taken in hand

It starts with two words: “Make me.”

Cliff levels a heavy look down at Ilya. Those vivid blue-green eyes flare back up at him, hot and defiant, and he feels the shift click into place. Across the room, Shane glances up from his book, brows twitching behind his glasses. He feels it happen too.

All Cliff had asked was for Ilya to move over. He had sprawled out on the sofa and left basically no room for anyone else. “Make me,” he snapped, and now Cliff has no choice.

He shrugs.

A hand darts out and snatches a fistful of messy curls, pulling up until Ilya’s whole body follows. He’s spitting mad, trying to swing at Cliff, but Cliff has always been bigger and taller, with a longer reach. He easily holds Ilya at bay while spinning him around and shoving him forward, pressing his face down into the cushions and hooking his hips over the arm of the sofa, his supple ass in the air.

“Apologize,” Cliff commands.

“Fuck you,” Ilya hisses.

Cliff quickly releases his hold on Ilya’s hair to instead snatch up his wrists and pin them at the small of his back with one huge, strong hand. The other snatches down his sweats and briefs in one hard tug before punctuating the end of his actions with a sharp, loud smack.

Ilya yelps, but doesn’t back down.

“Suit yourself.”

Cliff lays into him, then, spanking Ilya’s round ass until it stings, the pale, tender skin rendered a deep, sweltering red in seconds. Ilya thrashes and writhes against his grip, his grunts and curses quickly dissolving to whimpers and then sobs.

Shane watches, aching in his shorts, frozen with lust.

Cliff glances up when his palm finally stills, dark eyes meeting Shane’s. “C’mere, babydoll,” he growls. “Put his mouth to work for Daddy.”

Shane is out of his chair and across the room in one frantic motion. He slips out of his pants and underwear and parks himself on the couch right in front of Ilya’s face, cock flushed and dripping with need. Cliff, meanwhile, has fished a bottle of lube from a console table. He sets it down long enough to tug his own cock free, throbbing over the sight of Ilya’s red ass, the thrill of overpowering that athletic strength with his own.

“Behave, Ilya,” he murmurs as he slicks his twitching hole. “Shane has been so good and polite today. Open your fucking mouth and return the favor.”

Ilya sniffles, casting a petulant look over his shoulder. Cliff ignores him, nodding instead to Shane, who never makes a move without his permission. He’s so wonderfully obedient like that. Now he’s the one grabbing Ilya’s hair and yanking his head up to feed his cock into that bratty mouth, dark lashes fluttering over his freckled cheekbones as he shoves Ilya’s head all the way down.

“Good, baby, keep him busy for Daddy. We have to remind him of his place in this house.” Ilya squirms and gags around Shane as Cliff presses his thumb inside him, working him open roughly. He won’t damage Ilya, but he won’t be gentle, either. He wants it to hurt. He wants him to feel the reprimand for hours after. Maybe even days.

Shane tips his head back, moaning and sighing, so goddamn pretty in his bliss. If Cliff’s hands weren’t full, he’d reach over Ilya to slip his fingers into Shane’s mouth, just the way he knows he likes. They’re so good to him in their own ways; Ilya fighting and giving him a challenge that speaks to the raging, testosterone-fueled male within him, Shane submitting and begging and presenting himself for fucking at even the barest hint of desire. It’s more than any one man has any right to. So many would kill themselves for a taste of what Cliff is allotted in gallons.

“Keep it up, beautiful,” Cliff purrs and he tugs roughly at Ilya’s rim, lining his cock up with that tight, flinching ring of muscle. “Make him fucking work. Make him pleasure you ‘til you’ve had your fill, baby.”

Shane nods, eyes glossy, expression already gone. “Yes - fuck - yes, Daddy,” he pants, and it’s music to Cliff’s ears, the way he already sounds so unwound.

When Cliff forces himself inside, Shane pulls Ilya off of him long enough to let him wail at the intrusion. Cliff pops his ass again, twice, three times, before rocking back and establishing a deep, punishing rhythm. Ilya gasps and wriggles beneath him, but there’s nowhere to go. His cock is pinned beneath his own weight, grinding hopelessly against the arm of the sofa, and Cliff’s weight is inescapably heavy on top of him, bruises being pressed into his wrists where he holds him down.

Shane drags Ilya’s head back to his own cock, shoving his face deep into his groin, fucking into his throat while Cliff thrusts hard enough to make the whole sofa inch across the floor. The slap of skin on skin and the wet, choked noises Ilya makes around Shane’s cock are beyond obscene.

Of all of them, it’s Ilya who comes first. Cliff hisses through his teeth as he clenches so tightly around him that he has to stop mid-thrust. Shane sees this and follows right behind, shooting straight down Ilya’s throat with a gorgeous, lewd wail.

Cliff works his free hand between Ilya’s body and the sofa, grabbing his sticky, spent cock and squeezing hard. Ilya writhes beneath him, overstimulated and oversensitive, but Cliff doesn’t relent. “You think you’re finished? No, baby. You’re not done ‘til I say you’re done.”

He resumes his aggressive pace, ramming hard into Ilya’s ass as he strokes his softening cock with merciless abandon. Ilya is gone, crying and begging and gasping against Shane’s thigh, face wet with tears, mouth red and well-fucked.

Cliff feels his climax rushing up to meet him, and he heads it off by snarling, “Beg.”

“Please, please, Daddy, please,” Ilya slurs as if drunk, voice ragged and crackling from his abused throat. “I’ll behave, I’ll be good for you, please.”

Cliff fucks into him twice more before he comes, fist tightening as he wrings a second, pitiful orgasm from Ilya’s overworked cock. A sob of relief escapes him as they all finally go still. Shane is soothing Ilya in his lap, stroking his knotted hair and brushing away his tears. Cliff finally releases his hold on Ilya’s wrists, the places where his fingers were locked around them red and white from the pressure.

He steps back and pulls out, tugging Ilya’s bruised cheek to the side to admire his work. Come drips from his raw, well-fucked hole. Cliff glances up and locks eyes with Shane, crooking his finger at him in a come hither motion.

Shane, obedience incarnate, does not ask questions. He slips from the sofa, abandoning Ilya to his comedown, and crawls to kneel at Cliff’s feet. Cliff scoops his own come from Ilya’s ass with two fingers, which he then slides deep into Shane’s open, waiting mouth.

“Good boy,” Cliff praises. “Shane here knows his place. But you,” he says with an affectionate pat on Ilya’s hip, “will keep getting this lesson until you finally learn.”

Ilya shudders under his hand.

If there is a hell, Cliff is certain his place is already reserved there, his ticket bought and paid for with his insatiable greed.