Thomas felt the shift in their dynamic before it became apparent. Sex with his boyfriends became a constant occurrence after their first time together, although the threesomes were no longer common. Minho and Newt took advantage of Thomas's light schedule.
On Tuesdays, when Minho returned early from practice, he would lead Thomas into sex. Some days he was gentle and slow. He would spend time prepping and lavishing the brunet in kisses. Other days, which was most often, Minho was rough, hasty, and almost uncaring. Thomas never failed to be sore those following Wednesdays, but the hot, blinding orgasms he'd get on those days kept him from complaining. He'd forgive Minho for slapping him or biting him so hard it broke skin if it meant he could still receive those orgasms.
Newt didn't seem to approve of it much.
(The bite marks on Tommy's shoulders made him wince every time.)
On Thursdays, when Thomas was free for most of the day and Newt had more study hall sessions, the brunet found himself on a very different sexual spectrum.
Whereas Minho had no problem tackling Thomas down and fondling him until he was panting, Newt offered they play a little game. They'd been literal at first. Gold Fish for one study hall; Crazy Eights the next. Maybe a little Jenga on the third. When a game was done and Newt still had time to spare, they would cuddle in each other's arms. Newt would run his fingers through the younger boy's hair, ask him how his day has been, what Minho had done if they'd met sometime in the day. They would swap stories of their classes; complain about things they couldn't control. Thomas enjoyed moments like this. He often wished Minho would apply it to their get-togethers.
Then, one day, Newt raised the stakes. The person who loses a game would get punished by the winner.
The idea turned him on more than he was comfortable admitting.
When he lost, which he often did—sometimes intentionally—Newt "punished" him. It was the first time Thomas begged for release.
The climax had been so intense, he forgot how to breathe; who he was, where he was. He'd collapsed into his own spunk, gasping for air in his strained lungs, his body quivering uncontrollably and drenched in sweat. Newt, who hadn't bothered to touch his own hardened erection, came purely at the sight of the quivering boy. Time had run out then, Newt flew out of the dorm before he was late for his next class, leaving Thomas alone in his mess and emotions.
The pattern went on like that for a few weeks.
Despite the satisfaction of being able to please his lovers, Thomas felt incomplete. Their sex life was a wild experience—rumors were already starting to spread like wildfire in their dorm building—but the lack of emotional intimacy afterward made Thomas's anxiety roar. Both Minho and Newt seemed distracted once the deed was done. Thomas couldn't help wondering what they were thinking once it was over.
Did they not like it? Was he bad? Did they want to switch? He wouldn't have minded. He didn't think it was fair he was always on the receiving end lately, even if the climaxes were nice. But how could he tell them that when he had enough trouble as it is? And how could he talk to either of them when they were always texting afterward?
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