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The second he sees it, he pins Swerve up against the door and pushes his fingers up against the recently-washed skin. Swerve locks up, inhaling sharp, shoulders tensing - as he is want to do. They will learn to shed these instincts, eventually.
(Hangman thinks. Even if they don’t forget the cinderblocks, and the needles, and the bleeding, and the burning, maybe their bodies will forget. Maybe their nervous systems will forget.)
The door to the hotel room clicks loudly in place when Hangman pushes Swerve back, one hand on his chest, the other hand roughly grabbing the side of his jaw and using his thumb to push his chin up. It exposes the front of Swerve’s neck to him, which stretches, distorted slightly by the clear plastic wrap stuck to the skin.
“Some people say hello, cowboy,” Swerve grunts, one hand grabbing at Adam’s leather jacket, the other staying at his side, holding his phone. “The fuck are you doing?”
“...What the hell is this?” Hangman asks, keeping Swerve’s head forced back, eyeing the new black lines punched into his skin. In the light of the front living room area, he can’t see it perfectly, but with his face so close, crowding up into Swerve’s space like a dog sniffing an owner’s hand the second they get home, he can see that it’s a nicely shaded heart surrounded by beams of light, with something resting atop it.
Swerve makes a half-hearted attempt to push Hangman back with a forearm on his chest, but Hangman pushes back against him, fingers pressing into Swerve’s cheekbone.
“It’s a tattoo, dumbass,” Swerve says, his throat shifting, making it almost look like the heart is beating.
“Why’d you get it, dumbass?” Hangman asks again. He had memorized every line of ink on Swerve’s skin at one point or another - had palmed the skull on his chest in their first match, scraped his nails along Swerve’s stomach where it read ‘FAITH’ to try and pry the ink out, had kissed and traced his tongue and teeth along everything else over and over and over. Swerve hadn’t told him that he was getting another tattoo, though, and it made Hangman feel oddly possessive.
It wasn’t that he wanted Swerve to ask permission to get inked, it was just that Hangman had a sort of fascination with his partners’ ink - Swerve’s were dark, and sharp, and expressive. Ospreay’s were clean and few, but told a story of his life. If Swerve was going to get something new, Adam would have liked to know, to prepare himself, to make time to scan over the new markings, dark against dark skin, marring him with something beautiful instead of the things Adam had done to him.
(Maybe part of Adam was jealous of the ink. Swerve had wanted it, after all. He had chosen it, as if what Hangman did to him was not beautiful enough.)
Swerve’s hand moves from Adam’s stomach to his waist, sighing and not fighting him anymore. His thumb rubs along Adam’s side, and he says,
“I call it ‘speak from the heart.’”
Hangman blinks, frowns.
“That’s fuckin’ stupid.”
“Well I didn’t get it for you, asshole,” Swerve snips. Hangman leans in, pressing his lips over the thin plastic.
“Obviously. Hope you wouldn’t get somethin’ ugly as sin for me,” he mutters, feeling how warm the skin is, how some of it is raised because the skin is swollen and healing. Still, if Hangman let himself, he could imagine why Swerve got it. He was growing as a wrestler, as a man. Talking with more confidence - talking shit like a champ. Hangman kisses the wrapping again, and Swerve pushes him, this time with slightly more force.
“Hey, man, c’mon. It’s new, you gotta be careful with it. Don’t go putting your nasty mouth all over an open wound.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you had my mouth on an open wound,” Hangman reminds Swerve, but does lift his head, pressing his lips against Swerve’s.
“Fuck,” Swerve grunts, and Hangman presses up against him, letting go of his face to grab at the collar of his jacket. He gives it a tug, roughly yanking Swerve into a kiss that bangs their teeth into the backs of their lips. It is a hard kiss - they have not yet learned how to start soft, they always have to earn the gentleness with roughness, with Hangman tilting his head just a bit too much, with heavy breathing, with sucking and biting and hands grabbing and yanking.
Swerve kisses back with an elegance that Hangman will never have, a coolness that has always alluded him. It is still rough, it is still mean, but it is smooth and easy and the pressure makes him want to dig his nails into the other man and ease him up a little bit. He shoves his free hand up under Swerve’s t-shirt and pulls back, lips hot and wet.
“I need-”
“Can’t, not right after I got inked,” Swerve says. Adam feels a spike of irritation that is quickly followed by desperation. Another reason, he thinks, that Swerve ought to have warned him that he was getting a tattoo. He should have known that scarring himself did something to Adam, that the art and the latent idea of him bleeding out plasma and other fluids would make him a little bit insane (because Adam hadn’t done it, because someone else tore into his skin, made him beautiful).
As if he can tell - or maybe he’s just seeing the look on Adam’s face when Swerve tells him he can’t, won’t - Swerve smirks at him, amused. It twists heat in Adam’s gut, makes his cock jump in his jeans. He presses Swerve firmer against the door and his teeth go immediately to the side of his neck, just a couple inches past where the plastic wrap ends, and he bites down.
Swerve hisses and his hand comes to grab at the hair on the nape of Hangman’s neck, tugging sharply. Hangman doesn’t move, presses his body chest-to-toe against Swerve until he can feel when their stomachs breathe, when Swerve’s shoulder tenses before he lifts an arm to grab the back of Hangman’s jacket.
“Fuckin’ animal,” Swerve grunts. Hangman can taste sterile alcohol on Swerve’s neck, and the sharp tang of something else, maybe a lotion, maybe another antiseptic rubbed over his neck before the tattoo. It doesn’t taste like Swerve, and it pisses him off a little, so he lifts his head to kiss his cheek where he tastes more like himself. Swerve is still panting against him, both men warm now, too warm for their leather jackets.
“Can I suck your dick at least?” Adam asks, because there’s no way he’s getting out of this without digging into Swerve’s skin, tasting it, grabbing at it. He needs to do something while he can’t trace and taste and familiarize himself with this new marking. Swerve breathes out, letting go of Hangman’s hair and instead holding his hips.
Adam is kissed, finally soft, finally warm without needing to be hot.
“I got a better idea. One that won’t mess up my ink,” Swerve says. Hangman frowns and is about to ask how a blowjob could fuck up his neck when Swerve smiles at him, squeezing his hips. “Where’s our boy Billy?”
Hangman blinks, frowning.
“He’s on the phone with Kip.”
Swerve’s smile grows and he leans in, kissing Adam again, just quick. It’s not much, it’s enough to keep Adam pressed up against him and want to rut like a dog against Swerve’s stupid leather pants.
“Think we can get him off the phone?” Swerve asks, hooking a thumb through one of Hangman’s beltloops. He pulls Hangman in more, compresses the two of them together until Hangman is forced to shuffle his feet apart to fit one of Swerve’s thighs between them. He does not hump against him, even though he wants to, even though Swerve’s thigh presses right up against his half-chub.
“I think we can convince him,” Adam mutters, drawl more pronounced because he’s getting dizzy, because he’s starting to feel his vision dot with how bad he wants to peel the plastic off Swerve’s neck and lick up along the bloody, inky mess. He’s sure he could convince Swerve to do it, he knows they’ve done weirder shit before.
“Good,” Swerve says, nodding. “Cuz I wanna watch the two of you together.”
“You-” Adam stops, blinking, grabbing at the front of Swerve’s jacket. He feels Swerve shift his weight, sliding his thigh down against the crotch of Adam’s jeans. He leans in, resting his weight on his knuckles against Swerve’s chest. “You want a show?”
“It’d keep my ink safe, get my boys their high,” Swerve says. Adam huffs out, leaning in to kiss at Swerve’s lower lip. And you wouldn’t think it by seeing the cowboy’s legs straddling Swerve’s thigh, by seeing the way he’s pressed up against his front, pink-cheeked and red-lipped and with his teeth imprinted on Swerve’s neck, but he has some pride left.
“Not your boy,” Hangman says. Swerve’s smile doesn’t fade, doesn’t falter. Instead, he nods at the door that separates their hotel room’s living area from the small bedroom and says,
“Let’s go see what our boy thinks of my good idea, hm?”
Hangman could argue with that, but there’s the annoying situation of his cock being hard and Swerve suddenly being responsible when it came to hygiene.
“Yeah, yeah alright,” Adam breathes, and steps back with a minor adjustment to his crotch. Swerve watches, shameless, though if the imprint along the inside of his left thigh were anything to go by he was just as eager to get to Billy as Adam was.
The third man is reclined on the bed, phone to his ear, one leg bent to rest his elbow.
“I’m working on it, darling, but PT is just crushing,” Kip sighs.
“You’re tellin’ me, bruv,” Billy says, face hurting from smiling. “But you’re gonna be back alright? You and your boy and that beautiful missus are going to get some gold.”
“You think Madame Wayne would get a title? Christ, I’d love to see her go up against Briscoe,” Kip exclaims, and Billy is halfway through a belly laugh, the image in his head happening in Tekken style, when the door opens.
Hangman and Swerve at first appear to be just coming in at the end of a long day, hopefully to summon him for dinner. He nods to them briefly, trying to listen to whatever Kip’s saying now, something about wanting to do something different with his hair before he returns to the ring. Hangman stops by the side of the bed, bringing his hand to his face in the pantomime of a phone.
Hang up he mouths. Ospreay frowns, glancing between the men. His initial thought is that something is wrong, terribly wrong, and any number of things run through his head: Hangman got fined for attacking security, Swerve pissed someone off online, the Death Riders were searching the hotel for victims, Ospreay had parked in a handicap spot by accident. Each scenario flits through his mind in the time it takes for Swerve to get up behind Hangman and grab at his belt.
Swerve’s fingers - thick and strong - deftly unclip Hangman’s belt buckle and leave it hanging. Ospreay stares at the darkwash jeans, sees the imprint of Adam’s dick as Swerve’s hands continue their work, pulling open the fly and working the denim down. By that point, Ospreay’s mind was working, and so, it seemed, was his mouth.
“Oi, bruv, hate to cut you off,” Ospreay says quickly, “but I’ve got an emergency comin’ up right now that I gotta jump on.”
There’s a beat of silence, then,
“Are you really hanging up on me to get a shag?”
“Love you, too, bruv,” Ospreay says, hanging up the phone before tossing it behind him without looking, hearing it hit the floor somewhere. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure he hung up, just tossed the phone as a problem for later-Billy.
Swerve has Hangman’s pants down and is yanking off his leather jacket by now, Ospreay shuffling on the bed to sit facing them, staring open-mouthed.
“Wha- what’s up, fellas?” Ospreay asks, eyes bright and excited. The bedroom is better lit than the living room, so Adam can see the way Ospreay’s eyes reflect the light, all big and shiny and lacking pupil the longer he watches Swerve strip Hangman. He feels the other man’s breath ghosting over his neck, the hairs on the back of Hangman’s neck raising.
(Someday, someday, their nervous systems will forget.)
“Swerve had a good idea for once,” Hangman says, and his reward is expected. His eyes are closed before Swerve sinks a bite into his neck, the pain brief but powerful, like a shot of adrenaline that has him straining against his briefs. Swerve pulls back from the bite and nuzzles behind Hangman’s ears, breath low enough to force a shiver, loud enough for Ospreay to hear past the high-pitched ringing in his head as he stares at Hangman’s bare thighs.
“I want you to behave or I’m gonna change plans and make Billy get off all by himself,” Swerve whispers.
“What?” Ospreay asks, blinking, confused. Hangman waves a hand at him, shaking his head. It’s Swerve who speaks, however, pulling the jacket down off Hangman’s arms and tossing it in a chair, pointedly messy.
“I’ve got a proposition for you boys,” Swerve says, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of Hangman’s boxers. Ospreay’s eyes snap to it, breathing through his mouth, sitting forward with his hands on his knees. Adam can’t help but to feel like he’s on show, like some sort of lazy stripper whose partner is doing the undressing for him. Swerve plays it up like that, at least, running his thumbs around the band of the briefs slowly, then pulling them down on one side, then the next. He does that over, and over, each time showing more of Adam’s root.
“Holy shit, yeah, whatever it is- I’m down,” Ospreay says, chest puffing out when Hangman’s cock finally slips free of the briefs, half-hard, having flagged a bit from Swerve being an insufferable dickhead. It’s his heart that swells when Ospreay clumsily and frantically starts to strip off his shirt and shuffle out of his sweats, no underwear because he doesn’t like how it bunches.
He’s naked before even Adam is, bare, beautiful body scrambling back on the bed invitingly. Hangman swears he’s a normal man, and that any other normal man would have their mouth water upon seeing the plush side of Ospreay’s ass, his pink-tipped cock already fattening up in the crook of his hip, thick thighs pressing together.
Hangman doesn’t wait for Swerve to get to his shirt - he rips it off himself on his way to Ospreay, feeling half-mad with need, too high-strung from Swerve and his neck tattoo and his teasing to play it cool. Instead, he crawls over to Ospreay and grabs him by the backs of his knees, yanking him so that he slides onto his back from the pillows.
Ospreay is still smiling despite it, laughing as Hangman grabs his plush thighs and leans over, kissing wherever his mouth falls. First, Ospreay’s chest, shaved and smooth and soft, and Hangman bites at the muscular pad that flexes when Billy inhales.
“Oh- shit, mate, you got that today?” Ospreay asks, Hangman not deigning to lift his head to see how Ospreay looks at Swerve’s new stupid tattoo, which would probably taste like blood and ink and alcohol, which was given to him by someone else. Billy lifts his arm and Hangman feels Swerve lean over the bed to let the much-gentler man feel at it. “Oh, mate, that’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you, baby,” Swerve says, voice quiet and gentle, tender. Like stew cooked in a slowcooker all day, beef falling off the bone with nothing more than a single touch, tender when he speaks to Ospreay. Hangman wishes it didn’t do something to him, wishes it didn’t twist something nasty in his stomach, wishes it didn’t spike something unpleasant in his chest. This, too, is instinct. The discomfort, self-consciousness, thinking he might be interrupting something more important than him as he selfishly snuffles at Ospreay’s neck.
“This why you can’t join us?” Ospreay asks, Hangman starting to kiss down his stomach, Ospreay’s hand finding the back of his neck to stroke it gently. He’s more concerned with getting someone’s dick in his mouth than hearing Swerve talk about his stupid fucking tattoo again.
“No heavy exercise or friction for a while, baby. Think you can make up for it?” Swerve asks, and Ospreay moans in response to both Swerve and Adam, who has his hands tucked up under Ospreay’s ass and is squeezing, feeling the plush muscle as it flexes in surprise.
“Yeah, yeah bruv, I think we can work with that,” Ospreay laughs, legs falling open for Adam in a way that briefly makes him insane. In that span of time, Adam bows his head and nuzzles his cheek and nose against the rough blonde hair of Ospreay’s inner thigh. He rubs his face on it, sucks on the swell of fat near his groin, palms at his ass and the outsides of his thighs.
It’s just that Ospreay, for being built like a brick shithout, has so much to grab, and Adam is nothing if not a tactile learner. So, the same way he memorized the ink on Swerve’s skin, he re-memorizes the soft lines of Ospreay’s hips, the dips in the backs of his knees, using his fingertips to trace and push in and curl around. Hip flexors, knees, hard shins, strong ankles, soft knee pits, hard hipbones.
Hangman needed someone to dig into, and if Swerve were being a prude about bloodborne infections, then he was going to take from their most giving lover.
“What’d you do to him?” Ospreay chuckles, but it sounds breathier now. He’s kept his hand on the back of Adam’s head, fingers toying against his scalp and sending shiver after shiver down Adam’s spine. He huffs out against Ospreay’s left inner thigh, which is starting to redden to match the right one. “He’s actin’ like he hasn’t seen me in weeks.”
“Ah, you know him,” Swerve says, voice sounding slightly further away now. “Hates bein’ told he can’t have something.”
“Shut up,” Adam pants against Ospreay’s hip, having moved from kissing and getting mouthfuls of thigh meat to kissing the v of his abs. Above him, Swerve and Ospreay laugh, and a couple weeks ago that might have made his skin crawl, might have made him slink back in embarrassment. Now, however, he gets it. He gets them. He’s starting to see how they see him.
By the time Adam gets his mouth on Billy’s cock, the Brit has finally started to sound affected over amused, cursing softly under his breath as Adam sucks his tip into his mouth and presses his tongue up under the head, against the little strip of skin. He shifts more, letting Hangman suck at his tip, tongue cutting across the slit until pre starts to pour out and Ospreay’s voice is getting rough. His tone hits a note - rougher than usual, lower, more gutteral, more instinctual than his usual bright, loud, messy voice - that would have Hangman humping the bed if he had a shred less dignity.
Billy had a nice voice. Billy had a really nice voice when he lost control of it.
Salty, bitter pre rolls over Adam’s tongue as he bobs down further, taking Billy until he’s near the back of his tongue. The swollen tip bumps his palate in a slight, almost not-there movement. A single, tender brush against hard skin and bone, but the strangled noise coming out of Ospreay would have you think that Hangman was doing something much more inside his mouth.
“You sound pretty, baby,” Swerve says, slightly closer this time. Adam bobs his head, curious - he angles so that Ospreay’s tip once again bumps across the top of his mouth, and is delighted when the younger man makes a strangled cry and his fingers inadvertently tug on his hair, pulling hard enough to unroot a couple baby hairs. Warm, sharp pain snaps across his neck and Adam rolls his hips hard into the bed, shameless now.
He hears something creak, but ignores it in favor of starting a motion of dragging Ospreay’s tip across the entire length of his palate, along the hard bone right down the center, and the other man’s hand keeps tugging on Hangman’s hair from the nape of his neck, keeps keening and jerking his hips. It’s funny - Ospreay is usually a considerate man, gentle, especially when it came to giving head. He wasn’t one to push someone’s head, had never really let go and fucked up into Adam or Swerve’s mouths.
It was nice, to see some of that sweet, tender consideration start to peel away.
“Christ- Hangman, Adam, come on bruv, this ain’t fair-” Ospreay whines, and for a moment Hangman doesn’t understand. With a mouth full of salt and cock and Ospreay leaking pre like a faucet, things seem pretty fair to him.
“It’s alright, Billy, if you have to cum after only a couple minutes in the cowboy’s mouth,” Swerve says, his voice so sweet it almost doesn’t sound teasing. Only then does Hangman lift his head enough to flick his eyes up, to be able to see Ospreay up above him. It’s a gorgeous sight, and for a brief and terrible moment Hangman wonders what he ever did that was so good that it meant he got to see this: Ospreay, his head thrown back, face scrunched up in desperation and need, his chest heaving up and down, the skin over it red.
It is only natural that Hangman’s eyes would slide over to the side, to fix next on Swerve, who sits in the chair from the desk in the corner of the room. He’s fully dressed, and Hangman can’t see his hips past the bed line, but the way he’s leaning forward and looking at Ospreay tells him all he needs to know. His face is dark, his eyes are darker, and the smile he has is split because he has to breathe too hard to keep his mouth shut.
Between them, Billy is beautiful and flushed red and holding on to himself by the very tips of his fingers.
“Shit- shit!” Billy keens, voice high. Hangman watches as his lower stomach clenches and he redoubles his efforts, bobbing his head faster, making sure to get the tip of Ospreay’s cock caught on his palate until a warm saltiness bursts across the roof of his mouth. It is joined by a punched-out breath, by abs flexing, by Ospreay squeezing his eyes shut as he cums down Adam’s throat.
He swallows all of it, greedy, wanting everything he’s being given. He sucks hard on the last pull, Ospreay’s hand falling out of his hair as his body goes limp.
“I- ah- shit-” Ospreay pants, bringing a hand up to rub down his face. Adam pulls off his cock, giving it a last lick against the head, as if he could scrounge up any remaining cum like a filthy, starving dog. It’s satisfied something in him, for now. Getting a taste, getting to feel - but if Hangman is anything, he is a bottomless pit, and with Ospreay laid out in front of him he can already feel the pangs of hunger coming back before he’s even swallowed the last of his taste.
He crawls up Ospreay’s body while the younger man recovers, admiring the marks he left on his chest, marring his perfect skin with his teeth. Ospreay drops his hand from his face when Hangman gets up to him, resting on one elbow, his other arm tucking up underneath Ospreay’s back and pulling them close. Bleary blue eyes try to focus up on him, lips parted and loose. Blonde curls are already sweaty and messy. Hangman thinks he could die from the love in his chest.
“Hard as a rock, Hanger,” Ospreay pants, a hand coming up to wrap around Adam’s cock, slipping between them. The sudden touch sends a shock through Adam’s gut, making him huff. He rolls his hips forward slightly, panting hot, probably cum-smelling breath against Ospreay’s lips.
Beyond them, one hand palming at himself through his pants, Swerve watches his lovers with a sense of awe. Ospreay, sweet and happy and so bright that it’s hard to remember sometimes how bloody he can get, how he feels everything at the extremes, all the rage and the love and the sweetness. Hangman, the awful, rotten love of his life, a man so beautiful right now with his curls falling over his cheek and his long, strong body pressing up against Billy and breathing like a cobra poised to strike, ready to snap. Hangman, staring intensely down at Ospreay because Swerve had brought Hangman down into hell once and part of it stayed with them.
Together they were fucking gorgeous, and Swerve wants to write a song about them. Maybe he will, maybe that will be his next single.
“Wanna get inside me, yeah?” Ospreay asks, and Hangman nods, but doesn’t make a move. Swerve can’t blame him, what with Billy’s hand still stroking him, palming over the tip as he passes it by. And Billy, not even half as innocent as he seems, giggles at poor Hangman as he tugs on his cock, spreading his legs further out.
Swerve leans over the chair he’s in and grabs the strap of the duffel bag that he’d dropped when they got to their suite. The sounds of heavy breathing, mostly Adam’s, is doing something to him that’s making his leathers too tight on him, and he can’t imagine the poor cowboy would last long enough to prep their boy. He grabs the lube out of the bag as Hanger says,
“Billy, Billy you gotta- Shit, what do you want? Me in you or me on you, cuz you’re- mph. You’re racin’ towards one of ‘em, baby boy.”
Baby boy makes Swerve shiver in envy. Hangman hadn’t given him a nickname like that (unless ‘dumbass’ counted, which it might, because he’d whispered that during sex with the same reverence as he did ‘baby boy’). When he straightens back up, Hangman has gone up onto his hands, giving Swerve a perfect view of Billy tugging on the cowboy’s thick cock, pre dribbling down all sticky and stringy onto his stomach.
“I want you in me, definitely,” Billy says, tracing his fingers along the underside of Adam’s cock. “I think Swerve does, too. He’s gettin’ impatient.”
“I’m just lendin’ a hand,” Swerve says, winking when Hangman looks over at him with his lips parted, eyes dark and wide, back flushed red and cock dribbling into Ospreay’s hand. For a brief moment, he regrets his decision to get inked when they were travelling, when he knew Hangman would want to be all over him, when he would have to deny him. He hopes it doesn’t show, trying to be calmer, cooler, as he hands over the lube.
Hangman grabs it with a shaking hand, turning quickly back to Ospreay. When Swerve settles back, Hangman pours the lube over his fingers and folds one of Ospreay’s legs over his shoulder for easier access. The prep gives Adam time to breathe, even if not soften. He breathes gently, slowly, calming himself with each insertion, watching as Ospreay’s body relaxes and opens up for him until he’s able to slide three finger in, his rim stretched over them, cock starting to fatten back up against his lower stomach.
“Give him four,” Swerve says, a bit too close to an order for Hangman to just comply. He glances over with a frown, but it starts to fade as he catches the way Swerve’s watching them, one hand squeezing at his crotch. He’s not looking Adam in the eye - rather, he’s looking down at where he’s got two fingers in Billy, pumping. Curious, Adam pushes the third in and Billy groans, hands gripping the sheets.
Swerve swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs under the skin of the heart.
“You want a better look?” Adam asks, voice dropped low. Swerve glances at him for just a moment, suddenly fixing his face, because heaven forbid Hanger see him wanting, vulnerable.
“Yeah,” Swerve says, leaning an elbow on the arm rest, tilting his temple onto his knuckles. “Lemme see what you’re doin’ to our boy.”
Adam pulls his fingers out and lubes his cock with a loose fist, worried that if he put any more pressure on himself that he would blow, and lord knows Swerve wouldn’t let him live that down.
“Darlin’,” Adam says, leaning forward until he’s resting on the sheets with his clean, non-lubed hand. Billy looks up at him, cock fully hard now, chest heaving in excitement. “Wanna be my cowgirl so Swerve can see what he’s missing?”
“Oh believe me, I’m not missin’ a damned thing. Got it all right here,” Swerve chuckles, and Adam forces down a smile. Billy beams up at him, pushing to sit up and kiss Adam - sloppy and full of tongue, and he misses with his first lunge, kissing more of the bottom of Adam’s nose than his actual lips. He thinks he couldn’t possibly love Ospreay more. He thinks it is dangerous how much he loves him. Billy presses a hand over Adam’s chest and pushes him back mid-kiss, when Adam still has Billy’s tongue between his teeth.
Adam lets himself be pushed down, laying across the bed with his crotch facing Swerve.
“Giddy up,” Ospreay says, half-giggling as he swings to also face Swerve. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
“You,” Swerve says, and Adam can no longer see him but can imagine the fondness, the warmth in his eyes, “are the biggest fucking dork I’ve ever met. Now ride the cowboy, and let me see how much he fills you up.”
Ospreay laughs as he slides down onto Adam - which is a unique sensation, feeling vibrations, palpitations as his slicked cock and Billy’s lubed hole slot into place with each other, warm walls gripping and pulsing on him. He throws his head back involuntarily and his hands shoot up to grab Ospreay’s hips, letting his legs fall and hang off the edge of the bed.
Ospreay takes him all the way down in one smooth press, something incredible that Hangman wishes he could publish on Billy’s lower third, or some sort of stats sheet. If he did it anonymously, people would think it’s just a joke, right? It’s just, it’s a feat, it’s something even Swerve can’t do, needing at least a couple minutes of rocking in and out before he’s able to let all of Adam inside him.
Warm from root to tip, compressed into a tight, wet grip, Adam makes the mistake of looking down. He sees Ospreay’s round ass pressed down against his pelvis. A strong, muscular back flexes as Ospreay rocks forward, hands on his own thighs.
“Good fucking- god,” Adam groans shamelessly, gripping Ospreay’s hips and pulling him back down onto him, all the way in. “Think I got the better view.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that, Hangman,” Swerve says, whistling as Adam pushes Ospreay forward, rocking him back-and-forth on his cock so that he’s pressing up against a rough patch of nerves inside the Brit, who is quickly rendered into a huffing, grunting mess.
Their banter dies fast, neither man able to say much as Ospreay starts to bounce himself, and Adam feels every press, every flex of his tight heat as he loses grip on Ospreay’s hips. His hands settle instead on the space where Ospreay’s ass hits his pelvis when he comes down, getting moments of palmfuls of ass.
“Good god,” Swerve breathes from the other side, barely audible past the sounds of sex, of Billy moaning, of Adam’s heart in his ears. “Look at you. Like you were made to take him. I mean, shit, I knew you were able to take him, but I ain’t ever seen your pretty little hole doin’ the work. Look at this….”
Adam feels a hot thumb press to his root, Swerve feeling where Ospreay’s rim is stretched around his cock. Hangman holds on to his orgasm by the skin of his teeth, toes curling in the inch of space between his feet and the floor. He presses the back of his head into the mattress as hard as he can, nails digging into Ospreay’s lower back.
“Shit, shit, Swerve-” Billy keens.
“You wanna cum, baby? Need someone to touch you?”
“Yeah…yeah-”
By the way Ospreay chokes Adam’s cock and the heavy, rough exhale, he can tell that Swerve’s touching him, thumb removed from his root. He rests his head back and breathes in deep, watching Ospreay’s back bounce, seeing only Swerve’s knee out of the corner of his eye. He’s not involved in any of that - he’s a cock right now, and that thought should upset him. Should make him feel like an object, which should make him feel unimportant, which should make him feel like a paid participant to be kicked out at the end of it all. And maybe, somewhere deep inside, he does feel like that. But at the surface is the relief, the being useful of it all, the being an object for Ospreay to get off on of it all.
He doesn’t need to do anything but be hard, like a breeding stud strapped to the bench instead of the filly. That thought has him close to the edge, and he’ll dig more into it later. Much later, likely alone in the bathroom. For now, he has Ospreay being fucking gorgeous, making the prettiest, weakest little noises as he starts to rock back-and-forth instead of bouncing, fucking himself on Adam while rocking forward into Swerve’s hand, or mouth, or-
He feels Ospreay clamp down before he can picture what’s happening between them, and his own orgasm is punched out of him with a shocking intensity. A noise he only half-hears rips out of him, but it doesn’t matter - his sounds don’t matter, his pleasure doesn’t matter, he’s there to get Ospreay off, to give him seed, to give Swerve something nice to watch plunge in and out of his lover.
It is a sloppy, filthy mess between the two of them. It sounds messy, sticky, and Hangman can feel his own cum dribbling back out of Ospreay and down his balls, onto the sheets under them. He can’t be bothered to care, resting back, panting hard as Ospreay is led off him. His cock hits cold air and he hisses softly, member flopping onto his stomach with a wet smack. He lets his arms rest at his sides, laying back, panting hard as he feels the end of the bed shift and dip.
“Lay down with ‘im, I’ll get the towels,” Swerve says somewhere.
“Okay, yeah,” Adam pants, reaching out. “Come here.”
There’s a quiet in which he does not see how Ospreay and Swerve look at each other, half-amused that Adam thought Swerve was talking to him, as if Adam were the one looking more composed. He was the one laying back on the bed, hair a frizzed-out mess, sweat sticking to curly chesthair, groin covered in cum, unable to even open his eyes.
“Thank you, love,” Ospreay says with a half-laugh. He leans up and gives Swerve a quick kiss on the neck, shakes his legs out a bit more, then crawls back onto the bed. He had stood, stretched, and palmed at Swerve’s cock in the time it took Adam to come back, but the cowboy doesn’t question where he went or why. Instead, he lays there, arm laid out weakly at his side as Ospreay half-lays at his side.
Adam turns his head, huffing out against Ospreay’s cheek.
“I’ll move you from the edge,” Ospreay says, stroking his fingers through Adam’s hair to try and tame it. “Gotta clean us off first. You unloaded a fuckin’ glue bottle into me, bruv.”
Finally, Adam cracks his eyes open, looking up at Ospreay. It doesn’t look like he fully heard what Ospreay said, and it’s kind of cute how the man just stares at him, half-dumb, still trying to be the one doing the soothing as he takes Ospreay’s hand from his hair and kisses his wrist.
“You feelin’ okay? I prepped you enough?” Adam pants, feeling along Ospreay’s arm. He hears the other man chuckle, which is good. Must mean he didn’t hurt him too bad, though he can’t imagine he was an easy size to take after only three fingers and Adam’s fumbling, anxious, selfish need to get inside him.
That he didn’t hurt his lover soothes a slight guilt in his chest, and he tries shifting, sitting up to better inspect Ospreay’s chest. Ospreay leans back on his hands, casually kicking his legs out as Adam gets to checking on him, thumbing at dark marks he left in Ospreay’s otherwise perfect skin, little bits of violence, imperfection left behind by Adam’s imperfect teeth. He should feel bad about that. He does. It still makes his stomach warm. He stands from the bed, kneeling between Ospreay’s thighs to get a better look at the real mess - the smattering of bite marks and red indents from his nails, all leading to the white, sticky mess between his cheeks.
“Didn’t I tell you to lay down and relax? Can’t listen to a single direction,” Swerve tuts as he comes in from the bathroom, a few hand towels dripping in his hands. Adam looks up at him, sees how tall Swerve is when Adam’s on his knees. From down here, he can see the way the heart tattoo folds under Swerve’s neck, how the plastic wrap shines in the light. He wants to reach up and rip it off - the wrap, the tattoo. He wants to scar it up, let it heal, and carve the same design into Swerve’s neck himself.
“Wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt him,” Adam says, reaching up for a cloth. Swerve rolls his eyes and motions, annoyed, to the bed.
“Go on, I’ve got this,” Swerve says. Adam is about to insist when Ospreay’s fingers slide through his hair again, and Adam looks up, heart stopping when he stares into Ospreay’s sweet smile.
“C’mere, let me play with your hair,” Ospreay says. Hangman is rising from his knees before he can even consider why, being beckoned by Ospreay, going wherever Ospreay asks him to go. He slides back up onto the bed and, at Ospreay’s direction, slumps over to let his head rest against Billy’s shoulder. Fingers immediately start to stroke through his hair, and Adam’s eyes fall half-lidded, one hand balancing on the bed and the other laying limp across his lap.
Swerve cleans Ospreay off, which Adam supposes is his right. Swerve likes taking care of Billy, because he loves Billy, because he likes being the one to soothe him after a hard fuck. Adam understands that, because if he had his way, he’d be the one taking care of Billy. Loving him and kissing him and cleaning him and being loved by him, if he could. If he would let himself be.
“Mm, I’m good, bruv,” Ospreay says. Adam doesn’t really listen, is too busy letting himself be pet, shoulders slumping.
“Take a shower after dinner, just to make sure. Cowboy unloaded in you,” Swerve says, and Adam mutters,
“Sorry.”
There’s another moment of quiet, and then Ospreay’s fingers roll over Adam’s neck. Swerve’s hands press open Adam’s legs, and a warm, wet towel pressed under his now-soft package makes him lift his head sharply, grunting.
“Relax, I ain’t gelding you,” Swerve huffs. “I just don’t wanna listen to you complain about chapped balls when we’re eatin’ tonight.”
Adam stares down between his legs as Swerve kneels, gently wiping the drying cum from his package. He’s gentle with Adam, something he knows Swerve can be but is always surprised when he is. He gets his soft cock, the creases of his hips, his ass where he can reach. When he’s done, and Adam is clean, Swerve takes the cloths and stands up, turning to go into the bathroom again.
“Hey,” Ospreay says quietly, sitting up beside Adam, hand on his thigh. “You okay?”
Adam blinks at him, gets distracted for a moment by tracing his fingers over Ospreay’s somewhat-flat nose, along the bags under his eyes. He memorizes them with his fingertips, then blurts out,
“Don’t get a face tattoo.”
A laugh surprises Ospreay, shaking his head.
“Okay? Wasn’t planning on it, bruv. Just the ones I’ve got,” Ospreay says. Swerve is back soon, phone in his hand, scrolling.
“Alright, what do you want to eat? I don’t feel like goin’ out to a sit-down tonight,” Swerve says, sitting next to Adam. Not Ospreay, Adam. He feels Ospreay lean into him, both still naked, Swerve still fully dressed, showing them his phone as he scrolls for a food place. “Pick a genre of food.”
“Tacos?” Ospreay offers. He slides an arm around Adam’s stomach and asks, “What about you, love?”
Adam opens his mouth, closes it. Stares at Ospreay like he’s a creature, like he just asked him something in tongues. Ospreay waits a second, then glances at Swerve, who looks at Adam with a frown. Neither man says anything, waiting for Hangman to speak, but he…can’t.
There’s this niggling thought in his head that had not been there before that maybe he wasn’t a strange, third thing in this throuple. That Swerve loved Ospreay, and Ospreay loved Swerve, but Hangman was a…a third thing. He had always thought he was more of an obsession. A want that went as deep as the empty place an orgasm comes from. And he took it, because he was a bottomless pit, an unfillable hole, and whenever offered something he would take what was offered until the tap shut off.
That’s what he thought this was. You cannot blame him. He has been a bottomless pit.
“We doin’ okay?” Ospreay asks slowly, squeezing Adam’s thigh. Adam looks to Swerve, who seems just as concerned, phone screen going dark, the new tattoo on his neck shiny and new and wet. Adam wanted it to be his scarring. He wanted to take a permanence in Swerve’s life. He wanted to take and take and take because there was always an end, there had always been an end, and then a starving afterwards. Something, something, food insecurity, but his food was Swerve, and it was Ospreay, and it was being loved in the way Matt loved Kenny loved Kota Swerve loved Ospreay.
He breathes deep and slow, shakes out a breath.
“Uh…whatever you want,” Adam says. Then, “Tacos sound good.”
Swerve furrows his brow, lifting a hand to take Adam by his chin. His head is tilted back, inspected as Swerve leans in close to him.
“You’re actin’ real funny, cowboy. We didn’t do anythin’ wild, you havin’ a tough time coming out of it?” Swerve asks, and Adam shakes his head, no, but it’s like a socking punch to his chest. Swerve’s asking that because he cares. Because Adam isn’t just the unknowable, unlabeled third thing. And he’s having a hard time coming to that realization when both men are staring at him.
“I uh…no. No it’s just- I’m….”
He feels his neck flushing as embarrassment replaces shock, replaces the ache he’d forced himself to live with for months now, the wanting and the projected fear of when this would end, of when his supply would be cut off, and he would have to find someone else willing to throw their attention uselessly into his unending pit of want. He swallows, and is not a charity case.
“You look like you’re going to pass out, bruv,” Ospreay says, “do you need water? Did you drink anything today?”
“I’m good,” Adam blurts out finally, shaking his head and sitting back. He just- needs some air where Swerve isn’t grabbing his face and Ospreay isn’t speaking right into his ear. He leans back on his hands and takes in a deep breath, staring out at the wall. Both men still look back at him, waiting as Adam looks between them.
Swerve tosses his phone onto the nightstand and tilts his head, staring over Adam’s face for a moment until something - something awful - must strike him, because he starts to smile. Adam’s face gets hot, prickling red when Swerve sits back against the pillows, brows raised.
“Billy, baby,” Swerve says, crossing his arms. “You got a magic ass.”
“I- what?” Ospreay asks, screwing up his face. Adam breaks eye contact with Swerve and stares down at his own stomach, but Swerve, like a dog with a bone, just won’t let go.
“I think you fucked him so good you made him-”
“I’m gonna rip that stupid fucking wrap off your neck-”
Swerve throws his head back and laughs, because apparently Adam’s suffering is funny to him, apparently Adam living in aching want for months is funny to him. It should not come as a surprise after all they’d done, but it does come as an irritation, and Adam sits back up, pushing to his feet so he can stew in humiliation in the bathroom, where he can shower off the cleanliness that Swerve gave to him.
He doesn’t get far, Ospreay standing up and darting in front of him, hands on his chest.
“Oi, hey, what’s going on?” Ospreay asks, looking Adam over. “What’s he laughing at? Is he being a tosshead?”
“Yes,” Adam says definitively, then, because Billy is there, because he’s right there, because Adam has to re-contextualize everything Billy’s done and said to him for the past few months, he moves his lover’s hands off his chest and says, “Order the goddamn tacos. I’ve got to shower.”
Ospreay lets him slide past, face still nothing but confusion. Past him, laying back on the bed, Swerve is still laughing, making the heart on his neck pulse and beat.