Hunter crossed his arms like a brat, standing in the familiar president’s quarters and staring down the tattooed frat boy whose rapidly hardening dick had all the power to ruin his life. One load from Hawk and Hunter would be a slut again. But Hunter was determined to show bravery one last time.

“So, how does this work again?” Hunter^[2] asked. “You knock me up, and if I let it happen, you give Chase the Seeder load he needs?” He stepped forward and grabbed Hawk’s dick by the base, squeezing firmly. “Because if so, I don’t want to waste any time. My owner doesn’t look like he can wait much longer.”

Hawk showed weakness for a moment: confusion, uncertainty at Hunter making the first move. It was enough to spark some extra fire in Hunter.

“Well?” Hunter asked, tugging hard on Hawk’s dick and pulling him backward. “Did you think I was going to beg? Worship your dick?”

Hawk^[3] recovered and spat on his dick, drawing Hunter’s eyes to it immediately. “Actually, yes, I do think you’ll worship my dick, Lickspit.”

The handcuffs on Hunter’s stomach tightened, but he was finally coming to understand them. SPIT wanted the word to mean he lapped up every one of SPIT’s orders, but he didn’t have to see it that way. Oh, he believed Hawk could twist it given long enough, but not yet.

“Do you think that’s how this tattoo works?” Hunter asked. He slid his palm up Hawk’s spit-covered dick to collect it and then licked it off his palm, looking at Hawk with lidded eyes. The taste of Hawk’s spit was enough to release the cuffs again, pleasure fizzling through his stomach and threatening to pacify him. He fought through it and shoved his palm into Hawk’s chest, pushing him back until Hawk tripped on his own bed and landed on his ass in the mattress.

“Stop that,” Hawk growled, as Hunter climbed onto his lap and straddled him. Hawk spat on his hand, and Hunter grabbed Hawk’s wrist and yanked the hand up to his mouth to lick it up, enjoying the look of frustration on Hawk’s face. “Stop it! You’re not in charge here! I am! What is wrong with you? You’re not the stud here, I am!”

Hunter went for the throat. “So I was right,” he said, haughtily, raising his hips and settling his hole against Hawk’s cockhead, grinding into it teasingly, just barely parting his ring. He grabbed Hawk’s throat and precum started to bubble from Hawk’s slit like a faucet. “That is how you see it. You know I’m a stud. You just don’t—”

Suddenly, Hunter was swarmed with spirits. One, two, three, four, five dicks appeared all over his body, pressing into his soulstuff insistently, one of them against his mouth. “Hawk,” he gasped, holding his spiritual mouth shut with all his might. “Are you doing—” he had to clamp his physical mouth shut again before he slipped up.

“What do you think?” Hawk asked, eyes blazing.

All five spirits sang to him that he should submit, let them in, let them ruin him. Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything else. He resisted with all his might, trying to refocus back on the world around him rather than the images of phantom dicks they’d conjured up.

The one against his mouth whispered Lickspit, and in a moment of weakness he let that one in. It plunged gleefully into the soulstuff where his mouth was, spreading it so wide that he couldn’t help but open his real mouth in response. He tried to close it, tried to speak, tried anything, but it was thrusting so violently, carving such a deep channel into his spirit that he couldn’t work his mouth or voice box properly.

And when he let one in, it became impossible to keep the others out. Five dicks forced his soulstuff open, pleasure and tension flaring everywhere as his spirit body was wrenched out of place. He tried to move, but their will to hold him in place was too strong. His spirit was theirs, and they were pounding submission into it with every stroke, melting his will until he couldn’t muster the urge to fight.

Hunter sagged, and Hawk grinned cruelly, gripping Hunter’s hips and taking control. “You are not a stud, Hunter. You never were, and you never will be.”

That wasn’t true, Hunter protested, in his own mind, as Hawk pulled Hunter downward until his hole spread open oh-so-blissfully. He made a broken moan as Hawk’s cock rolled over his prostate, and then a whine when Hawk hit his next p-spot. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a slut anymore. But, gods, it felt so good, from the spiritual gangbang to Hawk’s expert aim to the blissful release of giving up.

He managed one glance at his best friend. Chase^[4] looked back with hunger, need, and… apology. A tear rolled down Hunter’s cheek. So they were to be sluts after all.

Hawk spat into Hunter’s open mouth, and Hunter swallowed it all too obediently.

It was now or never.

After freeing themselves from the ropes and the closet, Caspian and Kestrel gathered up the rest of their team: Leaf, a bodybuilder turned wrestler, and Canyon, Caspian’s old trainer. Now they stood at the stairs leading up to their destination: Hawk’s bedroom. Caspian^[5] looked up the stairs apprehensively, the newly painted kohl around his eyes telling him in vague terms that there were spirits up that way. And where the spirits were…

“Are you ready to confront Hawk?” Kestrel asked.

“Do you think you’re in fighting shape?” Caspian asked, wryly. “He’ll have the best team of all.”

Kestrel laughed. “I’ve been keeping busy. My boyfriend used to be a bruiser too.”

Caspian’s chest tightened. “I envy you,” he said. “No one in my neighbourhood really quite gets it.”

Leaf laughed. He was built like a brick shithouse and had all kinds of plant-themed tattoos winding across his body. “You gotta get into the pro wrestling game like I did, dude,” he said. “Those studs know how to have fun.”

“Maybe,” Caspian said. “I don’t know if it’ll feel… the same, y’know?” He still hoped, a little bit, that the offer to train future frat bruisers still stood—but after today, the bridge between Hawk and Caspian was probably burned for good. “We should go. Hawk will be at the top.”

They climbed the stairs. As they ascended, Caspian reached out with his kohl-enhanced spiritual senses. If Hawk had control of the frat spirits, Caspian needed to wrest it back. If they’d let him. If they’d listen to him. Who did they think was the better leader? Who did they want to see in control? The man who put brothers over bruising or the man who put bruising over brothers?

Caspian… honestly… didn’t know.

At the top floor, in the wide hallway, there they were: Hawk’s men, three of the best bruisers in SPIT, and around them the spirits. There were dozens. The weight of their presence was palpable. He couldn’t see them, exactly, but he knew they were there and he knew their shapes so well that there was no difference. Every one of them was hard.

“Steel yourselves, boys,” Caspian said, pounding his fist into his palm. “The spirits want you as bad as those soon-to-be sluts do.” Hawk’s cronies narrowed their eyes. “But you just remember what you are. You’re studs. You don’t give in for nothing. I’ll throw the spirits off you. Just go!”

Caspian’s friends charged first, grappling each with one enemy, and Caspian surged after them. His Bruiser’s Blessing was mostly inactive, with all the spirits under Hawk’s control, but he hardly needed it. He gathered up his will, his authority over the spirits and crashed into the midst of them, scattering them in all directions, his whole body thrumming in pleasure from the close proximity of so much soulstuff.

They used to love him. They would have gladly obeyed his any order, worked their mischief for him, fucked anyone he wanted. Now they resisted him, and he couldn’t give his boys the head start he wanted. In the little time he had, Caspian tackled one of Hawk’s men and threw off his grapple, blowing away the spirits trying to converge on Kestrel. But Canyon and Leaf were already surrounded.

The next minute was a flurry of movement. Caspian manhandled Hawk’s men to throw them off their opponents, tackling them or picking them up, dosing them with pheromones through his pits or by spitting in their open mouths. Every time he intervened in a fight he ‘grabbed’ spirits and flung them away from his friends, trying to drive them away by his very presence—but they started to converge on him, too. Ethereal dicks pressed into his body on all sides, but he wouldn’t be easy to penetrate. He knew too well how to act like a stud, how to think like a stud, how to tell the spirits no.

But there were so many of them, and they promised such pleasure.

Other whispers drifted over his mind as he passed through the spirits, tinged with confusion. He could hear echoes of Hawk’s voice, his anger toward Caspian, but the spirits wondered: did Caspian really hate frat warfare? Had he given up on SPIT’s lifeblood? Images flashed through his mind of glue dissolving, the bonds in molecules breaking, red dots drifting apart across a map.

At first, he responded with what he was feeling right now: exhilaration. He let them feel his thrill as he hugged a frat boy from behind, squeezed tight, ground into his ass, and yanked him off of Canyon. He showed them how powerful he felt when he tripped the frat boy Leaf was grappling with, dropped the man into his crotch, and rubbed the man’s face into his pheromone-rich pubes. He loved bruising. He was one of the best they’d ever had.

For a few moments, all the spirits in the room stopped. One by one, ghostly imprints of spiritual hands slid through paint smeared by the hands of real Spittle, and he felt supernatural strength returning to him.

He remembered the thrill he’d had getting the Bruiser’s Blessing today—then remembered all the times he’d received it before. He remembered faces he never got to see anymore, all his old friends, gone, now. Oh, the times they’d had…

He felt such a staggering sense of loss that he stumbled back from the frat boy he was smothering. The world became less real around him. What the hell was he doing? Where were his friends? How had he lost them all? He wanted to cry. All this to save two men who didn’t want him back. He felt terribly like SPIT was gone. Where he stood wasn’t SPIT anymore. It could never be SPIT. He had lost it.

The spirits recoiled as one, and their strength left him. They said it was true, then—he had failed to bring SPIT together. All his grand words about building a family, building bonds that go beyond frat warfare… meant nothing. He had lost everyone. He was responsible. Why should they listen to him?

Caspian had no answer.

They closed themselves to him, saying no more. Caspian sank to his knees, and his team looked at him in alarm. He could see their spirits weakening in real time, see how those phantom dicks pressed harder, on the verge of breaking through. “Keep going,” he croaked, his voice barely audible. “Be strong, boys. Just… having trouble…”

A presence came near him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder, the phantom sensation of a tight, comforting squeeze. He knew at once that it was the same spirit that saved him in the closet, and he felt more from it now, the joy and innocent pride you felt when everyone around you was happy. He recognised those feelings. They were his own, once.

It asked him to remember his friends, not as they were in SPIT, but as they were now.

He answered with… sunny barbecues, just like the one this morning. Competing ‘grill daddy’ aprons, shared cooking tips, a wild game of cumball, a friend of his getting blindsided, tackled, and spat on, Caspian sneaking up to his room with his former rival Cress and sliding on condoms and flip-fucking and Cress threatening to knock up Caspian in revenge for senior year. There were pockets of SPIT, so many of them, all over the country, where his brothers had moved in together and were happy.

Why, asked the spirit, did Caspian say he had lost SPIT?

Caspian thought back to the way he loitered in his apartment alone, how much time he’d spent missing his friends, missing what they had in SPIT. Missing Hunter and Chase. His chest tightened in guilt, and his eyes grew wet. Where did that Caspian come from? Why had he stopped visiting his friends? Why did he think a job training frat boys would bring back what he hadn’t ever lost?

He knew this spirit, and this spirit knew him. Everything he felt when he thought of his friends he felt from this spirit, and it was his joy bubbling at the surface. This spirit was his imprint on SPIT—not just his own, but the imprint of his whole senior class and the brotherhood they’d built.

This is SPIT, he called, to the spirits around him, as he drew his own spiritual imprint into himself, his whole body thrumming with energy. The SPIT I made. The happiest SPIT you’ve ever seen.

The spirits turned, and Caspian felt them all like they were in front of him, each and every one opening themselves up to him in erotic glee. He couldn’t commune with all of them at once—but he could push into them with his will, and the way his spirit sang was just like his cock did when it opened up a tight hole. He pulled on them and they pulled on him, every new connection a low throb of pleasure, and Caspian bet Hawk had never felt his spirits like this. His purposes were theirs because their purposes were his.

The spirits attacked Hawk’s men, and Caspian’s team began to turn the tide. Hawk was done for. Soon, very soon, it would be Caspian and Hawk. He could finally save his best friends.

“Caspian and his alumni are fighting for you outside,” Hawk said, lazily. Unlike River, Hawk didn’t need music to hide the commotion. Hunter and Chase knew what was happening to them, because they had signed up for it. A part of Hunter cried that Hawk was doing this to them, that it wasn’t Hunter or Chase’s fault, but that part was getting harder to hear.

There was too much else to think about. The spirits hadn’t cum—they just pounded and pounded, slowly reshaping his soulstuff, gaping it. They were doing damage, blissful damage, and recovering would take time—or a lot of willpower.

“They won’t make it, though. Every spirit in SPIT is on them, with orders to cum as fast as possible—the moment any of them shows weakness, they’ll take as many dicks as you are right now and their spirits will be detonated. With extreme prejudice.” Hawk laughed. He had a real way of rubbing things in. Hunter never felt as dominated as when Hawk took him down, never felt this humiliated. And the worst part was that he still couldn’t talk back. He didn’t have the will to.

“Listen for the splatters, Hunter,” Hawk continued. “That’ll be you, once I’m finished knocking you up. I can blow you out of your body at any moment, but I want you awake when I cum inside. After you thank me, though? I don’t really care how much damage they do to your spirit. The more the better.”

Hunter whimpered, the sound somewhere between desire and fear. He wanted release from all this tension, even if his spirit went off like a firework in the process. Hawk had dumped so much precum into him that he needed Hawk’s load as bad as Chase. Hawk had handled him like a ragdoll, effortlessly lifting Hunter up and down while Hunter straddled his lap, to add insult to injury. Instead of Hunter powerbottoming Hawk, he was just along for the ride.

His guts were sore from every hard pound, his abs bulged out by the end of Hawk’s dick and now by his precum. He felt cored out in every way possible, and his p-spots were in shambles, radiating full-body pleasure with every thrust. He knew well why so many were tempted by the frat bottom lifestyle. To be used, and to feel so good in the process… it was idyllic. Even when the spirits forced his soulstuff out of his body, the high he’d feel would be incredible.

He wasn’t ready to be a slut again. But at least it would feel good.

Suddenly, the spirits faltered. For a precious moment, Hunter had clarity, and he watched with instinctive glee as confusion dawned on Hawk’s face. “Caspian,” Hawk growled.

Hunter didn’t waste the gift. He forced out the words, and with every word, he imagined his spirit refilling, forcing the spirits back: “You’ve—lost—control—haven’t—you?” He was so close. The spirits seemed torn between following new orders and staying inside their conquest, and he had them all on the edge. He was Panther, not Lickspit, and he refused to become any man’s slut.

Not even Caspian. Caspian wouldn’t get the pleasure of saving Hunter. Hunter would save his goddamn self, and maybe he’d give Caspian a little credit later.

“Out!” he barked, and the spirits flew out of him, freeing up his movements for the first time so he could grab Hawk by the throat. “You and I are about to have a very, very good time.”

Hawk’s face flashed in panic, and Hunter thrust Hawk’s neck down into the bed, leaning over him, pinning the frat boy down. Before Hawk could recover his bruiser instincts and throw Hunter off, Hunter clenched his hole and eased himself all the way back down Hawk’s cock, swallowing it up, working his hole like an expert bottom until Hawk whimpered in pleasure. “Doing—doing what?” Hawk asked. Something had come over the stud, something Hunter found very, very familiar. It was the way Hawk looked when he thought he had lost to Hunter.

“Teaching you your place,” Hunter said, airily, as he lifted his hips and Hawk held his breath in need for the thrust that would follow. But it didn’t come. Hunter loomed over Hawk with just the head of Hawk’s cock in his hole, a predatory grin on his face.

Hawk choked quietly under Hunter’s hand, making no move to free himself, and finally managed— “I should have—fucked you—face down.”

Hunter tutted. “You couldn’t have. You like this position, and you always have. But if you’re not willing to admit it…” Hunter lightened his grip on Hawk’s throat, only leaving his hand there to remind Hawk of his power, and then he raised his hips just a little bit more and Hawk’s cock sprang free of his hole, swinging in the air.

Hawk gave a tremulous groan. It sounded deliciously pathetic. It seemed like he was trying to steel himself, but the result was that he just looked desperately needy. “Get back on my cock, Hunter,” he seethed.

Hunter spat on Hawk’s face. No warning but a quick hock, and then one splat later and Hawk’s face was dripping in cum-like spit, draping down his cheeks. Hunter relished Hawk’s look of horror and arousal—and the shot of precum that splattered hard across Hunter’s back without a hint of stimulation. Hunter glanced at Chase, worried about how he felt, but Chase was staring with wide-eyed awe.

“I don’t know,” Hunter said. “You haven’t been very nice to me.” Hunter smacked Hawk’s spit-covered face and smeared his palm all over it, picking up the fluid that he was still so hungry for. “How do I know you deserve my hole?”

“You want it,” Hawk growled, as Hunter lapped the spit off his face. “You’re still a hungry bottom. Always have been, always will be.” He reached up and grabbed Hunter’s hips.

“Take your hands off my hips, slut,” Hunter snapped, and Hawk obeyed in an instant, putting his hands to his side on the bed and then looking at them in horror. “Well, well, well. You do know your place. I know what’s in there, Hawk.” Hunter brought his hand back down and caressed Hawk’s cheek, enjoying Hawk’s helpless stare. “A slut for my hole.”

Hunter leaned back and effortlessly slotted his hole against Hawk’s cockhead, rubbing against it, subtly stretching his ring but not parting it. Hawk was right: Hunter did want it. He wanted Hawk’s cock, he wanted to be full of Hawk’s cum, he was hungry for it. But he was hungry the way a panther was hungry.

“Don’t thrust,” Hunter ordered. “If you’re good, I’ll use your cock as a dildo. If you’re really, really good, I’ll even let you cum inside.”

“You’ll—what? But you’ll get knocked up. You’ll be a—”

“Don’t say that last word, Hawk, or you get nothing.” Hunter gave a belaboured sigh, gyrating his hips slowly, Seeder precum spurting into his hole with little thrills of bliss. “It’s funny that you thought knocking me up would put me down. You still think a hungry bottom is a slutty one. You’re projecting.”

Hunter eased his hips back and his hole kissed more of Hawk’s cockhead. Hawk gave a sharp gasp.

“You’re helpless for me. You and those naiads and everyone in SPIT—you act like studs, but you fall all over yourselves at the promise of my hole. And you most of all. Because you, Hawk, are a slut. And I’m a panther.”

Hawk seized on the last word in one last ditch effort and turned his head toward Chase. “Chase! Tell your pet to stop! You still want my cum, don’t you?”

Chase grinned back. “Yeah, and I’ll get it! My panther knows how to share his food.”

Hunter grabbed Hawk by the chin and forced him to look back at Hunter. “You get one last chance. Beg, slut. Tell me what you are, tell me what I am, and tell me how much you need my hole.”

Hawk trembled, and for a moment, Hunter wondered if Hawk wouldn’t give in after all, if the tables were about to turn in reverse. But he didn’t show it. He was the panther.

Hawk broke, like Hunter knew he would. “Okay, fine! You win,” Hawk said, with a look of manic desperation. “You’re fucking right! I’m a slut for your hole and I—” a sob from his chest— “I’ve always known it! Are you happy? You’re a panther, you’re a stud, I have fucking wet dreams about you bouncing on my dick and spitting on my face—” another sob— “so please, gods, you have no idea how bad I’ve missed your hole!”

When Hawk finished his outburst, Hunter stared down at him stoically—but precum was pouring from his dick. He hadn’t been this turned on with a begging top since… since Caspian. Hunter’s eyes narrowed and Hawk’s face fell.

“Hunter, please,” Hawk said, quietly. “Even if this is the last time, I just—I need to be your slut again.”

Hunter smiled meaningfully as he thought through the consequences. If he dropped on Hawk’s cock right now, if he rode it to completion, if he took that load inside him… what would he become? The hungriest bottom around? So what? This felt powerful, the way he’d so effortlessly flattened Hawk’s pride. He could take any top down, and if he were a Surrogate, he knew he would.

And the look on Caspian’s face when Hunter took Hawk’s load would be priceless.

Hunter smiled a wicked smile. Hawk flinched. As Hunter gave himself over to gravity, as his hole yawned open around Hawk’s cock, they both knew who had won. Hunter moaned as that cock finally popped into his hole, and he dropped faster and faster until his pert ass slammed into Hawk’s pelvis hard enough for the bed to bounce underneath them.

Hunter sat there expectantly, enjoying the bulge in his stomach, the steel rod rearranging his insides, the way it throbbed and pulsed precum—and he waited expectantly for Hawk to show his good manners.

“Thank you, Hunter,” Hawk murmured.

“Good slut,” Hunter said, and then he started to bounce, taking several inches with every gut-pummelling stroke, powering through it like the beast he was. Some bottoms’ knees went weak after a few thrusts from a thick cock, but Hunter was fucking made for this. His strokes were effortless, despite the sparking bliss he got every time he flattened his own p-spots.

Hawk was close, Hunter realised, with a thrill of fear and excitement. Was he really going to do this? Hawk’s throbs were getting more intense, his cock lurching in Hunter’s stomach, threatening to wrench Hunter’s rhythm out of whack. Hunter could see the cock-shaped bulge in his gut twitch dangerously when he sat all the way down.

“So quick,” he tutted. “A pity you’ll get so little of my hole. Be grateful you’re the one who gets to knock me up.”

Caspian slammed the door open. “Hunter!” he cried, eyes wide.

Hunter raised a middle finger. “Don’t do anything, Caspian,” Hunter barked. “Hawk is mine.”

“He’s—he’s gonna knock you up!”

Fifteen weeks as a Surrogate. Hunger for cum. Fantasies of bouncing on every dick he saw. He would be unstoppable. He’d be the scariest stud in town. “So what? Are you jealous, Caspian? You can’t win if he knocks me up, right? Oh, fuck!” Hunter cried, staring wildly at Caspian the whole time. “Fuck, I think he’s about to cum! Breed me, Peon, do it—”

Hawk’s cock lurched so violently it straightened Hunter up with it. Hunter threw his head back and gave a triumphant moan as a geyser of hot cum flooded his guts. And where it went, it spread pleasure like fire, his whole core lighting up in rolling, storming bliss as Seeder cum latched onto his walls and pumped him with the hormones that would turn his next four months into bottom paradise.

The moment before Hunter came all over the defeated frat boy, he caught one last glimpse of Caspian’s face. Caspian’s hurt, dejected face.

Hunter’s climax washed his guilt away in a tide of his own cum. He was a Surrogate, now—but Hunter had won, not Caspian, not SPIT, not Hawk. Hunter had made the frat president his bitch.

Chase didn’t want to take his eyes off Caspian, but his best friend was on the other side of the room getting the Seeder load Chase desperately needed, and Chase didn’t know where to look. Hunter was shooting his own load, covering Hawk in a full coat of semen. Damn, Hawk looked slutty, with his mouth open to catch Hunter’s cum. Hunter was kind of a badass, huh?

But Caspian looked… damaged. Peon was Caspian’s name. Was Hunter trying to hurt Caspian? It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t Chase have them both?

Hunter came down slowly, wiping the sweat off his brow and slowly bouncing on Hawk’s twitching dick until Hawk sagged. Hunter pulled off at last, his gaped hole looking basted in cum, a steady flow pouring out onto Hawk’s soaked dick before petering out. Hunter was swollen with it. Though it would go away for a while, over the next fifteen weeks, he’d slowly swell with Hawk’s cum until he looked just as full as he was now.

Chase wished he had that load inside him. How long had he been waiting? For a dark moment, he wondered if Hunter cared enough about him to let Hawk have him next.

Hawk blinked himself back to consciousness, wiping some of the cum off his eyes. “Caspian,” Hawk said, his voice wet and weak. “Caspian, you can still take them. I’ll tell them you knocked both of them up. Just come and stay with us. You can—you can make us the kings of campus,” he pled.

“Sic the spirits on him, Caspian,” Hunter ordered, settling down to sit next to Hawk’s prone body. “Make him sweat.”

“Why did you call him Peon?” Caspian asked, as weakly as Hawk had. “That’s… that’s my name.”

“Do as I say,” Hunter said, with a flare of anger.

Caspian cracked a broken little smile and waved his hand. Hawk started in the bed, his body jumping and then collapsing back down. He was clenching his fists, eyes wide, looking like he was trying to fight. “Seems like you did all the work for me, Panther. Should have known you’d save yourself. You’re a stud like that.”

Hunter preened at the compliment on instinct, and Chase wanted to tell him how he looked, how many times Caspian had made him feel like that before they broke up. Chase wanted Hunter to understand. But Hunter just narrowed his eyes and looked away.

“Fine,” Hawk gasped. “Fuck you, Caspian. Hunter and Chase, too. I’ll do it myself. This frat is mine—mmmph!” he moaned, as the first phantom dick penetrated his mouth and shut him up the same way as Hunter.

“Should I let them cum?” Caspian asked, wryly.

“Obviously,” Hunter said, still not looking at Caspian. “Do you think I want him mouthing off any longer? Detonate his spirit. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

Hawk cried out in alarm and began to writhe in obvious pleasure. His muscles jerked, body twitching one way and then another as the spirits pumped him utterly full of themselves. A sheen of spiritual power surrounded him like a halo, his spirit trying to escape the confines of his body. Hunter rolled off the bed, landing next to Chase and hiding behind the footrest with him. Caspian was the only one left in the blast zone. He realised that a little too late.

BANG! — SPLAT!

The room went white with cum, flinging itself from Hawk’s body in all directions as his spirit blew apart. It coated the walls, the ceiling, the bed, the floor, and Caspian himself in a ghostly white coat of seed.

Chase peeked over the bedframe to see Hawk’s twitching body, temporarily emptied of all that made Hawk Hawk. He’d take a while to recover. Too long, Chase realised, with a pang of need. “Fuck, Hunter—Hunter, why did you do that? I needed his cum,” Chase whimpered.

Hunter’s eyes widened and he brought a hand to his mouth. “Chase—Chase, I wasn’t thinking,” he said, suddenly apologetic.

But it was the last straw. “You never think, do you?” Chase asked, loudly, all his frustration boiling up at once. Even still, he couldn’t sound angry—just… sad. “I don’t think you ever asked me if—if—if I was okay after you broke up with Caspian for us.”

Hunter stared like he didn’t know whether to be angry or sorry, but he didn’t try to butt in.

“You just expected me to be alright! To be totally on board! And I was, I really tried to be, but I—I couldn’t tell you that I was missing Caspian, you’d never hear it if I tried to say maybe he could change, maybe he just didn’t understand… you wouldn’t have listened!” Chase’s heart beat faster. He wanted to say something terrible. Caspian was right there, the answer to all Chase’s needs, and why shouldn’t Chase go for it? “Don’t I deserve to be happy too?” he asked, trying to hold himself back.

“I do listen,” Hunter tried. “I would have listened.”

“You didn’t earlier!” Chase cried. “You stormed off on me! It’s been months! It’s one thing he said!”

“And you didn’t listen to a word I said earlier, either,” Caspian said, suddenly angry as well, wiping the seed off his freckled, rosy-cheeked face, his beautiful face. “Why didn’t you give me one fucking chance to show you I understand? I’m not like Hawk, Panther, if you’d just told me what was wrong with what I said, hell, if you could have listened rather than storm off six fucking months ago—”

Hunter didn’t look angry. He looked… lost.

Caspian sank to one knee. “Hunter. I am begging you. You and Chase were the love of my fucking life. I’m sorry for what I said to you. I’m sorry I hid the hunt. I do stupid things sometimes, but I’ve learned now. I don’t need to parade you around. I don’t need more of—” he gestured at the room around them— “more of this. I don’t need frat bottoms. I need my panther, I need my hunting dog. You’re so much more than what SPIT made of you, Hunter. I know that now. I want to be yours, Panther.”

Caspian sank to his other knee, and then to his elbows, and then he bowed his head, not daring to look at Hunter. Chase’s heart stopped. Hunter’s eyes were wide. The room was thick with all their desperation.

“Please, Hunter,” Chase said, quietly. “Give Peen a chance.”

A sob jumped out of Hunter’s chest, startling both Chase and Caspian, but Caspian didn’t look up. Hunter regained composure, breathed in deeply, and reached out, sliding a hand under Caspian’s chin. “Look at me, Peon,” Hunter said, nudging Caspian’s chin upward.

Caspian looked at Hunter, his face wet with tears, and Hunter audibly choked down another sob.

“I’m not—your slut,” Hunter said, and then he laughed incredulously. “Of course I’m not. Gods, I never was. I was so scared, Caspian, that you’d keep treating me like everyone else in SPIT, like Hawk did. I’m stupid, too. I should have known you loved me more than that. Maybe—maybe we needed the time apart, but I don’t need it anymore, do I?”

Caspian smiled again, and then Hunter broke into tears, and then Caspian did too, and relief washed over Chase like a tide and broke his own dam and then he was crawling up to them both, wrapping them in his big, dragonscaled arms, crying into their hair, all three of them heaving while the door shut quietly behind them.

Hunter and Caspian raised their heads and the three of them shared a kiss, swapping between each other and laughing like idiots as drool spilled out of Caspian’s mouth and Hunter replaced it with a wad of spit.

“Want me to fight you for it, Pup?” Caspian asked, as they took a breather.

“No fucking way, Peen,” Chase said, grinning widely. “I need your load now.”

“Will you do something for me, Chase?” Hunter interrupted. “I want us to remind Caspian that he’s not the only one in charge. Just like we did with Hawk.”

Chase cocked his head. Part of him was still unhappy with his best friend, but Hunter had done much to restore his trust. “How?”

“Caspian isn’t going to give you his load. You’ll take it from him like the hunting dog you are, and you’ll take it down your throat.”

Chase licked his lips. He was so hungry right now that forcing Caspian to feed him the gallons of cum he desperately needed was as appealing as losing to his master. But— “Are you sure? I’m not as much of a powerbottom as you are.”

Hunter thought about it. “If you’re a good pup,” he said, “and you show him your strength, I’ll let him take over as a treat for you.” Hunter deliberately hadn’t said the trigger word, so Chase hadn’t entered subspace yet. Hunter was leaving it for Chase to decide.

“Yeah… Yeah, I like that, Hunter!” Chase bared his teeth at Caspian and Caspian flinched—but fuck, he had that beautiful smile on his face. “Sic me on him! C’mon, I’m ready—”

“Hunting dog, heel!” Hunter barked, and Chase melted into a pup, eager to fight for his master. He barely even needed the order, crouching and coiling up as he watched Caspian’s face flicker between intimidation and desire.

For a moment, he was back in their old room again, long before Caspian was frat president, as Peen and Hunter taught him he could still fight as a frat bottom. He’d tackled his brothers until they were forced to fight him to keep their dignity, but he’d started with Caspian. Back then, he’d needed the order. Now he just wanted it.

“Get him, Pup,” Hunter barked, and Chase pounced. His whole, heavy body careened into Caspian, who raised his arms to block but was no match for Chase’s sheer size. They both toppled over, Caspian hitting the ground hard, Chase on top of him.

“I love you so much, Master,” Chase said, the words rushing out of his mouth, and he beamed as he spat all over Caspian’s cum-slick face. Caspian laughed and tried to push Chase away as Chase started to slather Caspian with his tongue, lapping up the mess and leaving his saliva behind.

“Arms down, Peon,” Hunter ordered, and Caspian let go, squirming as Chase mopped up the mess all over his lover’s face and reached down to firmly jerk Caspian’s cock.

“I’m gonna fuck my face on your cock. But if you try thrusting I’m gonna pin you down, okay?” He jerked Caspian harder and harder, maybe a little too aggressively, but he knew how Caspian liked it, and he wanted the stud nice and worked up.

“Okay, okay, I give!” Caspian said, laughing, still trying to get his face away from Chase’s tongue. “I’ll stay down, just—fuck, I need your mouth, Pup—”

“Can do!” Chase sprung up abruptly from Caspian’s face, sitting his ass back on Caspian’s thighs and putting all his weight—chub and muscle and all—on the leaner stud. “Fuck, it looks so good…” Red pubes, drooling pre, standing tall, firm and ramrod straight and guaranteed to reshape his throat.

Chase shimmied down, ready for the challenge, hands smearing into Caspian’s cum-coated torso as he backed up until his face was level with that fat meat. Chase gripped it and slapped his own face with it a few times, splattering seed across his cheeks, but he couldn’t help himself. Planting one hand on Caspian’s gut to keep the stud down, Chase kissed Caspian’s cockhead and engulfed it in his warm, wet mouth, moaning as precum shot all over his tongue.

Chase suckled on the obscene girth like a lollipop, moaning around Caspian’s hot, pulsing cockhead, and then he dove down, bobbing back and forth and teasing his throat with it until he gagged and his throat massaged the tip. Caspian groaned and arched his back, driving his cock into Chase’s throat on instinct—so Chase growled and shoved Caspian back down to the ground. Panther’s orders: Caspian was not to get up!

Fuck, this cock tasted so good, masculine and a little salty with the lingering taste of cum, and Chase couldn’t get enough. He bobbed on it one more time before he lost patience and plunged down toward the root, stuffing his throat full until the tears welled up and his body resisted taking another inch. He gagged—gagged again, his whole body twitching—and then he pushed through and went for it, forcing his throat open, straightening it out, bulging out his neck, and burying his nose in those ginger pubes.

“Fuck, Pup, your throat’s so good,” Caspian groaned, struggling under Chase’s hand, trying to grind into Chase’s face. Chase wanted Caspian to take over, to use his face like a toy, to reward Pup with the rough treatment he loved so much, but not yet. He had to be a good hunting dog. For both of them.

As Hunter knelt down to make out with Caspian and shut him up, Chase finally started fucking his own face, sliding back and forth on Caspian’s cock, plumbing his own throat over and over again as he mashed his nose into that crotch and suckled and swallowed. He fought through every gag, building up a steady rhythm and holding Caspian’s hips down with both hands so the stud couldn’t thrust. Caspian was his and Hunter’s dildo. Peen didn’t need to move, not until they said so.

But damn, Chase hoped Hunter said so soon.

Hunter and Caspian parted and, breathlessly, Caspian said, “Let me have him, Hunter, he’s being such a good boy, can’t I—oh, fuuuuck!” he cried, as Chase went balls deep and stayed there, twisting his head back and forth to massage Caspian’s entire, throbbing length, letting himself gag violently and milk Caspian for several full jets of precum, so powerful Chase could feel the force.

“I didn’t hear ‘please’,” Hunter sang.

Chase looked up at Caspian’s sheepish grin, swallowing around that cock in encouragement—and Caspian broke.

“Fuck, fuck, please, I need to use my pup, Hunter, I’ve missed him so bad, let me make him mine again!”

“Whose Peen are you?” Hunter asked, arms crossed.

“Yours,” Caspian groaned. “Yours and Chase’s. Forever. I’ll be your stud and your slut. I’ll do anything for you two. Let me treat him right…”

“Claim him,” Hunter said, and Chase groaned in horny fear as Caspian’s hands immediately clamped around Chase’s head. Fuck, he was in for it.

“I’m gonna destroy your throat, Pup,” Caspian groaned, as he coiled his hips and raised Chase’s head. “You’re mine.” Caspian yanked Chase’s head down, blasting his throat open and triggering a loud hrrk! “And I’m—yours—”

And Caspian started skullfucking Chase. His legs, arms, his whole body put in the work, raising Chase’s head as he tensed for a thrust, slamming crotch and nose together, rattling Chase’s head as he dribbled Chase off his crotch like a basketball. The sensation of his throat getting pummelled over and over again was overwhelming—so were the gags, the mess of spit that flung from his stretched lips with every thrust.

“This is what you deserve,” Caspian moaned, “for being such a good pup. I always—break you—and your holes—in the end.”

Chase moaned back, the noise pathetic and desperate, rising and falling with every thrust, cut-off when his throat convulsed. This was how he wanted to be claimed: rough, ruined, brutalized, and still adored. He reached up and clung to his lover’s sides for dear life, enduring the destructive, throat-gaping facefuck with every ounce of strength.

For a long minute, Chase forgot he even needed Seeder cum. This throatfuck was enough. The utter mess he’d made of Caspian’s crotch was enough; the way his throat felt when it was full and the satisfaction of choking on Caspian’s meat was enough. And the way Caspian sometimes raised his head off the ground to look at Chase with such hopeless admiration, then let it fall back down as he hammered Chase even harder—that was enough forever.

But his body still begged for his lover’s cum, and when Caspian groaned and his balls drew up, Chase’s need became all he could think of. He felt so empty all of a sudden, tense with need, desperate to be filled. “Ready?” Caspian asked, and Chase moaned eagerly. “Gonna fill you up. Want my Seeder cum? Take it, Pup! Fuuuuck!”

As that first shot of jizz landed in his stomach, it crackled through his body like lightning, wound-up tension suddenly bursting apart like fireworks and fizzling through his body until he melted from the sizzling ecstasy. He shut his eyes in satisfaction and took every drop, pint after pint filling his stomach to the brim, giving him jolt after jolt that more than made up for the hours of need—no, the months of need. He wrapped his arms around Caspian’s ass and thighs, holding his lover tight as he swallowed Caspian’s gallons, a deeper, fuzzier pleasure blossoming in his core just from having a man’s cum there.

Caspian pulled Chase’s head up before he was finished, just so that he could flood Chase’s mouth and then baste his face in Seeder jizz. Hunter grabbed Caspian’s dick and aimed it at himself, jerking it for dear life as it hosed him down, and by the time Caspian was done they were both as drenched in slick seed as Caspian was.

Caspian slumped back when he was finished, the dopiest grin on his face, but when Chase crawled up and collapsed beside him, Caspian rolled over Chase with a wicked grin, weighing down his stomach enough to make Chase spit back up some of the cum that marked him as Caspian’s. Hunter followed, lying beside their little stack and kissing both their cheeks while Chase coughed up creamy jizz.

“I”m so fucking glad we’re together again,” Chase said, when he recovered.

“We’re gonna have a hell of a lot of fun,” Caspian said, peppering both his pets with kisses.

“And we are not coming back here,” Hunter said firmly. “Under no circumstances.”

“Even if Hawk begs?” Chase asked.

“Maybe if Hawk begs.”

“You’ll come with me to visit our old friends, right?” Caspian asked, through his grin.

“Only if they understand I’ll be hunting them.”

“They’ll learn pretty quick, Panther,” Caspian promised. “But, honestly, they don’t care about all that stuff anymore. It was fun while it lasted, but… SPIT is a family. We’re more than bruisers and bottoms now, aye?”

“Amen to that,” Chase groaned.

Hunter scoffed. “And that means I can live up to my name even better. They don’t stand a chance.”

“Careful what you promise,” Caspian warned. “You might get too distracted from hunting if I’m making out with you all night!”

They launched into a kissing fight, and Chase joined in, and none of them had any idea how long they were doing it because it didn’t matter. They found what they were all hunting for, and from now on, they had all the time in the world.