He woke up deliciously sore; muscles exhausted; skin ablaze. A dull ache radiated from his lower half, slow and pulsing. A memory from last night bubbled back to the forefront of his mind and Thomas couldn't help the languid smile that stretched his lips. It had hurt, just as Newt warned, despite all the preparation they had done. Minho had gone in first. He'd been slow and methodical, the pain of being pierced lessened with him, and although Thomas was grateful for his carefulness, his arousal suffered.
He'd been erect throughout the experience—a godsend, surely—but the orgasm was nearly impossible. Minho had grown tired, his post-orgasm high long substituted with frustration. Newt took his place then. The difference between their lengths didn't cross Thomas's mind until he had no choice but to experience it. Minho was longer. Newt was thicker. The blond ground hard against Thomas's prostate, his dick squeezed tight in-between those moist walls, until Thomas finally came in a burst of sticky white all over the blankets.
Three hours. It took three hours for Minho and Newt to make him cum. Three long, arduous hours of his boyfriend's desperately trying to achieve a position that would make him scream in ecstasy.
He didn't get to scream, but he came at least.
They cuddled with him that night, hot and sweaty; sticky with their fluids and unbelievably drained. Thomas's tender muscles pulsed in delicious discomfort. It sent fire through his veins and ignited the arousal in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to do it again—felt embarrassed for even admitting it—but his partners had already fallen asleep.
He dreamt of their first time together.
Now awake in a dirty bed, empty of his lovers, and naked and sore, Thomas felt the storm of emotion slam into him light a freight train. Embarrassment, affection, and anxiety swirled in his chest as the experience of last night dawned on him.
Minho made it no secret his slow to orgasm was a problem. He had watched the post-coital high on Minho's face morph into exasperation with every thrust he made. He'd seen the arousal in Newt's expression change into uneasiness until he urged the track captain to relax and leave the rest to him.
Thomas curled into himself, his face hot with shame. He didn't want Minho to feel annoyed with him. He enjoyed their threesome, even if his body took forever to show it. He hoped Minho wouldn't take it as a personal offense. And if he did, Thomas would make up for it. He definitely, definitely would.
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Newt worried his bottom lip, his mind wandering back to last night as his classmates filed into the room. Alby slipped into the chair beside him. The loud bang of his text book jolted Newt out of his daze.
"For bloody sakes you shank! Give me a heart attack why don't ya?!"
"Sorry," Alby deadpanned. "I didn't realize you were sleeping with your eyes open."
