Trials and Tribulations

Part XII

The shower had been a waste in Thomas' opinion. He returned to the dorm after a fifteen minute shower, only to be greeted by the sight of Minho, stark naked and sprawled languidly on Newt's bed, his length hard and dripping from the strokes he made leisurely. Newt stood off to the side, seemingly unaffected by Minho's nudity or by what the athlete was doing. It took a bit of cajoling, but Thomas joined him on Newt's bed, excited yet anxious.

Taking Minho for the first time was about as exciting as their first threesome. He felt proud for making the athlete writhe and moan the way he did, but his elation and ecstasy grew marred with the realization he would not reach completion. He'd been resigned to his acceptance. As long as Minho felt fulfilled, Thomas didn't mind. That is, until Newt, who'd done nothing but stroke his own erection as he watched, finally pressed a slick finger into his entrance.

(When had he moved? Thomas could have sworn he was still sitting on the bottom bunk.)

The room was filled with the chorus of their grunts and moans. Minho twisted into the sheets, gasping and groaning in ways Thomas never heard him do; his length dripping with strings of pre-cum. His muscles constricted around Thomas' dick, pulling him deeper into the athlete while Newt's own meaty length pierced into him with loud, erotic squelches.

Thomas found it hard to breathe.

Newt's thrusts were powerful; the way he rocked his hips gave him enough leverage to strike hard into the brunet's prostate. He pushed deep into the younger boy, the force of his strength echoing down to Minho, who cried out embarrassingly high at a sharp strike to a deliciously sore sweet spot.

"Oh shit! Oh shuck me, do that again!" he gasped, clutching the sheets tight; his thighs trembling. "Thomas, I'm so close--!"

Thomas rocked hard against him, relishing the breathy, mewling noises of Minho's pleading and the breathless chuckle Newt did in response to the high keening noises of their beloved Track Star. Minho's tight warmth constricting all around him and Newt's thick length hammering into him made Thomas' nerves scream in pleasure. He felt like his whole body was on fire; his senses on overload. He wanted to stop, to relish the closeness of both his lovers and to hang onto the burning heat pooling into the pit of his stomach, but Minho continued to suck him in with Newt pushing along the way.

He felt Newt's hands find their way to his hips again, the digits still slick from lube and sweat. Sometimes, the blond would hold him tight and ram the hardest he possibly could into Thomas; other times, those long, slender fingers would wander across his skin, pinching his nipples or leaving red, angry marks across his pale, mole speckled backside. Sometimes, those fingers would find their way into his hair. Newt would pull him back for a kiss or leave love bites on his skin; other times, it was Minho, pulling him close, biting his flesh whenever Newt couldn't.

Whatever they did, they always found a way to keep Thomas in a haze of ecstasy – and he was grateful for it.

Loved them dearly because of it.

Now, with Minho's face partially buried into a pillow to muffle his screams and Thomas barely holding on to his sanity, there wasn't much touching on either of their parts.

Minho's orgasm exploded onto the sheets without warning, the older boy's voice a strangled cry as his breath was squeezed from his lungs. Thomas barely had any time to process what had happened when Newt gripped onto his hips again and pummeled into his prostate like a jackhammer. He shrieked, his vision going white as his climax slammed into him like a freight train. Newt milked the rest of his cum onto Minho's stomach, his palm growing slick from the ringlets of spunk that poured out of the younger boy in what seemed like a never-ending stream.