It hits fast, too fast, and they hold me there, caught between them, every muscle tight, every breath stolen.Dark Hair’s grip on me turns bruising as Leaner pulls me under, swallowing every last tremor until I’m boneless against the bench, sweat running down my spine.
The steam hides most of their faces, but I can still see their mouths curve in the same, knowing way, like they’ve just claimed me in a place I didn’t know I could be taken.
Leaner leans back first, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest rising fast.Dark Hair’s still behind me, but when I turn, he’s watching me like I’m something dangerous he can’t wait to taste.
I drop to my knees between them.The tile’s warm under me, the steam curling around our bodies, blurring the edges of everything but them.I can barely move my listless body, but two flushed and hungry men are waiting, and I’m dying to please them and return the favor.
I start with Leaner.My hands curl around his hips, my mouth opening for him, slow at first, just enough to make his head fall back and his breath hitch.I work him deeper, tasting salt, feeling him swell against my tongue, and when I hear Dark Hair groan behind me, I know he’s watching every move.
I pull back, a string of slick heat between us, and turn my attention to Dark Hair.He’s already thick in my hand, his grip on my jaw guiding me closer.I take him in, my lips sealing tight, my tongue teasing the sensitive underside until his control slips and he mutters something sharp in another language.
Back and forth I go, trading them like I can’t choose a favorite, the sounds of them—breaths, curses, low groans—echoing off the tile.They touch me in return, threading fingers through my hair, brushing my shoulders, guiding me with subtle pressure that saysmore, faster, yes.
Leaner’s the first to tense, his hands locking on my head, hips jerking forward as I take everything he gives.Dark Hair’s not far behind, his release hot and sudden against my tongue.
He touches my throat, urging me to swallow a mouthful of them.The look in their eyes as they watch my throat slide, taking their loads deep into my belly, makes me hungry for another mouthful.
When I finally sit back on my heels, the steam feels heavier, the air thick with the scent of us.They’re both watching me, not speaking, just breathing hard, eyes dark like they’re deciding if we’re done, or if this is only the start.
Leaner’s the first to move, stepping forward and catching my chin in his hand.His thumb brushes my bottom lip, smearing the damp slick there, and his gaze flicks over my mouth like he’s debating another round.
Dark Hair comes in close behind me, his chest a solid wall of heat, his breath against my ear.“You’re wasted out here,” he murmurs, his voice low, foreign syllables curling around the words like smoke.“You should be ours for the night.”
My pulse kicks hard.The tile’s still warm under my knees, but their attention makes my skin prickle.Leaner tilts my face up, Dark Hair’s fingers splay over my stomach, pulling me back against him, and for a moment I’m suspended, caught between them, claimed from both sides.
“You liked the way we watched you,” Leaner says.Not a question.His thumb presses against my lip until it parts, and Dark Hair’s hand slips lower, slow enough to feel like a dare.
I should walk away.I should.But their eyes are molten, their touch steady, and there’s something intoxicating about the way they want to keep me right here, pinned between them until I forget anyone else exists.
Leaner kisses me first—hard enough that I taste the faint trace of mint and heat on his tongue—while Dark Hair’s hand slips over my cock, finding me already hard.The groan that tears from my throat is swallowed into Leaner’s mouth, his grip on my jaw unrelenting.
Dark Hair presses forward until I’m caged between his body and Leaner’s.His hand closes around me, long fingers stroking in a rhythm that makes my knees want to give.
“Drop,” Leaner murmurs against my lips, guiding me down with firm pressure on my shoulder.I sink to my knees again, this time with both of them in front of me—Leaner stroking my hair back, Dark Hair grabbing his dick and stroking himself back to full hardness.
They’re both thick and flushed, and they crowd close until my breath hitches from the heat of them against my face.Leaner pushes his tip over my lips first, slow enough to savor the stretch, the salt, the faint pulse.I take him deeper, tongue working, while Dark Hair’s hand knots in my hair, angling me toward him.
It turns into a rhythm, one sliding into my mouth as the other pulls free, their bodies tense, breath ragged, voices low and hungry in a language I don’t understand.The sound of it makes me harder, my own release building with every muffled groan I pull from them.
Leaner’s hips jerk first, and I take every pulse of him down my throat, swallowing until his fingers go slack.Dark Hair drags me up into his lap before I can catch my breath, pushing into me with a force that knocks the air from my lungs.He holds me there, forehead pressed to mine, until he shudders and comes, his mouth brushing my cheek in something dangerously close to a kiss.
When it’s over, I’m left kneeling between them, chest heaving, the taste of both still on my tongue.They look at me like they’ve claimed something more than just my body.
Steam still clings to my skin, heavier than the air, curling damp tendrils of hair at my temples.The two of them have drifted a few feet away, leaning against the tiled wall, trading a few quiet words and glances that feel… intimate, even though I was just there between them.
I sit back on my heels, clothes somewhere behind me, heartbeat still a little too fast.My mouth tingles, and my throat’s raw in a way that’s both obscene and satisfying.My own release is still slick on my stomach, cooling in the thick heat.
Leaner looks over first, eyes dragging from my face to the mess on my skin.There’s no smirk, just that unreadable, heavy-lidded study, like he’s checking if I’m still here in my head.I am.Mostly.
Dark Hair tosses me a towel.“You’re good,” he says, voice low enough I almost miss it over the hiss of the steam pipes.The fabric’s rough against my over-sensitive skin, but I take my time with it, grounding myself in the scrape of cotton and the heat still radiating from my body.
By the time I stand, they’re already slipping out the door in a silent, wordless exit.No numbers, no names.Just the echo of their footsteps and the lingering throb of what we did, pulsing in places I’ll feel tomorrow.
I breathe deep, tasting them still on my tongue, and wonder if I’d take them again if they came back.
7EPISODE 7
The night air hits like a slap, sharp and cool after the wet haze of the bathhouse.I breathe it in anyway, trying to clear my head.Streetlights smear yellow on the slick pavement, and steam still clings to my skin under my jacket.
