Smut and fluff

Your God shaped hole tonight

By objectlessons

When they arrive at the party, Harry is already half-hard in anticipation, mouth flooded as he scans the crowd with wide, pupil-dark eyes.

Ben rubs up and down his back before making a fist in the waistband of his trousers and guiding him close, lips pressed up against the shell of his ear. "You trying to guess which ones will be yours tonight?" he murmurs, and Harry shivers, eyes fluttering closed in momentary overwhelm.

"Maybe," he says before his gaze flicks back to sweep over the milling crowd again. It's a high-end play party, the hedonistic, drug-addled, don't-ask-don't-tell sort brimming with A-listers. Ben doesn't know who Harry's expecting, but he's fairly certain he has no real idea of what's in store for him tonight.

Smoke swirls about, low trance bass humming somewhere and creating a womb-tight, claustrophobic feel to the winding mess of rooms. Harry shifts to Ben and ruts up against his hip, a gasp shuddering out of his lips as he whimpers. "I don't want—we won't have to wait long, will we?"

He's desperate for it, always, single-minded in his need to be fucked, filled, ruined. Ben nips at the hinge of his jaw. "No. Be patient."

Right on cue, Orville Peck saunters through the haze of smoke, drink in hand, fringe swinging from his mask and catching the light. He tips his tall stetson hat when he sees Harry and Ben. "Hello there, gentlemen," he says with a wink.

"Orville," Harry says thickly. "Good to see you."

"Wild crowd. Didn't realize we'd have such an audience tonight. "

"Is it a problem?" Ben asks.

"No, not at all," Orville says, shrugging and grinning before he cups Harry's cheek and tugs him close to kiss deep and filthy, eliciting a low, strangled groan from somewhere beneath Harry's solar plexus. "Anything for my favorite big-shot celebrity boy and his pretty pink cunt."

And this was exactly why Ben asked Orville to be here. He and Harry have fucked a few times before, and it's always been great because Orville is discreet, filthy, and extremely hung, which is exactly how Harry likes it.

"Isn't he the prettiest thing?" Orville murmurs as he pulls away from the kiss with a wet sound, taking Harry's chin in hand and turning it back and forth like he's admiring the confirmation of a prized horse. Then he reaches for Harry's trousers and unbuttons them. Harry whimpers and steps out of them dutifully, eager to show off the fishnets he's been wearing underneath, the fine black obstruction of them hidden, like a secret. "Looking mighty slutty in those tights," Orville says, snapping them against Harry's flat stomach, the laurels flexing as the muscles beneath his skin flicker. "Can't wait to rip them open and get to your hungry little hole. Pass you around like a baton and share that pussy like it's meant to be shared."

"Fuck, yes, please," Harry moans in a low voice, already squirming with his eyes glazed over in hunger, cock straining against the trappings of the fishnets. Sometimes all it takes is a man to touch him like he owns him to get him hard. Nothing but a deep, claiming kiss for his body to eclipse into desperation.

"Wait until the others get here," Ben reprimands, reaching up and laying a broad hand over Harry's bobbing Adam's apple and pulling him close to his chest, tilting him backward to surrender. He moves easily wherever Ben puts him, so he shows off a little, demonstrating his willingness, how supple he is.

Orville is definitely eyeing them both in anticipation, eyes glittering from behind his mask, wide and hungry. "Looking forward to it," he murmurs, sipping his whiskey. "Bet that pussy is already getting so wet."

"Yes," Harry whimpers as Ben puts on a show, unbuttoning Harry's flimsy blouse, watching Orville watch them as he reaches into the open maw of Harry's shirt and squeezes, pushing the firm, perspiration-damp muscles of his chest together like his pectorals are tits. Orville admires them, licking his lips just as Armie and Henry wander up, eyes already trained on Harry in his state of partial undress.