Chapter 10: Chdbr
The apartment was a third-floor walk-up in a building that had seen better decades, the stairwell smelling of dust and old cooking oil, the light fixtures buzzing with a tired fluorescent hum. Price's hand was firm on James's lower back as they climbed, guiding him with a steady pressure that left no room for argument. Ghost was close behind, his presence a wall of heat and silence, and James could feel the weight of both of them pressing in on him like the air itself had grown thick.
He was still buzzing from the bar. His jeans were damp and uncomfortable, the mess cooling against his skin, and every step sent a jolt of awareness through his oversensitized body. He could still feel Price's hand wrapped around him, the slow stroke of his thumb, the dark promise in his voice. And Ghost—Ghost's fingers had been inside his boxers, touching him in ways that made his breath catch even now.
James fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking, and Price took them from him without a word.
"Let me," Price said, his voice low, and James stepped back, letting the older man unlock the door.
The apartment was small and cluttered in the way that only a college student's place could be—stacks of textbooks on the floor, empty ramen cups on the counter, a suspicious stain on the couch that James had never bothered to investigate. The window unit air conditioner rattled in the frame, struggling against the summer heat, and the only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting long shadows across the room.
Price closed the door behind them, the lock clicking into place with a finality that made James's stomach flip.
"Bedroom," Price said. It wasn't a question.
James's mouth went dry. He swallowed, nodded, and led the way down the narrow hallway to his room. It was a mess—clothes on the floor, sheets tangled on the bed, a half-empty water bottle on the nightstand—but Price didn't seem to care. He pushed James down onto the bed, not roughly, but with a purpose that brooked no argument.
"On your knees," Price said, and James obeyed, his body moving before his mind caught up.
Ghost circled the room, his eyes scanning the space with an assessment that was almost predatory. He stopped by the window, pulling the curtain closed, then moved to the door, turning the lock. Satisfied, he turned back to face them, his arms crossed over his chest.
"You've been mouthy all night," Ghost said, his voice a low rumble. "Think it's time you learned a lesson."
James's breath hitched. His eyes flicked between them, wide and glassy. "I—"
"Did I say you could speak?" Ghost asked, tilting his head.James's mouth snapped shut. He shook his head."Good boy." Ghost moved to the bed, his hand coming up to cup James's chin, tilting his face up. "You're going to kneel there while we use you. You're not going to touch yourself. You're not going to come. You're going to do exactly what we tell you, when we tell you.Understand?"
"Yes," James whispered, the word barely audible.
"Louder."
"Yes, sir."
Ghost's lips curled into a shadow of a smile."Good."
Price had moved to the leather chair in the corner of the room—the one James had picked up off the street two years ago, ugly and worn but comfortable. He sat down, his legs spread, his hand already working at his belt. The click of the buckle was loud in the quiet room, and James watched, mesmerized, as Price freed his cock, already half-hard, thick and flushed.
"Come here," Price said, beckoning to Ghost.
Ghost moved to him without hesitation, shedding his shirt as he went, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the ink that covered his skin in patterns James had traced with his fingers a hundred times. He stopped in front of Price, and Price reached out, gripping his hip, pulling him closer.
"Bend over," Price said, and Ghost complied, his palms landing on the arms of the chair, his ass presented to Price like an offering.
James's mouth was dry. He knelt where they'd left him, his hands clenched at his sides, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans. He could see everything—the way Price's hands spread Ghost's cheeks, the way Ghost's back arched as Price leaned forward, his beard brushing against the sensitive skin of Ghost's spine.
"You watch," Price said, his eyes meeting James's over Ghost's shoulder. "You watch and you learn."
And then Price was pushing inside.
Ghost let out a low groan, his head falling forward, his hands gripping the chair so hard the leather creaked. Price didn't rush—he slid in slowly, inch by inch, until his hips were flush against Ghost's ass. He stayed there for a moment, letting them both adjust, and then he pulled out and drove back in with a slick, brutal thrust that made Ghost's breath catch.
"Fuck," Ghost breathed, the word choked.
"Yeah," Price agreed, his voice rough. "Fuck."
He set a rhythm then, hard and punishing, each thrust driving Ghost forward against the chair. The sound of it—skin slapping against skin, wet and obscene—filled the room, mingling with Ghost's grunts and Price's low, guttural moans. James watched, transfixed, his mouth hanging open, his own cock leaking in his jeans.
Ghost's eyes found him through the haze of pleasure. "Get," he managed, his voice strained, "your mouth on my cock.Now."
James's heart lurched. He scrambled forward on his knees, his hands reaching for Ghost's hips, and then his mouth was on Ghost's cock, swallowing him down as best he could. Ghost's taste flooded his senses—salt and skin and the faintest hint of something darker, muskier—and he gagged slightly as Ghost's length hit the back of his throat.
"That's it," Ghost groaned, his hand coming down to grip James's hair, guiding him, pushing him deeper."Take it. Fucking take it."
James's eyes watered. His hands gripped Ghost's thighs, fingers digging into the muscle, and he tried to relax his throat, tried to breathe through his nose. Ghost was thick, filling his mouth completely, and every thrust from Price pushed him further, made Ghost's cock slide deeper into James's throat.
Price leaned forward, his chest pressing against Ghost's back, his voice a dark growl in James's ear. "You stay there until we're both satisfied. You don't come. You don't pull away. You take it."
James whimpered around Ghost's cock, the vibration making Ghost moan.
"You're so good," Price continued, his voice dropping to a murmur. "So fucking pretty on your knees. Would've been nice to do this in the bar, but—"
James's hands clenched, a strangled sound escaping his throat. The thought was enough to make his cock throb painfully, but he didn't dare touch himself. He couldn't. They'd told him not to.
"Please," he gasped, pulling back just enough to get the words out. "Please, I need—"
"Need what?" Ghost asked, his voice strained. He pulled James's head back, forcing him to look up. "Need to come? Need to touch yourself?"
"Yes," James begged, his voice raw. "Please, I'm so hard, I can't—"
"You can," Price said, his voice firm. "And you will. But not yet."
Ghost pulled James's mouth back down onto his cock, and James went willingly, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the rhythm. Price was still fucking Ghost, hard and relentless, and Ghost was fucking his mouth, and James was caught between them, used and wanted and utterly at their mercy.
It was overwhelming. The taste of Ghost on his tongue, the sound of Price's grunts, the feel of the thick cock sliding past his lips again and again. James's jaw ached, his knees ached, his cock ached—everything ached, and it was the best he'd ever felt.
"Close," Ghost grunted, his hips picking up the pace. "So close, fucking—"
"Come in his mouth," Price ordered, his voice a command. "Flood him."
James moaned around Ghost's cock, the thought driving him wild, and Ghost obeyed with a shout, his release spilling hot and thick down James's throat. James swallowed greedily, not letting a drop escape, and Ghost's grip on his hair tightened as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.
Price was close too, his rhythm faltering, his breath coming in harsh pants. He pulled out of Ghost abruptly, spinning him around, and Ghost collapsed onto the chair, his chest heaving.
"Open your mouth," Price said to James, and James obeyed, his tongue out, his chin slick with spit and come.
Price stroked himself fast, his eyes fixed on James's face, and with a low, guttural groan, he came—his release splashing across James's tongue, his lips, his chin. James held still, his eyes on Price, and when Price was done, he swallowed, licking his lips, tasting both of them.
"Good boy," Price breathed, his hand coming up to cup James's cheek, his thumb wiping a stray drop from the corner of his mouth."So fucking good."
James's eyes were glassy, his body trembling. He was still hard, painfully hard, and he could feel his own come threatening to spill—but he didn't dare. Not without permission.
"Please," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, I—"
"I know," Price murmured. He looked at Ghost, who was watching them with dark, satisfied eyes. "You've been good. You've earned a reward."
Ghost reached down, hauling James to his feet, and Price steered him toward the bed.
"On your back," Price said, and James scrambled to comply, his hands shaking as he unfastened his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, red and aching, leaking a steady stream of pre-come.
"Touch yourself," Ghost said, his voice a low command. "Show us how you like it."
James's hand wrapped around his own cock, a shudder running through him at the contact. He stroked himself slowly, his eyes fixed on Ghost and Price, who had moved to the foot of the bed, watching him with an intensity that made him feel exposed and seen.
"That's it," Price murmured. "Look at you. So desperate.So pretty."
"Do you need to come?" Ghost asked, his voice almost gentle.
"Yes," James sobbed, his hips thrusting into his own fist. "Yes, please, I need to—"
"Then do it," Price said. "Show us."
James's orgasm hit him like a freight train. His back arched, his mouth open in a silent cry, and he came with a strangled moan, his release spilling over his fist, over his stomach, hot and thick and overwhelming. He rode it out, trembling, his eyes squeezed shut, and when he finally opened them, Ghost and Price were both watching him with something that looked almost like reverence.
"Mm," Ghost hummed, moving to the side of the bed. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to James's sweaty forehead. "That's our boy."
James couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. He lay there, limp and spent, his body humming with aftershocks, and let them gather him up, let them clean him off, let them curl around him on the narrow bed. The window unit rattled, the streetlamp cast its glow through the curtains, and James closed his eyes, utterly and completely theirs.
He was still afraid he'd wake up tomorrow and find it was all a dream. But for now, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.