Chapter Text
*Reggie's POV*
They're watching me.
I can feel it. The way the air in the drawing room stills every time I shift in my seat. I'm perched on the velvet chaise like a doll left out on display — legs draped over the armrest, drink in hand, pretending I don't notice the way James' eyes drag over my throat, the way Evan licks his lower lip like I'm a secret he wants to taste.
And Barty?
Barty hasn't blinked in five minutes.
"You're quiet," I say, lifting my glass to my lips, feigning calm.
"Enjoying the view," Evan murmurs.
James chuckles, soft and low. "You have been awfully quiet tonight, Reg."
"I'm always quiet," I reply, voice light. "That's nothing new."
"No," Barty says. His voice is smooth as poured smoke. "But that little sound you made earlier — when you shifted? That was new."
Heat crawls up my neck.
James raises his brows, grinning. "That one. The sigh."
"I didn't—"
"You did," Evan cuts in. "Just a breath. Soft. Like you wanted to be touched."
I swallow.
The room tilts, just slightly, around me. All three of them now tuned to me like I'm a wire stretched tight. A single note, trembling with potential.
"I didn't know this was a performance," I murmur.
"Oh, Reg," James says, leaning forward, "with you? It always is."
I should roll my eyes. Should scoff and retreat into cool detachment — my usual defense.
But I don't.
Because I feel warm. Flushed. Wanted in a way that makes my legs press together, too tight. I see the way Evan notices.
Barty stands slowly, unhurried. His footsteps are silent on the rug. He stops in front of me, looking down, eyes half-lidded and dark.
"I want you on the floor," he says.
My mouth goes dry. "What?"
He reaches out — brushes a knuckle down my jaw, slow. "Not because you're beneath us. Because you deserve to be seen."
The breath shudders out of me.
James is watching with a kind of soft hunger, his trousers already straining. Evan's legs are spread lazily, hand resting too close to his fly to be innocent.
And I?
I slide down.
It's not graceful — too quick, too needy — but they don't laugh. They watch. Like I've just unwrapped myself for them.
Barty kneels beside me. Evan gets up and moves to the armrest behind me, warm hands pressing to my shoulders. James comes last, kneeling at my feet like he's approaching an altar.
"Clothes," Barty says, voice low.
I let them take them off.
Evan is delicate, fingers brushing each button like he's unspooling silk. James is bolder, hands under my thighs, lifting me to slide my trousers down. And Barty?
Barty kisses the inside of my knee. Once. Then again.
They don't ask if I want this — not because they assume, but because I already said yes the moment I let them look at me like that.
I'm bare, now. Laid out on the rug like something meant to be unwrapped and shared. The fire crackles behind me, warming my back. Evan's fingers slide down my arms, wrapping around my wrists.
"Can I hold them?" he murmurs into my ear. "Just for a bit."
I nod.
He pins my arms above my head. His grip is gentle. Possessive.
James leans in and kisses my thigh. "You're so fucking pretty like this."
Barty hums in agreement, lips just above the line of where I want him most. His breath alone makes me twitch.
And then his tongue presses just above where I need him. A tease. A promise.
"Oh—fuck."
I arch without meaning to, body jolting at the sensation. It's barely anything. Just the tip of his tongue. But I'm already wet. Already aching.
"Sensitive tonight, Reg?" James asks, dragging his thumb down the inside of my thigh.
"You have no idea," I whisper.
"Good," Evan says, tightening his grip. "Let's see how much you can take."
Barty starts slow.
His mouth is maddening — warm, deliberate, intimate. He kisses me like he's worshipping, tongue sliding where I'm soaked and aching, but never with urgency. Just reverence.
My hips twitch. Evan's grip on my wrists tightens.
"Still," he says, voice in my ear, low and smiling. "Let him savor you."
Savor.
My thighs are already trembling, and James hasn't even touched me properly yet. He's just watching — kneeling beside me, eyes hooded, thumb dragging idle circles over the inside of my knee.
"You're so good like this," James says softly, like it's a secret. "We should've done this ages ago."
I want to answer. Say something smart. Something coy.
But Barty hums against me, and everything in my brain evaporates.
"F-fuck—Barty—"
He doesn't stop. Just presses in deeper, tongue curling, lips slick, fingers spreading me open like he knows my body better than I do.
The first orgasm hits harder than I expect. It takes me by surprise, a breathless stutter of heat and sound and shaking thighs. I whimper, legs trying to close — but James holds them open, and Evan holds my arms still.
"No hiding," Barty murmurs against me, mouth still wet with me. "Not from us."
"Gods, that was beautiful," James says, leaning down to kiss my hip. "You're shaking already."
"I—fuck, I can't—"
"You can," Evan cuts in, smug and sure. "And you will."
His voice is so close to my ear, it makes my eyes flutter. He lets go of one of my wrists to trail his fingers down my chest. Over my stomach. Between my legs again.
Barty pulls back just enough to let James slip in, fingers stroking where his mouth just was.
"Please," I gasp.
James kisses my knee again. "Please what?"
"Don't stop. Just—don't stop."
James doesn't. He slides two fingers inside, slow, curling deep. Evan watches me unravel with the kind of interest that makes my skin burn. Barty just stays close, fingers on my thighs, eyes heavy, like he's memorizing every twitch of my body.
I come again before I can warn them.
It's not pretty. It's loud, a raw little sob pulled out of me as James presses deeper and Evan tugs one nipple between his fingers just hard enough to hurt.
And still — still — they don't stop.
"You've got another one in you," Evan says, licking the shell of my ear. "Don't even try to argue."
I try to twist away — not to escape, but to breathe. It's too much. My nerves are fraying. My skin's too tight.
"I c-can't—"
"You can," Barty says, voice quiet but sharp. "You're doing so well."
It's that — that — that undoes me.
The praise.
Not the force or the mouths or the risk of someone walking in and finding me stripped bare in front of three men who look at me like I hung the stars.
No. It's the way Barty's voice softens when I moan. The way James kisses my thigh like I'm precious. The way Evan praises every twitch, every gasp, every time I don't beg them to stop.
"You're perfect," Evan whispers.
"Gorgeous," James adds, fingers still working me open, coaxing one more wave out of me like he knows it's there.
And Barty?
Barty leans in, tongue circling that sensitive spot again — gently this time, like a promise. Like he knows I'm past the point of words. Of thought.
When the third orgasm hits, I can't breathe.
My whole body arches. My mouth opens in a soundless cry. I collapse back against Evan's chest, boneless and twitching and soaked in praise and sweat.
They hold me through it.
James slowly pulls his fingers free, mouthing an apology against my stomach. Evan strokes my hair with the hand that held me still. And Barty presses a kiss between my trembling thighs before sitting back on his heels.
"Beautiful boy," he says.
I don't answer. Can't.
I think I might be crying. Just a little.
Not from pain. From the sheer fucking intensity of it.
And then — a sound. Outside the room.
Footsteps.
Someone in the hall.
I freeze.
The door isn't locked.
Evan smirks against my neck. "They wouldn't dare open it."
Barty runs a hand down my leg. "And if they did?"
"They'd see a masterpiece," James says.
My eyes flutter closed.
I don't care.
Let them look.
I must look wrecked.
My legs are sprawled, slick with everything they've done to me. My chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths. There's a faint, embarrassing shine on my inner thighs and my lips are red from biting down on the sounds I couldn't stop.
They could stop now.
They should.
But none of them move to leave.
Evan strokes my hair back from my forehead, fingers damp with sweat.
"You're glowing," he murmurs, grinning.
I can't even form words.
James crouches between my legs, thumb running along my thigh. He doesn't look impatient. He looks... hungry. Reverent.
"Still with us, sweetheart?" he asks.
My throat works. "Yeah. Just—"
"Good," Barty says from behind me. "Because we're not done."
Evan shifts. He pulls me upright, hands strong around my waist. My legs give a weak protest, but he lifts me like I weigh nothing — like I'm something precious, worth the effort.
James sinks back onto the chaise. Legs apart. Bare from the waist down.
I know what's coming before anyone says it.
And I want it.
I want it more than I can stand.
"Up," Evan says, guiding me.
I straddle James, shaky at first, my thighs burning, hips barely steady. He helps — hands on my waist, lips brushing my ribs.
"Take your time," he murmurs. "Let me feel you."
I lower myself slow — inch by inch — until he's inside me.
It's so much.
I cry out, half into his shoulder. He's thick, warm, buried deep. My muscles are already tender, wrung out, slick from everything before. But the stretch is perfect. It burns in the best way.
James groans, his head falling back.
"Fuck. Reg... you feel—gods, you're everything."
I start to move — slowly, gently — grinding down with short rolls of my hips.
His hands guide me. His lips part against my throat. Every breath from him is praise.
And then Barty comes in behind me.
I don't see him — just feel him. His hands on my waist, his lips at my shoulder.
"You look divine like this," he murmurs. "Filled. Needy. Fuckable."
I whimper.
James moans beneath me. "That's it, Reg. Just like that. You ride so good."
I rock harder.
Each grind sends sparks up my spine. I can feel James everywhere, and I'm soaked again already — the friction unbearable. My nerves raw. But I don't want to stop. I can't.
Evan stands behind the chaise, one hand gripping my jaw. "Keep your eyes open, love. Let us see you come apart."
I try. I try.
But then Barty's hands slip lower — not inside, not touching there — just dragging slow along my thighs, across my hips, anchoring me.
"You're letting him in so deep," he whispers. "Taking him so well. Can he feel how wrecked you are already?"
"Yes," James gasps, pulling me flush against him as I grind harder. "He's soaked. Fucking dripping. Gods, Reg—"
I moan, loud and helpless, clinging to James' shoulders, riding him hard now, reckless. My body is overstimulated, trembling, but I'm chasing it again. That edge. That fire.
"You want to come again?" Barty growls into my ear. "Right here, on his cock?"
"Y-yes," I pant. "Please—please—"
"You're close," Evan murmurs. "I can see it."
James bucks up once, twice — deep, perfect thrusts that have me choking on a sob.
Then everything shatters.
My orgasm slams into me like a spell — brutal, sudden, overwhelming. I cry out, loud and unfiltered, nails digging into James' back. My whole body shakes as the waves hit me again and again and again.
James follows with a moan, hips stuttering as he spills inside me, arms tight around my waist, holding me there, buried deep.
But it's Barty's voice I hear in the chaos.
"That's three," he says, breath hot. "How many do you think you have left, Regulus?"
And Evan?
Evan just smiles and strokes my throat with two fingers. "Don't worry," he says. "We'll find out."
I'm not sure how I'm still conscious.
My legs shake. My skin is flushed, slick with sweat and touch and too many orgasms to count. I should be spent. Collapsed. Done.
But they keep moving me.
Keep shaping me.
Like I'm something malleable. Obedient. Precious.
I don't even remember who lifts me next — maybe it's Barty, maybe James — but suddenly I'm being lowered, slowly, thighs straddling Evan's chest. His mouth is waiting.
"Up here," he says, voice low, pupils blown wide. "Come sit on my face, sweetheart."
My body twitches in response — not hesitation, not really. Just sensitivity. Everything is tender. Too much. Too good.
I climb up anyway.
Evan leans back on the floor like it's a throne made just for him, smug and relaxed, like the world already belongs to him. He runs his hands up my thighs as I settle over his mouth.
And then — he licks.
A shudder runs through me.
"Oh—fuck—"
He moans against me, tongue dragging slow and firm, greedy. He licks like he missed me. Like he needs to make me come again. His nose presses where I'm already sensitive, his mouth hot and open, lips soft but insistent.
My thighs quake, barely holding.
Behind me, I hear James murmur, "He's enjoying this."
"I'd say," Barty replies, voice amused and sharp, "he deserves a reward."
A shift of movement. Evan's breath stutters for half a second, just enough for me to know someone has his cock in hand.
"Let's make it hard for him to focus," Barty adds.
I glance down.
James is on one side, stroking Evan's cock with long, lazy pulls. Barty's on the other, fingers wrapped around Evan's throat. Not choking. Just holding.
Control. Pressure. Reminder.
Evan groans into me — and the vibration makes me gasp.
"You feel that?" James asks me, voice honey-smooth. "That little moan?"
"Y-yes—"
"Good boy," Barty says. "Now keep riding."
I do.
I grind my hips against Evan's mouth — slow at first, then faster, chasing the edge that's already so close again it's cruel. His tongue moves in perfect rhythm — lapping, circling, then flattening just where I need it most.
It's too good.
Too much.
And the whole time, Evan's hands grip my thighs like they're the only thing keeping him grounded — but he doesn't stop licking. Doesn't stop moaning.
He loves this.
Loves being smothered in it — in me — while Barty and James murmur praise and filth in both our ears.
"Look at you," Barty says to me, voice low. "Falling apart again."
"Even after James fucked you full," James adds, breath hot against my side. "Still greedy for more."
I'm crying, I think. Just a little. Not from pain — from pleasure so deep it breaks something open in me.
"Evan—Evan—don't stop—"
He moans against me again, tongue curling just right, and I fall.
Again.
It crashes through me — fourth or fifth, I've lost count — and I tremble hard, thighs clamping around his head, choking on a sob that tastes like surrender. Evan holds me there through it, mouth never leaving me, drenched in it.
Only when I sag forward, twitching and boneless, does Barty pull me gently back by the hips.
Evan blinks up, lips wet, cock still in James' hand.
"Fuck," he breathes, grinning like he's just found god. "You taste like heaven."
I can't feel my legs.
That's not an exaggeration — it's honest awe. They're jelly. Twitching. Useless.
Evan lies beside me, one arm curled beneath my neck, face still damp from what he did to me. James is at my feet, eyes lazy and proud, like he's watching the aftermath of a masterpiece.
And Barty—
Barty's behind me. Stroking my hips. Thumbs spreading me open again. Gentle. Focused.
"Still soft," he murmurs, more to himself than anyone. "Still open."
My whole body flinches at the words.
I should say I need a break. That I'm too sensitive.
But I don't.
I arch back into his touch, throat tight, lips parted.
"You're not done, are you?" Evan asks, fingers brushing my chest. "You want more."
"I want—" My voice cracks. I swallow. "I want all of you."
A beat of silence.
James exhales low. "You sure?"
I nod. "Please."
Barty hums behind me — approving, dark. "Then turn over, sweetheart. Face Evan."
I move, shaky but willing. Evan's hand finds my waist, guiding me down, his cock already hard again. He lines himself up, his grin quiet but burning.
I straddle him — sore, already full of James' come, still leaking and warm — and sink down onto him with a moan that doesn't sound human. Just need.
Evan groans. "Fucking hell."
He's thick. Not as deep as James, but wider. I feel every inch of him.
But Barty's not done.
I feel him press in behind me — slick fingers spreading me further, easing in slowly. He takes his time. They both do. They've wrecked me, but they know me now. Know how much I can take. How far they can push.
"Breathe, Reg," Barty murmurs, his cock pressing in, stretching me alongside Evan.
It's tight. Full. Unbearable.
And I want it more than I've wanted anything in my life.
They're inside me. Both of them.
Evan from below. Barty from behind.
I sob. Choke. Cling.
James moves to my side, brushing hair from my eyes. "You're doing so good," he says, lips at my temple. "Let them take you."
Evan thrusts up.
Barty thrusts forward.
And I fall apart again.
Every thrust is a clash of heat and stretch and friction so intense I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. They move slow at first, letting me adjust — murmuring praise, asking if I'm okay — but once I whimper yes, please, more, they give it to me.
Harder. Deeper. Together.
"You feel perfect like this," Evan groans, hands on my hips. "Like you were made for it."
"Always so eager," Barty growls. "Always taking what we give you."
I can't speak.
Can't think.
James strokes my throat. Kisses my shoulder. Keeps me grounded.
They move faster. Rougher.
It's so much. Too much. I cry out again — not pain, just sensation boiling over — and they don't stop. They drive me into the bed, my body jolting between them, slick and used and loved.
"You gonna come like this?" Evan pants. "Stuffed full?"
I nod. Gasp. Arch.
"Come on, sweetheart," Barty whispers, lips at my neck. "Let us feel you shake."
I do.
It's brutal. Blinding.
I scream. I clench. I shake so hard my teeth chatter.
Evan curses and spills inside me first — hot, sudden, grinding up into me as I ride the high. Barty follows seconds later, groaning deep in my ear as he buries himself to the hilt and fills me.
I collapse between them, wrecked.
Utterly, beautifully wrecked.
*Evan's POV*
Regulus is heavy on my chest — boneless, sweat-slick, wrecked. Barty still hasn't pulled out behind him, and I can feel the soft, lazy twitch of James' fingers brushing along Reg's thigh as he whispers something obscene and sweet in his ear.
We've done a number on him.
And gods, I'm proud of it.
I stroke a hand down Regulus' back, feeling the tremble still in his spine. "You alive, sweetheart?"
He hums — not a yes, not a no — just a sound. Somewhere between ruined and grateful.
Then—
The door opens.
Not a knock. Not a creak. Just a casual swing and footsteps on hardwood.
I don't even react at first. Just blink.
Until I hear her voice:
"Oh. Merlin. You lot are still going?"
Pandora.
My twin.
Barty freezes. James snorts.
Regulus jerks upright, gasping, trying to pull a blanket around his body even as Barty is still inside him.
I don't move. I just tilt my head, wiping sweat from my brow.
"Pandy," I say flatly.
She's unfazed — standing in the doorway like she owns the place, one hand on her hip, the other holding a suspiciously shaped glass plug and a bottle of lube that shimmers in the light like it's charmed to tingle.
"I just came to grab my toy," she says. "And maybe the peppermint slick if you hadn't already wasted it all."
I blink.
Regulus makes a strangled sound, half-buried in my chest.
Pandora eyes the pile of bodies on the bed, then tsks. "You left the door open again, Evan. Do you want me to walk in on you choking on Reg next time?"
James coughs — laughing.
Barty mutters, "No silencing charms either. Subtle."
I glare at her. "Could you at least knock?"
She shrugs. "You know I don't mind. And you three didn't either, apparently."
Then — bold as ever — she strolls in, plucks the lube off the bedside table (barely missing where James' hand is still fondling Regulus), and pockets the plug with the kind of elegance only a Rosier could manage.
Regulus makes another pathetic noise — red-faced, leaking, wide-eyed.
"You're not scarred," Pandora says, rolling her eyes at him. "I've walked in on worse."
Then she smirks.
"Nice bruises, though," she adds. "Tell me how long they last."
And with that — she's gone. Door left open, of course.
A silence falls over the room like a dropped wand.
Regulus covers his face. "I'm never recovering from this."
I laugh — wheeze, really — and wrap my arms tighter around him.
"You're the favorite," I say into his hair. "She only walks in on people she likes."