Work Text:
Tucker’s not sure how long this has gone on, but the fact that Wash is still shaking and moaning, somewhat coherent; that tells him it couldn’t have been thaaat long.
He comes deep inside of the older man, thrusting it in until he’s sure it can’t leave him. Wash only mewls at the sensation of being filled and fucked for— ah, who’s keeping count? He’s been passed around so many times now. He presses his pretty, flushed face into the pillow harder and raises his hips obediently, expectant, as Tucker pulls out.
“You still good, Wash? All green?”
There’s no audible response, just a muffled sigh against the pillows. Not good enough, Tucker snaps his fingers and grabs Wash by the jaw, forcing him to look back at him as much as possible without it being painful.
“He’s gone, dude.” Church declares, sitting back on his feet as he impatiently waits his turn— because anyone who knows Church knows he never displays patience.
“Oh, shut up, Church. Wash, hey?” Tucker stares firmly into his half-lidded eyes, hand still fixed on his sharp jaw. Deep brown eyes peer into gray ones, and Wash fumbles for words, “Nn- y-yeah, yeah, ‘m good,” Wash lets out a weak little whine of protest at the doubtful look on Tucker’s face. “‘M serious.” His voice is so ruined the statement loses a bit of its intended weight— his tone all broken and whiny, words meshing together.
“Say something if it gets too much. I’m serious.” Tucker releases him at the vague noise of approval. He allows Wash’s face to drop back into the pillows and shuffles away (but not without a quick slap on the ass, adding to the raw splash of burning handprints there. It leaves Wash whimpering.)
“He’s all yours.” Tucker gestures to Church before taking his place beside Carolina, who looks increasingly bored, to Tucker’s humor.
Church settles between Wash’s legs, staring at the sinewy, scarred plains of his back. He thinks for a moment, flips Wash onto his back, and decides he likes it this way better. Wash’s face is on display now, beet red and breathless, tear tracks staining the freckled skin. His eyes are stuck half-lidded and his brow has a slight crease to it, mouth hanging open just enough to pant.
That’s not even the best part, really— not in Church’s humble opinion. Wash’s cock stands red and weeping, he’s so hard it looks painful. Church simpers at the high-pitched little noise that escapes Wash as he flicks the tip, teasing.
“Spread ‘em,” he commands. Wash behaves instantly, needing no further request. Church doesn’t bother with pre-tense— he gets his hand on Wash’s hips, grasps him tight enough to add to the no doubt steadily building collection of bruises that will be there tomorrow.
He doesn’t tell him when he enters, no warning needed— Wash is used enough for it to be a simple process, a quick slide inward. He still whimpers anyways as Church works into a bruising pace near instantly, all business; no play.
Wash’s face curls up as he briefly tries to fight the fucked-out noises from escaping, holding onto the last of his dignity; but it’s an uphill battle what with how thoroughly Church is fucking him, and soon he relents, open-mouthed and crying out.
“Fucking hell, Wash,” Church grits out through a clenched jaw, hammering the older man until he’s crying fresh tears. “You have practice takin’ so much dick?” It’s a quip, a tongue-in-cheek remark, but Carolina’s voice cuts through, “Yeah, you do, don’t you, Wash?” There’s a smug tone to her voice and Church throws a confused glance over his shoulder at her.
“A-a-ahh— nnh— god, it was— ffuck,” Wash can’t even get the sentence out as Church finds his sweet spot, unrelenting and brutal thrusts all up close and personal with it breaking up his words (and rational thoughts.)
“The Project.” Carolina helpfully finishes for him. “Isn’t that right, Wash? You, Maine, North, York…” She trails off, croons.
Wash nods helplessly, “Y-yes, ah— Church!”
Church laughs darkly at the newfound info as he changes his pace to something slower, but still just as devastating, “Well, that’s great.”
Tucker, however, is stuck on a different part, “Maine?!” Carolina pinches him hard, and he yelps undignified.
Church steels his grip on Wash’s hips and lifts, sliding closer and changing the angle. His cock slams against better parts of Wash now, if the unrestrained wail is anything to go by.
“I’m fuckin’ close, Wash— you ready for more?”
“Please, p-please, fuck, give it t’ me—“ he’s cut off by his own yelp at a particularly well placed thrust. His hands grip the pillows above him as he jerks to meet Church’s hips.
“Who am I to say no to that?” Church’s voice breaks with a groan at the end as he’s grinding deep into Wash, spilling inside him and fucking it up against Tucker’s load.
Wash lets out a low moan as he’s filled again, “‘M so close..” it comes out weak and teary but Church takes no pity on him, “Gonna come just from us fucking you, Wash? That’s awesome,” Church taunts him as he pulls out, leaking drops of cum onto the ruined sheets.
Carolina’s on him quick, wrestling him back onto his stomach just how she likes him and wastes no time on sliding that strap in. Wash sobs at the rough hand that finds its way into his hair, threading in perfect where the dark meets the blond. “You wanna come, David?” She bends across the sharp line of his back to whisper enticingly in his ear, and he dips his head approvingly. “Y-yes, yes,”
“I’ll make you fucking come.” Carolina promises, straightening to start a punishing pace. She yanks his hair enough to sting and tears fall fat and heavy on Wash’s cheeks, uncontrollable.
He’s back to openly moaning, begging for something he’s already being given. She punches into his prostate and he’s melting, collapsed into the mattress and only supported by Carolina’s hand in his hair and on his hip.
Tucker moves forward to nip at the tantalizing line of his neck. Wash’s head is pulled back, neck exposed and vulnerable. He can’t make room for a whimper, not around the desperate, ruined moans that are freely flowing from his throat, sounds that you only hear in porn, but his voice peaks as Tucker sucks deep hickeys into his tanned skin.
“You’re takin’ her so well, Wash, god, you’re a sight to behold— you should see yourself, fuck,” Tucker mumbles sweet nothings between love bites and Wash’s head feels like its spinning.
Carolina is methodical in the way she fucks him, similar to how Church does it— there’s no words shared, she’s here to do a job, and that she will. Tucker fills up the spaces for her.
“Such a slut Wash, I had no idea you were this desperate for dick,” Tucker teases despite the words not even sticking, Wash’s mind has been reduced to white noise— there’s only Carolina wrecking him and Tucker’s smooth voice and his lips and teeth; there’s no space for anything else.
The most he can manage is a drawn out plea, “Ccccarolinaa,” he manages through a sob. “You ready, Wash?” She huffs, ponytail falling loose and sweat dripping from the toned plains of her body.
“Please, please, ‘Lina— ngh, fuck, Lavernius!—“ he’s made acutely aware of Tucker’s hand grasping his dick and jerking him to completion. It doesn’t take long he’s so worked up; two good strokes and he’s painting the sheets with a desperate cry. The world spins and slips away for a moment, just noise and sensation and he sinks against the mattress as Carolina works him through the orgasm.
Wash can’t make out the rest of what happens exactly, too exhausted and used for his brain to function— but he feels the warm hands lifting him up and shifting him around, the water of a bath and a warm towel and what he thinks is sheets being stripped and replaced.
“—ash, Wash, hey, you in there?” The ringing in his ears fades as Tucker holds him against his body, they’re laid on the bed, he notes. “Whh— yeah, hi,” Wash struggles, voice weak from overuse and it burns in his throat. He’s distinctly aware of the empty feeling below, he’s probably gaping and the thought makes him flush fast.
His eyes land on Church getting clothed, but there’s a clear lack of Carolina. She must’ve left immediately. “How’re you feeling?” Tucker runs a soothing hand through his hair and it is incredibly distracting to his fucked-out mind.
“Mmn. Used, I guess. ‘S not bad.”
“Christ, Wash, that’s hot.” Tucker snickers.
“Yeah, I’ll leave you two lovebirds here. Tucker, give him a break, Wash, go to bed. Hopefully this pulls the stick out your ass, yeah? No pun intended.” Church announces his goodbye in his signature asshole fashion and leaves before either party can respond.
Wash focuses on the comforting strokes of the hand in his bottle-blond hair, lets it lull him into sleep.