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you're doing amazing sweetie

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Shawn’s still cradling his head, one hand tight in his hair to crane him back at an impossible angle, exposing his throat to the group. Vulnerable. Shit.

It’s out of Jim’s mouth before he knows what he’s saying cuz it’s all too much to keep track of, hands everywhere, spread open, somebody mouthing at the inside of his thigh, hand around his cock not actually doing anything, just holding. Torturous. So much attention. Jim’s lizard brain screams MORE.

“Fuck my face,” he gasps, pressing into Shawn’s touch.

Shawn stills over him, eyes snapping down from where he’d been watching Jim get fucked and offering commentary, gaze boring directly through his soul. He can see the sudden realization and--shit. A smirk crosses his face. Shawn pulls his head back further, gripping his jaw with a steady hand and shoving his fingertips into his mouth and Jim moans ugly, it’s just teasing. Shit. This is the fucking worst.

“Can you say that a little louder for us, Jim?” Shawn smirks, smearing Jim’s own spit across his face and shit, fuck, shit shit shit.

He swallows hard, feeling blown-out and dangerous and wanting, so much want, desperation. Whoever’s fucking him slows and it’s a silent relief but then there are more hands on him, grabbing at his thighs, fingertips digging into his hips and sides and teasing and fuck, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Yeah.

“S-somebody please--” they’re fucking him deep now, impossibly almost, torturously slow. Split open. Wasted. Raw. Fucked up. A moan breaks through him and Shawn dips his fingers back in his mouth.

Fuck. Shit. More. More more more.

It tumbles out of him as one word--pleasefuckmymouth--and somebody groans, they’re all fucking laughing and celebrating and slapping high fives or what the fuck ever like it’s Superbowl Sunday and not like they’ve got Jim bent across a table and held the fuck down.

Shawn cackles, tugging his hair again. Smug. “Can someone please give this man a dick in his mouth? He asked so nicely!"

It's degradation and direction and praise and suddenly there is a dick in his mouth and Jim’s blissed, he’s so fucking gone and closes his eyes, groans as much he can with his mouth full of cock and Shawn’s hand still around his neck.

“Yeah, fucking take that, shit,” Shawn’s spitting above him, talking under his breath and Jim looks up and that’s whose dick it is and he feels used, fucking filthy, getting fucked from both sides and then Shawn’s pulling back, letting go of Jim’s hair even and someone’s grabbing his wrists as his mouth is filled again and he almost fucking purrs he’s so happy.

“Hey now. Hey. HEY!! Y'gotta take turnsI” Corey’s hollering from somewhere. “One at a time, dude, c’mon--”

It’s easy to float away, let himself get fucked. Just a body of disconnected sensations all happening at once, a hundred fucking hands on him. A thousand. Just a series of holes to use; to give and give and never ask for anything except more. Please. Fuck me. Thank you. They’re taking turns fucking his mouth and every time someone pulls away it’s a shock to Jim’s brain, fatally fucking submissive. Left in the lurch. Off-kilter. Needing. More. Not sure if thoughts or words or moans ripped ugly from within him, shoved back down his throat.

More. Shit. Please. More. Anything.

He doesn’t get more, he gets kissed; Chris down on Jim’s level and running his fingers through his hair, tasting the back of his fucking teeth. Biting his lip and groaning. Hands steady on his neck. Strong. Jim’s slipping into it. “You look…really good like this. Like, Jesus Christ,” he’s saying, laughing a little to himself, pressing their foreheads together and making Jim look at him and Jim’s dead in the water, his eyes are so fucking blue. This is what drowning must be like. Sinking, accepting fate, opening his mouth for it. Welcoming it to him. Salt on his tongue. Skin. Chris’s hand still on his neck. Shit.

He gets more. Could be one more or two more or twenty, Jim’s not fucking keeping track. He’s split open, rubbed raw, there for the sharing. Someone’s rubbing slow circles on his back and there are fingertips sliding over his shoulders and ribs and it’d be sweet if he weren’t absolutely full of dick, literally fucking gagging. Too hard, too much. His body jerks reflexively, eyes watering.

Corey must see cuz suddenly he’s yelling, “Hey! HEY!! BACK THE FUCK UP,” fucking belting the offender in the chest, open palm. Ugly sounds of skin hitting skin. Jim’s just breathing hard, a thousand hands holding him in place. It’s comforting. Someone’s gripping his thigh. He feels safe but fucked-up and exposed, a giant raw nerve. Shrinking back down the table, sixteen hands propping him up.

Shawn and Corey both float back into his vision, kneeling down in front of him, their foreheads practically touching his. “Hey, hey. Look at me. Jim. You okay?” Corey asks softly, barely an inch from his face, watching with intent. Shawn’s watching too, staring deep into his fucking soul again like he’s looking for the slightest twitch to call the whole thing off. Thunderclouds are practically forming under his surface.

Jim looks, nods, swallows back hard; words feeling too far away for him to reach even if he weren’t hemmed in.

“Do you need to tap out? You’re allowed to tap out.” Corey’s voice is gentle. Quiet. Best friends forever, maybe something more. Jim wants to find out, wants to trap him in a kiss. Wants to kiss him forever.

Shawn’s petting his hair softly, tender. Like Jim’s gonna break. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. You can call it. It’s why you got a safe word,” he rasps out, voice calm and even and dripping with concern.

“I know.”

Corey. “You sure?”


They both seem to consider that for a minute and Jim swallows hard again, feeling like they’re the only three people on the entire planet. Everything else threatening to fall away.

Finally, after an eternity, Shawn murmurs, “Okay. Okay. Yeah. You’re doing great,” and brushes Jim’s sweaty hair back from his face; kisses his forehead. Affirmative. Approval.

Jim feels like he’s going supernova. Flushed, wrung out, exploding. Raw nerves holding all the power in the universe. He could end worlds.

Shawn’s back on his feet making general threats about if I see any bullshit I will knock you the fuck out, just fucking try me with his fingers running softly through Jim’s hair and Corey kisses his own fingers before touching Jim’s lips and god he wants to suck on those but instead Corey’s gripping his jaw gently, clambering to his feet.

“Open,” he mumbles, and Jim does.

Then he says “tongue out”, and Jim does, ignoring the flush in his cheeks when he realizes everybody’s looking at him, watching this play out. So much attention. Almost too much. Exposed like his nerve endings.

Vulnerable. Shit.

He’d really do anything Corey asked him to.

“Suck.” and yeah, that’s a dick. Corey’s. Fuck. Yeah. Shit.



And there are a thousand hands on him again, a thousand points of contact, of light; Jim all spread open and fucked apart. Falling apart. Getting lost in it. Hands on his chest and stomach and cock, just teasing. Appreciating. Corey fucking up into his mouth still gentle while the rest look on in something like reverence, Shawn’s fingers in his hair, telling him over and over how fucking amazing he is and how hot and how strong, and how fucking great Corey is, and then they’re kissing above him until Corey’s hips stutter and he spills down Jim’s throat, Shawn’s other hand pressed up against Corey’s neck, a million sets of eyes watching them from the cheap seats.