Page 61 of Psycho Pack

Whiskey moans around him, the sound muffled and desperate. His massive frame trembles as Plague's knot continues to pump load after load down his throat. I can see tears at the corners of his eyes from the strain, but he doesn't pull back. Doesn't try to escape.

Just takes everything Plague gives him.

My breath catches as Plague's hips jerk forward involuntarily, driving deeper. Whiskey gags slightly but recovers quickly, relaxing his throat. The sight sends electricity straight to my core. I press my palm flat against myself, grinding against it as I watch them.

My fingers slip inside as my mind keeps darting between the present and what it would feel like to be between them. To have Plague's surgical hands on me while Whiskey...

Another whimper escapes me before I can stifle it. Neither of them seem to notice, lost in their own world. The base of Plague's knot throbs visibly as he rolls his hips, testing Whiskey's limits. The larger alpha just takes it, his throat working overtime.

My fingers move faster as I watch come leak from the corners of Whiskey's stretched mouth. He swallows desperately but there's too much. It drips down his chin in thick rivulets, and the sight makes me press a second finger inside myself.

Whiskey hisses through his teeth as Plague's knot shrinks enough to slip free. He collapses back against the wall, working his jaw. Come and spit drip down his chin onto his broad chest.

I should look away.

Should feel guilty for watching.

Instead, I press a third finger inside myself as Plague slides down to sit in front of Whiskey. His usually perfect hair is a mess, skin flushed.

"Well," he says, voice hoarse. "That was... informative."

"Shut the fuck up," Whiskey rasps. "Before I punch you in your pretty face."

"You think my face is pretty?"

The familiar bickering makes me smile even as I rock against my hand. Some things never change. Whiskey lunges and for a split second, I think I'm going to have to out myself just to break up a fight, but then he stumbles and Plague catches him.

"Careful," Plague murmurs. "You'll be off balance for several minutes post-orgasm."

"I hate you so fucking much."

"I know."

But then Plague's hand wraps around Whiskey's cock and everything changes again.

"My turn," he purrs.

My fingers work faster inside me as I watch Plague straddle Whiskey's lap in one fluid motion. His movements are precise, calculated, even now. He pins Whiskey's cock between their bodies, trapping it against Whiskey's stomach as his hands roam over the larger alpha's broad chest.

"Look at you," Plague murmurs, fingers trailing down Whiskey's heaving torso. "You drank so much. No wonder you look like you're going to be sick."

Whiskey just moans, his head falling back against the stone. His massive frame trembles beneath Plague's lean body as those surgeon's hands work over his stomach, alternating between gentle strokes and rough grabs that make him gasp and growl.

"Nothing to say?" Plague's voice carries that sharp edge that clearly drives Whiskey crazy. "No smartass comments? You must really be feeling it."

I bite my lip to stifle a whimper as I watch them, pressing my fingertips against my spot. The stretch burns so good as Plague continues to torment Whiskey, those clever hands mapping every inch of the larger alpha's body. Whiskey writhes beneath him, completely at his mercy.

"Please," Whiskey groans, his voice wrecked. "Just... fucking do something..."

"Iamdoing something." Plague's hand slides lower, wrapping around both their cocks. Not fully, but enough. "I'm conducting a very important experiment on the effects of overstimulation on alpha subjects who have consumed too much come via oral knotting."

Even in this state, he can't help himself. Always the scientist.

"That's fucking niche," Whiskey mutters.

I press deeper inside myself as Plague starts stroking them both together. The sight of their cocks sliding against each other makes my core throb. Whiskey's hands clutch uselessly at the stone floor, his whole body shaking.

"Look how desperate you are. Just like last time," Plague purrs, twisting his wrist in a way that makes Whiskey arch off the ground. "So needy. So full of my come."

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