danny looking down at Dougie as he thrusts in for the last time, coming down Dougie’s throat. Dougie coughs, a little, swallowing and swallowing, and Danny can’t - think, he can only. Watch Dougie’s throat bobbing as he swallows, his fingers moving too fast too harsh over his own skin, because he needs to come, needs to, and Tom thrusts up into Harry, Harry who kisses his lips and bites into his jaw and scrapes his fingers down Tom’s sides as he pushes his hips rough and uncoordinated. Harry who then wraps his hands around Tom’s hips tightly enough that there’ll be bruises there tomorrow, and Tom doesn’t mind. There’s no rhythm, there’s only need and arousal and the push slide of Harry’s cock against his, Harry’s mouth on his cheekbones and the corner of his lips.
It’s - Tom’s not even entirely sure who he is anymore, except that Harry’s weight is pressing down against him, holding him secure, and. Danny is hauling Dougie up into his lap, kissing him on the lips, wrapping his fist around Dougie’s hand, guiding him as he jerks off. Dougie wants - Dougie knows that Danny likes the taste of his come on Dougie’s lips, and Tom gasps at the thought of it, can’t not speed up his hips, the movement limited as his boxers tangle around his thighs, as Harry holds him down against the mattress.
I can’t - I can’t - ah, Dougie thinks, fragmented, and then comes into the combination of his and Danny’s fists. His come stains Danny’s shirt and his own stomach, his shorts, and he leans his forehead against Danny’s shoulder, breath gasping harsh in his throat, the salt of Danny’s skin against his mouth.
Sleepy sated warmth next to Tom, and Tom still wants. Needs. Harry’s holding him down and the friction is sticky hot, Harry cock against his, Harry’s breath on his face. He knows he’s on the edge, almost, almost, and then Danny licks up the side of his face, teeth nipping at the marks Harry already left on his skin. Tom doesn’t know when he moved, but he kisses Tom, pushing Harry’s head out of the way. Harry leans his forehead against the bedspread, and Tom lets Danny slide his tongue into his mouth - he can taste the leftover tinge of Danny’s own come on his lips, just the slightest hint, but he licks into Danny’s mouth, hunting for the taste of it.
Dougie bites into Harry’s shoulder blade, hard, and Tom comes.
He doesn’t expect it, isn’t quite - he feels the sharp teeth in Harry’s skin, Danny’s tongue alongside his own, Harry’s hips pushing against him, and he closes his eyes against the pleasure of it. He’s - turning inside-out, Harry sliding over the edge just after him - reverberations of Harry’s orgasm and his own, and he feels Harry feeling him, and on and on and -
Oh, holy fuck, someone thinks, but he’s not sure who it is, anymore.
Tom wakes up sticky and warm and in his own bed. Harry’s awake. Harry’s awake, and looking at him. Tom opens his eyes, and Harry is on his side, head propped on one hand, still naked. Danny and Dougie as still sleeping on either side of them, and Harry is looking at him. His thoughts are - suspiciously his own.
“What?” he asks, even though he knows the question is apparent on his face, whether or not Harry can hear his thoughts.
“Look at yourself,” Harry says, and Tom isn’t quite sure what - oh. He glances down at himself, at the hickeys scattered red and livid across his chest and stomach, the bruises on his hips, the scratches up and down his sides. He wonders what his neck looks like. He stretches his arms over his head, arching his back just to feel the ache of them. He likes them - likes being marked. He wouldn’t even consider saying anything like that aloud, but - Harry already knows. Has known since he started biting last night. And Harry likes marking him; that much is apparent.
“I really need a shower,” Tom says, because he has dried come stuck to his stomach, and his muscles are aching in some interesting places.
Dougie yawns and cracks an eye open, before shutting it again and rolling over. It’s like he’s just - making sure they’re still there, haven’t left, and Harry runs a hand through his hair. Tom jolts when Danny wraps an arm around his waist, pressing his chest close and warm against Tom’s back, propping his chin on Tom’s shoulder.
“Want company?” he asks, and Tom doesn’t need to hear his thoughts to know the expression on his face. Tom just grins.
“Sure,” he says.
McFly (GSF)
3,047 words, nc-17, third person. Charity!fic for Jess, because she asked for Telepathy and GSF and it just kind of turned to porn all on it's own. I don't even know. I don't write porn that often, so concrit on the subject is very much encouraged. A huge thank you to moorfaerie for reading it over for me. ♥
"“The fuck?” Tom says, still half asleep. “Which of you fuckers is in my house, and why are you jerking off? I didn’t give you guys keys just so that you could use my bathroom whenever you like.”"
Tom wakes in his bed, alone, to the sound of someone moaning somewhere close to him.
“Bzuh?” he says, squinting into the sunlight streaming through his window. His bed is warm. He wants to be sleeping.
Oh, yeah, he hears, fuck that’s good, mmm.
“The fuck?” he says, still half asleep. “Which of you fuckers is in my house, and why are you jerking off? I didn’t give you guys keys just so that you could use my bathroom whenever you like.” He’s not sure which of his band mates he’s talking to, but it sounds most like Danny - like Danny’s talking about how good his hand feels, and. That’s not something Tom was ever expecting to hear first thing in the morning. He’s heard Danny jerk off before, sure, they spend copious amounts of time on a bus together, but Danny doesn’t usually - he’s usually quieter than this. The moaning stops, abruptly, and Tom makes a disgruntled noise. Why does it have to be in his house? “You are truly a sick man, Danny,” he says, even though. Well. It’s not exactly an unpleasant sound, for one.
The fuck. Tom? Yeah, definitely Danny.
“What?” Tom scrubs a hand through his hair, and wonders why Danny would sound so startled. Danny’s the one breaking into his house to beat off.
I’m not - Danny starts, and then Harry, of all people, interrupts.
He’s not in your house, Tom. Tom blinks, and sits up.
What? he thinks, thoroughly puzzled. He knows, knows that he’s missing something big but he can’t - he doesn’t get it.
“What?” he says, and he can hear Harry laughing, which is really - what the fuck?
I’m in my own fucking house, Tom, Danny is saying, or, actually. When Tom thinks about it, it’s not really hearing, not with his ears, it’s just. Hearing.
Guys, guys! And oh, shit, Tom did not need to hear Dougie that loudly, pretty much ever. Guys, I can hear what you’re thinking!
“What?” Tom says, mouth gaping open. He hadn’t gotten that far, yet. He’s only been awake for about a minute and a half, so he cuts himself some slack.
I know, Dougie, Harry says, a clear eye-roll in the sound of his - thoughts? Whatever. Can you maybe think quieter?
Sorry, Harry, Dougie says - thinks - much more softly. Tom shakes his head, already confused.
Shit, Danny thinks, and then Tom can kind of - feel. How turned on he is. It’s not something he thought he’d ever -
“Danny,” he says, and yes, he does realize that he’s technically talking to himself out loud, but he figures - they can hear, him, anyway.
You are so turned on right now, Danny, Dougie says, and he’s kind of laughing, or he’s thinking about how he’s laughing, or. Tom doesn’t even fucking know anymore.
Why yes, Dougs, I have realized this. Tom wonders if Danny’s hand is still in his pants, and then he realizes that they can probably hear him, because Harry’s thinking about what it would look like, and Dougie is biting his lip and Danny’s hand is in his pants, and.
“Fuck,” Tom says. He lets himself thud back onto his bed. It’s like the more he wakes up, the more he can hear then, and he wasn’t prepared for - for Harry wanting to watch Danny jerk off and Dougie wanting to help out. Wasn’t prepared for how much he likes that thought.
Party at Tom’s house? Dougie thinks, his voice - mind-voice - whatever - tinged with hope and arousal, and Tom is thinking about how he might be blushing, how the pink tinge of his cheeks would look. Harry suddenly imagines Tom and Dougie kissing, and then makes this noise, and.
“How fast can you guys get here?” Tom asks, and Danny is pushing his hips forward into his hand, and thinking about - the sound of Tom’s voice, and Harry’s breathing is picking up. Dougie already on his feet, pulling his shoes on without socks, and thinking,
Shoes, where, shoes. Fucking. God, Danny. Stop it, fuck, and Danny closes his eyes.
Okay, he says, okay.
Harry’s closest, but Dougie drags Danny out first, and so they arrive at about the same time. Tom can hear them as they get closer; they’re louder, clearer, and easier to tell apart. Tom’s still in bed, and he’s - trying not to think about how much he wants to stick his hand down the front of his boxers, and he can feel how much Danny wants to touch himself and how much Harry wants to touch Tom, and how much - it’s too much. It’s too much and they’re still outside.
“Fuck,” Tom says, and arches his hips up, into the air, and he doesn’t know what he looks like, but he knows they can hear him thinking about how he wants to put himself on display for them, and how the fuck - how has this gotten out of hand so fucking fast? He’s only been awake for fifteen minutes. Less, maybe. He has no idea.
Tom, Tom, Danny is thinking, about how he can feel the cool air on Tom’s skin and how he hates how many stairs there are in this fucking house. Dougie’s about four seconds from just pressing his lips against the back of Danny’s neck, and Tom can hear how much he wants to sink his teeth in.
“Hurry the fucking fuck - hurry up,” he says, and they can hear him speaking, now, just outside the door. They hear his voice and his thoughts twice, like feedback, loud and unwelcome.
Don’t - Harry starts.
Don’t talk, Danny finishes for him and when the door opens, they spill out in a tumble. Harry takes a step toward the bed, and Tom doesn’t know - if he should be sitting up, or stretching himself out, or.
We don’t care, Harry says, and then he’s close enough to press his palm flat against the bare skin of Tom’s chest. Tom can feel Harry’s fingers, warm on his skin, and he can feel Harry feeling his skin on his hand, and it - he can’t help arching up, because he knows how much Harry wants to touch him, and that’s - new.
Not new, Harry says, smiling, and kneels beside him on the bed. Tom can feel Dougie’s tongue swipe into Danny’s mouth, fingers curled in Danny’s t-shirt, and Danny is. So fucking hard. He wants to press his hips against Dougie and just grind, and Dougie knows and so does Harry.
Here, Tom thinks, Tom wants. Bed. Danny groans out loud, the sound rough in his throat, and it’s the first noise since Tom last spoke. Tom shivers at the sound of it, and curls his finger into the sheets. It’s Dougie who pushes Danny down onto the bed, and Harry leans in, his breath hot against Tom’s neck, and Danny is - pushing his hips up, against Dougie’s thigh. Pleasure is coursing through Danny’s spine like electrical sparks, and Tom has to clutch at the sheets to keep from crying out.
Too much, he thinks, I’m not sure if I can - and he doesn’t have to finish, because they know, but Harry’s lips are on the side of his neck, tongue sliding wet and slick over his skin, and he’s still kneeling over Tom, so Tom uncurls his hands from the sheets and slides them up under Harry’s shirt. Harry gasps against Tom’s neck, teeth nicking the skin. Danny’s back is pressed snug against Tom’s knees and thighs, and he knows that it’s uncomfortable, but he also knows the Danny doesn’t mind.
Danny’s hand comes up to wrap in the elastic of his boxers, not brushing against him, not at all. Dougie’s mouth still pressed against Danny’s - they pull away far enough to breathe but don’t disengage. Tom wants to see their skin, wants to feel it against his tongue and his fingertips, but more than that, he wants Harry’s shirt over his head, wants to push Harry’s pants down just enough to see the skin of his hips. Harry sucks hard on his neck and he gasps, because Harry wants to leave marks all over Tom’s body, at the joint of his hip, just under his jaw. High up on the inside of his thighs. Just where his thigh meets his the curve of his ass.
Fucking, Dougie thinks, do it, do it do it, but Tom doesn’t know immediately what he means - Dougie wants to pull Danny’s pants around his ankles, wants his tongue on the underside of Danny’s cock, and - none of them mind. Dougie wants to see the marks on Tom’s skin tomorrow and know that Harry put them there.
Harry’s tongue dips into the hollow of Tom’s collarbone, but Tom’s just pushing Harry’s shirt up as much as he can manage, raking his nails over Harry’s chest and stomach.
Off, he thinks, and Harry pulls back enough to shrug it over his head, to pop the button on his jeans, and drag the zipper down. He presses his nose against the wet skin on Tom’s neck and bites down again, his naked chest pressed sideways against Tom’s. Danny’s fingers tighten in the waistband of Tom’s boxers, thumb stroking the skin just under his belly button, and Dougie is sliding down Danny’s body, fingers clumsily working down the zipper of his pants, pulling them with him as his knees hit the carpeted floor.
Harry’s pushing his hips against the bed, searching for some sort of relief, and biting, this time, into the skin just under Tom’s ear. Tom thrusts his hips up, but only hits air, and Dougie’s mouth is watering, Danny just this side of desperate, biting his lip and digging his fingernails into Tom’s belly hard enough that Tom can feel the pulse beating against his fingertips.
Harry rakes his fingers up Tom’s ribcage just as Dougie pulls down Danny’s boxers, kissing the top of Danny’s thigh. Danny can’t help but thrust his hips up, cock brushing the side of Dougie’s face, his cheek. He doesn’t mean to, exactly, thinking,
Oh, oh, shit, sorry, but Dougie just sucks Danny’s cock into his mouth, the palm of one hand pressing firmly against his thigh. Danny’s mouth gasps open, head going back against the bedspread in an effort not to arch his back, not to just fuck his way down Dougie’s throat, take what he wants. Dougie makes a noise, and Tom can hear it, can feel Danny feel it around his cock, and he wants - he wants Dougie hoarse tomorrow from Danny’s cock in his throat. He knows that Danny hears him think it, because he thrusts again then, just as he thinks,
Fuck, Tom, his fingernails digging harder into Tom’s belly in a way that makes Tom thrust up. He needs someone to fucking touch him, he - he can feel Dougie slacken his jaw, swallow around Danny, stuff his hand down the open zip in his shorts to touch himself, rough fingers brutal against his skin, tacky with sweat. Danny thrusts into Dougie’s mouth again, and he can’t seem to stop, because he sits up, wrapping the fingers of his free hand in Dougie’s hair to hold him close. Keep him still. He tugs, hard enough that Dougie moans in the back of his throat, making Danny gasp.
Harry, then, bites into the skin just above Tom’s belly button, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Danny’s thrusting hard into Dougie’s mouth, Dougie swallowing almost convulsively to try to keep the saliva from running down his chin, and Harry’s mouth is moving sharp and hot over Tom’s stomach and hips, stinging teeth and consistent pressure.
Harry, he thinks, Harry, Harry, Harry. Harry is rubbing off against the bedspread, and Tom wants to see. Harry growls in the back of his throat, and pulls his mouth away from Tom’s skin. Tom grabs Harry’s head between his palms, and pulls. Harry comes willingly, and Tom bites into Harry lips, hard, before licking into his mouth. The change in position means he can feel the thrust of Harry’s hips just against the edge of his thigh, and he wants. He wants.
He knows that Danny is close to coming because he’s not even thinking in words anymore, images, sounds; he’s just a blur of pure pleasure, and his hand pulls away from Tom’s belly to clutch at Dougie’s head, holding him still as he fucks in - Dougie is thrusting into his own hand, knees spread as far apart as he can make them, shorts still pulled up over his thighs.
Tom can’t - he can’t stop himself, he kisses Harry almost desperately, and shoves his hand down the back of Harry’s loose pants and boxers, pushing down at best he can from underneath. Harry’s skin is soft and warm and just beginning to sweat, Tom’s fingers sliding down the curve of his ass and the back of his thigh.
C’mon, c’mon, he’s thinking, over and over, and Harry lifts his hips up enough that Tom can push his pants down. Not off, but. Enough.
So impatient, Harry thinks at him, but Tom knows that he wants this just as much as Tom does. Harry’s naked hip is against his thigh, the drag of his cock slightly wet against Tom’s skin, but hard and warm.
Then Harry yanks down Tom’s boxers, forcefully, and thrusts up against him - right - right there, and Tom can’t help but gasp for air against Harry’s mouth. He doesn’t know when his eyes slide closed, but he knows they are, because all he can see or hear or feel is Danny looking down at Dougie as he thrusts in for the last time, coming down Dougie’s throat. Dougie coughs, a little, swallowing and swallowing, and Danny can’t - think, he can only. Watch Dougie’s throat bobbing as he swallows, his fingers moving too fast too harsh over his own skin, because he needs to come, needs to, and Tom thrusts up into Harry, Harry who kisses his lips and bites into his jaw and scrapes his fingers down Tom’s sides as he pushes his hips rough and uncoordinated. Harry who then wraps his hands around Tom’s hips tightly enough that there’ll be bruises there tomorrow, and Tom doesn’t mind. There’s no rhythm, there’s only need and arousal and the push slide of Harry’s cock against his, Harry’s mouth on his cheekbones and the corner of his lips.
It’s - Tom’s not even entirely sure who he is anymore, except that Harry’s weight is pressing down against him, holding him secure, and. Danny is hauling Dougie up into his lap, kissing him on the lips, wrapping his fist around Dougie’s hand, guiding him as he jerks off. Dougie wants - Dougie knows that Danny likes the taste of his come on Dougie’s lips, and Tom gasps at the thought of it, can’t not speed up his hips, the movement limited as his boxers tangle around his thighs, as Harry holds him down against the mattress.
I can’t - I can’t - ah, Dougie thinks, fragmented, and then comes into the combination of his and Danny’s fists. His come stains Danny’s shirt and his own stomach, his shorts, and he leans his forehead against Danny’s shoulder, breath gasping harsh in his throat, the salt of Danny’s skin against his mouth.
Sleepy sated warmth next to Tom, and Tom still wants. Needs. Harry’s holding him down and the friction is sticky hot, Harry cock against his, Harry’s breath on his face. He knows he’s on the edge, almost, almost, and then Danny licks up the side of his face, teeth nipping at the marks Harry already left on his skin. Tom doesn’t know when he moved, but he kisses Tom, pushing Harry’s head out of the way. Harry leans his forehead against the bedspread, and Tom lets Danny slide his tongue into his mouth - he can taste the leftover tinge of Danny’s own come on his lips, just the slightest hint, but he licks into Danny’s mouth, hunting for the taste of it.
Dougie bites into Harry’s shoulder blade, hard, and Tom comes.
He doesn’t expect it, isn’t quite - he feels the sharp teeth in Harry’s skin, Danny’s tongue alongside his own, Harry’s hips pushing against him, and he closes his eyes against the pleasure of it. He’s - turning inside-out, Harry sliding over the edge just after him - reverberations of Harry’s orgasm and his own, and he feels Harry feeling him, and on and on and -
Oh, holy fuck, someone thinks, but he’s not sure who it is, anymore.
Tom wakes up sticky and warm and in his own bed. Harry’s awake. Harry’s awake, and looking at him. Tom opens his eyes, and Harry is on his side, head propped on one hand, still naked. Danny and Dougie as still sleeping on either side of them, and Harry is looking at him. His thoughts are - suspiciously his own.
“What?” he asks, even though he knows the question is apparent on his face, whether or not Harry can hear his thoughts.
“Look at yourself,” Harry says, and Tom isn’t quite sure what - oh. He glances down at himself, at the hickeys scattered red and livid across his chest and stomach, the bruises on his hips, the scratches up and down his sides. He wonders what his neck looks like. He stretches his arms over his head, arching his back just to feel the ache of them. He likes them - likes being marked. He wouldn’t even consider saying anything like that aloud, but - Harry already knows. Has known since he started biting last night. And Harry likes marking him; that much is apparent.
“I really need a shower,” Tom says, because he has dried come stuck to his stomach, and his muscles are aching in some interesting places.
Dougie yawns and cracks an eye open, before shutting it again and rolling over. It’s like he’s just - making sure they’re still there, haven’t left, and Harry runs a hand through his hair. Tom jolts when Danny wraps an arm around his waist, pressing his chest close and warm against Tom’s back, propping his chin on Tom’s shoulder.
“Want company?” he asks, and Tom doesn’t need to hear his thoughts to know the expression on his face. Tom just grins.
“Sure,” he says.