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“C’mon, just a bit to take the edge off isn’t gonna hurt anything,” Eighteen mumbled against his ear in goading encouragement. His voice was distant despite the proximity, slightly slurred. He sounded half a breath away from giggling, which might’ve been cute had it not been so unsettling. “It’ll help you feel better. It’s not even a big dose.”
The door was locked, and nobody aside from Nasha knew they were multiples. Everything was fine, and Mickey— Seventeen —had nothing to worry about. Nothing immediate at least, but the situation was stressful enough to make him panic anyway. His nerves were going haywire, and he was drenched in cold sweat, panicking noticeably enough that he’d somehow found himself in an entirely new mess: His double holding a glass pipe to his lips with one hand while keeping his head in place with the other, determined to make him smoke and not allowing him to pull away. Mickey desperately held his breath, not wanting any part of this.
Eighteen was high off his rocker. Nasha was too, or else she would’ve cut this peer pressure shit show short. They both fucking reeked of it, and it was inevitable for Mickey to start smelling, too, especially with the pipe in his face, even if he didn’t cave and do it too. Just great. Deciding this wasn’t worth the fight, he conceded and inhaled slowly, eyes closed. His lungs burned as they were filled with foul-smelling, probably poisonous smoke. Within seconds, he was doubled over coughing spit onto their floor.
“Pussy,” Eighteen laughed.
Mickey covered his mouth with his palm. His eyes were wet with tears as he continued to wheeze, throat stinging. “Why-” he tried to speak but was cut off by another round of coughs. He swallowed thickly before trying again, voice hoarse. “I don’t get it… Why do you even - like this shit-?”
“You have to give it a minute,” Nasha chimed in from the bed. Her voice was loopy, too, just like Eighteen’s, but it was infinitely more pleasant. Mickey probably would’ve been fine getting high with just her. “It needs to kick in.”
The phrasing made his skin crawl. The dread lining his insides grew heavier. Not once since boarding this godforsaken ship has waiting for something to kick in meant anything good. It was always death, or pain so intense he would’ve preferred just dying. He flashed back to all the serums, medicines, poisons, painkillers, and more he’d been injected with over the course of his time as an expendable and cringed. He hoped it’d be different. He trusted Nasha, but the same couldn’t be said for Eighteen. He wouldn’t put it past that bastard to lace his dose of oxy with something lethal. That’d be one hell of a way to get rid of him, wouldn’t it? It’d be just his luck, too.
Regardless, he stood up, wobbling momentarily as he tried to maintain his balance. “Okay-” he said, then repeated again, slower this time: “Okay.”
“Sit with me,” Nasha said while beckoning for him to join her. Mickey immediately stumbled over to the mattress. “Kiss me,” she said, cradling his face gently in her hands—and he did. His lips parted subtly as he leaned forward, spit meeting spit and tongue meeting tongue, arms wrapping around her waist like they belonged there. He’d never get tired of kissing her no matter how many times he did it. Within moments, he was beginning to relax again, worries washing away while he melted into her embrace, moaning quietly. He could’ve done it all night, but a sudden rough hand tugging at his hair pulled him out of his momentary bliss.
Mickey reluctantly glanced at Eighteen from the side, frowning. “Do you mind?”
Nasha chuckled. She wasn’t half as bothered by the interruption, her lips simply curling upwards. “You should kiss each other.”
“What?” Mickey was scandalized and disgusted despite knowing it was what she’d wanted from the beginning. Expecting to hear it wasn’t the same as wanting it to happen. His nose wrinkled up childishly. “I don’t-”
“It’s for her,” Eighteen said while leaning in closer. “It’s not about kissing me, it’s about listening to Nasha.”
“But-”
“Please?”
“I-I really don’t…”
“Don’t you wanna be good for her?” Eighteen turned Mickey’s head towards his own, their lips nearly touching. “Just kiss me.”
It was difficult to think with their voices wearing down his paper thin resolve. Thick tension spread through the room as Nasha kneaded his shoulder blade softly with her hand and Eighteen continued playing with his hair. Mickey was weak. His heart was beating in his throat. His face burned. The two of them already made up their minds, and Mickey was stuck in the middle. Without saying anything, he conceded once again and closed the gap between himself and Eighteen, kissing his double much more hesitantly than he had Nasha.
Eighteen took his reluctance as a chance to take a more dominant role, pulling Mickey half way into his lap while forcefully shoving his tongue in his mouth at the first opportunity. Mickey hardly reciprocated. He just let it happen, frozen like a deer in the headlights, face flushing with shame from being watched like this. His breath tasted bad, and Eighteen’s lips were more chapped than Nasha’s soft, plush lips, which he longed to have back against his instead. He was a little grossed out by himself, if he were being honest—he made a mental note to take better care of his body, if only so Nasha didn’t have to deal with its current state, the taste of his unbrushed teeth.
The unwanted kiss was mildly revolting and certainly violating, but the longer it went on the fuzzier Mickey’s head became until he didn’t mind it so much. The room spun around him. He slumped forward onto Eighteen, who nibbled on his lower lip, making his breath catch in his throat. Heat pulsated through his body.
“How’re you feeling?” Eighteen asked in a knowing, low voice. He pulled back only enough to speak.
“Um…” Forming words was more difficult than usual, each syllable heavy on his tongue as he struggled to give any real reply, words slurred. “I dunno, I-”
Nasha leaned against him from behind, sandwiching Mickey between her and Eighteen’s bodies, breasts pressing into his back. “It’s kicking in, right? Don’t you feel good?”
He whined, overwhelmed. His voice was high pitched and wobbling. “I guess so?” Good probably wasn’t the best word to describe it, but he didn’t feel entirely bad either. It was hard to say. He’d never felt like this in his life. He’d never done drugs, never drank either—He’d been entirely straight edge until this moment. He was floating yet sinking at the same time, limbs suddenly buzzing, thoughts both everywhere and nowhere all at once. “M’ybe a little…”
“He feels good,” Eighteen decided for him, declaring, “I’m gonna finger him open.”
“Hot. ”
Mickey wasn’t given the chance to speak for himself, though it’s not like he would’ve been able to anyway. He was beyond disoriented as the oxy took full effect. Before he knew it, Eighteen began maneuvering his body around then pushing him down onto the mattress, laying flat on his belly. He felt dizzy, looking at Nasha with big, wet eyes, his pupils blown helplessly wide.
Without warning, Eighteen’s fingers gripped at his chin from behind, tips pushing blindly between his lips. “Suck.” When Mickey didn’t immediately comply, he explained, “Spit’s all we got for lube, so you need to get them nice and wet, okay? Or this is gonna hurt.” His tone was condescending, talking down to Mickey like he was a child.
Nasha’s fingers threaded gently through his hair. She pet him like a dog, her tone much more encouraging, “Go on, you can be a good boy, can’t you?”
He didn’t have much of a choice. Defeated, he opened his mouth to start lazily sucking on Eighteen’s fingers, coating them with spit. Their weight pressing down on his tongue made his cheeks become dusted with a deep shade of red. Having his mouth stuffed was pacifying, even if Eighteen’s hands were rough, his skin dry and nails splitting. The praise, too, made his thoughts go fuzzy, melting away beneath the gentle petting of Nasha’s hand against his scalp.
Eighteen began fucking his fingers in and out of Mickey’s mouth, thrusting them towards the back of his throat. All he could do was gag pitifully around them and whimper in response. His breathing became strained and shallow, spit leaking down his chin. He let his jaw go slack, eyes half-lidded as he simply let it happen. Heat stirred in his gut and twitched between his legs when he felt Eighteen starting to slide his pants down his ass. It was impossible to tell if being treated like an object was hot on its own, or if the euphoria from the oxy made everything hotter indiscriminately. For the sake of his pride he hoped it was the latter. Either way, his hesitancy was fading.
“ There we go,” Eighteen said. His voice was low. After another couple seconds, he finally pulled his hand from his mouth. A thin trail of saliva still connected it to his lips. He moved it downwards, pressing a spit slick fingertip against Mickey’s rim. “Ready for more?”
“You gotta relax now. Deep breaths, baby,” Nasha instructed.
Mickey nodded without saying anything. He tried to inhale deeply as instructed, but the foreign feeling of Eighteen’s finger finally pushing its way inside made him seize up involuntarily, lips parting in a little gasp. The motion was oddly gentle and steady, which he hadn’t expected. It didn’t quite hurt, but it was already so uncomfortably strange to have his ass spread apart and stretched open. Thinking about taking anything bigger made his stomach churn and knees weak, queasy with undeniable arousal.
“Nnn-” He squirmed against the mattress, but Eighteen held his hips in place with his free hand, pinning him against the sheets. He kept pushing in deeper, slowly going from one knuckle to the next until the base of his finger was nearly flush with his rim. Then he pulled it almost all the way out like he was about to remove it entirely, only to thrust it back in, faster this time.
Before too long, another one of Eighteen’s fingers pushed at his tight entrance, too, nudging inside right next to the first. The stretch of the second one burned worse, which made Mickey whine. Going slow wasn’t enough to keep it from hurting, it seemed. He’d never had anything in his ass before. There was no way to fully compensate for that, especially when he was so tense, even with the drugs. “Wait-”
Eighteen didn’t wait at all. He kept going at the same determined pace, nowhere near fast yet certainly unrelenting. Nasha, however, seemed to take pity on Mickey. She brought her hand to his chin, tilting his head up so he was looking at her with dim, hazy eyes.
“Does it hurt?” She asked gently. Her lips pulled into a sympathetic smile.
Between shaking breaths, Mickey managed to answer, “... A l’ttle bit-”
“Do you want a distraction?” He nodded, and she continued. “How ‘bout you eat me out, hm? Would that help?”
Mickey nodded again, more desperately. “Puh - Please .”
Humming, Nasha spread her legs and scooted forward, positioning herself so Mickey’s face was nestled perfectly between her thighs, level with her wet cunt. She nudged his head forward gently with her hand. “Go on. Make me feel good.”
He didn't need to be told twice. Eating Nasha out was comforting and familiar. She was his queen, he’d do anything for her—and serving her made him feel better, too, gave him something else to focus on. Eagerly, he began licking at her folds, tongue pressing between them before he lapped it teasingly over her clit. The way she gasped then tugged him closer was satisfying. Her grip on his hair tightened, and he knew he was doing a good job.
Mickey’s focus suddenly faltered when he felt a third finger start working its way into his tight little asshole. He winced as the rim was stretched further, making a low, pained noise in the back of his throat. Keeping Nasha’s earlier advice in mind, he tried his best to relax his muscles, breathing as deeply as he could manage with a pussy in his face. His brows knit together, though, and his hands gripped at her thighs for support. He sucked on her clit to pacify himself, eyes scrunched shut.
Eighteen noted his discomfort but didn’t relent. He was too focused on the task at hand and not about to be distracted by some pathetic sniffling. His movements were purposeful, and, now that he’d worked Mickey open enough to take this many fingers, he switched gears from stretching him wider to poking around more purposefully, rubbing and prodding his insides until he brushed up against what he assumed to be his prostate. He massaged it intently, eyes squinting, tongue poking out from between his lips.
Holy shit.
Sparks of white hot pleasure zipped up Mickey’s spine and radiated outwards in pulses, making his mind go completely blank. His hips ground forwards against the mattress involuntarily. The unexpected stimulation took him off guard, and his previous whining and wincing devolved into open-mouthed moans. The fingering, which had previously been unbearable, was now completely welcome; his muscles relaxed, and he even unconsciously spread his legs open wider for Eighteen, his untouched dick twitching and filling out embarrassingly fast, rock hard and dripping with precum as he was introduced to his prostate for the first time in his life. It was nothing like a handjob or fucking Nasha. The pleasure nestled deeper in his belly, and it made him feel much needier, simultaneously stronger yet less satisfying. The arousal seemed to spread through every little nerve in his body. He felt it from his toes to his fingers, from the tip of his dick to his hardening nipples. He wondered if having his ass played with was always this intense or if it was because of the drugs.
“You like that?” Eighteen teased. He moved his hand faster, the assault on his prostate becoming merciless.
Mickey couldn’t form a reply. He cried out uselessly, unable to focus on anything aside from the fingers filling up his ass—not talking, and certainly not eating out Nasha. His perception of the world narrowed down to just the feeling of his rim stretching open wider and how fucking good it all felt.
Nasha didn’t seem to mind his inability to eat her out any longer, at least. Her dripping cunt ached with need, but it was worth it to see her darling Mickey so fucked out from so little. “Cute…” She breathed, resuming petting him like a dog.
“That’s probably enough,” Eighteen said, quite impatient himself. He removed his fingers unceremoniously. Mickey whimpered at the loss, ass clenching around nothing. Eighteen spread his cheeks apart and marveled at the gape, then spat right onto his asshole. He snickered. “Just needed a bit more lube ‘s all.” He wasn’t the least bit apologetic. Mickey’s face burned with humiliation.
Eighteen lined his cock up with Mickey’s entrance. It took every ounce of his self control to not thrust in all at once. He was uncomfortably hard, too, nursing some pathetic desperation of his own. He kept his composure solely for the sake of looking like the cooler version of himself. It’s not like the bar was particularly high.
Slowly, he pushed inside. Mickey’s breath hitched. His eyes were wide as he was practically split in half by Eighteen’s cock steadily spreading him open, rim straining to accommodate it. It stung. The spit barely helped. They had the same size dick, right? He knew he wasn’t very big, but maybe he was girthier than he realized, because the intrusion felt impossibly huge for what he knew to be below average in length. Was Eighteen’s dick somehow bigger, or was Mickey just so pathetic that it only took four or so inches to overwhelm him?
Eighteen’s hips eventually became flush with Mickey’s, his dick hilted inside. They groaned in tandem. Even without Eighteen moving, Mickey was melting. He felt so fucking full.
“God, you’re so damn tight ,” Eighteen cursed under his breath. He waited another couple seconds, generously allowing Mickey to adjust before he finally started thrusting. His movements were initially shallow and experimental, but it didn’t take long for him to fall into a rhythm, fucking him hard and deep—but still not fast.
Being fucked was so strange. With each movement Mickey’s ass was hollowed out completely and stuffed full again, never given enough time to adjust to either sensation. Then Eighteen thrust dead into his prostate, and he was practically incapacitated. Immediately, Mickey was reduced back into a moaning mess. Each time Eighteen hit that spot inside him, his stomach did a flip and it was as though an off switch had been flipped in his brain. He laid there limply, thighs twitching. His head was spinning. His breaths came in rapid pants. “Ah, ah, ah-!”
He was so lost in a state of fucked out, drug-induced bliss that he was completely neglecting Nasha. He was too preoccupied with crying out in pleasure to even think about eating her out. He would’ve felt guilty if he had the presence of mind, but he was off somewhere else; the lights were on, but no one was home. Nasha had to take things into her own hands. Seeing her boys fucking like this made her so insatiably horny that she started simply grinding against Mickey’s face, making a mess of him.
Eighteen was moaning, too, unable to help himself as he started getting lost in his own needy haze, hips speeding up more and more with every thrust. Mickey was so heavenly hot and tight around his cock that it made his toes curl.
“Does it feel good?” Nasha asked, voice heavy with lust, wavering when she rubbed her clit against him just right. Mickey couldn’t so much as nod anymore. He only drooled. She continued speaking anyway, assuming his reply. “Now you know how I feel when you fuck me.”
“Hear that? This is what it’s like to get fucked like a girl .” Eighteen had to swallow the spit pooling around his tongue. “You’re my Nasha right now, hahh - y’r basically her multiple.”
Mickey cried in a mixture of ecstasy and embarrassment. Right now, he was basically their sex toy. He wasn’t mentally together enough to be considered an active participant. They weren’t talking to him, so much as they were talking at him, using his body for their own pleasure—and it was the hottest thing ever. All he could do was lay there and take it like a good boy. He rutted against the mattress mindlessly in time with Eighteen’s thrusts like a bitch in heat, whimpering as everything reached a fever pitch, only amplifying in intensity with every movement. He was basically sobbing. He saw stars behind his eyes. It was like his brain was leaking out of his dick with every bead of precum, or from his mouth with every bit of drool. Everything was just too much, and-
Without warning, Eighteen’s hips stilled and he came inside with a low moan, filling Mickey up with his wet, sticky cum before pulling out. Mickey whined pitifully, suddenly so empty. Eighteen reached down to roll him over onto his back without saying anything. The movement made him feel nauseous, so disoriented that it felt like the entire room was rotating around him as opposed to it being the other way around. Struggling to catch his breath, Mickey looked up at him with a dazed expression, eyes bleary and wet with unshed tears.
“Oh my God…” Nasha whispered, but he didn’t know why.
Eighteen seemed equally astonished. “Without me even touching you-?”
Mickey blinked in confusion. He looked down between his legs, only for his eyes to widen when he saw that his stomach and softening dick were both sticky with fresh cum. He swallowed thickly, pulse roaring in his ears. He - He came without even realizing it…
Nasha and Eighteen spent what felt like an eternity admiring his wrecked form, drinking him in with hungry, objectifying eyes. Mickey’s hands twitched at his side like he wanted to cover himself, but he couldn’t get them to move; all he could do was make a wobbling, high-pitched noise of clear protest, which was even more adorable. He was a blushing, breathless mess. His face was wet with tears, drool, and Nasha’s fluids. In addition to his own cum, he had Eighteen’s steadily leaking out of his ass in a thin trail. He was so damn cute.
They shared a glance and seemed to wordlessly agree on going for another round. Mickey wasn’t asked for his input on the matter. He was past the point of being able to make choices for himself, anyway. He was just along for the ride. The two of them arranged themself so Eighteen was sitting up at Mickey’s head, and Nasha was down by his dick.
Nasha held his hips down and positioned herself above him, spreading herself open then sinking down onto his cock, enveloping him in her wet cunt. Her riding him would typically be heaven, but right now Mickey was so overstimulated from cumming earlier that all he could do was sob quietly while she used him like a dildo. He wished she was sober; she usually would’ve cared enough to give him a second to recover, but now she was bouncing on him with reckless abandon instead of waiting for him to want it too, moaning as she chased after her own orgasm. At least it was a beautiful show.
Mickey watched her with tear-filled eyes, but it wasn’t long before Eighteen demanded his attention instead. His dick—which was already hard again—poked at his lips. Mickey cringed. He didn’t want to suck it.
“Open up,” Eighteen said. “My turn to use your mouth.”
Mickey was too tired and overwhelmed to do anything but listen. He parted his lips pliantly for Eighteen, allowing him to feed his cock into his mouth like he was a fleshlight. Eighteen took an inch when given a mile, though. He gripped at his hair much harder than Nasha had, holding his head in place while shoving his dick in until he bottomed out, stuffing his entire length down Mickey’s throat. Mickey gagged and choked around him, a wave of fresh tears and spit streaming down his face.
“Why are you choking? We’re not that big.”
With an airy, mocking laugh, Eighteen started thrusting into Mickey’s mouth just like he’d fucked his ass—with very little concern for his enjoyment. If Mickey didn’t feel like an object before, he definitely did now. He could hardly breathe, and he was even less able to voice his protests than earlier. His hands scrambled to grip at the sheets beneath him, and he could barely writhe against the mattress, held in place too firmly by Nasha and Eighteen at either end.
His dick throbbed despite himself. He was starting to get hard again, even though he wasn’t enjoying himself so much anymore. His body didn’t care about the circumstances. The overstimulation might’ve been unbearable, but Nasha riding him still had an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure, and the oxy seemed to be taking some of the edge off. The lack of oxygen made him all dizzy, too. His legs buzzed. He felt like he was floating, and he started pooling in his gut again. He whimpered around Eighteen’s dick.
Nasha’s movements got faster as she neared her peak, fingers reaching down to rub quick circles into her clit. She clenched tighter around his dick as she moaned, making him whine right alongside her. “Mickey, fuck, you’re being such a good boy for us - my good boy, so good-”
Within seconds, her thighs were trembling and tightening around his sides, and she suddenly went still, only her hips twitching as she came around his dick. She pulled off him after, laying bonelessly on the bed beside him, watching with rapt but tired intrest as Eighteen fucked his face.
Eighteen didn’t take much longer to cum either, thankfully; he was still sensitive from fucking Mickey. With a groan followed by a sudden, spit-soaked gasp, he came down Mickey’s poor, convulsing throat. When he pulled out, Mickey spat his cum out onto the sheets almost immediately, disgusted by the taste. Then he just laid there and coughed, struggling to resume breathing, nearly heaving but otherwise still.
“How ‘bout one more?” Eighteen asked.
Mickey shook his head weakly, his voice quiet, hoarse, and incredibly slurred when he finally spoke again for what felt like the first time in ages, “Nn - Noo , G-God no…”
Eighteen smeared his hand through the puddle of his own cum mixed with Mickey’s spit, and wrapped his palm around his erection anyway. “This one’s just for you, don’t worry. It’s a treat for being so good.”
Mickey cried, but his hips rocked upwards anyway, the pain of continued overstimulation mixing with the pleasure of a handjob on his oversensitive dick blurring together into one muddled haze. He drooled and panted messily, high pitched moans bubbling up from the back of his throat against his will. “Oh my g’d - Fuck, I-I can’t-”
“You can,” Eighteen insisted. “I know you want it.” He pumped his hand up and down at a steady pace, squeezing his shaft just right then rubbing his thumb over the head of his dick in the exact way he knew he liked it most. There were perks to being a carbon copy of the same person—he knew his dick like the back of his hand and knew everything that felt best, all the ways to make Mickey weak for him. “Just one more.”
Mickey sobbed as one last, pathetic orgasm was wrung out of him by his double, hardly anything coming out this time. His limbs felt so heavy, and his vision swam; he was the most exhausted he’d been in a long time, which was saying something considering his role as an expendable. Without input from himself, his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing began leveling out, thoughts fizzling out even further. Nasha was halfway to sleep, too, her eyes closed and chest gently rising and falling with each breath she took.
Eighteen sighed, content and extremely tired himself. “... Guess that’s that,” he said mostly to himself, wiping his messy hand off on Mickey’s belly. “We can clean off tomorrow.” He moved so he was laying on the other side of Nasha, pulling the blankets over the three of them then snuggling up to her, closing his own eyes.