Welcome back! (It's Dick's turn!) Enjoy!
Warnings for: dubious consent, explicit oral/anal sex, slight knifeplay, rimming, slight breathplay, slight bloodplay, and scratching. (Hahahaha; fun list.)
(Also, I'm going to repeat this a couple times leading up to it, but Sheith week is nearly upon us. Prepare for a week's worth of it; I've got stories for all seven days.)
"Ready for the main event, little prince?"
Grayson doesn't wait for an answer from him. One of the hands gripping his hips lets go, and then there's blunt, slick pressure at the outside of him and he knows what it must be. He lowers his head, takes in a shallow breath and tries not to betray how simultaneously eager and nervous he is about the actual act. Neither emotion is something he can betray to Grayson, not without it being taken advantage of. Grayson croons something almost soothing, singular thumb still rubbing circles into his hip, and then the pressure increases.
He expects more resistance, almost expects actual pain or at least some level of discomfort, but instead it's smooth. Grayson slides inside of him, and he arches his back, weathers the pain of the cuts in his skin pulling as he gasps. There is pressure, and a sense of fullness that Todd's fingers did not achieve, but there's no other sensation but the pleasure as the sensitive nerves are stimulated with the long, slow slide and stretch of them. Then, suddenly, Grayson's hips are settling against him, and he realizes with a churning swoop of his gut that their eldest is fully buried in him. He— He feels…
Fingers tangle in his hair, and he gives a soft cry as they pull, forcing him to arch his back and his neck, his gaze lifting towards the ceiling but not truly seeing it. Grayson rocks slightly and he feels himself automatically clench at the sensation before he's gasping for another breath of air at how it magnifies the feeling of being full. His eyes flicker shut, fingers curling into the sheets to try and ground himself, to try and gain some fraction of control back from how expertly in hand Grayson has him.
Grayson's hand releases his hip, sliding up the slope of his back, tracing the edges of Drake's cuts and painting trails of blood over his skin as they move, all the way up to curl over his shoulder. "That's excellent work, Jason," Grayson compliments, and he twitches, forcing his eyes back open so he can try to turn his head a bit, to look. The hand in his hair allows him to, at least enough for him to catch the edge of Todd's smirk.
"Talented fingers," Todd says. "See, Timmy? Worth the wait to get him all stretched open first."
The next moment Drake is lashing out, twisting and grabbing a handful of Todd's hair to slam him down against the bed. He goes tense for a second, loses it at the feeling it creates, and hears Grayson laugh behind him as Drake gets Todd on his back, straddling his hips with a hand on his throat and that wicked knife tracing up Todd's stomach, dragging the shirt with it. Todd looks anticipatory rather than wary though, and despite the threat of the knife and Drake's grip, his hands come up to grip Drake's thighs.
Drake's lips curl into a smirk, fingers tightening very precisely against Todd's throat until he audibly chokes, mouth opening in a bid for air. "What should I do to you…?" Drake murmurs, grip unyielding even as Todd twitches, throat arching, fingers digging into his thighs.
Then he sees the expression on Todd's face, and understands. Discomfort, yes, and strain, but there is an undeniable note of pleasure to Todd's face as well, something dark and welcoming. Instantly, he wants to be the one to put that expression there. Or, perhaps, to be the one to have it.
Drake's fingers ease and Todd inhales, strain melting away to something like bliss for just a moment. There's a sharp pang of desire in his gut, and a moan escapes his throat without his consent. Todd's gaze flicks to him, and those parted lips curve in a small grin.
"See something you like, Damian?"
Grayson hums, sounding delighted and on the verge of laughter. "I think everyone can appreciate you, Little Wing." The hand slips off his shoulder, and he watches Tim turn to meet the fingers that slide over his cheek, smearing blood over it. "Tim, sweetheart, why don't you put Jason's mouth to work? He can take our boy second, and then you'll be third. Jason, you can hold long enough to get our prince hard again, right?"
Todd's grin gets a little larger. "Course I can." Todd's gaze rises to Drake, and the hands on his thighs slip around to grip Drake's ass instead, to pull him forward a bit. Drake's smirk is still holding. "C'mere," Todd says, voice low and coaxing, "let me get you off, Timmy."
He should be saying something, he should be putting in some opinion on things, but words have abandoned him. He can only stare through lidded eyes as Drake pulls away and quickly, efficiently, strips the clothing off himself. Then he returns, shifting up and… and straddling Todd's face. Confusion takes him for a moment — he thought that Drake was intending on taking Todd's mouth, and that position seems very awkward for it — before Todd's hands rise to grip Drake's ass, to pull it down, and the angle he has allows him to see the pink flicker of what cannot be anything but Todd's tongue. His breath catches as Drake arches slightly, one hand curled in Todd's hair and the other braced on the bed itself.
It is… degrading, humiliating if he had to choose a word to describe the act, and yet in the next moment Todd gives a clearly aroused moan, fingers squeezing into the muscle of Drake's ass, spreading the cheeks wider.
"We're going to teach you a lot of new things, little prince," Grayson says to him, as he watches color flush into Drake's face, watches the delicate part of his lips in a small gasp. "Watch them as much as you can manage."
With that, Grayson shifts backwards, hand returning to his hip to curl around it and keep him in place. Most of the way out as he arches, eyes flickering again at the slide, before shoving forward. He gives a surprised exhale of breath, and then there is no rest. Grayson is steady, as unrelenting as he was when his mouth was being taken instead but faster now, less exacting. He twists beneath Grayson as much as he can, caught between the hand on his hip and the one in his hair that's still holding him up and arched, and can only manage to take it. Whenever he opens his eyes he's met with flashes of pale skin, with the sight of Drake in pleasure, and the sounds in his ears are not his alone. Drake's are quieter, but they are present, and Todd releases the occasional moan, or low growl.
But he cannot hope to hold back his noises. He gasps, cries out, shouts and then keens as Grayson angles downwards and suddenly there is the hard, repeated impact of thrusts against his prostate. He misses precisely when it is that Drake and Todd move, but when his eyes next flicker open Drake is on his back with Todd between his thighs, hands buried in his hair and hips rocking up into his mouth. He manages to stares at that for a minute before Grayson distracts him again, and he loses all ability to even try and focus.
He shakes, and Grayson lets go of his hip, sliding fingers down and then around him. He sobs out a breath, can't even think to warn Grayson because suddenly he's coming, pleasure scorching through him and eviscerating him from the inside out. He realizes he's keening only when his senses start to return, and at the same time he registers that Grayson is moving slower now. Rocking, shallow movements that are easier on his nerves. Before he can give some sign of the fact that he's aware, Grayson's grip in his hair guides him down, pushing him out of the arch until his head is pinned against the sheets.
Fingers press to his lips, and he opens his mouth on instinct to allow them to slip inside. The taste surprises him, but a moment later he's shivering, whining when he realizes that Grayson's fingers have bits of his own cum on them. He closes his mouth around them, sucking without thinking about it, his mind still riding high on the pleasure humming through him.
"What a good boy," Grayson says, with a bit of strain to his voice. The praise makes him shiver again, as it always does whenever Grayson means a compliment enough to actually say it aloud. "Damian, you'd do anything to please me, wouldn't you?"
He's conscious enough to know that is a dangerous question, no matter what answer he dares to give, but also that there is only one answer that is truth.
"Yes," he gasps, when the fingers slip from his mouth. "Anything."
He cannot pretend anything else. Grayson is their eldest, their leader, dangerous and deadly, and he is loyal to the original Talon down to his bones. He would do whatever Grayson asked of him, and he does not care how that makes him look to the rest of the world, or even to the others of their family. Grayson may as well be his god, for he has never believed in anyone else as thoroughly as he does the man above him. He would gladly show his devotion, in whatever way was demanded.
"Good," Grayson praises, fingers stroking through his hair, scratching just hard enough at his scalp to make him whine. "Tim, come here." There is movement, and he should open his eyes but Grayson's still rocking inside of him, still stroking his hair, and he can't find it in him to try. "Damian; little prince." The fingers tug lightly at his hair. "I'm going to finish taking you, and I want you to suck Tim off while I do, alright?"
He does open his eyes for that, and finds Tim in front of him, kneeling with his legs spread. His breath catches at the sight of Tim's cock, flushed and already glistening with moisture, and he gives a protesting sound that's immediately hushed.
"You want to please me, don't you, Dami?" Grayson coaxes, tugging his head up by his hair. "I want this. I want you to take Tim between those pretty lips, get him off, and swallow everything he gives you, little prince. It won't take much; Jason's done all the work for you."
"Why?" he asks, and refuses to admit that it's a whine. He does not want Drake like he does Grayson. Drake is irritating. Pretty, but he would rather be pinning Drake down and making him scream than allowing himself to be used by his sadist of a brother.
Grayson gives a small laugh, letting go of his hair and tracing fingers down the length of his spine. "Because everything we have goes in you tonight, Damian. We're going to fill you up and wear you out, little prince, till you can't breathe without feeling us." He feels a protest stick in his throat over the fact that plan still involves Drake, and then Grayson is leaning down over him, pulling him up and pressing tight to his back until it hurts in the kind of way that almost makes him want more. Grayson can always make him feel that way. "You've been such a good boy so far." Grayson whispers in his ear, teeth just barely scraping at it. "You want to make me happy, don't you?"
That is… That is not fair.
He whines, and it comes out broken when he agrees, "Yes."
Grayson kisses the side of his throat, then slowly pushes him back down, holding him by his hair until he's poised over Drake's cock. "That's it." Grayson lets go of his hair with one last tug, sliding fingers along the back of his neck and down his spine. "Now, Dami."
He tries to ignore the fact that it's Drake. He enjoyed Grayson enough; why should this be different?
He almost misses the guiding touch of a hand in his hair, taking the responsibility of choice from him. There is no choice, not really, but it would be more pleasant to believe that Drake was pushing him into this, rather than that he was doing it willingly, out of loyalty to Grayson. He supposes that is why the hand is gone; Grayson is making a point just as much as he is demanding what he wishes to see.
Drake gives a small gasp at the first flick of his tongue, and despite his dislike of the situation he looks up. Drake is… cracked. Flushed, pupils blown wide, mouth parted in clear desire, and when he laps at the underside of the cock in front of him, experimentally, he gets a hard shudder and a flicker of Drake's blue eyes. Hm. Perhaps there is a certain… power to this. Perhaps it is not nearly as subservient as he was afraid of it being, and he will not be at Drake's mercy. Not in this.
He keeps his gaze upwards as he carefully takes the head of Drake's cock into his mouth, over his tongue. The taste is no worse than Grayson, and Drake gives a soft moan at the touch. He… He would like to force Drake to make more of those noises.
There's a rough laugh from beside him, and he glances over, finds Todd shifting up and closer to him. He's momentarily distracted, as Grayson's fingers wrap around his hip again and the rocking thrusts gain more power, with less care for the fact he's still sensitive, but he refocuses when Todd moves behind Drake. Todd's hands slide down the outside of Drake's arms, then circle them and push them down, pinning them on either side of Drake's waist. He watches, curious, as Drake arches and hisses, and Todd smirks.
"You know," Todd comments, speaking over Drake's head, "if you brace with just one hand, that gives you a free one to play with. And if you take him deeper, he'll get loud for you."
"Jason," Drake hisses, head twisting as if to bite their loose cannon. Todd's pressed too close though, and the only one of them still wearing clothing, which gives him a bit of a barrier from Drake's teeth.
Slowly, mindful of the power of Grayson's thrusts behind him, he gathers his arms until he can keep himself upright with just one. First, he raises his free hand and presses it to Drake's thigh, pushing it wider against the faint resistance. Grayson laughs from behind him, sounding pleased and breathless, and a flush of pleasure warms his stomach. He follows Todd's advice, sliding his mouth lower onto Drake and taking more of him. He can feel the faint tremble in the thigh beneath his hand, and Drake's hips rock upwards, the push of the cock towards the back of his throat now a more familiar sensation. He allows it, sliding his free hand inwards to explore the rest of Drake's groin.
He sucks at Drake as he lets his fingers slide over the tight, hot weight of his balls, and then lower, past the smooth skin below them and to the clench of muscle beneath. For a moment, he's surprised that it's slick, wet beneath his fingers, until he remembers just where Todd's mouth has been. He circles it with one fingertip, remembering how that felt on him, and Drake jerks against Todd's grip, arching and giving a hitched moan. He narrows his eyes, presses his finger inwards, and it gives. Drake is hot inside, clenched tight around him, and gives a broken-sounding moan that immediately lights satisfaction to join the pleasure in his gut.
He can only imagine what it must be like to take someone like this, as Grayson is doing to him. If it is anything like the sensation of Drake around his finger, he can see why Grayson is fucking him like he is. In fact, he's impressed that Grayson is being as relatively restrained as he is. He's absolutely certain that the strength being used on him is only a small portion of how hard Grayson could be taking him. Despite the fact that Grayson is using him, it is not like he is truly being overstimulated, or fucked in the manner that he's seen in the porn he's… studied. There's a consideration to it he did not expect.
Then again, if they truly do intend to all fuck him, repeatedly, it would be in their best interest not to harm him too badly.
Todd grins down at him, sharp and vicious. "You want to see him come apart, Damian?"
Drake hisses louder this time, twisting against Todd and snapping teeth close enough that they catch some of the black fabric between them. "I'll—" He sucks harder, and Drake cuts off with another moan before managing to gather himself. "I'm going to shred you as soon as I'm free, Jason."
"Can't wait, Timmy," is Todd's answer, the grin not even flickering. "Scratch the inside of his thighs, Damian. Lines, not blood, and do it slowly. He'll buck, so watch it."
Drake makes a sharp sound of denial, and Grayson laughs again. There's a tightness to it that wasn't there before, something coiling that he can only imagine means Grayson must be close to a release. "That's generous of you, Little Wing."
He slips his finger free as Todd looks up over his back, presumably at Grayson. "The two of you aren't easy to handle; just giving the kid a few pointers to help him get through the night. I'm nice that way." Todd's gaze falls to him again, hands sliding Drake's captured wrists inwards, and slightly down, almost as if… as if pinning Drake's hips down as well. "Go on," Todd says, as Drake twists those wrists and curls his hands as if to claw at Todd's fingers, though they're just out of reach. "Make him break for you."
He sets his nails against Drake's inner thigh, and notes that although Drake is protesting, and 'struggling,' he has not actually been stopped. Drake's thighs may not be the equal of Todd's, but his predecessor is more than capable of knocking him aside or hurting him with solely his legs, and there is little he could do to prevent it from this angle. Perhaps it is the same loyalty to Grayson that keeps him still, or perhaps Drake is not as against this interaction as he would like them to believe.
It feels like the right thing to do to open his mouth wider and take as much as he comfortably can of Drake in one fell swoop. Drake arches against Todd with a quiet cry, and he feels vicious satisfaction in repaying Drake's earlier manipulations by dragging his nails across the sensitive skin below them. Drake's cry rises sharply in volume, and behind him he hears Grayson give a breathless moan in response. He can't honestly say which one affects him more, but the combination of both pulls a shudder from him, and makes him really put a bit of effort into, as Todd said, making Drake come apart.
It doesn't take much. He's not surprised; Grayson predicted as much. He only manages to claw one more set of lines down Drake's thigh, crossing over the first set, before Drake gives a cry that breaks into a keen, and bucks upwards into his mouth. Todd's pin neutralizes most of the movement, but it provides enough of a warning that he feels the way Drake pulses in his mouth, and is not totally unprepared for the semen that floods his mouth. He swallows on instinct, wanting to move away but remembering Grayson's desire and forcing himself to stay, to continue to take what he has coaxed from Drake. It is... not as difficult as he thought it might be, or as uncomfortable as his studies of pornography made it appear.
The taste is unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant, and it is a little more volume than is entirely comfortable, which forces him to continue swallowing to rid his mouth of the excess, but it is hardly beyond his capabilities. There is also the benefit that he is proud of the fact that he caused this. He made it happen.
Drake lost control because of him.
Drake slumps back against Todd's chest and he takes it as a cue to stop, swallowing the last of the release in his mouth and then backing off. Drake's head lies against Todd's collarbone, cheeks flushed, mouth open, eyes closed. Todd's smirking, gaze lingering on Drake, hands still gripping his wrists, but with very little of the force from before. He lowers his hands to brace against the bed, to give himself more stability against Grayson's movements, as he watches Drake breathe.
Then Grayson is jerking him back by the grip on his hips, and he gasps as he momentarily falls off balance and then gets shoved forwards again by the hard snap of Grayson's hips against him. One hand grabs him by his hair, pulls him up into that same almost punishing arch, until Grayson's chest is pressed to his back, mouth and teeth against his throat. Dangerous, but Grayson is never entirely safe. He learned that a very long time ago. Even now Grayson is capable of turning on him without warning, not that he believes that his throat will actually be torn out, especially as he has done nothing to warrant it, but Grayson is still capable. He would be a suicidal fool to believe anything else.
"That's it, little prince," Grayson pants against his skin. "Take what we give you."
Nails dig into his skin, hips drive into him hard enough to make him give a soft cry, and Grayson bites. He jerks at the feeling of the teeth sinking into the side of his neck, at the sting of skin breaking as Grayson gives a muffled moan into it. He tenses for a moment and that gets him another sound from Grayson; sharper this time, as if wrenched out of their eldest's chest. The teeth don't go any deeper, and somehow he finds himself relaxing, easing into Grayson's hold as he feels — feels — a rush of wet heat inside of him. It's a bizarre sensation, but with Grayson pressed to his back, hands in his hair and at his hip, it feels good.
Grayson lets go of his throat first, then the hand in his hair presses him downwards, until his head is to the sheets, back sloped downwards since his hips are still held up. Grayson shifts, pulls back, and he gives a small groan as he feels Grayson slip from him. He feels… empty, open, and it's strange. He doesn't like it.
"My turn," Todd says, voice a low rumble, and he tilts his head to look up.
Drake is stirring, but yields easily enough to being laid down on the pillows at the head of the bed as Todd moves away, both hands rising to strip off his shirt. He turns his head to look as Todd sheds the sweatpants as well, and immediately flushes because Todd is unmistakably bigger than either of his other 'brothers.' Not to an obscene level, not where he worries about actually being hurt by it, but Todd is still noticeably larger. He supposes that makes sense, proportionately. Todd can still dwarf any of them.
Grayson meets Todd, winds a hand around one side of his neck and bites — relatively lightly, it appears — at the other, and unbidden his mind returns to its earlier wondering about the sheer size difference between Drake and Todd. His breath catches, and Grayson gives a lazy, satisfied laugh as those blue eyes look down at him from beneath Todd's jaw. Grayson's other hand is sliding around Todd's waist, their chests pressing together, and the gaze watching him is partially lidded, paired with a smirk that seems true enough to be mostly harmless.
"Go on, Little Wing," Grayson murmurs. "Show our prince a good time."