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iddyiddybangbangTitle: if i make it through tonight, everybody's gonna hear me out
Author: WattStalf | zappobrien
Fandom: G Gundam
Word Count: 8,081
Rating: E
Warnings: Underage sex (ao3 link contains further tags!)
Summary: The Shuffle Alliance is away on a training trip, and Chibodee and George have only recently announced their relationship. Sai Saici has a hard time wrapping his head around this and decides to spy on them, only to leave with an even stronger desire to keep spying, and another member of the alliance on his mind. However, his second attempt at spying doesn't go to plan, but this ends up working out in his favor too.
The humid air of the summer clings to Sai Saici's skin like a second, sweat soaked shirt. He paces the length of the veranda outside the shared barracks, the wooden planks warm beneath his bare feet. Inside, the others are settling in for the evening after a brutal day of training drills. The hum of the facility's generators is a constant, low thrum, a backdrop to the symphony of chirping insects and the distant roar of a waterfall.
But Sai Saici's mind isn't on training or the exotic landscape. It's on them. On George and Chibodee.
It's been two days since their secret became a known fact within the Shuffle Alliance. There hadn't been a big announcement, just a quiet, unshielded moment during dinner. Chibodee had leaned over and stolen a kiss from George, right there at the table, and George had let him, a rare, soft smile gracing his normally regal features. Argo had grunted, Domon had blushed and looked away, and Sai Saici…Sai Saici had been mesmerized.
Since then, he's watched them with a new, ravenous curiosity. The way Chibodee's arm always finds its way around George's waist. The way George's posture softens, just a fraction, when Chibodee speaks to him. It's like watching a nature documentary about a species he never knew existed. He sees the private jokes, the lingering touches, the shared glances that speak volumes. And every single observation ignites a spark of something hot and restless in his gut. He's never felt this way before, this intense need to know.
He wants to understand. What is it like? What do they do? The question pounds in his head with the rhythm of his own heart. Chibodee is all brash confidence and swagger, a boxer who lives for the roar of the crowd. George is the opposite; refined, elegant, a prince whose every movement is a dance of controlled grace. How does that even work?
An idea, dangerous and thrilling, takes root. They aren't in their shared room. Domon and Argo are playing cards in the common room, their boisterous laughter echoing down the hall. That means George and Chibodee must be somewhere else. Alone.
A nervous energy courses through him, making his hands feel clammy. He knows it's wrong, the spying. But the need, the curiosity, is a physical ache. He tells himself he's just satisfying a harmless urge, like scratching an itch. He's just looking. Just trying to learn.
Moving with the silent grace of a Shaolin monk, Sai Saici slips off the veranda. His bare feet make no sound on the cool, damp earth of the training grounds. He follows the faint trail leading towards the hot springs, a secluded spot favored for its therapeutic properties after a grueling workout. The air grows warmer, thicker with the scent of sulfur and wet stone. He can hear the gentle lapping of water before he sees the glow of the lanterns.
Crouching behind a cluster of ferns, he peeks through the broad leaves. His breath hitches.
They are there. In the steaming water of the larger spring. The lantern light flickers across their wet skin, painting them in gold and shadow. Chibodee is leaning back against the smooth rocks, his powerful arms stretched out along the ledge. His head is tilted back, eyes closed, a look of utter contentment on his face. George is in front of him, half turned, one hand resting on Chibodee's broad shoulder. The water laps at George's chest, revealing the lean, defined lines of his torso. The water laps at George's chest, revealing the lean, defined lines of his torso. He looks different out of that ridiculous uniform. Softe, more real.
Sai Saici's heart is a frantic drum against his ribs. He feels like a thief, stealing this moment, but he can't tear his eyes away.
Chibodee opens his eyes, a lazy, predatory smile spreading across his face. He reaches up, his hand cupping the back of George's neck, and pulls him down. The kiss is nothing like the chaste peck from the dinner table. It's deep, hungry, possessive. Chibodee's other hand slides into George's wet hair, holding him in place. Sai Saici watches George's body go pliant, sees the way he melts into the embrace, a soft sigh swallowed by Chibodee's mouth.
A wave of heat washes over Sai Saici, pooling in his groin. He shifts uncomfortably, his pants suddenly feeling too tight. He's never thought about guys like this, not really. But this…this is magnetic. The raw power, the clear, undeniable want. It's more exciting than anything he's ever witnessed.
Chibodee breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. "Damn, George," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that Sai Saici can barely hear over the spring's bubbling. "You drive me crazy."
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," George replies, his own voice a little breathless. His voice sounds thicker, yet somehow softer, in the steamy air.
Chibodee's hands move, roaming over George's back, tracing the lines of his muscles. They emerge from the water, glistening, and Sai Saici's eyes go wide. His breath catches in his throat. This is it. This is what he's been burning to see. But what happens next sends a jolt of pure shock through his system, an electric current that scrambles his thoughts and leaves him staring, utterly dumbfounded. Chibodee's hands slide down George's stomach, and lower still, into the water, between his legs. And then they move in a way Sai Saici's brain cannot immediately process. There's no hardness there. Just the shadow of Chibodee's fingers moving against George's body in a way that is unfamiliar.
For a wild, confused moment, Sai Saici thinks he's seeing things. The steam, the poor light. But then George gasps, a high, clear sound of pleasure, and his back arches. Chibodee's wrist flicks, a steady, sure rhythm, and Sai Saici knows. He knows. George has a vagina.
The revelation hits him like a physical blow. The world tilts on its axis. George, the perfect, noble, princely George, is…different. The shock is immense, a tidal wave that threatens to pull him under. But beneath the shock, something else stirs. Something dark and immediate and shockingly potent. It's not disgust. It's not confusion. It's a white hot, blinding arousal.
His dick, already half hard, goes rigid, straining against the fabric of his pants. The thought, the sight, is the most forbidden, the most transgressive thing he has ever imagined. A man who looks and sounds and acts like George, who commands respect and exudes masculine power, has a cunt. The word flashes in Sai Saici's mind, crude and powerful, and it sends another jolt straight to his groin. He watches, mesmerized, as Chibodee works George with practiced ease, drawing soft whimpers and gasps from the usually stoic pilot. The sounds go straight through Sai Saici, vibrating in his bones.
Chibodee pulls George closer, lifting him slightly in the water. "You're so wet," he growls, the words carrying clearly in the quiet night. "All that for me?"
"Always," George chokes out, his hands clutching at Chibodee's shoulders. His head is thrown back, his throat exposed, the lantern light catching the pulse beating wildly there.
The sight is like a masterpiece of erotic art. George's face, twisted in pleasure, his aristocratic features contorted in a mask of need. Chibodee's expression, one of fierce concentration and raw hunger. Sai Saici feels like he's drowning in the intensity of it. He presses a hand against his own aching erection, the pressure a sweet, desperate relief. He's never been so hard in his life.
Then Chibodee shifts, positioning himself. He lines up his own hard cock, which Sai Saici can now see clearly, jutting from the water, thick and impressive. And then he pushes inside. There's no mistaking it. The angle is clear. He sinks into George's body, into that wet, waiting heat, with a low, needy groan.
George cries out, a sharp, broken sound that is half pain, half ecstasy. His whole body tenses, then shudders. Chibodee doesn't wait. He starts to move, a deep, powerful rhythm that makes the water slosh around them. Each thrust is a statement, a claim.
"Fuck, George," Chibodee pants, his grip on George's hips almost bruising. "You feel so good. So fucking tight."
"Chibodee," George moans, the name a prayer on his lips. He's meeting each thrust now, pushing back, lost in the sensation. "Don't stop. Please."
Sai Saici is barely breathing. His own hand is rubbing frantically at the bulge in his pants, but it's not enough. It's nowhere near enough. He's watching George get fucked, watching him take it, and love it, and beg for more. And the fact that it's happening where Sai Saici always, always expected to see a cock, is making him dizzy with lust. He can't look away. He can't even blink.
Chibodee changes the angle, hitting a spot that makes George sob with pleasure. The look on his face is feral, triumphant. "There it is, huh? Right there?"
"Ah! Yes! Yes!" George's control is completely shattered. He's writhing, impaled on Chibodee's cock, a creature of pure need.
The sounds, the sights, the very air around the spring is saturated with sex. Sai Saici feels like he's absorbing it through his pores. He feels like he's going to explode. His mind is a chaotic mess of images and feelings. He wants to be George, to be taken like that, to be so completely possessed. He wants to be Chibodee, to be the one unleashing that pleasure, to be the one in control. The conflicting desires tear at him, a war in his soul that has found its battleground in his own body.
Chibodee's hand snakes around George's front, his fingers finding that sensitive spot again. He rubs it in tandem with his thrusts. "Come on, George. Come for me."
That's all it takes. George's body locks up, a tremor running through him from head to toe. He screams Chibodee's name, a raw, ragged sound of bliss. The sight of him coming undone, so beautiful and so powerful in his surrender, is truly more than Sai Saici can bear. He watches Chibodee follow a moment later, burying himself deep inside George with a final groan.
They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, panting, steam rising from their overheated skin. Then, slowly, Chibodee pulls out. He gathers George into his arms, holding him close, pressing soft kisses to his damp hair. The tenderness of the aftermath is almost as overwhelming as the ferocity of the act itself.
Sai Saici finally forces himself to move. He backs away slowly, carefully, making no sound. His limbs feel stiff, foreign. His own body is screaming for release, but he can't do it here. Not now. He needs to be alone. He needs to think, to process, to feel. So, he turns and flees, a silent shadow in the night. He doesn't stop until he's back in the barracks, in the cool, dark solitude of his own room. He closes the door, leaning against it, his chest heaving. His dick is still rock hard, a painful, demanding pressure.
He fumbles with the tie of his pants, shoving them down. His cock springs free, and he wraps a hand around it, the contact almost painful in its intensity. He starts to stroke, fast and desperate, the images from the hot spring burned into his retinas. He sees Chibodee's cock disappearing into George's body. He sees George's face, lost in ecstasy. He hears the sounds they made. He strokes faster, chasing that elusive release.
But it's not enough. The fantasy is missing something. His mind races. He's not picturing himself with George or Chibodee. The face that keeps swimming to the surface of his consciousness is Domon's. Domon's scowl, Domon's intense gaze, Domon's strength. The thought is so sudden, so unexpected, that he almost stops. But the arousal doesn't fade. It spikes.
He pictures Domon looking at him with that raw hunger he saw in Chibodee's eyes. And then, a new image intrudes. It's him, Sai Saici, but he's not the same. He's like George; he has a cunt. He imagines Domon's strong hands on him, Domon's thick cock pushing inside him. The thought is so potent, so intoxicating, that a moan escapes his lips. Without even thinking about it, he lets go of his dick. His other hand, slick with his own precome, trails lower, back, between his ass cheeks. He finds the tight pucker of his asshole and presses a finger against it.
The sensation is strange, new. He's never touched himself like this before. But the fantasy is demanding, insistent. He pushes the finger in, a slight burn giving way to a strange, full feeling. He pictures Domon's cock there, but the image from the hot spring, of Chibodee sinking into George's heat, is too strong. His finger isn't enough. He wants that wetness, that opening. He wants a cunt.
He starts to finger himself in earnest, curling his finger, searching for the pleasure he's only ever imagined. With his other hand, he grabs his dick again, stroking it in a frantic rhythm. He's lost in a whirlwind of sensation and fantasy. He's Domon, fucking a version of him that has a pussy. He's the version of himself with a pussy, being fucked by Domon. The identities blur, a confusing, intoxicating mess.
"Bro," the word escapes him, a choked whisper. He's picturing Domon's face, Domon's body, Domon's pleasure. "Bro," he says again, louder this time, as he pushes a second finger into himself, the stretch sending a jolt of electricity up his spine. It's so wrong, so confusing, but it feels so right, so good. He's imagining Domon making him cry while he fucks him, the familiar word twisted into something intimate, something filthy.
He pumps his cock faster, his hips bucking off the thin mattress. His fingers work inside him, mimicking the thrusting rhythm in his head. He's so close, right on the edge. He closes his eyes, picturing Domon's face twisted in pleasure, hearing his own desperate pleas, feeling the phantom weight of a body pressing him down.
"Ah! Domon!" he cries out, the name a ragged gasp as he finally comes. His orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, ripping a long, guttural moan from his throat. Seed spurts over his hand and stomach, hot and slick. His body convulses, clamping down on his own fingers, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain. He rides the wave until it crests and slowly recedes, leaving him spent and trembling in the aftermath.
He lies there for a long moment, gasping for breath, the sweat cooling on his skin. His heart is still pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, the feeling of loss and emptiness immediate and profound. He stares at the mess on his stomach, the evidence of his pleasure, and feels a wave of something cold and sharp wash over him.
Sai Saici lies in the dark, the echo of his own moans- the name he cried out- bouncing around the cavernous space of his shame. Domon. He came with the image of Domon's face in his mind, the word bro a profane prayer on his lips. And beneath that, the impossible, powerful fantasy of having a body like George's, a body that could be taken, filled, possessed. His mind is a battlefield, and he has no idea which side is winning. One thing, however, is terrifyingly clear. The brief, stolen glimpse wasn't enough. It wasn't a scratch that soothed an itch; it was a drug that created a craving. The curiosity that had burned in him before has now been forged into a singular, all consuming need. He has to see it again.
~X~
The next day, he moves through the training drills like a ghost. His body performs the katas, the strikes, the blocks, but his mind is elsewhere, meticulously plotting. He observes George and Chibodee with new eyes. They're not discreet, not really. The casual touches, the shared smiles, the way their energies seem to orbit each other. Sai Saici is no longer just curious; he's a hunter, and his prey is knowledge.
He waits until evening, after dinner. This time, he knows exactly where they'll be. He saw them slip away towards their shared room, a small, private suite at the end of the barracks wing, away from the others. Domon is still out on the training grounds, running drills by the light of the moon, a silhouette of furious dedication. Argo is in his own room, probably already in bed. The path is clear.
This time, Sai Saici is more prepared. The barracks have a maintenance crawlspace in the ceiling, a dusty network of beams and narrow planks used for accessing the wiring. It's a tight fit, and the air is thick with the smell of insulation and accumulated dust, but it offers a direct, unobstructed view into their room through a ventilation grate.
He finds the spot above their room, his movements silent and practiced. He lies flat on a wooden beam, peering through the slats of the grate. The view is perfect, a bird's eye view of their bed.
They are already on it, tangled in the sheets. The room is bathed in the soft glow of a single bedside lamp, casting long, dancing shadows. Chibodee is on his back, shirtless, his muscular chest rising and falling with each breath. George is straddling him, fully dressed in a simple white shirt and loose pants, but he's undulating, a slow, deliberate rolling of his hips that is pure, liquid sin. Chibodee's hands are on George's thighs, gripping tightly, his head thrown back against the pillows.
"Tease," Chibodee growls, his voice a low rumble.
George just smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. He leans down, bracing his hands on Chibodee's chest, and whispers something Sai Saici can't hear. Whatever it is, it makes Chibodee shudder.
Sai Saici is already hard. He watches, mesmerized, as George sits up, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off in one smooth motion, and Sai Saici's breath catches.
Sai Saici is already hard. He watches, mesmerized, as George sits up, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off in one smooth motion, and Sai Saici's breath catches. On the bed, George shifts, undoing his pants. He slides them down his legs, kicking them off onto the floor. And there it is. Naked, unashamed. Sai Saici strokes himself faster, his eyes glued to the sight.
Chibodee's hands are on George's hips now, pulling him down. "Come here," he orders, his voice thick with need.
George complies, sinking down until he's flush against Chibodee's body. He starts that rolling motion again, this time with nothing between them but skin. Sai Saici can see the glistening wetness of George's cunt sliding against the hard length of Chibodee's cock. The friction, the wet sounds, the sight of their bodies moving together- it's a sensory overload.
Sai Saici is so lost in the scene, so consumed by the fire in his own blood, that he doesn't notice the warning creak. He's braced one hand against the ceiling panel beside him for leverage, thrusting up into his own fist. The panel groans under his weight. A cloud of dust drifts down from the edges. Too late, he realizes his mistake. The screws, old and rusted, give way with a sickening crack.
Time seems to slow down. The panel tilts, then falls away completely. For a horrifying, stomach lurching second, Sai Saici is suspended in mid air, a wide eyed, deer in the headlights look on his face. Then he crashes down.
He lands on the bed with a soft thump, right in the middle of their tangled limbs. The mattress absorbs most of the impact, but the surprise is absolute. For a moment, nobody moves. They all just stare at each other, a scene of pure shock.
Then Sai Saici's brain catches up. He's in their bed. His pants are around his ankles. His hard cock is still in his hand, glistening with precome. The evidence is undeniable.
Chibodee is the first to break the silence. A slow, wide grin spreads across his face, a predator's smile. "Well, well, well," he drawls, his voice laced with amusement. "Look what we have here. A little pervy bird falling out of the sky."
George, for his part, looks less amused and more analytical. He pushes himself up, not even bothering to cover himself. His gaze sweeps over Sai Saici, from his panicked face to his still very erect dick, and a look of dawning understanding crosses his features. "Sai Saici," he says, his tone calm and measured, which is somehow more terrifying than Chibodee's teasing. "Were you enjoying the show?"
Sai Saici's face is burning with a heat that could rival the sun. He wants to evaporate, to sink through the mattress and into the floor. He tries to scramble away, to hide, but Chibodee's arm shoots out, pinning him in place. The grip is firm but not painful.
"Whoa there, little guy," Chibodee says, his grin widening. "No running away. You interrupted our private party. The least you could do is stick around for the after party." His eyes flick down to Sai Saici's crotch. "And it looks like you're ready to join in."
The words hang in the air, thick with implication. Sai Saici's mind is a blank wall of panic. He can't form words, can't even think. All he can feel is the heat of Chibodee's skin against his, the weight of George's gaze on him.
"He's been watching us for days," Chibodee continues, looking at George. "I've felt those little eyes on us."
"And now we know why," George murmurs, a thoughtful expression on his face. He reaches out, a single, elegant finger tracing the line of Sai Saici's jaw. The touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to Sai Saici's groin. He lets out an involuntary whimper.
"You're a curious one, aren't you, Sai Saici?" George says, his voice low and hypnotic. "You wanted to know what it's like."
Sai Saici can only nod, a jerky, terrified motion. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
"You know," Chibodee says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "George is really good at teaching. And I'm an excellent hands on instructor." He shifts, his body pressing closer to Sai Saici's. The heat of him is overwhelming. "How about we give you a real lesson? Instead of watching from the ceiling."
The suggestion is so outrageous, so far beyond the realm of possibility, that Sai Saici's brain short circuits. A threesome? With them? The images from last night, the fantasies from moments ago, come flooding back. The shame wars with a sudden, desperate, and terrifying surge of desire. He wants this. He wants this more than he's ever wanted anything.
He must make a sound, a tiny, choked thing, because George's expression softens. "It's alright," he says, his voice impossibly gentle. "We're not angry. Let us show you."
And then George leans in and kisses him. It's nothing like he's ever experienced. Sai Saici finds himself kissing back, a clumsy, desperate response. He's being kissed by George, and Chibodee's hand is on his dick, and it's all too much, a sensory overload that threatens to shatter him completely.
When they finally pull back, Sai Saici is panting, his mind reeling. He's lying between them, their bodies a warm, living cage on either side of him.
"So, what do you say, kid?" Chibodee asks, his breath hot against Sai Saici's ear. "Wanna play?"
Sai Saici looks from Chibodee's predatory grin to George's calm, encouraging eyes. He looks down at their bodies, at George's cunt and Chibodee's cock, at his own aching hardness. And he makes a decision. He swallows hard, his throat dry, and nods.
The grin that splits Chibodee's face is triumphant. "That's what I'm talking about."
The next few minutes are a blur of motion and sensation. They undress him with practiced efficiency, their hands everywhere, stripping away his clothes and his inhibitions. He's completely naked now, exposed and vulnerable between them. But there's no judgment in their eyes, only a raw, mutual hunger.
"Lie back," George directs, his voice firm but kind. Sai Saici complies, his body trembling with anticipation. George straddles him, just as he had straddled Chibodee. He's so close, the scent of him, clean and aroused, filling Sai Saici's senses.
"You're curious about this," George says, his hand moving down to cup himself. "Touch me. Feel what it's like."
Sai Saici's hand is shaking as he reaches out. He hesitates, then brushes his fingers against the wet heat of George's folds. The feeling is incredible, soft and slick and alive. A gasp escapes his lips. He explores further, his fingers sliding into the wetness, feeling the delicate, intricate geography of a body so different from his own. George shudders, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping him.
"That's it," Chibodee encourages from behind him. "Get in there."
Sai Saici is lost in the sensation, in the power of giving pleasure this way. He's so focused on George that he doesn't notice Chibodee moving until he feels a slick finger probing his own asshole.
He tenses up, a jolt of alarm shooting through him. "Hey," he starts to protest.
"Relax, kid," Chibodee murmurs, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on Sai Saici's back. "Gotta get you ready for the main event. Trust me."
Sai Saici forces himself to relax, to breathe. Chibodee is surprisingly gentle. He works him open slowly, carefully, using plenty of lube. First one finger, then two. The initial burn gives way to a strange, full, and increasingly pleasurable sensation. It's the same feeling he tried to replicate last night, but a thousand times better. He finds himself pushing back against Chibodee's hand, a silent plea for more.
"Look at you, taking it so well," Chibodee praises, his voice a low growl. "You're a natural."
George watches them, a look of intense concentration on his face. He's still straddling Sai Saici, but he's not moving. "Ready?" he asks, looking between Sai Saici and Chibodee.
Chibodee pulls his fingers out, and Sai Saici feels a sudden, aching emptiness. But it's only for a moment. He feels the blunt head of Chibodee's cock pressing against his hole. "Ready when you are," Chibodee says.
Sai Saici nods, unable to speak. George shifts, positioning himself over Sai Saici's own aching cock. Then, in a single, synchronized movement, they both sink down.
The sensation is overwhelming. Chibodee's cock pushes into him, a deep, filling stretch that borders on pain but is eclipsed by a profound, earth shattering pleasure. At the same instant, he slides into George's wet, tight heat. He's sandwiched between them, filled and filling, the center of a perfect, erotic storm. He cries out, a raw, broken sound of pure, unadulterated bliss.
They start to move. Chibodee thrusts into him from behind, a deep, powerful rhythm that drives Sai Saici's own cock deeper into George. It's a feedback loop of pleasure. Every thrust from Chibodee is a thrust into George. Every clench of George's muscles around Sai Saici's dick is a jolt of pleasure that radiates through his entire body. He's never felt anything like it. He's never imagined anything like it.
"You like that?" Chibodee grunts, his hands gripping Sai Saici's hips. "You like being in the middle?"
Sai Saici can only moan in response, a choked, desperate sound. He's lost to the sensation, a passenger on a runaway train of ecstasy. He's fucking George de Sand, and being fucked by Chibodee Crocket. The reality is so much more intense, so much more visceral, than any of his fantasies.
George leans down, his lips brushing against Sai Saici's ear. "Let go," he whispers. "Tell us what you're really thinking about. Who are you picturing right now?"
The question cuts through the haze of pleasure. He knows. Of course, he knows. There's no use in denying it. And the words are pulled from him, a desperate confession in the heat of the moment.
"Domon," he gasps, the name a ragged sob. "I'm thinking about Domon."
The admission hangs in the air, a final, complete surrender. He expects them to laugh, to tease him mercilessly. But they don't. Instead, their movements become more deliberate, more intense.
"Yeah, kid?" Chibodee's voice is a low, encouraging growl. "You think Domon would fuck you like this? Think he'd know how to make you feel this good?"
"Imagine it's him," George murmurs, his own breathing harsh. "Imagine it's Domon inside you. Imagine it's Domon you're inside."
The fantasy, now voiced, becomes even more powerful. Sai Saici closes his eyes, and suddenly it is Domon behind him, Domon's powerful body pistoning into him, Domon's ragged breath in his ear. And he's inside Domon, feeling that impossible wet heat that exists only in the most secret corners of his mind. The thought, the confession, the reality, it all converges into a single, white hot point of pleasure.
The sound of that name, the raw need in Sai Saici's voice, pushes them all over the edge. George clenches around him, a silent, shuddering orgasm that milks Sai Saici's own climax from him. He comes with a hoarse shout, spilling himself deep inside George's body. At almost the same instant, he feels Chibodee slam into him one last, brutal time, a hot flood of seed filling him from within.
For a long, silent moment, they are a tangle of limbs and heaving breaths. The air in the room is thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Sai Saici feels boneless, utterly spent, his mind a peaceful, blank slate. The shame is gone, burned away by the intensity of the experience. All that's left is a profound sense of relief.
Slowly, carefully, they disentangle themselves. Sai Saici collapses onto the bed, his body aching in the most pleasant way possible. Chibodee lies down on one side of him, and George on the other. They're a sweaty, sticky mess, but Sai Saici has never felt more comfortable.
"Wow," Sai Saici manages to say, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Chibodee chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through Sai Saici's back. "Yeah. Wow."
George is quiet, but he reaches out, his hand finding Sai Saici's and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft.
"I'm…I'm better than alright," Sai Saici admits, a small, amazed smile touching his lips. "I'm…I don't know what I am."
"You're a guy who's got a big crush on another guy," Chibodee says, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Nothing wrong with that."
Sai Saici blushes, the heat returning to his face. "You're not…you're not going to tell anyone, are you?" The thought of Domon finding out like this, as gossip, is horrifying.
"Nah," Chibodee says, shaking his head. "This stays between us. Our little secret."
"But," George says, his tone thoughtful. "Perhaps it doesn't have to stay a secret forever."
Sai Saici turns to look at him, his heart starting to beat a little faster. "What do you mean?"
George meets his gaze, his blue eyes serious and clear. "You have feelings for Domon. Very strong feelings. And judging by what just happened, those feelings are not entirely unreciprocated in your imagination. But what about reality? Have you ever considered that he might feel something too?"
Sai Saici's mind reels. Domon? Feel something for him? Domon, who is about as emotionally expressive as a brick? Domon, whose entire world revolves around fighting? The idea seems absurd.
"Domon's dense, for sure," Chibodee pipes in. "But think about it. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. The way he always goes a little easier on you in training than he does on the rest of us. He's got a soft spot for you, kid."
"Probably because he sees me as a kid," Sai Saici mutters, a familiar wave of insecurity washing over him. "A little brother."
"Maybe," George concedes. "Or maybe he sees a strength in you that he admires. A passion. A fire that mirrors his own." He pauses, considering his words carefully. "The only way to know for sure is to find out."
"And how am I supposed to do that?" Sai Saici asks, his voice laced with frustration. "Walk up to him and say, 'Hey, bro, I had a threesome with George and Chibodee and I imagined it was you the whole time, so how about we try that'?"
Chibodee barks out a laugh. "Probably not the best approach, no." He sits up, propping himself on an elbow. "But you're not alone in this anymore. You've got allies."
Sai Saici looks from Chibodee's determined face to George's calm, confident expression. A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. "What are you saying?"
"We're saying we'll help you," George says simply. "We'll help you get your man."
The offer is so unexpected, so generous, that Sai Saici is momentarily speechless. They owe him nothing. And yet, here they are, offering to help him navigate the most confusing, terrifying, and potentially wonderful emotional landscape of his life.
"Why?" he finally asks, the word barely a whisper.
Chibodee's grin returns, but this time it's not predatory, but genuinely warm. "Because we've been there. We know what it's like. And because, kid, you've got gut. You fell through the ceiling, then right into a threesome. That takes a special kind of crazy."
"Besides," George adds, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Watching you and Domon get together would be far more entertaining than any television program."
A real, genuine laugh escapes Sai Saici's lips. The tension in his chest eases, replaced by a giddy, terrifying excitement. "Okay," he says, nodding. "Okay. Let's do it."
"Excellent," George declares, clapping his hands together. "We'll need a plan. A multi pronged strategy. Operation: Get Domon."
Chibodee snorts. "Operation: Make Domon Less of an Idiot. I think a much more direct approach is out best choice."
"You would."
"Well, it worked for him with us, didn't it?"
As the two of them bicker, Sai Saici wonders what he's gotten himself into. Still, whatever it may be, if it results in him getting railed by Domon, he's pretty sure that it's going to be worth it.
~X~
The morning after feels like a dream, or perhaps a fever. Sai Saici’s body aches in ways he’s never experienced, a deep, pleasant soreness that serves as a constant reminder of the night’s events. Every movement sends a phantom echo of pleasure through him- the memory of being filled, the slick heat of George’s body, Chibodee’s commanding presence.
He moves through breakfast in a haze, stealing glances at Domon, who is shoveling rice into his mouth with his usual single minded ferocity. There’s no special look, no hint of awareness. Domon is just…Domon. The doubt, heavy as a stone, settles back in Sai Saici's gut. How could they possibly breach those walls?
"Don't look so pathetic," George murmurs beside him, so low only Sai Saici can hear. "Leave it to us. Just be ready after lunch."
"Ready for what?" Sai Saici whispers back, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth.
"For your big date," Chibodee says from across the table, winking so broadly it's a wonder it doesn't dislodge his eyeball. Argo grunts, and Sai Saici is struck with the sudden, mortifying fear that their whispered plotting is as loud as a bullhorn to everyone else. But Domon doesn't even look up.
After breakfast, as the others disperse for their usual solo training routines, Chibodee grabs Sai Saici's arm. "Time for phase one," he says, a predatory grin on his face. "Don't worry, kid. This is a direct approach. Very direct."
He leads Sai Saici not to the training grounds, but back into the barracks, to Domon's room. The space is spartan, almost monastic, with a simple bed, a small desk piled with maintenance manuals, and a framed photograph of his family.
"Get naked," Chibodee commands, and the tone is so non negotiable that Sai Saici obeys without question, his hands fumbling with the tie of his pants. He feels a flush of shame and excitement, being naked in Domon's room, where Domon sleeps, where Domon's scent still lingers in the air.
George follows them in, closing the door quietly. He's carrying a small bottle of lube and a length of soft silk rope. "On the bed," he says, his voice calm and steady. "On your knees. Facing the headboard."
Sai Saici's heart hammers against his ribs as he climbs onto the bare mattress, the coarse blanket rough against his knees. He kneels, facing away from the door, just as he was told.
George moves with a surgeon's precision. He takes Sai Saici's wrists and, one by one, ties them securely to the metal frame of the headboard. The silk is soft, but the knots are firm, an inescapable, gentle restraint. Then he moves to Sai Saici's ankles. He uses more of the silk to tie them to the lower corners of the bed, forcing Sai Saici's legs wide apart, spreading him open.
Sai Saici is completely exposed, vulnerable, a sacrifice on an altar. His ass is raised and facing the door. His cock, already beginning to harden with a potent mix of fear and arousal, dangles between his legs. He can't see a thing, can only hear the rustle of movement behind him.
Then he feels a pair of hands on his ass cheeks, spreading him wider. He knows it's George. He gasps as he feels a hot, wet breath against his most private place. And then a tongue.
"Oh god," Sai Saici whimpers, his head dropping forward against the frame of the headboard.
George eats his ass with a slow, deliberate thoroughness that is maddening. He's not in a hurry. His tongue is a slick, insistent pressure, circling, probing, delving inside. Sai Saici is writhing, a desperate, helpless creature. He pulls against the ropes, but they hold him fast, amplifying his vulnerability. The sensation is incredible, a wet, filthy pleasure that makes his toes curl.
He hears the slick sound of the lube bottle opening, and then a cool, wet finger is pressing against his hole. George works him open meticulously, scissoring his fingers, stretching him, preparing him. He curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes Sai Saici's vision white out with pleasure. Sai Saici is a mess of need, panting, drooling, grinding back against George's hand.
"He's ready," George's calm voice says from behind him. "Perfectly slick and open."
Sai Saici can hear George stand up, the rustle of his clothes as he presumably gets dressed. He wants to beg him not to leave, but the words won't come. He's left there, alone, tied and exposed, a present waiting to be unwrapped.
The door opens and closes, and Sai Saici is plunged into a terrifying silence. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He waits, every second stretching into an eternity. His mind races. What if Domon doesn't come back? What if someone else finds him? The anxiety is a cold knot in his stomach, but beneath it, a different fire burns. The sheer, unadulterated thrill of it all.
He hears muffled voices outside the door. Chibodee's, then Domon's.
"Hey, Domon! Your comms are acting up again, got a message from Rain that you need to hear right away. It's in your room."
"Huh? Why didn't she just call the land line?"
"Something about a secure channel, just get in there!"
The doorknob turns. Sai Saici holds his breath. The door swings open. There's a scuffle, a grunt of surprise from Domon, and then a firm shove from Chibodee.
"Whoa-" Domon stumbles into the room. The door slams shut behind him, and Sai Saici hears the distinct click of a lock being engaged.
Silence.
Domon stands in the doorway, frozen. His eyes, wide with shock, slowly adjust to the dim light of the room. They sweep past the empty desk, the neatly made bed, and then land on the figure tied up in the middle of it.
Sai Saici. Naked. Bound. His legs spread wide, his ass glistening with lube, presented like an offering.
Domon's brain takes a full minute to process the image. Sai Saici watches him over his shoulder, his face burning with a heat so intense he feels like he might combust. He sees the shock on Domon's face, the confusion, the dawning realization. He sees Domon's gaze fix on Sai Saici's exposed, lubed hole.
Then he sees something else. A slow, dangerous shift in Domon's eyes. The surprise doesn't fade, but it's joined by something else, something dark and predatory. His jaw tightens. A muscle in his cheek jumps.
"Sai Saici," Domon's voice is a low, rough growl, so different from his usual brash shout. "What the hell is this?"
Sai Saici opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His throat is tight, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. This is it. The moment of truth.
Domon takes a step into the room, then another. He moves slowly, deliberately, like a predator circling its prey. He walks around the bed, his eyes never leaving Sai Saici's body. He stops in front of him, and Sai Saici is forced to look up at him, to meet that intense, unreadable gaze.
"Who did this to you?" Domon asks, his voice dangerously quiet.
But Sai Saici can see the question behind the question. He can see the way Domon's pupils are blown, the way his fists are clenched at his sides. He can see the hard ridge straining against the fabric of his training pants. Domon isn't angry. He's aroused and confused and fighting a battle with himself that Sai Saici can see playing out across his face.
This is Chibodee's direct plan. No words, no subtlety. Just pure, unfiltered temptation. And it's working.
"I…" Sai Saici finally manages to croak out, his voice hoarse. "I wanted…this."
Domon's breath hitches. "You wanted this?" he repeats, his voice a raw whisper. "You wanted me?"
Sai Saici can only nod, a jerky, desperate motion.
Domon's gaze drops from Sai Saici's face to his lips, then down further, to Sai Saici's cock, which is now hard and leaking against his stomach. The last vestiges of Domon's control seem to snap.
"Fuck," he grits out, the word a curse and a surrender in one. He closes the distance between them in a single stride, his hands gripping the sides of Sai Saici's face as he crashes their mouths together.
The kiss is brutal, a desperate, claiming thing. It's all teeth and tongue and raw, unbridled need. It's nothing like George's gentle coaxing or Chibodee's playful teasing. This is Domon. All power and passion and overwhelming force. Sai Saici kisses back with equal desperation, a lifetime of repressed longing pouring into a single, frenzied kiss.
Domon's hands are everywhere, tangling in Sai Saici's hair, gripping his shoulders, running down his bound arms. He breaks the kiss, panting, his forehead resting against Sai Saici's. "They're probably listening," he mutters, a flicker of anger in his eyes. "Those nosy bastards are probably listening at the door."
"Let them," Sai Saici gasps out. "I don't care."
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Domon's face. "Yeah. Let them."
He moves behind Sai Saici, and Sai Saici tenses with anticipation. He feels Domon's hands on his ass, spreading him open. He feels the blunt head of Domon's cock press against his entrance. There's no gentleness, no preamble, just a raw, demanding pressure.
"This what you wanted?" Domon growls, his hands gripping Sai Saici's hips so tightly he'll surely have bruises tomorrow.
"Yes," Sai Saici sobs, the word torn from his throat. "Yes, please."
And with a single, powerful thrust, Domon slams into him.
Sai Saici cries out, a sharp, choked sound of pain and pleasure. There was no warning, no gradual build up. Just a deep, invasive, overwhelming fullness. Domon is bigger than Chibodee, thicker, and the sudden, forceful entry is a shock to his system. But the pain is fleeting, immediately swallowed by a wave of intense, mind numbing pleasure.
Domon doesn't give him a moment to adjust. He sets a punishing rhythm, a hard, fast, relentless pounding that seems to rattle the very frame of the bed. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, a loud, rhythmic thudding that Sai Saici is sure can be heard all the way down the hall. Let them hear.
"You feel so good," Domon grunts, his hands holding Sai Saici's hips in an iron grip. "So tight." He leans forward, covering Sai Saici's back with his body, his hot breath against Sai Saici's ear.
Sai Saici is lost in a storm of sensation. He's completely at Domon's mercy, tied and helpless, being used, claimed, in the most visceral way possible. He's never felt so alive. Every thrust pushes him closer to the edge, every ragged breath from Domon stokes the fire in his blood.
"Touch me," Sai Saici begs, his voice a broken whimper. "Please, bro, touch me."
Domon's hand snakes around, wrapping around Sai Saici's aching cock. He doesn't stroke him, just holds him, a tight, possessive grip. The pressure is enough, the simple act of being held by Domon while being fucked by him is almost enough to send him over the edge.
"Who do you belong to?" Domon demands, his voice a low, dominant growl.
"You," Sai Saici cries out without hesitation. "You, bro. Always you."
The words seem to unleash something in Domon. His thrusts become erratic, more forceful. He's close. Sai Saici can feel it in the tension in his body, in the desperation of his movements. He pushes back against Domon, meeting him thrust for thrust, a silent plea for more.
With a final, powerful thrust, Domon buries himself deep inside Sai Saici, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat as he spills his hot seed. The feeling of Domon coming inside him, of being filled so completely, is what finally pushes Sai Saici over the edge. He comes with a pathetic scream, his body convulsing, painting the sheets beneath him with his release.
They collapse onto the bed, a sweaty, panting tangle of limbs. Domon's weight is a comforting, grounding presence on top of him. For a long moment, they just lie there, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. Finally, Domon pushes himself up, pulling out of Sai Saici with a soft, wet sound. He unties the ropes, his movements surprisingly gentle. Sai Saici's limbs are stiff and sore, and he winces as the blood rushes back into them.
Domon pulls him into his arms, holding him close. Sai Saici tucks his head under Domon's chin, breathing in his scent.
"So," Domon says, his voice still a little rough. "This was Chibodee's idea, wasn't it?"
Sai Saici nods, a little sheepish. "He said it was a direct approach."
Domon lets out a short, sharp laugh. "That's one word for it." He's quiet for a moment. "Are you okay?"
"Better than okay," Sai Saici mumbles into Domon's chest. "Are you mad?"
"Nah," Domon says, running a hand through Sai Saici's sweat damp hair. "Just surprised. I didn't think…I didn't think you felt that way." He pauses, and Sai Saici can feel his heart start to beat a little faster. "I've wanted this for a while too, you know."
Sai Saici lifts his head to look at him, a slow, happy smile spreading across his face. "Really?"
"Yeah," Domon admits, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "But I'm not good with words. Or feelings. Chibodee's an idiot, but…his plan worked."
Sai Saici leans up and kisses him, a soft, gentle press of lips. "I guess we should thank them."
"Later," Domon murmurs against his mouth, pulling him closer. "Much later."
~X~
At breakfast the next morning, Argo clears his throat. Sai Saici isn’t sure if he’s heard him speak once since they arrived here.
“It isn’t any of my business what you four get up to in your rooms, and I don’t mind,” he says, “but could you consider doing it quieter tonight?”
Author: WattStalf | zappobrien
Fandom: G Gundam
Word Count: 8,081
Rating: E
Warnings: Underage sex (ao3 link contains further tags!)
Summary: The Shuffle Alliance is away on a training trip, and Chibodee and George have only recently announced their relationship. Sai Saici has a hard time wrapping his head around this and decides to spy on them, only to leave with an even stronger desire to keep spying, and another member of the alliance on his mind. However, his second attempt at spying doesn't go to plan, but this ends up working out in his favor too.
The humid air of the summer clings to Sai Saici's skin like a second, sweat soaked shirt. He paces the length of the veranda outside the shared barracks, the wooden planks warm beneath his bare feet. Inside, the others are settling in for the evening after a brutal day of training drills. The hum of the facility's generators is a constant, low thrum, a backdrop to the symphony of chirping insects and the distant roar of a waterfall.
But Sai Saici's mind isn't on training or the exotic landscape. It's on them. On George and Chibodee.
It's been two days since their secret became a known fact within the Shuffle Alliance. There hadn't been a big announcement, just a quiet, unshielded moment during dinner. Chibodee had leaned over and stolen a kiss from George, right there at the table, and George had let him, a rare, soft smile gracing his normally regal features. Argo had grunted, Domon had blushed and looked away, and Sai Saici…Sai Saici had been mesmerized.
Since then, he's watched them with a new, ravenous curiosity. The way Chibodee's arm always finds its way around George's waist. The way George's posture softens, just a fraction, when Chibodee speaks to him. It's like watching a nature documentary about a species he never knew existed. He sees the private jokes, the lingering touches, the shared glances that speak volumes. And every single observation ignites a spark of something hot and restless in his gut. He's never felt this way before, this intense need to know.
He wants to understand. What is it like? What do they do? The question pounds in his head with the rhythm of his own heart. Chibodee is all brash confidence and swagger, a boxer who lives for the roar of the crowd. George is the opposite; refined, elegant, a prince whose every movement is a dance of controlled grace. How does that even work?
An idea, dangerous and thrilling, takes root. They aren't in their shared room. Domon and Argo are playing cards in the common room, their boisterous laughter echoing down the hall. That means George and Chibodee must be somewhere else. Alone.
A nervous energy courses through him, making his hands feel clammy. He knows it's wrong, the spying. But the need, the curiosity, is a physical ache. He tells himself he's just satisfying a harmless urge, like scratching an itch. He's just looking. Just trying to learn.
Moving with the silent grace of a Shaolin monk, Sai Saici slips off the veranda. His bare feet make no sound on the cool, damp earth of the training grounds. He follows the faint trail leading towards the hot springs, a secluded spot favored for its therapeutic properties after a grueling workout. The air grows warmer, thicker with the scent of sulfur and wet stone. He can hear the gentle lapping of water before he sees the glow of the lanterns.
Crouching behind a cluster of ferns, he peeks through the broad leaves. His breath hitches.
They are there. In the steaming water of the larger spring. The lantern light flickers across their wet skin, painting them in gold and shadow. Chibodee is leaning back against the smooth rocks, his powerful arms stretched out along the ledge. His head is tilted back, eyes closed, a look of utter contentment on his face. George is in front of him, half turned, one hand resting on Chibodee's broad shoulder. The water laps at George's chest, revealing the lean, defined lines of his torso. The water laps at George's chest, revealing the lean, defined lines of his torso. He looks different out of that ridiculous uniform. Softe, more real.
Sai Saici's heart is a frantic drum against his ribs. He feels like a thief, stealing this moment, but he can't tear his eyes away.
Chibodee opens his eyes, a lazy, predatory smile spreading across his face. He reaches up, his hand cupping the back of George's neck, and pulls him down. The kiss is nothing like the chaste peck from the dinner table. It's deep, hungry, possessive. Chibodee's other hand slides into George's wet hair, holding him in place. Sai Saici watches George's body go pliant, sees the way he melts into the embrace, a soft sigh swallowed by Chibodee's mouth.
A wave of heat washes over Sai Saici, pooling in his groin. He shifts uncomfortably, his pants suddenly feeling too tight. He's never thought about guys like this, not really. But this…this is magnetic. The raw power, the clear, undeniable want. It's more exciting than anything he's ever witnessed.
Chibodee breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. "Damn, George," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that Sai Saici can barely hear over the spring's bubbling. "You drive me crazy."
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," George replies, his own voice a little breathless. His voice sounds thicker, yet somehow softer, in the steamy air.
Chibodee's hands move, roaming over George's back, tracing the lines of his muscles. They emerge from the water, glistening, and Sai Saici's eyes go wide. His breath catches in his throat. This is it. This is what he's been burning to see. But what happens next sends a jolt of pure shock through his system, an electric current that scrambles his thoughts and leaves him staring, utterly dumbfounded. Chibodee's hands slide down George's stomach, and lower still, into the water, between his legs. And then they move in a way Sai Saici's brain cannot immediately process. There's no hardness there. Just the shadow of Chibodee's fingers moving against George's body in a way that is unfamiliar.
For a wild, confused moment, Sai Saici thinks he's seeing things. The steam, the poor light. But then George gasps, a high, clear sound of pleasure, and his back arches. Chibodee's wrist flicks, a steady, sure rhythm, and Sai Saici knows. He knows. George has a vagina.
The revelation hits him like a physical blow. The world tilts on its axis. George, the perfect, noble, princely George, is…different. The shock is immense, a tidal wave that threatens to pull him under. But beneath the shock, something else stirs. Something dark and immediate and shockingly potent. It's not disgust. It's not confusion. It's a white hot, blinding arousal.
His dick, already half hard, goes rigid, straining against the fabric of his pants. The thought, the sight, is the most forbidden, the most transgressive thing he has ever imagined. A man who looks and sounds and acts like George, who commands respect and exudes masculine power, has a cunt. The word flashes in Sai Saici's mind, crude and powerful, and it sends another jolt straight to his groin. He watches, mesmerized, as Chibodee works George with practiced ease, drawing soft whimpers and gasps from the usually stoic pilot. The sounds go straight through Sai Saici, vibrating in his bones.
Chibodee pulls George closer, lifting him slightly in the water. "You're so wet," he growls, the words carrying clearly in the quiet night. "All that for me?"
"Always," George chokes out, his hands clutching at Chibodee's shoulders. His head is thrown back, his throat exposed, the lantern light catching the pulse beating wildly there.
The sight is like a masterpiece of erotic art. George's face, twisted in pleasure, his aristocratic features contorted in a mask of need. Chibodee's expression, one of fierce concentration and raw hunger. Sai Saici feels like he's drowning in the intensity of it. He presses a hand against his own aching erection, the pressure a sweet, desperate relief. He's never been so hard in his life.
Then Chibodee shifts, positioning himself. He lines up his own hard cock, which Sai Saici can now see clearly, jutting from the water, thick and impressive. And then he pushes inside. There's no mistaking it. The angle is clear. He sinks into George's body, into that wet, waiting heat, with a low, needy groan.
George cries out, a sharp, broken sound that is half pain, half ecstasy. His whole body tenses, then shudders. Chibodee doesn't wait. He starts to move, a deep, powerful rhythm that makes the water slosh around them. Each thrust is a statement, a claim.
"Fuck, George," Chibodee pants, his grip on George's hips almost bruising. "You feel so good. So fucking tight."
"Chibodee," George moans, the name a prayer on his lips. He's meeting each thrust now, pushing back, lost in the sensation. "Don't stop. Please."
Sai Saici is barely breathing. His own hand is rubbing frantically at the bulge in his pants, but it's not enough. It's nowhere near enough. He's watching George get fucked, watching him take it, and love it, and beg for more. And the fact that it's happening where Sai Saici always, always expected to see a cock, is making him dizzy with lust. He can't look away. He can't even blink.
Chibodee changes the angle, hitting a spot that makes George sob with pleasure. The look on his face is feral, triumphant. "There it is, huh? Right there?"
"Ah! Yes! Yes!" George's control is completely shattered. He's writhing, impaled on Chibodee's cock, a creature of pure need.
The sounds, the sights, the very air around the spring is saturated with sex. Sai Saici feels like he's absorbing it through his pores. He feels like he's going to explode. His mind is a chaotic mess of images and feelings. He wants to be George, to be taken like that, to be so completely possessed. He wants to be Chibodee, to be the one unleashing that pleasure, to be the one in control. The conflicting desires tear at him, a war in his soul that has found its battleground in his own body.
Chibodee's hand snakes around George's front, his fingers finding that sensitive spot again. He rubs it in tandem with his thrusts. "Come on, George. Come for me."
That's all it takes. George's body locks up, a tremor running through him from head to toe. He screams Chibodee's name, a raw, ragged sound of bliss. The sight of him coming undone, so beautiful and so powerful in his surrender, is truly more than Sai Saici can bear. He watches Chibodee follow a moment later, burying himself deep inside George with a final groan.
They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, panting, steam rising from their overheated skin. Then, slowly, Chibodee pulls out. He gathers George into his arms, holding him close, pressing soft kisses to his damp hair. The tenderness of the aftermath is almost as overwhelming as the ferocity of the act itself.
Sai Saici finally forces himself to move. He backs away slowly, carefully, making no sound. His limbs feel stiff, foreign. His own body is screaming for release, but he can't do it here. Not now. He needs to be alone. He needs to think, to process, to feel. So, he turns and flees, a silent shadow in the night. He doesn't stop until he's back in the barracks, in the cool, dark solitude of his own room. He closes the door, leaning against it, his chest heaving. His dick is still rock hard, a painful, demanding pressure.
He fumbles with the tie of his pants, shoving them down. His cock springs free, and he wraps a hand around it, the contact almost painful in its intensity. He starts to stroke, fast and desperate, the images from the hot spring burned into his retinas. He sees Chibodee's cock disappearing into George's body. He sees George's face, lost in ecstasy. He hears the sounds they made. He strokes faster, chasing that elusive release.
But it's not enough. The fantasy is missing something. His mind races. He's not picturing himself with George or Chibodee. The face that keeps swimming to the surface of his consciousness is Domon's. Domon's scowl, Domon's intense gaze, Domon's strength. The thought is so sudden, so unexpected, that he almost stops. But the arousal doesn't fade. It spikes.
He pictures Domon looking at him with that raw hunger he saw in Chibodee's eyes. And then, a new image intrudes. It's him, Sai Saici, but he's not the same. He's like George; he has a cunt. He imagines Domon's strong hands on him, Domon's thick cock pushing inside him. The thought is so potent, so intoxicating, that a moan escapes his lips. Without even thinking about it, he lets go of his dick. His other hand, slick with his own precome, trails lower, back, between his ass cheeks. He finds the tight pucker of his asshole and presses a finger against it.
The sensation is strange, new. He's never touched himself like this before. But the fantasy is demanding, insistent. He pushes the finger in, a slight burn giving way to a strange, full feeling. He pictures Domon's cock there, but the image from the hot spring, of Chibodee sinking into George's heat, is too strong. His finger isn't enough. He wants that wetness, that opening. He wants a cunt.
He starts to finger himself in earnest, curling his finger, searching for the pleasure he's only ever imagined. With his other hand, he grabs his dick again, stroking it in a frantic rhythm. He's lost in a whirlwind of sensation and fantasy. He's Domon, fucking a version of him that has a pussy. He's the version of himself with a pussy, being fucked by Domon. The identities blur, a confusing, intoxicating mess.
"Bro," the word escapes him, a choked whisper. He's picturing Domon's face, Domon's body, Domon's pleasure. "Bro," he says again, louder this time, as he pushes a second finger into himself, the stretch sending a jolt of electricity up his spine. It's so wrong, so confusing, but it feels so right, so good. He's imagining Domon making him cry while he fucks him, the familiar word twisted into something intimate, something filthy.
He pumps his cock faster, his hips bucking off the thin mattress. His fingers work inside him, mimicking the thrusting rhythm in his head. He's so close, right on the edge. He closes his eyes, picturing Domon's face twisted in pleasure, hearing his own desperate pleas, feeling the phantom weight of a body pressing him down.
"Ah! Domon!" he cries out, the name a ragged gasp as he finally comes. His orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, ripping a long, guttural moan from his throat. Seed spurts over his hand and stomach, hot and slick. His body convulses, clamping down on his own fingers, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain. He rides the wave until it crests and slowly recedes, leaving him spent and trembling in the aftermath.
He lies there for a long moment, gasping for breath, the sweat cooling on his skin. His heart is still pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, the feeling of loss and emptiness immediate and profound. He stares at the mess on his stomach, the evidence of his pleasure, and feels a wave of something cold and sharp wash over him.
Sai Saici lies in the dark, the echo of his own moans- the name he cried out- bouncing around the cavernous space of his shame. Domon. He came with the image of Domon's face in his mind, the word bro a profane prayer on his lips. And beneath that, the impossible, powerful fantasy of having a body like George's, a body that could be taken, filled, possessed. His mind is a battlefield, and he has no idea which side is winning. One thing, however, is terrifyingly clear. The brief, stolen glimpse wasn't enough. It wasn't a scratch that soothed an itch; it was a drug that created a craving. The curiosity that had burned in him before has now been forged into a singular, all consuming need. He has to see it again.
~X~
The next day, he moves through the training drills like a ghost. His body performs the katas, the strikes, the blocks, but his mind is elsewhere, meticulously plotting. He observes George and Chibodee with new eyes. They're not discreet, not really. The casual touches, the shared smiles, the way their energies seem to orbit each other. Sai Saici is no longer just curious; he's a hunter, and his prey is knowledge.
He waits until evening, after dinner. This time, he knows exactly where they'll be. He saw them slip away towards their shared room, a small, private suite at the end of the barracks wing, away from the others. Domon is still out on the training grounds, running drills by the light of the moon, a silhouette of furious dedication. Argo is in his own room, probably already in bed. The path is clear.
This time, Sai Saici is more prepared. The barracks have a maintenance crawlspace in the ceiling, a dusty network of beams and narrow planks used for accessing the wiring. It's a tight fit, and the air is thick with the smell of insulation and accumulated dust, but it offers a direct, unobstructed view into their room through a ventilation grate.
He finds the spot above their room, his movements silent and practiced. He lies flat on a wooden beam, peering through the slats of the grate. The view is perfect, a bird's eye view of their bed.
They are already on it, tangled in the sheets. The room is bathed in the soft glow of a single bedside lamp, casting long, dancing shadows. Chibodee is on his back, shirtless, his muscular chest rising and falling with each breath. George is straddling him, fully dressed in a simple white shirt and loose pants, but he's undulating, a slow, deliberate rolling of his hips that is pure, liquid sin. Chibodee's hands are on George's thighs, gripping tightly, his head thrown back against the pillows.
"Tease," Chibodee growls, his voice a low rumble.
George just smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. He leans down, bracing his hands on Chibodee's chest, and whispers something Sai Saici can't hear. Whatever it is, it makes Chibodee shudder.
Sai Saici is already hard. He watches, mesmerized, as George sits up, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off in one smooth motion, and Sai Saici's breath catches.
Sai Saici is already hard. He watches, mesmerized, as George sits up, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off in one smooth motion, and Sai Saici's breath catches. On the bed, George shifts, undoing his pants. He slides them down his legs, kicking them off onto the floor. And there it is. Naked, unashamed. Sai Saici strokes himself faster, his eyes glued to the sight.
Chibodee's hands are on George's hips now, pulling him down. "Come here," he orders, his voice thick with need.
George complies, sinking down until he's flush against Chibodee's body. He starts that rolling motion again, this time with nothing between them but skin. Sai Saici can see the glistening wetness of George's cunt sliding against the hard length of Chibodee's cock. The friction, the wet sounds, the sight of their bodies moving together- it's a sensory overload.
Sai Saici is so lost in the scene, so consumed by the fire in his own blood, that he doesn't notice the warning creak. He's braced one hand against the ceiling panel beside him for leverage, thrusting up into his own fist. The panel groans under his weight. A cloud of dust drifts down from the edges. Too late, he realizes his mistake. The screws, old and rusted, give way with a sickening crack.
Time seems to slow down. The panel tilts, then falls away completely. For a horrifying, stomach lurching second, Sai Saici is suspended in mid air, a wide eyed, deer in the headlights look on his face. Then he crashes down.
He lands on the bed with a soft thump, right in the middle of their tangled limbs. The mattress absorbs most of the impact, but the surprise is absolute. For a moment, nobody moves. They all just stare at each other, a scene of pure shock.
Then Sai Saici's brain catches up. He's in their bed. His pants are around his ankles. His hard cock is still in his hand, glistening with precome. The evidence is undeniable.
Chibodee is the first to break the silence. A slow, wide grin spreads across his face, a predator's smile. "Well, well, well," he drawls, his voice laced with amusement. "Look what we have here. A little pervy bird falling out of the sky."
George, for his part, looks less amused and more analytical. He pushes himself up, not even bothering to cover himself. His gaze sweeps over Sai Saici, from his panicked face to his still very erect dick, and a look of dawning understanding crosses his features. "Sai Saici," he says, his tone calm and measured, which is somehow more terrifying than Chibodee's teasing. "Were you enjoying the show?"
Sai Saici's face is burning with a heat that could rival the sun. He wants to evaporate, to sink through the mattress and into the floor. He tries to scramble away, to hide, but Chibodee's arm shoots out, pinning him in place. The grip is firm but not painful.
"Whoa there, little guy," Chibodee says, his grin widening. "No running away. You interrupted our private party. The least you could do is stick around for the after party." His eyes flick down to Sai Saici's crotch. "And it looks like you're ready to join in."
The words hang in the air, thick with implication. Sai Saici's mind is a blank wall of panic. He can't form words, can't even think. All he can feel is the heat of Chibodee's skin against his, the weight of George's gaze on him.
"He's been watching us for days," Chibodee continues, looking at George. "I've felt those little eyes on us."
"And now we know why," George murmurs, a thoughtful expression on his face. He reaches out, a single, elegant finger tracing the line of Sai Saici's jaw. The touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to Sai Saici's groin. He lets out an involuntary whimper.
"You're a curious one, aren't you, Sai Saici?" George says, his voice low and hypnotic. "You wanted to know what it's like."
Sai Saici can only nod, a jerky, terrified motion. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
"You know," Chibodee says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "George is really good at teaching. And I'm an excellent hands on instructor." He shifts, his body pressing closer to Sai Saici's. The heat of him is overwhelming. "How about we give you a real lesson? Instead of watching from the ceiling."
The suggestion is so outrageous, so far beyond the realm of possibility, that Sai Saici's brain short circuits. A threesome? With them? The images from last night, the fantasies from moments ago, come flooding back. The shame wars with a sudden, desperate, and terrifying surge of desire. He wants this. He wants this more than he's ever wanted anything.
He must make a sound, a tiny, choked thing, because George's expression softens. "It's alright," he says, his voice impossibly gentle. "We're not angry. Let us show you."
And then George leans in and kisses him. It's nothing like he's ever experienced. Sai Saici finds himself kissing back, a clumsy, desperate response. He's being kissed by George, and Chibodee's hand is on his dick, and it's all too much, a sensory overload that threatens to shatter him completely.
When they finally pull back, Sai Saici is panting, his mind reeling. He's lying between them, their bodies a warm, living cage on either side of him.
"So, what do you say, kid?" Chibodee asks, his breath hot against Sai Saici's ear. "Wanna play?"
Sai Saici looks from Chibodee's predatory grin to George's calm, encouraging eyes. He looks down at their bodies, at George's cunt and Chibodee's cock, at his own aching hardness. And he makes a decision. He swallows hard, his throat dry, and nods.
The grin that splits Chibodee's face is triumphant. "That's what I'm talking about."
The next few minutes are a blur of motion and sensation. They undress him with practiced efficiency, their hands everywhere, stripping away his clothes and his inhibitions. He's completely naked now, exposed and vulnerable between them. But there's no judgment in their eyes, only a raw, mutual hunger.
"Lie back," George directs, his voice firm but kind. Sai Saici complies, his body trembling with anticipation. George straddles him, just as he had straddled Chibodee. He's so close, the scent of him, clean and aroused, filling Sai Saici's senses.
"You're curious about this," George says, his hand moving down to cup himself. "Touch me. Feel what it's like."
Sai Saici's hand is shaking as he reaches out. He hesitates, then brushes his fingers against the wet heat of George's folds. The feeling is incredible, soft and slick and alive. A gasp escapes his lips. He explores further, his fingers sliding into the wetness, feeling the delicate, intricate geography of a body so different from his own. George shudders, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping him.
"That's it," Chibodee encourages from behind him. "Get in there."
Sai Saici is lost in the sensation, in the power of giving pleasure this way. He's so focused on George that he doesn't notice Chibodee moving until he feels a slick finger probing his own asshole.
He tenses up, a jolt of alarm shooting through him. "Hey," he starts to protest.
"Relax, kid," Chibodee murmurs, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on Sai Saici's back. "Gotta get you ready for the main event. Trust me."
Sai Saici forces himself to relax, to breathe. Chibodee is surprisingly gentle. He works him open slowly, carefully, using plenty of lube. First one finger, then two. The initial burn gives way to a strange, full, and increasingly pleasurable sensation. It's the same feeling he tried to replicate last night, but a thousand times better. He finds himself pushing back against Chibodee's hand, a silent plea for more.
"Look at you, taking it so well," Chibodee praises, his voice a low growl. "You're a natural."
George watches them, a look of intense concentration on his face. He's still straddling Sai Saici, but he's not moving. "Ready?" he asks, looking between Sai Saici and Chibodee.
Chibodee pulls his fingers out, and Sai Saici feels a sudden, aching emptiness. But it's only for a moment. He feels the blunt head of Chibodee's cock pressing against his hole. "Ready when you are," Chibodee says.
Sai Saici nods, unable to speak. George shifts, positioning himself over Sai Saici's own aching cock. Then, in a single, synchronized movement, they both sink down.
The sensation is overwhelming. Chibodee's cock pushes into him, a deep, filling stretch that borders on pain but is eclipsed by a profound, earth shattering pleasure. At the same instant, he slides into George's wet, tight heat. He's sandwiched between them, filled and filling, the center of a perfect, erotic storm. He cries out, a raw, broken sound of pure, unadulterated bliss.
They start to move. Chibodee thrusts into him from behind, a deep, powerful rhythm that drives Sai Saici's own cock deeper into George. It's a feedback loop of pleasure. Every thrust from Chibodee is a thrust into George. Every clench of George's muscles around Sai Saici's dick is a jolt of pleasure that radiates through his entire body. He's never felt anything like it. He's never imagined anything like it.
"You like that?" Chibodee grunts, his hands gripping Sai Saici's hips. "You like being in the middle?"
Sai Saici can only moan in response, a choked, desperate sound. He's lost to the sensation, a passenger on a runaway train of ecstasy. He's fucking George de Sand, and being fucked by Chibodee Crocket. The reality is so much more intense, so much more visceral, than any of his fantasies.
George leans down, his lips brushing against Sai Saici's ear. "Let go," he whispers. "Tell us what you're really thinking about. Who are you picturing right now?"
The question cuts through the haze of pleasure. He knows. Of course, he knows. There's no use in denying it. And the words are pulled from him, a desperate confession in the heat of the moment.
"Domon," he gasps, the name a ragged sob. "I'm thinking about Domon."
The admission hangs in the air, a final, complete surrender. He expects them to laugh, to tease him mercilessly. But they don't. Instead, their movements become more deliberate, more intense.
"Yeah, kid?" Chibodee's voice is a low, encouraging growl. "You think Domon would fuck you like this? Think he'd know how to make you feel this good?"
"Imagine it's him," George murmurs, his own breathing harsh. "Imagine it's Domon inside you. Imagine it's Domon you're inside."
The fantasy, now voiced, becomes even more powerful. Sai Saici closes his eyes, and suddenly it is Domon behind him, Domon's powerful body pistoning into him, Domon's ragged breath in his ear. And he's inside Domon, feeling that impossible wet heat that exists only in the most secret corners of his mind. The thought, the confession, the reality, it all converges into a single, white hot point of pleasure.
The sound of that name, the raw need in Sai Saici's voice, pushes them all over the edge. George clenches around him, a silent, shuddering orgasm that milks Sai Saici's own climax from him. He comes with a hoarse shout, spilling himself deep inside George's body. At almost the same instant, he feels Chibodee slam into him one last, brutal time, a hot flood of seed filling him from within.
For a long, silent moment, they are a tangle of limbs and heaving breaths. The air in the room is thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Sai Saici feels boneless, utterly spent, his mind a peaceful, blank slate. The shame is gone, burned away by the intensity of the experience. All that's left is a profound sense of relief.
Slowly, carefully, they disentangle themselves. Sai Saici collapses onto the bed, his body aching in the most pleasant way possible. Chibodee lies down on one side of him, and George on the other. They're a sweaty, sticky mess, but Sai Saici has never felt more comfortable.
"Wow," Sai Saici manages to say, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Chibodee chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through Sai Saici's back. "Yeah. Wow."
George is quiet, but he reaches out, his hand finding Sai Saici's and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft.
"I'm…I'm better than alright," Sai Saici admits, a small, amazed smile touching his lips. "I'm…I don't know what I am."
"You're a guy who's got a big crush on another guy," Chibodee says, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Nothing wrong with that."
Sai Saici blushes, the heat returning to his face. "You're not…you're not going to tell anyone, are you?" The thought of Domon finding out like this, as gossip, is horrifying.
"Nah," Chibodee says, shaking his head. "This stays between us. Our little secret."
"But," George says, his tone thoughtful. "Perhaps it doesn't have to stay a secret forever."
Sai Saici turns to look at him, his heart starting to beat a little faster. "What do you mean?"
George meets his gaze, his blue eyes serious and clear. "You have feelings for Domon. Very strong feelings. And judging by what just happened, those feelings are not entirely unreciprocated in your imagination. But what about reality? Have you ever considered that he might feel something too?"
Sai Saici's mind reels. Domon? Feel something for him? Domon, who is about as emotionally expressive as a brick? Domon, whose entire world revolves around fighting? The idea seems absurd.
"Domon's dense, for sure," Chibodee pipes in. "But think about it. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. The way he always goes a little easier on you in training than he does on the rest of us. He's got a soft spot for you, kid."
"Probably because he sees me as a kid," Sai Saici mutters, a familiar wave of insecurity washing over him. "A little brother."
"Maybe," George concedes. "Or maybe he sees a strength in you that he admires. A passion. A fire that mirrors his own." He pauses, considering his words carefully. "The only way to know for sure is to find out."
"And how am I supposed to do that?" Sai Saici asks, his voice laced with frustration. "Walk up to him and say, 'Hey, bro, I had a threesome with George and Chibodee and I imagined it was you the whole time, so how about we try that'?"
Chibodee barks out a laugh. "Probably not the best approach, no." He sits up, propping himself on an elbow. "But you're not alone in this anymore. You've got allies."
Sai Saici looks from Chibodee's determined face to George's calm, confident expression. A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. "What are you saying?"
"We're saying we'll help you," George says simply. "We'll help you get your man."
The offer is so unexpected, so generous, that Sai Saici is momentarily speechless. They owe him nothing. And yet, here they are, offering to help him navigate the most confusing, terrifying, and potentially wonderful emotional landscape of his life.
"Why?" he finally asks, the word barely a whisper.
Chibodee's grin returns, but this time it's not predatory, but genuinely warm. "Because we've been there. We know what it's like. And because, kid, you've got gut. You fell through the ceiling, then right into a threesome. That takes a special kind of crazy."
"Besides," George adds, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Watching you and Domon get together would be far more entertaining than any television program."
A real, genuine laugh escapes Sai Saici's lips. The tension in his chest eases, replaced by a giddy, terrifying excitement. "Okay," he says, nodding. "Okay. Let's do it."
"Excellent," George declares, clapping his hands together. "We'll need a plan. A multi pronged strategy. Operation: Get Domon."
Chibodee snorts. "Operation: Make Domon Less of an Idiot. I think a much more direct approach is out best choice."
"You would."
"Well, it worked for him with us, didn't it?"
As the two of them bicker, Sai Saici wonders what he's gotten himself into. Still, whatever it may be, if it results in him getting railed by Domon, he's pretty sure that it's going to be worth it.
~X~
The morning after feels like a dream, or perhaps a fever. Sai Saici’s body aches in ways he’s never experienced, a deep, pleasant soreness that serves as a constant reminder of the night’s events. Every movement sends a phantom echo of pleasure through him- the memory of being filled, the slick heat of George’s body, Chibodee’s commanding presence.
He moves through breakfast in a haze, stealing glances at Domon, who is shoveling rice into his mouth with his usual single minded ferocity. There’s no special look, no hint of awareness. Domon is just…Domon. The doubt, heavy as a stone, settles back in Sai Saici's gut. How could they possibly breach those walls?
"Don't look so pathetic," George murmurs beside him, so low only Sai Saici can hear. "Leave it to us. Just be ready after lunch."
"Ready for what?" Sai Saici whispers back, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth.
"For your big date," Chibodee says from across the table, winking so broadly it's a wonder it doesn't dislodge his eyeball. Argo grunts, and Sai Saici is struck with the sudden, mortifying fear that their whispered plotting is as loud as a bullhorn to everyone else. But Domon doesn't even look up.
After breakfast, as the others disperse for their usual solo training routines, Chibodee grabs Sai Saici's arm. "Time for phase one," he says, a predatory grin on his face. "Don't worry, kid. This is a direct approach. Very direct."
He leads Sai Saici not to the training grounds, but back into the barracks, to Domon's room. The space is spartan, almost monastic, with a simple bed, a small desk piled with maintenance manuals, and a framed photograph of his family.
"Get naked," Chibodee commands, and the tone is so non negotiable that Sai Saici obeys without question, his hands fumbling with the tie of his pants. He feels a flush of shame and excitement, being naked in Domon's room, where Domon sleeps, where Domon's scent still lingers in the air.
George follows them in, closing the door quietly. He's carrying a small bottle of lube and a length of soft silk rope. "On the bed," he says, his voice calm and steady. "On your knees. Facing the headboard."
Sai Saici's heart hammers against his ribs as he climbs onto the bare mattress, the coarse blanket rough against his knees. He kneels, facing away from the door, just as he was told.
George moves with a surgeon's precision. He takes Sai Saici's wrists and, one by one, ties them securely to the metal frame of the headboard. The silk is soft, but the knots are firm, an inescapable, gentle restraint. Then he moves to Sai Saici's ankles. He uses more of the silk to tie them to the lower corners of the bed, forcing Sai Saici's legs wide apart, spreading him open.
Sai Saici is completely exposed, vulnerable, a sacrifice on an altar. His ass is raised and facing the door. His cock, already beginning to harden with a potent mix of fear and arousal, dangles between his legs. He can't see a thing, can only hear the rustle of movement behind him.
Then he feels a pair of hands on his ass cheeks, spreading him wider. He knows it's George. He gasps as he feels a hot, wet breath against his most private place. And then a tongue.
"Oh god," Sai Saici whimpers, his head dropping forward against the frame of the headboard.
George eats his ass with a slow, deliberate thoroughness that is maddening. He's not in a hurry. His tongue is a slick, insistent pressure, circling, probing, delving inside. Sai Saici is writhing, a desperate, helpless creature. He pulls against the ropes, but they hold him fast, amplifying his vulnerability. The sensation is incredible, a wet, filthy pleasure that makes his toes curl.
He hears the slick sound of the lube bottle opening, and then a cool, wet finger is pressing against his hole. George works him open meticulously, scissoring his fingers, stretching him, preparing him. He curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes Sai Saici's vision white out with pleasure. Sai Saici is a mess of need, panting, drooling, grinding back against George's hand.
"He's ready," George's calm voice says from behind him. "Perfectly slick and open."
Sai Saici can hear George stand up, the rustle of his clothes as he presumably gets dressed. He wants to beg him not to leave, but the words won't come. He's left there, alone, tied and exposed, a present waiting to be unwrapped.
The door opens and closes, and Sai Saici is plunged into a terrifying silence. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He waits, every second stretching into an eternity. His mind races. What if Domon doesn't come back? What if someone else finds him? The anxiety is a cold knot in his stomach, but beneath it, a different fire burns. The sheer, unadulterated thrill of it all.
He hears muffled voices outside the door. Chibodee's, then Domon's.
"Hey, Domon! Your comms are acting up again, got a message from Rain that you need to hear right away. It's in your room."
"Huh? Why didn't she just call the land line?"
"Something about a secure channel, just get in there!"
The doorknob turns. Sai Saici holds his breath. The door swings open. There's a scuffle, a grunt of surprise from Domon, and then a firm shove from Chibodee.
"Whoa-" Domon stumbles into the room. The door slams shut behind him, and Sai Saici hears the distinct click of a lock being engaged.
Silence.
Domon stands in the doorway, frozen. His eyes, wide with shock, slowly adjust to the dim light of the room. They sweep past the empty desk, the neatly made bed, and then land on the figure tied up in the middle of it.
Sai Saici. Naked. Bound. His legs spread wide, his ass glistening with lube, presented like an offering.
Domon's brain takes a full minute to process the image. Sai Saici watches him over his shoulder, his face burning with a heat so intense he feels like he might combust. He sees the shock on Domon's face, the confusion, the dawning realization. He sees Domon's gaze fix on Sai Saici's exposed, lubed hole.
Then he sees something else. A slow, dangerous shift in Domon's eyes. The surprise doesn't fade, but it's joined by something else, something dark and predatory. His jaw tightens. A muscle in his cheek jumps.
"Sai Saici," Domon's voice is a low, rough growl, so different from his usual brash shout. "What the hell is this?"
Sai Saici opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His throat is tight, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. This is it. The moment of truth.
Domon takes a step into the room, then another. He moves slowly, deliberately, like a predator circling its prey. He walks around the bed, his eyes never leaving Sai Saici's body. He stops in front of him, and Sai Saici is forced to look up at him, to meet that intense, unreadable gaze.
"Who did this to you?" Domon asks, his voice dangerously quiet.
But Sai Saici can see the question behind the question. He can see the way Domon's pupils are blown, the way his fists are clenched at his sides. He can see the hard ridge straining against the fabric of his training pants. Domon isn't angry. He's aroused and confused and fighting a battle with himself that Sai Saici can see playing out across his face.
This is Chibodee's direct plan. No words, no subtlety. Just pure, unfiltered temptation. And it's working.
"I…" Sai Saici finally manages to croak out, his voice hoarse. "I wanted…this."
Domon's breath hitches. "You wanted this?" he repeats, his voice a raw whisper. "You wanted me?"
Sai Saici can only nod, a jerky, desperate motion.
Domon's gaze drops from Sai Saici's face to his lips, then down further, to Sai Saici's cock, which is now hard and leaking against his stomach. The last vestiges of Domon's control seem to snap.
"Fuck," he grits out, the word a curse and a surrender in one. He closes the distance between them in a single stride, his hands gripping the sides of Sai Saici's face as he crashes their mouths together.
The kiss is brutal, a desperate, claiming thing. It's all teeth and tongue and raw, unbridled need. It's nothing like George's gentle coaxing or Chibodee's playful teasing. This is Domon. All power and passion and overwhelming force. Sai Saici kisses back with equal desperation, a lifetime of repressed longing pouring into a single, frenzied kiss.
Domon's hands are everywhere, tangling in Sai Saici's hair, gripping his shoulders, running down his bound arms. He breaks the kiss, panting, his forehead resting against Sai Saici's. "They're probably listening," he mutters, a flicker of anger in his eyes. "Those nosy bastards are probably listening at the door."
"Let them," Sai Saici gasps out. "I don't care."
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Domon's face. "Yeah. Let them."
He moves behind Sai Saici, and Sai Saici tenses with anticipation. He feels Domon's hands on his ass, spreading him open. He feels the blunt head of Domon's cock press against his entrance. There's no gentleness, no preamble, just a raw, demanding pressure.
"This what you wanted?" Domon growls, his hands gripping Sai Saici's hips so tightly he'll surely have bruises tomorrow.
"Yes," Sai Saici sobs, the word torn from his throat. "Yes, please."
And with a single, powerful thrust, Domon slams into him.
Sai Saici cries out, a sharp, choked sound of pain and pleasure. There was no warning, no gradual build up. Just a deep, invasive, overwhelming fullness. Domon is bigger than Chibodee, thicker, and the sudden, forceful entry is a shock to his system. But the pain is fleeting, immediately swallowed by a wave of intense, mind numbing pleasure.
Domon doesn't give him a moment to adjust. He sets a punishing rhythm, a hard, fast, relentless pounding that seems to rattle the very frame of the bed. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, a loud, rhythmic thudding that Sai Saici is sure can be heard all the way down the hall. Let them hear.
"You feel so good," Domon grunts, his hands holding Sai Saici's hips in an iron grip. "So tight." He leans forward, covering Sai Saici's back with his body, his hot breath against Sai Saici's ear.
Sai Saici is lost in a storm of sensation. He's completely at Domon's mercy, tied and helpless, being used, claimed, in the most visceral way possible. He's never felt so alive. Every thrust pushes him closer to the edge, every ragged breath from Domon stokes the fire in his blood.
"Touch me," Sai Saici begs, his voice a broken whimper. "Please, bro, touch me."
Domon's hand snakes around, wrapping around Sai Saici's aching cock. He doesn't stroke him, just holds him, a tight, possessive grip. The pressure is enough, the simple act of being held by Domon while being fucked by him is almost enough to send him over the edge.
"Who do you belong to?" Domon demands, his voice a low, dominant growl.
"You," Sai Saici cries out without hesitation. "You, bro. Always you."
The words seem to unleash something in Domon. His thrusts become erratic, more forceful. He's close. Sai Saici can feel it in the tension in his body, in the desperation of his movements. He pushes back against Domon, meeting him thrust for thrust, a silent plea for more.
With a final, powerful thrust, Domon buries himself deep inside Sai Saici, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat as he spills his hot seed. The feeling of Domon coming inside him, of being filled so completely, is what finally pushes Sai Saici over the edge. He comes with a pathetic scream, his body convulsing, painting the sheets beneath him with his release.
They collapse onto the bed, a sweaty, panting tangle of limbs. Domon's weight is a comforting, grounding presence on top of him. For a long moment, they just lie there, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. Finally, Domon pushes himself up, pulling out of Sai Saici with a soft, wet sound. He unties the ropes, his movements surprisingly gentle. Sai Saici's limbs are stiff and sore, and he winces as the blood rushes back into them.
Domon pulls him into his arms, holding him close. Sai Saici tucks his head under Domon's chin, breathing in his scent.
"So," Domon says, his voice still a little rough. "This was Chibodee's idea, wasn't it?"
Sai Saici nods, a little sheepish. "He said it was a direct approach."
Domon lets out a short, sharp laugh. "That's one word for it." He's quiet for a moment. "Are you okay?"
"Better than okay," Sai Saici mumbles into Domon's chest. "Are you mad?"
"Nah," Domon says, running a hand through Sai Saici's sweat damp hair. "Just surprised. I didn't think…I didn't think you felt that way." He pauses, and Sai Saici can feel his heart start to beat a little faster. "I've wanted this for a while too, you know."
Sai Saici lifts his head to look at him, a slow, happy smile spreading across his face. "Really?"
"Yeah," Domon admits, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "But I'm not good with words. Or feelings. Chibodee's an idiot, but…his plan worked."
Sai Saici leans up and kisses him, a soft, gentle press of lips. "I guess we should thank them."
"Later," Domon murmurs against his mouth, pulling him closer. "Much later."
~X~
At breakfast the next morning, Argo clears his throat. Sai Saici isn’t sure if he’s heard him speak once since they arrived here.
“It isn’t any of my business what you four get up to in your rooms, and I don’t mind,” he says, “but could you consider doing it quieter tonight?”
