Disclaimer: The Maze Runner trilogy (c) James Dashner

This chapter is so angsty. Whyyyyyyy

Warning(s): Implied sexual content

Part VII

Thomas felt the shift in their dynamic before it became apparent. Sex with his boyfriends became a constant occurrence after their first time together, although the threesomes were no longer common. Minho and Newt took advantage of Thomas's light schedule.

On Tuesdays, when Minho returned early from practice, he would lead Thomas into sex. Some days he was gentle and slow. He would spend time prepping and lavishing the brunet in kisses. Other days, which was most often, Minho was rough, hasty, and almost uncaring. Thomas never failed to be sore those following Wednesdays, but the hot, blinding orgasms he'd get on those days kept him from complaining. He'd forgive Minho for slapping him or biting him so hard it broke skin if it meant he could still receive those orgasms.

Newt didn't seem to approve of it much.

(The bite marks on Tommy's shoulders made him wince every time.)

On Thursdays, when Thomas was free for most of the day and Newt had more study hall sessions, the brunet found himself on a very different sexual spectrum.

Whereas Minho had no problem tackling Thomas down and fondling him until he was panting, Newt offered they play a little game. They'd been literal at first. Gold Fish for one study hall; Crazy Eights the next. Maybe a little Jenga on the third. When a game was done and Newt still had time to spare, they would cuddle in each other's arms. Newt would run his fingers through the younger boy's hair, ask him how his day has been, what Minho had done if they'd met sometime in the day. They would swap stories of their classes; complain about things they couldn't control. Thomas enjoyed moments like this. He often wished Minho would apply it to their get-togethers.

Then, one day, Newt raised the stakes. The person who loses a game would get punished by the winner.

The idea turned him on more than he was comfortable admitting.

When he lost, which he often did—sometimes intentionally—Newt "punished" him. It was the first time Thomas begged for release.

The climax had been so intense, he forgot how to breathe; who he was, where he was. He'd collapsed into his own spunk, gasping for air in his strained lungs, his body quivering uncontrollably and drenched in sweat. Newt, who hadn't bothered to touch his own hardened erection, came purely at the sight of the quivering boy. Time had run out then, Newt flew out of the dorm before he was late for his next class, leaving Thomas alone in his mess and emotions.

The pattern went on like that for a few weeks.

Despite the satisfaction of being able to please his lovers, Thomas felt incomplete. Their sex life was a wild experience—rumors were already starting to spread like wild fire in their dorm building—but the lack of emotional intimacy afterwards made Thomas's anxiety roar. Both Minho and Newt seemed distracted once the deed was done. Thomas couldn't help wondering what they were thinking once it was over.

Did they not like it? Was he bad? Did they want to switch? He wouldn't have minded. He didn't think it was fair he was always on the receiving end lately, even if the climaxes were nice. But how could he tell them that when he had enough trouble as it is? And how could he talk to either of them when they were always texting afterwards?

Thomas watched, curled on his side, wrists burning from Newt's latest experiment—tying his hands impossibly tight—as the blond in question reached for his phone and began to type.

Hurt blossomed in his chest like a spear through his heart followed by the anger that burned his veins. It chased away the hollow disappointment that resonated in his soul; filled him up with something more tangible. Something safer and strong. He curled tighter into himself, ignoring the aches and pains of their sexual romp. Images of the times when they used to cuddle flashed into mind. It made the ache worse and the anger boil.

He could still feel the greasy mess of their lube coating the ring of his anus, but what was once pulsating with heat felt cold and empty—like everything else lately. But Newt had climaxed; had come grunting his name. He'd kissed him until they couldn't breathe, embraced him so tightly, Thomas could believe for a moment they were very much in love, but then Newt pulled away and got on his phone.

He watched the blond's thumb dance across the screen, the soft electronic ticks methodic in the stark silence. The tell-tale whoosh of a message being sent brought Thomas out of his reverie, and he gazed at the blond's head just as Newt turned around.

The older boy smiled softly. He ducked under the upper bunk and pressed a chaste kiss against the brunet's lips.

"How are you feeling?"

The sound of Newt's phone silenced Thomas's reply. He watched in resentment as Newt's brown eyes turned back to the phone, Minho's name suddenly bright against the screen.

Something sickening coiled in his stomach.

"You're texting Minho?" Thomas winced. His tome was too bitter for his liking.

Newt's thumb paused over a key, but the blond continued, humming a reply.

Thomas gnawed on his lower lip. He peeled a thin layer of skin with his teeth.

"Does Minho text you?" When he's done with me?

"Of course he does even when he knows he shouldn't." The blond scoffed, his tone chiding, but Thomas saw the affectionate smile on the older boy's lips. "Don't you get random texts from him?"

No was Thomas's honest answer, but instead he nodded. He didn't rust himself to speak at the moment.

He tore another thin layer of skin from his lips.

"We should… we should make love together again…"

The term felt strange on his tongue. "Making love" implied attachment. Romantic intimacy. Affection. What they had been doing lacked all of the above. Thomas felt they hadn't made love since he gave them his virginity three weeks ago. (When they discovered he was damaged goods; unable to climax the same way they could, even under the right circumstances.)

He missed their intimacy.

He missed their affection.

Newt searched his face for a moment, his expression unreadable. He grew anxious at the way those brown eyes lingered a second too long on his worried lips, Newt's brows furrowed in a way that showed he didn't really like something. He ran his tongue over them, tasting the soft copper of blood from them. He hadn't realized he'd been bleeding.

Newt leaned into his space again and planted a gentle kiss against his temple. He lingered a moment longer, his forehead pressed against Thomas's, his eyes closed as though he were thinking deeply. Thomas savored their closeness. He didn't move in fear of ruining their moment and tried to relish the warmth between them; the delicate way Newt's hands held onto his chin; the soft breathing of the blond's breath.

(A part of him mourned for Minho, who hadn't done this. Who, maybe, wouldn't ever do this—not with him.)

The silence was broken by Newt's exhale. "Okay Tommy, I'll tell Minho that's what you want." He pulled away, taking the warmth, the love and the tenderness away. "It's going to be difficult with midterms coming up but we'll figure something out." Newt reached for his clothes, cell phone still in hand.

Thomas watched him in silence, his body throbbing; emotions turbulent.

Newt and Minho strolled along the campus sidewalk, fingers locked and a bag with their dinner in Minho's hand. The autumn night hung overhead, the chilly air caressing their faces as the bright red leaves fluttered in the darkness. The bright lights of WCK'D U's campus dulled the starry night, but the few stars they could see brought a smile to the blond's lips. He leaned into Minho's form, enjoying the heat, but wishing their third lover was there with them.

(Minho had tried to call Thomas to join them on their hunt for dinner, but the brunet seemed hell bent on ignoring his calls. When Newt tried, he was sent straight to voice message. Minho had called him a shank out of spite, but the hurt was evident in the track captain's whole demeanor.)

"Thomas is getting anxiety again, Min." Newt murmured, remembering the blood from earlier. "He's peeling the skin on his lips."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"We're doing that to him. We're stressing him out, Minho!"

"We're all stressed out, Newt." The runner countered defensively. "Midterms are in two weeks, I've got a track game next Saturday, Janson's on Thomas's ass again and you've got that assignment to do—we're all shucking stressed, Newt! At least our experiments are working. He comes 95% of the time."

"But at what cost?" Newt snapped. "He doesn't talk to me anymore! He doesn't complain about things he has every bloody right to complain about!"

They stopped walking then, the heat of their conversation warming them uncomfortably.

"I tied him up today, Minho. I tied him up extra tight because I wanted him to tell me he was uncomfortable. I wanted him to let me know the bonds were too tight on his wrists, but you know what that bloody shank did? He dealt with it. Even when his skin was chafing and his wrists started bleeding, he didn't bloody say a damn thing! And you know why? Because he thinks that's what I bloody want, Minho! I could see it on his face, he thinks I want him to suffer through that. He thinks I don't care enough to listen to what he wants. That's not bloody right Minho! That's not what I want Tommy to take away from us!"

Newt heaved, his body quivering, not from the cold or the rage, but from something deeper. His heart ached in a way it hadn't in a long, long time. His eyes burned before he knew it and the heat of embarrassment rushed through him so fast it was disorientating. His breath hitched. He turned away, but Minho pulled him into his arms and held him tight.

His voice were soft against his ears. "Okay, I get it. We've taken this too far. Thomas is suffering, you're suffering—"

"We're all suffering, Minho." The blond muttered bitterly, his voice thick.

"Yeah," Minho sighed. He held onto Newt tightly. "Yeah… we are…"

"He wants to have a threesome. I told him we'd find a way to make it work for him." Newt pulled away, his nose pink but his cheeks dry. Minho grabbed the boy's hand again and resumed their walk, a part of him hoping their dinner was still warm enough to eat.

"It'll be easier once midterms are out of the way—"

"It has to be before midterms." They stopped again in front of the housing complex doors, Newt's eyes hard and wet under the lamp's light. Minho frowned in perplexity.

"Why before?"

"Tommy needs this now. He needs to know we love him and care for him. Waiting for midterms would be too long. And…" He paused for a moment, unsure of his words.

"And?" Minho urged gently.

"After midterms, I want to take him out somewhere special to celebrate. I want it to be romantic, an official date with the three of us. You're good at that, so… find us something great, yeah?"

Minho's expression softened at the thought. He nodded. "Of course."

"Good that." Newt breathed. "Now let's go home and feed Tommy."

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