Archive of Our Own ^beta

“So I’m laying there,” Jerry says, stuffing half of a pancake in his mouth, “one girl on my face, another on my dick, and I’m pretty sure there’s a guy eating me out, but I’m so fucking blazed I can’t tell a tongue from a fork by that point-“

Spencer snorts, interrupting in the middle of Jerry’s sentence no matter how poignant the look of morbid curiosity on his face is, and Jerry pauses to let him get his question out. God, he’s patient. “You were that high and they still went for it?”

“We were all high, and besides, have you ever tried it? It rocks.” Spencer nods, propping his cheek up on a fist, and Jerry takes that as a sign to continue. “Anyway, I’m in this big pile of bodies, no one is sober, everyone is as naked as humanly possible, and someone’s car alarm starts going off.”

A gasp. “No,” Spencer replies, damn near scandalized, and Jerry’s face splits into a smile. “So, what? Someone’s car gets stolen mid-fuck?”

“God, no. Of course not. One girl grabbed the other, took off, and they stopped the guy, tits out and all. Didn’t even come back to finish, they just fucked in the car.”

“Y’know, speaking of car sex, this one time, I had this guy in my backseat, knife to his throat with his gun against my hip-“

“Good god,” Jack interrupts from his spot across the kitchen table from them. Two sets of eyes snap over to him at once, both inquisitive, completely unbothered by Jack’s mild horror at the conversation in front of him. “I think ever having the two of you in the same room was a mistake.”

In Jack’s defense, he didn’t let Spencer in this time. That morning, when he and Jerry came downstairs for breakfast on their own terms, ready to settle in on one of the first days off the two of them had had together in weeks, they hadn’t expected to find Spencer on their couch, dead asleep, with his head tilted over the armrest and his entire form covered in various signs that he’d rolled down a hill within the last twenty-four hours. He did, however, tell Jerry that they should really just back away and get rid of him if they could, but Jerry, oh-so-infuriatingly patient, all but insisted that Jack let him wake Spencer up, drag him to the shower, and invite him to breakfast. 

And Jack- well. He couldn’t fight it. Spencer has been pretty civil lately, dropping by more and more and trying to make as decent small talk as a mercenary of his caliber could. Jerry expresses an interest in ‘taking a bite out of that’ at least once a week, and seeing as Jack is the only one with access to the both of them reliably, he (unfortunately) has to be the bridge for that relationship.

That relationship apparently involves discussing kinky sex at nine in the morning. 

(Really, he shouldn’t have expected any different. Jerry has never been quiet about his preferences, and Spencer is- well. Spencer. Getting the two of them within a dozen feet of each other really only could have resulted in either a fight, several explosions, or some discussion of shit Jack didn’t really understand, probably related to sexual situations he’d be completely out of his depth in. He should consider himself lucky that the house is still standing).

Regardless, both of them seem entirely unbothered by Jack cutting in. Neither of them look disappointed, at least. Spencer is still trying to read Jack’s expression, eyes raking over him like he wants to eat him alive as Jerry perks up, eyes going wide. “Oh, right, most people don’t- riiight. We can totally talk about something else.”

“I’m just shocked that you guys can even think about that sort of thing while you’re eating.” In all fairness, Jack isn’t eating. He has a cup of coffee in his hand, and he’s been sipping off of that for the last few minutes while he watches their exchange, but he’s been too shell-shocked to touch his food. “How does everything not just start tasting like sweat to you?”

“Maybe it does,” Spencer replies, taking the opportunity to stick a forkful of pancake into his mouth. Jack gags, and Spencer, the bastard, smirks, eyes locked on him all the while. “Maybe we’re just into that shit.”

“Get out.”

Spencer laughs, making absolutely no moves to follow those directions, and Jerry takes over from there. “I mean, we’ve been having sex by proxy for forever now,” he says, lounging back in his chair. “We’re here. We’re talking. It came up.”

“Proxy sex isn’t a real thing, and I’m pretty sure it ‘came up’ on purpose, seeing as you started the conversation by saying you once used maple syrup instead of chocolate syrup for a food-sex thing.”

“Can’t help what reminds me of what.” Jerry shrugs, all too casual, and grabs the bottle, dumping more syrup onto his plate in one single stream that would make Jack nauseous even without the context. Once he finishes, Jerry sets the bottle back down, then points at Jack, serious all of the sudden. “Don’t do that, by the way. Like, yeah, my chest has never been that smooth, but it is not worth it.”

“How do you even get that much syrup off of a person?” Spencer asks in a way that Jack is almost certain is supposed to goad him on. Jerry starts to reply, barely opening his mouth before Jack holds a hand up to stop him, and Spencer shoots him a look. “What? I really wanna know. What happens if I’m ever in that situation?”

Jack gives him an exasperated look, sighing heavily. “I don’t know, man. Google is free. I think you can probably figure it out.”

Maybe that’s the end of it. Maybe he can finally eat his breakfast in peace.

He gets a single bite of food in his mouth before Jerry speaks up again, mumbling under his breath all the while. “Proxy sex is totally a real thing.”

“You guys can just have sex with each other, you know.”

Immediately, Jack has all the attention in the room again. Jerry, as expected, looks hopeful, if not downright thrilled, but Spencer manages to surprise him; he seems interested too, even if he’s better at hiding it behind steeled expressions and a single raised eyebrow. They both stay silent, waiting for him to continue, and once Jack can stop stammering, he does. “I’m serious,” he insists. “I promise I won’t be bothered by it or anything, just- let me finish eating, and then I’ll go find somewhere else to be for a little while.”

“I don’t think either of us would be against you joining in.” Out of Jerry’s mouth, it sounds like an encouragement instead of an invitation, and Spencer nods right along with him. It’s not like they need him or anything, seeing as they’re supposedly both so experienced that sex shouldn’t even be a thing to either of them. “I mean, you don’t have to or anything, but-”

Jack’s mind is already racing. He sees a flash of teeth. A knife. Hips flush against each other, the flick of a lighter, and the words come tumbling out before he gets a chance to vet them. “Nope! You two have fun. There’s always something that needs to be done at the gas station, so I think I might just take my food and head over there.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Jerry and Spencer both stay silent save for a quick ‘bye’ each as they watch Jack pick up his plate and dump its contents into a bag, zipping it up and grabbing his backpack from its usual spot by the front door. Its only when he goes to step out that Jerry says something else. “Do you want me to drive you?”

Shit. Right. Amputee. “I’ll just call O’Brien!”

That seems to sate both of them. Jack thinks he’s managed to escape, only for Spencer to turn to Jerry right before Jack gets the chance to close the door, talking just loud enough for him to hear. “So, are you into bondage?”

“God, yes. You should see the box of rope under my bed.”

Jack can’t help but feel like he’s made the right choice here.

-

Aromantic, asexual, and touch averse: those are the words Jerry uses to explain to Jack the ways he feels.

Spencer usually just settles for ‘a huge fucking disaster’, and Jack can’t help but think they’re sort of similar.

He didn’t used to be the way he is now, not that he can remember. He loved- still loves- Sabine. They had sex as often as any couple probably does. Sure, he never liked random strangers touching him, but now his skin starts burning if anyone so much as brushes past him. No matter how much he scrubs at it, the feeling doesn’t go away until he finds some other way to distract himself, and it sucks. He can’t figure out where the disconnect is, if it’s some weird kind of grief for a girlfriend that isn’t even dead yet or some misguided loyalty or what, but none of it works anymore. He’ll probably never date anybody again, and he’d be perfectly content if he never has sex. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, necessarily; sometimes, it sounds nice. He just can’t make it happen.

Jerry says that’s perfectly normal, and that, really, plenty of people live fulfilling lives like that, and Jack understands. That doesn’t make it any less unsettling, feeling like that. Besides, the things in Jerry’s world that are ‘normal’ may as well be the customs from an alien planet to Jack. They’re just not from the same world, and while they can accept that and still be as close as they are, that doesn’t mean Jack will ever feel quite right about it.

Spencer has a completely different outlook on the whole thing. The night that Jack told him all of that, spilled out over the course of a few minutes with a lot more fumbling, Spencer listened to all of it, beer bottle cradled in his hand, expression dead neutral. Jack eventually finished going through it, his relief undercut with trepidation, only for Spencer to notice him out of the corner of his eye, give him a weird look, and say, “is that not what everybody feels like?”

“What?” The tension drained out of him all at once, and he slumped in on himself, watching as Spencer let out an ambivalent hum and took another sip of his beer. “No, that’s not what everybody feels like. Are you telling me that you thought people were lying to you about being attracted to each other?”

“Honestly? Yeah. The ‘wanting to date people’ part, at least. Not the sex stuff.” Jack gaped at him for a second, only for Spencer to reach over and shove him a second later, his face just barely flushed. “Stop looking at me like that. Don’t pretend like being alone isn’t fucking awesome.”

“I mean, sure, but I’d definitely rather be with my girlfriend.”

“And that sounds insane to me.” Spencer set the bottle aside, flopping down onto his back. He propped his head up on his hands. “I’ve got this lone wolf thing going on, and I can’t imagine anything better. Being on my own rules. Somebody needing my attention all the time could fuck that up.”

After that, Jerry also describes Spencer as aromantic.

They’re an odd set, the three of them. On one hand, Jack can barely stand being touched, even by the people that he cares about, and he has very, very little interest in being even vaguely romantic or sexual with anyone. Spencer has apparently never had a crush in his entire life, and he once broke the hand of a fellow soldier that tried to shake him awake out of sheer surprise, but that guy fucks like it’s going out of style. On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, Jerry has every switch turned to a very emphatic yes, dialed up to eleven on all fronts; he brings up how he thinks monogamy is a sham a lot, how ‘gender was invented by Big Relationship to sell more homophobia’ (whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean), and that, for all intents and purposes, he’s a hopeless romantic who would be so down to start a local BDSM club if he weren’t broke. 

And Jack hooks up with both of them.

With Spencer, it’s hard to consider what they do ‘sex’ so much as it’s ‘acting on their respective grudges’. It’s sexual. Usually one or both of them manages to get off in the process. There’s another aspect to it, though, one of pent-up rage and the desire to get even without killing each other in the process, one where making the other feel good by sinking teeth into his flesh is a point of smug pride. It’s rough, aggressive, and tied off with a nice message of ‘if you died, I wouldn’t miss you, but I hope you’d miss me’, and it’s- 

Well. The fact that Jack always had nice, run-of-the-mill sex with Sabine lets him separate the two acts, and he really, really needs it. To go from killing your friend over and over again in the stress-induced haze of a hallucination to nothing is a relief, of course, but sometimes, Jack needs that catharsis. He doesn’t like it, but sometimes, he needs to wrap his hand around someone’s throat and feel their still-beating pulse between his fingers.

He’s not too sure what Spencer gets out of the arrangement. He’s also not sure he wants to know.

With Jerry, though, it’s a different scenario entirely. They’re practically always together, living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed (when Jack can actually sleep), and Jerry is a very touch-oriented person. He feels better if he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with someone, and when someone is always close to you, always touching, you get used to it eventually.

You’re also probably going to end up making out with them, and while you’re laying next to them, freaking out about how you just made out with your best friend, he’s going to be there, totally blissed out and wondering what he can say to get you to do it again. 

They’re not dating, technically. Jerry knows Jack really can’t do the whole ‘romance’ thing, and he’s fine with that, even if he can, but he really likes it when Jack refers to him as his boyfriend, so that’s what Jack does. Jerry is his boyfriend. Jack isn’t in love with him, and they’re both totally cool with that. They have sex sometimes, and it’s not weird.

It’s only natural that Jack spends his entire shift agonizing over how badly his violence-based fuckbuddy and his big-hearted boyfriend are going to clash with each other. 

He gets a ride home once he can’t find anything else to do at the gas station or stall anymore, hands folded in his lap the entire drive. Spencer’s car isn’t haphazardly parked against the back fence anymore when Jack gets out of the car, which Jack takes as a sign that he probably won’t walk in on the two of them, thank god. He heads up to the porch, nudging the door open with his shoulder, hand on the knob just in case he decides that he has to leave immediately, but-

There’s nothing. Everything seems fine. The house hasn’t burnt to the ground, and someone even cleaned up after breakfast. The only sound in the house is the sink running upstairs.

Jack hesitantly makes his way up the stairs, finding the bathroom door open and Jerry sitting inside, a fuzzy headband on to hold his hair back and a makeup brush in his hand. He’s even fully clothed. With his free hand, he’s prodding at a hickey on his neck, but that’s the only one Jack can see. Jack stops in the doorway, watching for a moment. “Uh… hi. How did it go?”

“Hm?” Jerry glances at him, then perks up immediately, dropping the brush and letting it roll away into some nebulous corner of the bathroom. “Oh! Hey, you’re back! It went great!”

Great? No details, nothing? “That’s good. I think.”

Silence. Jerry bends down to look for the brush again.

“Are you actually trying to cover up a hickey?” Jack asks. “You never do that.”

“What? No. I’m gonna try to make it look like there’s an alien comin’ out of it. It’s gonna be awesome.”

“That- yeah. That makes a lot more sense.” Jerry chuckles, grabbing the brush from where it landed and sitting back up. He hits his head on the bottom of the sink on the way up, then recoils with a ‘d’oh!’, clutching the back of his head. He recovers fast, at least, going right back to digging through the bag in front of him a second later. “So… what did you guys do?”

Jerry snorts, eyes still locked on the makeup. “Uh, had sex? What else would we have done?”

“Seriously? There’s not a bunch of gross details you wanna tell me about the second you see me?”

“I mean, you’ve had sex with him.” Jerry lights up as he pulls out a bottle of fake blood, setting it down on the counter. “I imagine it’s probably the same thing. I mean, if you really want a play-by-play-”

“No! No, no, no, totally fine!” Jack holds his hands up defensively, taking a step back. “I just- I’m surprised, is all. I expected that to go a lot worse.”

“Really? I think it went great.” Jerry pulls out a bottle of liquid latex, putting it next to the blood before turning to Jack as seriously as possible and saying, “I’m about to turn our bathroom into a crime scene, though. This isn’t gonna be pretty. You should probably leave.”

And that’s that. 

Spencer isn’t any more open about it than Jerry is. Days later, shoved up in the supply closet at the gas station with Spencer, evidently bored and looking for something to do, Jack pulls away from him, breathless, and Spencer takes that as an invitation to go for the throat. Jack manages to choke something out right before that. “So, the other day with Jerry, when you-”

He cuts himself off with a sharp gasp as Spencer’s teeth sink into his neck, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling off, more annoyed and confused than anything else. “What about it?”

Then he goes right back to kissing Jack’s neck. You know. Like an asshole.

“You know, just,” Jack squeezes his eyes shut, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking, “what happened? How did that go?”

A sigh. “Didn’t know you had a thing for being cucked.”

“I don’t, I seriously don’t care about that sort of thing, I just-”

“Then why don’t you shut your goddamn mouth and focus on me instead of your boyfriend? ‘Cause, newsflash, I’m trying to get in your pants right now, not his.”

Oh, he’s going to be pissed when Jack tells him he needs to get back to watching the store. Jack gives him an extra couple of minutes, just in case.

It’s almost nice, the fact that they both don’t offer any answers to a question Jack doesn’t want to ask. Usually, Jack wouldn’t be able to get either of them to shut up about that sort of thing, no matter how little he actually wants to know about the situation, but now both of them act like it’s weird for him to be curious. Hell, he’s almost certain they still meet up from time to time when he isn’t around, and if either of them mention it, there’s barely more than a fleeting comment. 

Jerry doesn’t make a habit of keeping information from him, not unless it’s something important.

Why, then, is Spencer in their living room for their regularly scheduled date night?

Jerry, still dressed in his work clothes with the pizza boxes in hand, nudges past Jack after Jack unlocks the front door for both of them, completely ignoring the actual fucking intruder sitting against their couch- not even on it, just sitting on the ground with his back leaned up against the cushions. Spencer just keeps scrolling through his phone idly, neither of them saying a word to each other as Jerry sets the pizzas down on the table; instead, Spencer turns to Jack after a moment, his face splitting into a wicked smile. “Heya, Jack.”

Jack blinks. He stays in the doorway, hand wrapped tightly around the strap of his bag, and deadpans, “get out.”

“Now, that’s no way to talk to a guest. I thought you were raised better than that.”

“Don’t give me that. You know I wasn’t.” Jack raises his voice as he turns his attention to Jerry. “Hey, are we just gonna ignore him?”

“Ignore who?” Jerry replies over his shoulder. Jack frowns, and when Jerry turns back to look at him, he gestures vaguely at Spencer. Jerry glances over, realization spreading over his face in an instant. “Oh, yeah, him! Right! I invited him! We’re gonna talk about something either before, during, or after Batman.”

Spencer nods along the entire time. “Probably during.”

Jack turns back to Spencer with a slight scowl. “Can you at least tell me what window you snuck in through so I can get it fixed?”

“Not a chance, Townsend.”

“Awesome. You’re an asshole.”

Spencer just laughs, and as Jack takes his usual spot on the couch, Jerry sits down next to him with Spencer between the two of them, still settled on the ground. He takes a slice of pizza out of the box, hands it to Spencer, then grabs one for himself, slings a leg over Spencer’s shoulder, and starts petting Spencer with his free hand. Spencer sinks into the touch, and for a little while, Jack almost thinks he knows who tops in their relationship. 

Then, Jerry sighs around a mouthful of food and ruins that before they’re even half an hour into the movie. “Bored already. Thinkin’ about the other thing. Hey, Jack, you wanna watch Spencer fuck me?”

Of course nothing can be that simple. Thank god Jack already stopped eating. Sure, now he can’t use it as an excuse, but now he doesn’t have to clean half-chewed pizza out of the carpet.

Jack’s head snaps over to look at the two of them, brow already furrowed, and Jerry doesn’t even bother to make eye contact. Spencer is, sort of, out of the corner of his eye, but more importantly, he has an evil little grin on his face. Jack frowns, gaze locked on Spencer. “I told you I’m not into being cucked, and that’s not going to change just because you want it to.”

“What if I asked nicely?” Spencer mocks, only for Jerry to snort and shove him by the shoulder. Spencer shoves him right back, then settles down against his leg again.

Jerry continues like Spencer hadn’t said anything in the first place. “It’s not about that, actually. It’s not that we want you to watch-”

“Why are you inviting me, then?!”

“-but,” Jerry continues, opting to ignore Batman completely in favor of looking over at him, “Spencer and I talked about it, ‘n we agreed that it’d probably be the smart choice, so… yeah. You in?” 

Both of them stare at him expectantly, and Jack stares back, wide-eyed and feeling oddly like a trapped animal. “I feel like there’s a lot of details you left out here, and I’m not comfortable with- any of them? Yeah. Any of them. Pretend like I wasn’t in the room when you discussed this, because I literally wasn’t.”

“Your boyfriend’s gonna get high, and I’m gonna cut him up with a knife and pull him around on a leash. Then, I dunno. We’ll probably have sex,” Spencer deadpans. Then, he grins. “If I decide he earned it, that is.”

What.

Jack’s mouth falls open, Meanwhile, Jerry nods sagely like Spencer didn’t just say the single most deranged sentence he’s heard all week. “You don’t have to participate or anything if you don’t want to, but since I will preferably be higher than astronaut pussy and weed is kinda-sorta a blood thinner-”

“And it makes you stop feeling pain like you normally would,” Spencer interjects.

“-right, that too. We thought it’d be better if we had a third party there to call it off if shit gets too out of hand on either end. Y’know. Just to make sure nobody gets hurt.”

Jack gawks at them, and when neither of them take it back, he repeats, “you wanna make sure nobody gets hurt? While having sex with knives?”

Jerry rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “More hurt than they wanna be, duh.”

“How have I had sex with both of you?”

“If it’ll calm you down any,” Spencer starts, turning back to the TV, “we’ve done all the knife shit before. And the collars. And the leashes. We just haven’t done it without being sober. You probably don’t even have to be here, but it’s a precaution. If you say no, we’ll just find some other way to make it happen.”

“I told you we could just invite Rosa. I bet she’d watch.”

With the bluish glow of the TV screen across his face, Spencer cringes. “You’re not inviting her. I don’t trust that girl.”

“What would you even want me to do here?” Jack asks, cutting into their side conversation, and thank god they didn’t just send Spencer to ask. Jerry looks relatively sane, at least, and he’ll probably answer Jack’s questions without getting too terribly weird about it. “How am I supposed to know when to stop you? I mean, I technically know how much blood is supposed to be in the human body, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at knowing how much of it ends up outside of that body. Guys, I’m not good at math.”

Spencer’s head whips around a little too quick for Jack’s liking, a hand jamming into his pocket. “I’m glad you asked! Watch this shit.”

He strikes like a snake, pulling a pocket knife out and flipping the blade open in one fell swoop. The shiny metal on the blade glints in the faint lighting, reflecting a distorted image of Jack’s face back at him, and for a horrible second, Jack thinks he’s going to drag the blade across his own thigh, straight through his jeans, but-

Jerry grabs him by the wrist with one hand and snatches the knife out of his hand with the other. Spencer lets out a shocked sound, only for the hand on his wrist to slide down his arm and into his hair. Jerry yanks his head back, his expression serious all of the sudden, and meets Spencer’s stunned expression with nothing but authority. “Don’t do that. Freaking him out isn’t gonna help.”

Jack expects a little bit of a fight, but to his utmost surprise, Spencer swallows hard, mutters a soft ‘uh-huh’, and when Jerry smiles at him, he looks a little bit more scared, if anything. Jerry lets go of him, then turns back to Jack while Spencer takes a few seconds to recover. “Anyway, you’re, uh… less involved, in this sorta thing? So if you think we’re going too far, we’re probably going too far. If that doesn’t happen, then you can just enjoy the show. It’ll be pretty cool.”

Spencer blinks, then suddenly regains his wits and turns around completely, settling on his knees at Jerry’s feet. “Hang on, we should still show him what it’s supposed to look like!”

Before he even gets the chance to finish, Jerry holds the knife out to him. He wiggles it slightly when Spencer doesn’t take it immediately, and after Spencer yanks it out of his hand, Jerry hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing his hips up. Jack’s breath hitches, and Jerry pauses, glancing over at him. “Oh. No?”

“I, um.” Jack hesitates, and- why is his mouth so dry all of the sudden? He takes a sip of water off the first cup he grabs off the coffee table, which, in all honesty, may not even be his. “Show me.”

Spencer mumbles something adjacent to ‘hell yes,’ and Jerry pulls his sweats down on one side, just enough for a bit of his thigh to stick out. He holds it there, and Spencer slinks between his legs while all three of them keep their eyes locked on the spot. Spencer brings the blade up, slowly, almost reverently, and presses it into the skin. Jack sees it push down, if only barely, the flesh sinking to accommodate it. Spencer drags the knife across Jerry’s thigh in one slow, measured pull, and, after a second, blood oozes up out of the cut, beading against an otherwise clean slate. 

It doesn’t stay there for long. After he closes the knife, Spencer leans in and licks the cut clean, maintaining eye contact with Jerry the entire time, and Jerry just sits there and lets him.

With that done, Spencer pulls away to get a better look at the mark he left with fascination. He thumbs at it, if only for a moment. “Nice.”

“Fuck,” Jerry breathes, almost as though he’s just now remembering how to, and he flops back down onto the couch, his waistband snapping back up to his hip. He ruffles Spencer’s hair, an action that Jack wouldn’t dare try lest he lose his hand in the process. “Go get the antiseptic and the band-aids.”

And without a word of protest, Spencer nods, gets up, and ambles off to the stairs, all while Jack watches in awe.

Jerry lets his head fall back onto the couch, exhaling softly, and when he opens his eyes and sees the look on Jack’s face, he grins. “I know, right?” he says, like he’s talking about the weather or a cool trick a dog can do. “He’s pretty good at that, isn’t he?”

“So- so what?” Jack splutters after a second, sitting up a bit straighter. “You guys hook up for a couple weeks, and now you just get to boss Spencer fucking Middleton around? How’d you even do that?”

Jerry’s smile only widens. “Beat him in a wrestling match, tied him down, and edged him ‘til he forgot how to beg. That and the cattle prod.”

“The huh?”

“Anyway,” Jerry continues, ignoring him entirely, “I’m not scared of him or anything. If you tell him to stop, he’ll back off. I don’t think he’s gonna go too far.”

That’s when Spencer decides to come strolling right back down the stairs, first aid kit in hand. He drops to his knees in front of Jerry again, and Jerry lets him yank the waistband of his pants down so he can clean off the cut. He rips the packaging open with his teeth, and Jerry watches him work, hands propped up behind his head. Spencer catches Jack staring, then raises an eyebrow. “Make a decision yet?”

He should say no. He should shut this down now to avoid setting a precedent of being dragged in the middle of their weird, kinky sex. 

That’s not what he says.

Jack hears his own voice coming out of his mouth before he registers that he’s saying something. “This seems really personal. I don’t know. You guys have your thing, and I’m not included in it, and I’m totally fine with that. I don’t need those wires to cross. Besides, I really don’t understand why you want me there in the first place, seeing as-”

“We want you there because we like you,” Spencer interrupts. “Don’t overthink it.”

Oh. 

Jack checks the look on Jerry’s face, and- oh. He’s nodding along while Spencer puts a couple band-aids over the cut on his leg, mellow as ever. They actually want to include him now, after a while of leaving him in the dark, and they already have it turned up to eleven. 

“Can I have some time to think about it?” When neither Jerry nor Spencer reacts immediately, he adds, “I wouldn’t mind watching once or twice ahead of time while you guys do something else, just to get a feel for what you guys do.”

That puts an evil gleam in Spencer’s eye, one that Jack immediately reads as agreement without Spencer having to say a word. “We can make that happen.”

“For sure,” Jerry agrees, and after he gets the band-aids in place, Jerry tugs Spencer up onto the couch by the front of his shirt, lightly, just guiding him there. Spencer takes the spot between the two of them, but Jerry’s arm snakes behind him, taking Jack’s a moment later and squeezing. Then, he snaps right back to his usual shit. “So, Heath Ledger’s Joker: smash or pass?”

“Smash, obviously,” Spencer replies, and Jack wonders just what he’s gotten himself into.

(Really, it wasn’t a question of if he’d actually say yes or not. He knew he’d say yes. That evening, laying in bed with Jerry in front of him and Spencer bear-hugging him from behind, Jack runs his fingers along the Hello Kitty band-aids on Jerry’s leg, remembers that they want him there even if he doesn’t do a single thing the entire time, and he makes his choice, but he doesn’t tell them that right away. He still wants a chance to back out, just in case).

-

Over the course of several weeks, Jack learns more about Jerry and Spencer’s sex lives than he previously thought possible, and he doesn’t lay a hand on either of them once. 

The dynamic the two of them have confuses him more than anything. He never really figured out who would top beforehand, seeing as Jerry and Spencer both tend to top him more often than not, and he couldn’t imagine either of them regularly bottoming. Hell, seeing Jerry borderline dominate Spencer was enough of a trip as it was, but actually witnessing everything in action doesn’t clear it up any.

There’s several ways he can answer his own questions.

The short answer: Jerry tends to bottom, and Spencer tends to top. Spencer also usually doms, but he submits more often than he bottoms. Sometimes, they switch. It doesn’t matter who tops when they have vanilla sex, because they don’t have vanilla sex with each other.

The long answer: Jerry tends to bottom, even when he’s domming Spencer. Even when he isn’t domming Spencer, he is. When Spencer gives him orders, Jerry says ‘yes sir’ like he’s trying to get his ass beat ‘til sitting is just a distant memory, and Spencer bites every single time. He plays dumb on purpose, and he mouths off, and he keeps this infuriating smile on his face all the time, one that drives Spencer up the wall and only pushes them further and further. Then, when he actually doms Spencer, he still bottoms, treating Spencer like a prized pet while he sits on his cock and makes him wait for a small eternity before he’s finally allowed to cum.

Spencer, meanwhile, almost exclusively tops for reasons he never clarifies to Jack. He likes to dominate Jerry if they’re doing that sort of thing, and he never goes into a scene with the same patience Jerry offers him; instead, he walks in with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops and starts talking shit immediately, and that seems to work for them. One time, he opens the scene by slapping Jerry across the face without a word, and Jerry still looks like there should be hearts swirling around his head. He very seldom asks Jerry to dominate him, to Jack’s understanding; it just sort of happens. They fight for it. Jerry wins. Spencer still has to be forced into submission, playing the humiliated victim and fighting him the entire time, but Jerry’s right: when Spencer actually lets go, he’s a very, very good listener, and he preens when Jerry tells him that he’s strong or handsome.

The way they choose who does what seems to be entirely random. They’ve both mentioned by now that they discuss this sort of thing extensively beforehand, but Jack can’t sort out which parts are preplanned and which ones are left to chance once they see each other. They have safewords- the colors of a stoplight- but in the space of time that Jack watches them, he sees Jerry call yellow pretty frequently, just to tell Spencer that something isn’t working for him anymore, and he sees Spencer call yellow exactly once. 

If Jerry safewords, Spencer pauses, drops most of the facade, and adjusts accordingly without making a huge deal of it. The one time Spencer safewords, however, Jerry pulls off of him immediately, exchanges a few words with him, then kicks Jack out of the room until they’re done. When he finally lets him back in later, Jack finds Spencer on his back with his arms draped over his face, half-dressed, while Jerry cards his fingers through his hair in silence. Later, Jerry tells him that Spencer doesn’t actually have a ‘yellow’, and if he calls yellow, he really means red. They’re working on that. Jerry makes it a point to safeword on Spencer’s behalf from time to time, and to check in with him more often than that. 

(When they first got together, Jerry explained that a safeword doesn’t actually work unless people use it, and if they don’t use it properly, it’s really hard to trust that they will use it before they get hurt. He also said that he safewords so often to prove that he can, in fact, be trusted on that front, because he won’t stick around if he doesn’t like what’s going on. Jack can attest to that one. He once saw Jerry safeword out of a shitty movie. What Spencer is doing, then, looks like something Jerry would usually protest, but if it works for them, it works). 

Regardless, Spencer’s methods are, in a word, brutal. Sure, the knives will be so far outside of the realms of what Jack would find fun that they may as well be on a whole different planet, but a lot of the rest of it doesn’t look fun, either. He enjoys torment, like putting Jerry on his knees and pulling his hair, or tying him into impossible positions and expecting him to hold them, or setting out unrealistic expectations, watching Jerry accomplish all of them, and then changing his mind at the very last second. He gets unbelievably chatty, which Jack expected, but the stuff he says goes past ‘vaguely challenging’ and drifts into the territory of ‘outright mean’; Jack keeps expecting Jerry to back down, but he doesn’t. 

Once, Spencer fucks his face so hard that he gags, then holds him there and refuses to let him breathe. He finally lets Jerry pull off of him, and Jerry coughs, drool dripping down his chin. That sight and the sound of Jerry trying to string words together and failing almost makes Jack step in, only for Jerry to finally spit out something comprehensible. He begs for more, and Spencer obliges.

Jack gets three major takeaways from this.

The first is that Jerry and Spencer both enjoy this. They enjoy it a lot. They seem to trust each other, and they know what they’re doing. They have both repeatedly assured him that nothing will go wrong, and, barring any freak mishaps, Jack believes them. 

The second is that both of them are a couple of showoffs, and there is, to some degree, an aspect of voyeurism to this. They’ve both said that they aren’t pushing any more than they usually would, but Jack notices the way Spencer glances at him after he does anything he thinks is particularly cool, a glimmer in his eye, and Jerry always asks Jack what he thought afterwards. They want him to watch. It’ll do something for them.

The third is that he’s going to watch, partly for safety reasons, partly because he wants to see where this goes.

He also learns the date and time that they plan to do all of this, and he half-dreads, half-looks forward to it for a full week beforehand.

Jack makes sure that neither he nor Jerry have work that evening, leaving the gas station in the care of some guy who will probably quit by morning, and the night of, he double-checks that he did that on the right day. He showers, but doesn’t dress up like he knows Spencer will. Jerry locked himself in his bedroom the second they got home, saying he has to ‘get himself all pretty’, which Jack is pretty sure translates to ‘get high as balls’, but either way, he doesn’t try to intrude. If Spencer ends up arriving on time, he’ll head straight to Jerry’s room, barge in, and if he likes what he finds, they’ll relocate to the master bedroom (exclusively because it has the biggest bed) and start.

Jack, in the meantime, has been instructed to sit in his room and find some way to occupy himself.

The book he picks offers a halfway decent distraction, but Jack’s mind still wanders, whether he wants it to or not. He runs over everybody’s safewords in his head over and over again, his own included, just in case he actually needs to step in. Jerry and Spencer both made it abundantly clear that, if he wants to participate instead of just watching, he can; Spencer went as far to ask if he could include him more than usual, bouncing off of him and using him like a prop, and Jack, stunned, agreed. Spencer did not, however, describe what that would entail any further than that, which might not play out as well as either of them would like, but-

Jack’s breath hitches when Spencer’s boots hit the stairs, heading up them with slow, deliberate steps. He reminds himself that he can leave at any time. All he has to do is get up and step out of the room, and no one would be bothered by it. 

He pretends to read a couple more pages, just so he doesn’t look like he’s freaking the fuck out over all of this. He’s supposed to moderate. He can hold it together for a little while. 

Everything goes quiet.

Then, the door slams open. Jerry enters the room first, albeit not on his feet; he stumbles a few steps forward, then crashes onto the floor on his knees, head dipping dangerously close to the ground. He slumps forward, panting, with his chest pressed to the floor, and Spencer walks in behind him, making his way in front of him again. Jack keeps the book open in his hands, watching all of this unfold with the barest amount of interest; while Spencer wears his boots, a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and a tank top like usual, with the noted additions of a choker that accentuates the scar on his throat, a belt, and a knife visibly hooked from his pocket, Jerry has nothing but a thin leather collar and a chain leash on. Jack spots a thin sheen of sweat on him, and his lips are already slightly swollen, so he assumes they started without him. He’s half hard, too, but- well. With Jerry, that doesn’t mean much.

Spencer grabs the end of the leash and yanks Jerry up roughly, keeping tension in the chain even after Jerry leans forward onto his leg and holds himself up with it. From there, Jerry reangles his head and runs his tongue along the seam of Spencer’s pants, maintaining eye contact the whole time, and Spencer sneers, tugging a little harder. Jerry, in response, lets out a gasp and grinds against Spencer’s shin. That only seems to piss Spencer off more. “You’re such a whore. We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already trying to get yourself off. You didn’t even ask.”

“Please?” Jerry fires back immediately, his voice all sorts of dreamy and dazed. Spencer just snorts and kicks his legs further apart, and Jerry lets out a clipped moan and bucks his hip against his boot instead. “Oh god, harder, please.” 

Oh, he’s high as fuck. Jack has now seen what Jerry looks like when he goes beyond horny and hits cock-drunk, and this is something else entirely. 

“Keep acting like this, and you’ll be lucky if I let you get off at all tonight.” Spencer steps back abruptly, letting Jerry fall forward so he can catch him by the jaw and hold him up. He coils the chain around his fist, and slowly, Jerry’s back arches to accommodate. Once he’s satisfied, Spencer takes a second to admire his handiwork, then, with a note of fondness, tilts his head towards Jack. “Doesn’t he look pretty like this, Jack?” 

Jack feels himself agreeing automatically, but not entirely. He set the book aside a little while ago, and this whole display holds his attention well enough. “Very pretty.”

Jerry moans again. Spencer lets out a devious chuckle, ignoring him entirely in favor of meeting Jack’s eye. “It’s a shame he’s a slut. There’s plenty of people who would pay thousands to see him like this, let alone touch him, but here he is, giving it up for free.”

“I could totally-” Jerry’s breath hitches as Spencer notices him again and pulls, “-totally hold off. You just, uh.” He licks his lips. Laughs in the way he usually does when he’s high, all breathless and airy, but like this, it takes on a whole new context. “You’re pretty desperate, so I’d feel bad if I-”

Spencer lets go of his face and slaps him with a sharp crack!, and while Jerry reels, trying to recover from that, Spencer grabs him again. “Don’t talk back. Did I tell you that you could speak?”

Jerry keeps that dazed smile plastered on his face. “No, sir.”

“I don’t remember telling you to call me sir, either. Did I tell you to do that?”

“No, sir, but I know you want me to.”

Spencer hits him again, harder this time, and Jerry lets his head fall back for a second as he lets out a pleased groan. Spencer lets him have that before grabbing him again. “You’re awfully fuckin’ mouthy for somebody who wants me to make him cum. Yes, I do want you to call me sir, but don’t you ever try to make that choice for me. I’m in charge here. Understand?”

A sigh. Jerry rocks forward, pushing his ass out a little further. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s ‘uh-huh, sir’ to you,” Spencer snaps, grip tightening on Jerry’s jaw. “It’s like you’re trying to ruin this for yourself. And here I thought you’d be on your best behavior after Jack oh-so-graciously agreed to come watch.”

Jack perks up at the mention of his name, but stays silent. He sees Jerry try to look at him and fail, barely getting a silver out of the corner of his eye. “I do, sir.”

“Of course you do. Your boyfriend went out of his way to be here. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

“Fuck,” Jerry mutters, then raises his voice again when it looks like Spencer might hit him for a third time. “Yes, sir. Thank you for inviting him, sir.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” Spencer replies, amusement dripping into his tone. He jerks Jerry’s head towards Jack abruptly, still holding him by the jaw as his mouth falls open. “Go on. Thank him for watching you debase yourself.”

It takes Jerry’s eyes a moment to focus, for him and Jack to properly make eye contact, but when they finally do, Jerry takes a second to breathe, face reddening. “Thank you for watching me debase myself.”

Jack’s mouth goes dry. 

He can’t think of a response. He glances over at Spencer, keeping his expression as neutral as possible, and Spencer just smirks at him, looking every bit like the cat that got the canary. He’s waiting for some sort of answer, though, and if the desperate look on Jerry’s face is anything to go by, so is he. Jack turns back to him, steeling his expression, and he takes another moment to think while he lounges back against the pillows. “You’re welcome.”

Jerry’s eyes widen, if only slightly, but Spencer pays that no mind. Instead, that smirk changes into a full-blown smile as he takes a step back and hauls Jerry to his feet, winning his attention back immediately. Jerry wobbles on his feet like he might fall over; Spencer does not let that happen. Instead, he slaps him across the ass, startling him into planting his hands on the bed, and Spencer takes his place behind him. “There you go. Get up there. On your knees.”

Jerry climbs onto the bed, if only barely, and Spencer has to catch him from behind to keep him from falling over. He wraps his arms around his waist possessively, the top one sliding up his chest to pull him off of his hands; Jerry sits back on his heels to accommodate, and he presses his back flush against Spencer’s chest in the process. He grinds his hips back against him in slow, sloppy motions. “God, why aren’t you in me already?”

“Because that’s not the deal we made,” Spencer replies, mocking Jerry’s half-whine in the process. He kisses the back of his shoulder, then the side of his neck. “Come on. You’re smarter than that. Think about it. What else am I gonna do to you tonight?”

“Who cares?”

Spencer doesn’t bother to reprimand him for talking back, taking the opportunity to sink his teeth into his neck instead. When he lets go and runs his tongue along the mark, Jerry pushes it back out towards him again like he wants another. Spencer ignores it. “Relax. You’re getting fucked before we’re done here. If you’re gonna be such a sloppy mess, though, I should get to have my fun with you before that, right?”

“Uh…” Jerry thinks it over for a second, and Spencer strokes his hip with his lower hand, kissing his neck all the while. That manages to distract him. “I guess that’s fair. Dunno what you’re doing. Can’t remember.”

“Want me to jog your memory?” Jerry nods. Spencer lets go of his hip, planting his free hand in the center of Jerry’s chest as he reaches for his pocket. All it takes is a single flick of the knife, the blade popping open, and Jerry’s eyes fill with recognition. He gasps as cold steel touches his skin, the flat of the blade resting against his stomach, and Spencer holds him a little tighter. “You’d better hold still if you don’t wanna get cut. This is a sharp knife, and I’m looking forward to using it on you. Would hate for you to hurt yourself because you’re such a needy slut.”

“Holy shit, please,” Jerry breathes. 

“Please what?” Spencer drags the knife up Jerry’s torso, then flips it at his neck, the sharp edge of the blade just beneath Jerry’s jaw. “Use it on you? Let you hurt yourself? I think it’s in your best interest to let me decide what’s going to happen here.”

Another flip of the blade, this one a bit more slow and deliberate. Spencer presses the dull side of the knife against Jerry’s throat, pressing down, and Jerry doesn’t seem to notice the difference; he lets out a pleased groan anyway, and Spencer spares a quick glance up to Jack to smirk. Too fucking easy, he mouths.

“Are you actually planning on cutting him?” Jack asks, sitting forward. Jerry’s eyes start to glaze over, and he drops his head back on Spencer’s shoulder, arms limp at his sides.

“Eventually.” Spencer keeps his tone as casual as possible. He picks the blade up off of Jerry’s neck, and, with the blunt side down, drags the edge of the knife down his torso again. “I bet he could take it no matter where I cut him, but there’s spots where I’d rather not. Too much cleanup. Why? Do you want me to?”

“Uh. I mean-“

Before Jack gets the chance to respond, Spencer turns the blade over until it stands on end, gently teasing the skin on Jerry’s chest with the tip of the blade. Blood beads at the end of the metal, and Jerry lets out a breath without a single word attached to it. All the while, Spencer maintains eye contact, cheek pressing against Jerry’s. “Hear that? Jack wanted me to cut you. That’s probably enough, don’t you think?”

Jerry lets out a breathless huff. “You know it isn’t!”

“Oh yeah? Are you saying that because you don’t think he’s satisfied, or because you want more?”

For a second, Jerry doesn’t actually respond, letting out a contemplative hum. Then, the sliver of his face that Jack can see gets totally overtaken by a dreamy smile. “Little bit of column A, little bit of column B?”

Spencer’s hand pulls back a bit, ignoring the way Jerry pushes his chest out to meet him. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

“Because I want more?”

“There you go. I didn’t hear you ask Jack what he wanted, and last I checked, you’re not psychic.” He brings the blade back down against his skin, wiping the flat of the blade off and leaving barely-there trails of blood in its wake. Once Jerry seems thoroughly disappointed that Spencer isn’t cutting him again, Spencer picks up the whole knife and thumps him on the chest with it, forcing the air out of him. “You don’t get to speak for him, got it?”

“But what if-” he starts, only for Spencer to hit him again. He changes his tune immediately. “Yes, sir!”

Spencer looks content, flipping the knife back up onto the blade and lining it up against Jerry’s chest. He nudges Jerry’s head back up with his shoulder, and suddenly, Jack has two pairs of eyes on him again, one sharp and hawklike, the other totally unfocused. “Go on. Ask nicely.”

Jerry pants, his face screwing up as he tries to put the words together into a coherent sentence. “Please?” he says, and he struggles for another second before giving up. “Please, Jack?”

Suddenly, Jack’s posture gets to him. He’s never this interested in what Jerry and Spencer do with each other, at least not enough to sit forward and watch this attentively. His eyes widen ever so slightly at the realization, and he sits up a little straighter to accommodate, gaze stuck on the two of them all the while. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that they’re looking for him to say something, does it? That they’re trying to involve him?

A feeling of too much seeps up into Jack’s chest from the pit of his stomach, the newfound sense of power making his insides coil themselves up in knots, and something- Jerry’s voice- rattles around in the back of his skull: there’s no shame in safewording.

He almost does.

But there’s also no shame in having a little bit of control over a situation for once in his life, is there? It’s dangerous, exerting this kind of power on someone, but Jerry not only wants it, but asked him for it explicitly. Where’s the harm in coming out on top for once?

Finally, Jack makes his decision. He slumps back again, trying his damndest to look bored as he sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He scans Jerry over for a moment, then nods. “I would like to see that. Thank you for asking.”

Behind Jerry, Spencer lights up, if only in the eyes. Jerry starts to thank him, only to cut himself off when Spencer presses the knife into his chest, barely slicing the skin open there in the process. He drags it across, incredibly careful, and lifts the blade once he’s satisfied. “Stay still,” he reminds him, putting his free hand on the center of his chest so he can pull him back.

Jack watches with rapt attention as Spencer goes to make the equivalent mark on the other side of Jerry’s chest, speaking up right before he puts the blade down. “You’re being really nice to him. I’m surprised.”

“Oh, so we’re talking about him like he’s not here now?” Despite what he’s saying, Spencer’s tone stays just as interested as ever. Talking doesn’t seem to inhibit him, either, seeing as he cuts into Jerry’s chest a moment later. “Go on.”

“I thought you’d be a little more strict, you know? You don’t like how he’s talking to you, and you’re still giving him what he wants.”

A snort. Spencer picks the knife up again, flipping it to the blunt side so he can trace it absentmindedly along Jerry’s stomach. “Kinda hard to punish someone who thinks getting cut up is a reward.” He pauses to bring his free hand up to Jerry’s throat, forcing his head up in the process. “Besides, look at him. He can’t help himself like this. You think he knows what’s good for him?”

“God, no. Not if he’s letting you hold the knife.”

Normally, that comment would get him snapped at, but Spencer just laughs, all teeth and mirth, and Jack can’t help but feel a little glimmer of pride at that. There’s something familiar to it, being on the same level as Spencer instead of being beneath him or on the sidelines, equally as respected and feared, and in any other situation, that’d probably make Jack’s skin crawl. Here, though, when Spencer folds up his knife and hands it to him, he doesn’t even break a sweat. “Here. Hold this. I’m gonna get him set up how I want him.”

He does. He sits perfectly still as Spencer pushes Jerry over in front of him, and Jerry, oh-so-compliant, falls over without complaint. He looks up at Jack with a pair of wide, moony eyes, letting Spencer take his arms and arrange them behind his back. Without thinking, Jack reaches down to pet him. He cards his fingers through his hair while he watches Spencer put him on his knees, ass up and out, chest pressed against the bed. He bites the inside of his cheek at the sight. “Am I allowed to comment?”

“I won’t stop you.”

Jack pauses to scratch at Jerry’s scalp lightly. “Put his knees further apart.”

A smirk. “You heard him,” Spencer says, taking a handful of Jerry’s ass and squeezing. Jerry has to stop and plant his face into the mattress for a second, but he complies eventually, arching his back further in the process. “Think you can hold this for a while?”

Jerry lets out a muffled grunt. 

Spencer pulls his hand back and slaps him once. “Words.”

Beneath him, Jerry makes a sound that sounds vaguely like ‘shit!’ before sticking his head up. “Yes, sir, I can!”

“Good.” Spencer lets go of him, bringing his hands to rest on the small of Jerry’s back instead. “Here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m going to get my knife back, and I’m going to cut you up. Then, when I’m done, I’m going to fuck you. You don’t get to move from this position, and you definitely don’t get to cum until I tell you to. Simple enough?”

“Oh, fuck yeah it is,” Jerry replies, practically a moan. Spencer raises both eyebrows, but doesn’t mention the lack of honorific. “Do I get to know how long I have to wait?”

“Nope.” Oh, that gets Spencer grinning again. He holds his hand out to Jack, meeting his gaze. “Open that knife for me.”

Jack obeys without a word. He flicks the knife open with one click, takes it by the blade, and hands it to him.

Spencer continues once he has the handle securely in his grasp, setting it against Jerry’s back so he can feel the weight of it. “In fact, I don’t know how long you’ll have to wait. It’s bad luck to close a knife someone else opened, and I’m not very superstitious, but I’m not taking any chances, either. I’ll stop cutting you when Jack decides you’ve had enough.”

And that’s one hell of a headrush if Jack’s ever felt one.

Spencer glances up at him innocently. “Is that alright, Jack?”

Jack doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he shifts his posture, putting a leg on either side of Jerry’s head and keeping them spread out so he has enough room to breathe, one hand staying in his hair all the while. With the other, he picks up the end of the leash and holds it out to Spencer. “Better make it count.”

The gleam in Spencer’s eye tells him everything he needs to know. 

Spencer snatches the leash up by its end, yanking Jerry back with it. He lets Jerry arch up and struggle for a second before lowering him back down, smirking at the wheeze that forces its way out of Jerry’s chest when he hits the mattress again. Spencer keeps a firm hold on the handle, though, giving Jerry just enough room to breathe while still reminding him of his presence with every minute tug. Begrudgingly, Jerry turns his head to the side, panting, and he barely moves his shoulders before Spencer snaps at him. “Don’t you dare move your fuckin’ arms. I put them there. I want them there. You can breathe, can’t you?” 

A quick grin flashes across Jerry’s face. God, how can he enjoy this as much as he does? “Barely, sir.”

“I didn’t ask you how well you could breathe,” Spencer sneers, setting the knife between Jerry’s shoulder blades so he can press a hand against the center of his back. He shoves hard, and Jerry’s spine pushes into an impossible curve. “I asked if you could, period. Can you?”
“Yeah, but-” 

Jerry falters. Spencer, mid-reach as he goes for the knife again, pauses, raising one eyebrow, and when Jerry cranes his neck to look back at him, Spencer snatches it up to keep him from cutting himself and nods patiently. “Go ahead. Spit it out.”

That fading grin turns into a full-on smile, and Jerry flops right back down, beaming. He lets out an exaggerated groan of pleasure. “I’m firing my chiropractor. Jesus fuck, do that every once in a while and you’ll have me rethinking my stance on marriage in like, a month, tops.”

(As Jack recalls, Jerry’s thoughts on marriage are ‘marriage is a bond between two homies who would be down with spending the rest of their lives with one another, but it’s also a sham made to sell precious memories at a premium. Also, I want a huge wedding someday, because that looks so fun, and I would look killer in a wedding dress. Monogamy is a farce. Commitment is hard. Cake is delicious’. So… jot that one down. Maybe. He probably isn’t talking about the cake thing). 

That makes Spencer break for a half-second; it’s a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of thing, but he covers up a laugh with a hum of amusement, still grinning as he takes a step back and steadies himself between Jerry’s legs instead. “You get awfully stupid when you’re high, you know that?”

“Sure do.”

“Then you also know,” Spencer takes a moment to get back in character, pressing the blade against Jerry’s ass and making him go stiff in an instant, “that every second you stall is a second I could’ve spent giving you what you want?”

Jerry stammers, trying to say something, but Spencer drags the knife down after reangling it in his hand with a quick flip of his wrist. The sound that comes out instead is more of an ‘uhhhh’ as he tries to regain some sort of grasp on reality, and when Spencer lifts the knife again, Jack gets a little bold. His fingers tighten at the roots of Jerry’s hair, if only barely, and all of the sudden, Jerry’s gaze goes almost lucid again as it snaps up to him. Jack hopes he isn’t blushing, or, if he is, that it’s not too noticeable. “He asked you something.”

“Sorry,” Jerry replies immediately. Jack can’t tell if he’s talking to him or to Spencer. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Spencer echoes, almost condescending. He feigns a pout, one that drips into his voice as he puts the knife to his skin again, right next to the last line, and pulls, just as slow, if not a little bit slower. Jerry moans aloud, and even that can’t drown him out. “Jack doesn’t even do this with us, and he knows when you’re acting like a dumbass. Isn’t that embarrassing?”

Jack glances up at him, trying to figure out if he should be offended or flattered, but Spencer doesn’t look at him. When Jerry fails to respond immediately, Spencer lifts the knife, and he only brings it back down on the mirroring spot whenever Jerry makes a vaguely affirmative sound against the sheets. “Right. You know how to behave. Why don’t you prove it? Quit mouthing off, hold still, and let me take care of it.”

And Jerry, to Jack’s utter shock, obliges. He nods furiously, hands clenching on his forearms, and Spencer finally relaxes into the scene and gets to work.

Briefly, Jack recalls referring to Spencer as an ‘artist when it came to pain’, or something to that effect; seeing him with a knife in his hand reminds him of that in a particularly chilling way. At the same time, though, it makes Jack realize that he didn’t know the half of it when he first thought that. Spencer makes the act of hurting someone, of carving into their skin, look like a well-practiced performance. No matter how Jerry moves, what he says, or the sounds he makes, Spencer regards all of that with nothing but two steady hands and hungry yet impassive look on his face. If Jerry shifts, Spencer tugs on the leash and rearranges him without blinking. The knife never trembles, all of the lines straight and even, and no matter how much Spencer hurts him, all Jerry can do is beg for more.

Seriously. Spencer treats all of this with such precision and care that it almost looks appealing, and as someone who has been on the business end of Spencer’s knife before, Jack knows how bad he can make it if he so pleases. 

He keeps the knife away from Jerry’s back and his hip bones, focusing instead on his ass and thighs. In all fairness, ‘carving’ may be a bit of an extreme way to describe it; the knife is sharp enough to cut with little more than fleeting touches, splitting skin apart in a way that almost looks painless. Spencer keeps a firm hold on it, of course, but seeing as he barely has to touch Jerry to cut him, all his marks rely off of effortless-looking wrist movements and the occasional fancy knife twirl, the latter of which seem to be more for Jack’s sake than Jerry’s. Spencer, the showoff, glances up at him every time he does one, and Jack pretends not to notice. Sure, Spencer may complain about that later, but the lack of attention lights a fire under him, and Jack wouldn’t dare take that away. This isn’t about either of them, after all.

All things considered, Jack expected more blood. If Jerry shifts just right, a faint smear of red pops out against the bedspread, but it could have been much, much worse. With how shallow Spencer keeps the rest of the cuts, they barely bleed, thin trails dripping out of Jack’s view if they manage to spill over in the first place. The cuts themselves are, for the most part, short, thin, and clean, close enough together that they can be bandaged up without much trouble later. There’s a method to the madness, and that method looks surprisingly similar to a set of tally marks.

Jerry, of course, never shuts up.

After spending virtually the entire time moaning no matter what Spencer says to him, Jerry slumps over sometime near the end of it, chest heaving, face pressed into the sheets. Spencer picks up the knife, running his thumb along the most recent cut and grinning. “Say, you wouldn’t mind if I got a little creative here, would you?”

Jerry cuts off the sound he’s making, a low rumble in his chest, to replace it with another one. Not a coherent one, but a different one, at the very least.

“Of course not. That’s what I thought.” Spencer licks the pad of his thumb clean with a single swipe of his tongue, then raises the knife again. He finds a clean spot on the upper part of Jerry’s thigh, balancing the tip of the blade there, and holds still. “You’ll let me do whatever I want to you, ‘cause you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not somebody’s bitch. Isn’t that right?”

There’s that sound again. Jack glances up at Spencer, wonders why he keeps asking Jerry questions he knows he won’t get a real answer to, and immediately remembers that he’s trying to find rationality in Spencer’s brand of sadism. There isn’t any. He knows that.

“Right. All anybody’d have to do is ask, and you’d let ‘em use you for as long as they want.” Spencer bites his lip, and after a second, he plants his free hand on Jerry’s hip and holds it tight, keeping him in place. “Fine by me. I don’t care. If you wanna go out and act like a whore, I can’t stop you. What I can do, though, is make sure everyone knows exactly who this ass belongs to.”

Then, he moves. Jack fails to piece together exactly what he means until he finishes the curve of the S and moves on to the P, all while Jerry’s bones methodically lock up one by one beneath him.

Jack’s panic response kicks in before he knows what he’s doing. “Spencer, stop!”

His voice comes out a little more aggressive and a little more urgent than he would like, and immediately, something in the back of his head tells him that Spencer may very well turn the knife on him next, just for that. To his surprise, though, Spencer pulls both hands away without hesitation, turning his attention to Jack. “What? He’s got two legs. You can carve up the other one.”

“That’s not-” Jack starts, then gives up without trying to argue. He lets out a sigh, forcing his breathing to calm down a little bit. “You’re sure that’s not too far?”

“Yes.”

Jack waits for Spencer to elaborate any further. When Spencer just stands there and stares at him like an asshole, Jack frowns. “You’ve been at this for a while. Jerry just got, like, super tense, and seeing as that’s probably a little bit more permanent and obvious than all the rest of the stuff, I thought that maybe I should- you know. Check to see if you’re on a power trip. Or something.”

“Fuckin’ adorable that you think you could stop me if I was.” Well, that answers that question: he absolutely is. “If it gets us back to the action faster, though, I’ll prove it.”

Before Jack can say anything, Spencer reaches forward and slides one hand into Jerry’s hair up to the crown and the other to the leash, takes hold of both, and yanks. Jerry disappears from between Jack’s legs, falling limp against Spencer’s chest, and when Spencer lets go of his hair, Jerry’s head lolls back onto his shoulder. Spencer smirks and drops the leash in favor of grabbing Jerry’s hip, and with a single nudge of his shoulder, Jerry’s head rolls right off, and when he and Jack lock eyes-

Oh. 

Jerry isn’t out of his depth here; in fact, Jack can’t remember a time where he’s looked more in his element than now. He can barely hold himself up, if at all, and the red tinge across the bridge of his nose in combination with the sheen of sweat all over him says otherwise, but his eyes do the talking for him. No matter how hard his chest heaves or the way his knees shake underneath him, there’s a little bit of consciousness behind that haze, and for the few fleeting moments that Jack actually gets to see it, it begs for him to let Spencer continue. Continue what, it’s not sure, but it would be content if this never ended.

Jerry starts to slump forward, but Spencer doesn’t let him. He puts his hand on Jerry’s cheek instead, turning his face towards him, and right away, Jerry lets out a soft groan and grinds back against him. As soon as Spencer turns his head to look at him, Jerry tries to kiss him, misses by a mile, and kisses his jaw instead. Spencer grins, half-wicked, half-affectionate. “You have no idea how many times he’s asked me to carve my name into him,” he says, and- yeah, no. More affectionate than wicked. A little mocking and very horny, but still. “Sure, it’s a little bit mean, I agree with you there, but your little boyfriend here is the perfect painslut. I couldn’t possibly say no to him forever.”

Jack has to take a second to process that, seeing as his brain is currently running at about a frame per second. “This was his idea?”

“Are you surprised?” Without thinking, Jack nods, which only seems to amuse Spencer further, drawing a laugh from him. “I hate to break it to you, but that was the first thing he asked me to do when you left us alone together. I bet I could use real torture methods on him, and he’d thank me. He’s a natural.”

“Oh.” Jack swallows, then, just to double check, asks, “so this isn’t just you getting territorial?”

“That’s part of it.” Jerry manages to get a little too close to Spencer’s mouth, and Spencer pauses, kissing him for a few seconds to placate him before he puts his hand back in Jerry’s hair and pulls his head away. Jerry laughs breathlessly, leaning into Spencer’s grip with a massive smile on his face. “But really, can you blame me? He begs so nicely whenever it comes up, and he takes whatever I give him like a champ. Why wouldn’t I be proud to put my name on that?”

Well. When he puts it like that. 

That thought is punctuated by a minute twitch in Jack’s pants, one that he immediately wishes he could forget about, solely so he doesn’t have to address what that means about him. He purses his lips, trying to think of something adequate to say back, and he fails. He has to settle. “I thought these sorts of things usually started with collars and dog tags.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, more amused than actually annoyed, and turns his attention back to Jerry. “Color?”

“So green,” Jerry purrs, blissed out even with Spencer tugging on his hair.

“That’s what I thought.” Back to Jack, one eyebrow raised. “If it makes your presence feel a little bit more justified, sure, try to rein me in all you want. I’d like to see you try. You can trust me when I say he wants this, though. What about you?”

What kind of sadist wants to see their mortal enemy-slash-hookup carve his name into their boyfriend and fuck him ‘til he cries as a reward?

“Green.”

Jack, apparently. 

Spencer drops Jerry unceremoniously this time, letting him crumple into a heap on the bed. He picks up the knife, eyes locked on Jerry all the while, and when Jerry doesn’t move, Spencer slaps his ass with his free hand. “Where are your arms supposed to be?”

Jerry thinks about it for a second. He honest-to-god tries to come up with an answer, only to settle for a shrug and an ‘iunno’ sound. Jack doesn’t even pause before rolling his eyes and grabbing Jerry by the arms, arranging them behind his back like Spencer had them before. When they start to slip, he puts both wrists in his hands and squeezes. “Hold it.”

“What he said,” Spencer says, and Jack realizes what he just did. He cuts his eyes up to Spencer as Spencer settles half-on, half-off of the bed, smirking at him, and Jack feels his face heat up. “What? You saved me a trip. I woulda done the same thing. I just didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Shut up. Aren’t you guys supposed to have sex eventually? When are you getting to that part?”

“Yeah, yeah. Like you’re not enjoying the show.” Spencer lines the knife up again, watching as Jerry’s entire spine goes stiff in an instant, and with obvious pleasure written all over his features, he cuts without warning, putting one long slash in Jerry’s thigh. If Jerry were any more conscious, he likely would have screamed; instead, all he can manage is something like an ‘ohgod yes’, so quiet that Jack almost mistakes it for a wordless gasp. Spencer continues like nothing happened, making the curve of the P slow and methodical. “Better hold still, Jer. Wouldn’t want me to mess up.”

“You could always do it again,” Jerry replies dreamily, the words bumping into each other unnaturally. “I don’t mind.”

“That’s the thing: I would.” Spencer moves onto the next letter, dragging plaintive little sounds out of Jerry every time he starts one of the short lines on the E. “If my hand slips because of you, I’m not gonna be happy with the result, but I can’t erase it. Best I can do is take my belt to your ass until it’s so red that nobody can tell where the cuts end and the bruising begins.”

He punctuates this by doing the long line on the E, pressing the knife extra hard towards the end before pulling it away. Jerry moans, high and keening, before wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist and burying his face into his stomach. Jack jumps at the sudden contact and immediately goes to push him off, looking up to Spencer for input, but Spencer just shakes his head, going from ridiculously evil to ambivalent in two seconds flat. ‘Leave it’, he mouths. Jack leaves it.

Spencer hits him again, this time on the thigh he isn’t actively cutting into, and the sound Jerry makes in response vibrates in Jack’s core (literally). “You’re gonna pay for that later. As I was saying,” he starts on the N, talking all the while, “that’s a lot of work. I’ll be pretty tired after that. Probably too tired to fuck you and definitely too mad to let you cum, even if you do it yourself. In fact, I won’t get over it until that mistake heals so I can try again.”

For once, Jerry sounds genuinely displeased, responding with a faint gasp and a ‘noooo’ that even Jack grins at. He glances up at Spencer, who, now cutting a bit deeper than he did with all the rest of the marks, moves on to the C. “How could you possibly keep him from doing something about it?”

“What, you think there’s a single sex toy out there that neither of us has? Use your head, Jack. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good cage lying around here somewhere.” Beneath him, Jerry squirms, and Spencer, thankfully at the end of his line, pins him down with his free hand. “If you cum right now just to spite me, we’re done.”

(Who the hell could cum from this? Spencer hasn’t touched him in ages, not sexually, at least, and Jack can’t imagine the cuts feeling so nice that Jerry could possibly-)

Jerry’s entire body goes rigid, and all at once, Jack becomes acutely aware of just how much of Jerry’s sweat his shirt has picked up. Nothing happens, not even as Spencer works his way through the E and makes the first slash of the R, but at the very least, it reminds Jack that his boyfriend can make just about anything appealing, including brutal knife sex. Hell, he almost makes it look like a good time.

Except- no. Jack’s stomach churns at the thought of letting Spencer do that to him, or anyone, for that matter, except for maybe Jerry. That’s not why he finds it so fascinating. He knows that he shouldn’t want to hurt people, nor to see them hurt- that lesson sticks out in exceptional boldness in his head for reasons he doesn’t fully understand- but the ways Jerry reacts to pain are going to be playing on loop every time he shuts his eyes for the next week. Control shouldn’t feel so nice, but it does. Pain shouldn’t be so appealing, but it is.

Jack catches a glimpse of Spencer in his peripherals, having zoned out to stare at Jerry’s back somewhere towards the end. Spencer sits in the same spot at the edge of the bed, marveling at his handiwork with a sick grin, and a feeling of unfamiliar heat overtakes Jack’s core. Something tells him he’s supposed to feel shocked or disgusted, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sees Spencer reaping the benefits of his own special brand of conceit and pride, and Jack wants to set him straight. Not even in a mean way. Just for fun.

Problem is, he has no idea where Spencer draws the line. If Spencer turns on him, he can always safeword, and he knows damn well that Spencer will honor it, but-

But it won’t get to that point. That goes both ways, and Spencer can safeword, too. Something tells Jack that he won’t want to, but if he’s wrong, then that’s fine, too.

Spencer catches him staring after a minute or so, cracking a slight grin. “What, did you wanna come back here and take a look?”

Yes. No. Sort of? Jury’s still out on that one. Jack opts for a single shake of his head instead of a verbal answer, then sticks his hand out, palm up. Spencer goes to place the knife in his hand, completely unsurprised, but Jack closes his fist before he gets the chance to set it down. “I don’t want it like that.”

Spencer’s eyes flit up to him. “Like what?”

“Dirty,” Jack answers simply. “I don’t want blood all over my hands. Besides, that’s how you ruin the metal.”

“Oh, stop the fucking presses,” Spencer mocks with a sharp snort. “The knife I used for knifeplay is covered in blood? My sincerest apologies, your highness. What do you want me to do, lick it clean?”

“Are you offering?”

That stops Spencer in his tracks. He stills, smile fading, and a bunch of different unreadable thoughts pass over his face all at once. Jack gives him a few seconds, and when that doesn’t yield any results, he adds, “I’ll hold it for you if you give it to me.”

Wordlessly, Spencer presses the knife into Jack’s hand, and Jack takes it this time. He holds the blade out as Spencer leans over onto his hands, keeping his expression neutral. Beneath him, Jerry shifts as much as he can to watch, cheek pillowed on his arms, and Jack uses his free hand to run his fingers through his hair. Spencer locks eyes with Jack, and for a moment, it looks like he may spring forward and tear Jack’s throat out with his teeth, but then-

Then he grabs Jack by the wrist with one hand, holds it steady, and laves his tongue across the blade from base to tip. Flips it over. Does the same to the other side. 

The very tip of it catches his tongue, leaving a tiny red mark in its wake. Blood wells up from it, but Spencer doesn’t even flinch; instead, he just swallows it, lets go of Jack’s hand, and watches as Jack takes the knife back and flicks it shut. Jack sets it on the nightstand right after. “Good. Thank you.”

“Hot,” Jerry croaks, both exhausted and thoroughly pleased.

Spencer sneers, smacking him on some of the deeper cuts before grabbing a handful of his ass, two actions that only serve to make Jerry moan. “Shut up. Nobody asked you.”

Jerry ignores that instruction entirely. “You should hit me harder. Make sure I really feel it.”

Spencer continues what he’s doing, prodding at the cuts with barely-disguised interest, but doesn’t oblige him. “That’s not how you ask for what you want, and you know that.”

A huff. “Please, sir, hit me harder?”

“There you go.” Spencer stands up, arranging himself behind Jerry again and taking him by the hips. He grinds against him, and by the sound Jerry makes a moment later, Jack can only imagine what the denim of Spencer’s jeans feels like against those cuts. “No. You’d be out of commission for the rest of the night.”

“I said ‘please’!” Jerry replies with no small amount of indignation.

“Yeah? And I said ‘no’.” Jerry whines, petulant, and Spencer uses that as an opportunity to grab the end of the leash and yank, just hard enough to send a message, then drops it and leaves Jerry to gasp. “How about you just lay there and take what I give you?”

Jack almost expects Jerry to fight him on it, too far gone to remember how he’s supposed to act, but then Spencer pulls a bottle of lube out of his back pocket and uncaps it. The sound alone makes Jerry’s dull eyes flash with interest, then flutter shut as he sighs and settles back down. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s what I thought.” Spencer pours some of the lube onto his hand, but, based on Jack’s personal experience with him, not nearly enough. Regardless, when Spencer pushes a finger into him without any warning, already moving a bit too fast, Jerry certainly doesn’t complain. “With the way you’re acting, you’re lucky I still want to fuck you at all. Talking back, moving your arms, acting like you deserve it- I should just leave you here.”

“Please.” 

“Please, what? Please leave you here?” Jerry shakes his head vigorously, and Spencer smirks, unbuckling his belt and pulling it off. He drops it, then unbuttons his pants and pulls his cock out, just enough to stroke it idly while he continues prepping Jerry with his other hand. “Aw, no? What do you want, then? You want me to fuck you?”

Jerry starts to answer, but Spencer hits something that makes his brain short-circuit. Instead, he resorts to something that looks vaguely like a nod, groans, and flops face-first back onto the bed.

For that, Spencer adds a second finger, all too pleased with the way Jerry tries and fails to rock back on his hand. “You sure aren’t acting like it. Your arms still aren’t in the right spot.”

Jerry lets out a soft ‘oh, shit’ before he moves his arms from where he had them, putting them behind his back again and locking them in place. This time, they start shaking from the moment he gets them into position, whether from anticipation or from the strain, Jack can’t tell. Jerry tries to prop his chin up against the bed to the best of his ability, putting his neck at an awkward angle in the process. Still, he looks up at Jack, meeting his gaze right as Spencer continues.

“There. That’s one problem fixed.” With a particularly abrupt gesture, Spencer scissors his fingers inside of Jerry, and Jack watches as Jerry’s eyes roll back. “Now all you gotta do is shut up and behave. Think you can do that?”

No response. Just a lot of breathing.

“Is that a no?” Spencer asks, vaguely amused, and his eyes go from the back of Jerry’s head to Jack, then- pause. Jack can practically see the lightbulb pop up over his head. “Do you need help?”

Jerry just sort of shrugs. Spencer isn’t even looking at him when he does, which is fine, evidently, seeing as Spencer continues like he never really planned on stopping anyway, locking eyes with Jack in the process.

“I bet Jack would let you suck his dick,” Spencer says conspiratorially, leaning over Jerry’s back and using the new angle to drive his fingers into him a bit deeper, “all you have to do is ask.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t sound like a good time.

Usually, Jack refuses oral done for oral’s sake, at least when it comes to receiving. If he isn’t exhausted, but isn’t in the mood, either, then he might blow Jerry if he asks, seeing as that doesn’t actually require him to be horny to get the job done. He doesn’t see a point, not with his lacking sex drive, and most of the time, it just sounds unappealing, no matter how many rants he’s heard Jerry go on about how much he enjoys doing it. Nope. No thanks. He’s fine in his bubble, thank you very much.

But here and now, Jerry looks up at him from beneath his lashes with wide, bright eyes, barely able to hold himself up as Spencer continues to tease him relentlessly, and Jack knows his answer even before Jerry asks. “Please let me?”

Jack doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t trust his voice not to crack and ruin this for him. Instead, he forces his hands not to shake, unbuttons his pants, and pulls them and his boxers both down to the middle of his thighs.

To his surprise, he’s already half-hard. Huh. That’s new. 

Jerry immediately lights up like he just won the lottery, arms leaving their spot behind his back so he can wrap his hand around the base of Jack’s cock with one and hold himself up with the other. He leans forward to lick him, misses, and ends up rubbing his cheek against him instead, staring up at him all the while. Distantly, Jack hears Spencer snort, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Jerry. He remembers that he does, in fact, have hands and isn’t just watching all of this from the perspective of an outsider, threading both into Jerry’s hair on either side of his head. Gently, he eases him over to the right spot, and Jerry lets out a dumb, breathless laugh before he presses a kiss to the head of Jack’s dick, following that up with a long, exaggerated sweep of his tongue.

“Shit,” Jack hisses, fingers tightening in Jerry’s hair. That, apparently, is all the encouragement Jerry needs; he pulls back, if only slightly, and continues like that, uncharacteristically sloppy, all tongue and drool, and Jack can’t bring himself to care. 

Jack glances up at Spencer with an astounded ‘can you even believe this’ sort of expression, just in time to see Spencer pulling his fingers out of Jerry and wiping them on a clean part of his thigh. He pours some more lube out, straight onto Jerry this time, and lines himself up behind him, his free hand holding onto his hip. “Come on,” he taunts, “are you eating a popsicle, or are you giving your boyfriend a blowjob? You can do better than that.”

Jerry gives him a hum of acknowledgement, and, unable to help himself, Jack lets out a breath and mutters, “feels pretty good from where I’m sitting.”

“His technique is shit and he knows it.” He squeezes Jerry’s hip, raising his voice a bit. “New rule: you’re not allowed to cum until Jack does. Whenever that happens, then we’ll say you earned it.”

That gets Jerry moving. A fire lights behind his gaze, and he finally wraps his lips around the head of Jack’s cock, tonguing over it, and as he starts to sink down, Jack manages to catch his breath. Something occurs to him, and his eyes go wide, turning his attention back to Spencer. “Hey, so with my medication-”

“It’s gonna take a while,” Spencer finishes for him with a wolfish smile. “I know. That’s what I’m hoping for.”

Then, with one sharp jerk of his hips, he shoves into Jerry, rocks Jerry’s body forward, and forces Jerry to slide down until Jack hits the back of his throat, the sudden tight heat sending a jolt up Jack’s spine.

Jerry pulls away with a gag, but never actually manages to pull off of Jack’s dick entirely. Spencer fucks him with quick, shallow thrusts, holding his hips in a death grip, and the rhythm prevents Jerry from moving too far back. Jack takes a hand out of Jerry’s hair to place it on his cheek instead, which Jerry immediately nuzzles against with a contented sound. Jack never makes any move to pull back, either, so it may be a bit hypocritical, but he tears his eyes away from him for a second to hiss at Spencer. “You’re such an asshole.”

“If you weren’t into it, you wouldn’t be here.” Spencer’s voice has already taken on a slight strain, and while he doesn’t look up at Jack, his eyes locked squarely on the in-and-out slide of his own cock, Jack can still make out the sheer heat behind his gaze. With his posture slightly curved, his hair hangs in his face, stringy and a little bit damp; without warning, his hips stall, his eyes fluttering shut, and his mouth falls open in a heavy exhale. “Shit. That’s a good slut.”

Jerry moans, delighted, and Spencer gets this tiny, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. It doesn’t seem nearly as mean as usual, and it’s certainly not a look Jack has ever seen when they’ve fucked in the past; if Jack didn’t know any better, he could have almost mistaken this for affection.

That thought immediately fills Jack’s chest with a bone-deep feeling of wrongness, like he just saw something he wasn’t supposed to, and his head snaps right back down to Jerry, face flushing bright red. He tells himself that it was just that smile that got him, the fact that it wasn’t meant to be viewed at all, and he shoves down the obnoxious little voice that insists that well, he did look pretty hot like that, and would it be so bad if he meant it for me sometime?

A different part of him catches sight of Jerry’s blissed-out face, too distracted to do anything other than lay there and take it. He isn’t even doing anything with his mouth anymore, just letting the rhythm of Spencer’s hips dictate how his head moves, and that part chimes in with a god, this is so fucked, and I don’t know how I’m going to look either of these people in the eye when we’re done here.

Then, consciously, Jack snaps back in his own voice: shut up, both of you. I’m already here. This is awesome, and I’m going to enjoy myself.

A particularly well-timed thrust coupled with a slap to Jerry’s ass, courtesy of Spencer, rocks Jerry forward, dragging out a moan. His throat constricts around Jack’s cock, the hum of sound putting a slight buzz into it, and Jack lets his head fall back with a breathless sigh as pleasure seeps into his core and shuts his brain off entirely. Oh, yeah. He’s gonna have a great time. 

For once, Spencer goes oddly silent; Jack usually can’t get him to shut up no matter what he says to him, the two of them sniping back and forth at each other the entire time. Jerry matches him beat-for-beat when he can, too, but Spencer doesn’t even give him the chance. Instead, he zeroes in on what he’s doing, hands roaming every part of Jerry he can reach whenever he can justify letting go of his hips. Before long, blood stains the front of his jeans, smears and dots in a lazy copy of all the scratches. Jack almost makes fun of him for the oversight, only to see his jaw stiffen and set in place as he picks up speed, then thinks better of it. In all likelihood, he wore them on purpose. He’ll probably keep them like that as a trophy or something.

Meanwhile, Jerry couldn’t possibly be any louder- or, rather, he could, but Jack wouldn’t ever encourage it. Jerry tends to forget the fact that they do, in fact, have neighbors, even when he’s just trying to hold a normal conversation, and those volume control issues have always carried over to sex. The only thing keeping them from their third noise complaint this month is the fact that Jerry’s mouth is currently full of cock, muffling most of the sound and cutting the rest of them off before he gets the chance to finish them. He still isn’t putting in the work, necessarily, just moving when either Jack or Spencer moves him, but Jack certainly can’t blame him. By now, Jerry’s elbows almost collapse beneath him every time he readjusts his hands, and no matter how enamored he looks, there’s a certain blankness behind his gaze that says ‘if you ask me for my name, I’ll say I left it in my other pants’.

So, no. Jack doesn’t care. It almost feels nice to be more sexually competent than Jerry for once, actually. Spencer, however, can’t let anything go.

“Look, I know you’re beyond stupid right now,” he says, voice low and rough, barely slowing down to catch his breath, “but you’re embarrassing both of us. Here I thought I was showing off my perfectly trained bitch, only for you to forget how to do something as easy as give somebody halfway decent head. How do you think that looks, huh?”

Jerry doesn’t answer immediately, not with anything comprehensible, and Jack’s vision shifts back into focus to see that- oh, yeah. There’s no way he could, even if he wanted to; if Jerry isn’t on another plane of existence right now, just a bundle of sensations and wants, then he’ll get there pretty soon. 

Spencer, however, continues anyway, unphased. “Is that what you want? To embarrass us? After we spent all that time working on this?” Spencer punctuates his question by squeezing the bloodied part of Jerry’s right thigh, spurring him into semi-consciousness for long enough to get out a ‘nuh-uh’. “I dunno if I believe you. Besides, I wouldn’t mind making you deepthroat me all afternoon while I clean my knives again, if you need a refresher course that bad. Better get your act together if you wanna prove it.”

“I’m not sure he can,” Jack hears himself say, and wow is that tone of voice different than usual. Quiet, but breathless. Not as stiff. Not nearly as jaded. Spencer shoots him a look, one eyebrow raised, and as the half-baked idea in Jack’s head pulls together into something worth thinking about, his fingers tighten in Jerry’s hair. “Maybe I could help him, though.”

Beneath him, Jerry shivers, and Spencer practically purrs at the feeling. “Well, that’s very nice of you. Go ahead.” Then, to Jerry, pressing his nails into his hips, “the second you get your mouth back, the first words out of your mouth better be ‘thank you’, or you’re in for it.”

No response. Jerry almost manages to forget Spencer’s presence entirely, by the looks of it; Jack, holding onto Jerry’s head the whole time, adjusts himself onto his knees and steals all of Jerry’s attention. Jerry barely manages to hold himself up on his hands, eyes sparkling, and Jack, once properly settled, glances down at him, offers a slight grin, and rolls his hips experimentally towards the warmth of Jerry’s throat.

And that’s-

Different.

Jack has to pause for a second to catch his breath. Spencer keeps going, rocking Jerry’s body back and forth in tiny, barely-there motions, seeing as Jerry really has nowhere else to go, and once Jack manages to get ahold of himself, he scratches lightly at Jerry’s scalp, murmurs a soft ‘good, just like that’, and gets to work trying to find a rhythm that works with Spencer’s.

As it turns out, Jerry had the right idea; it’s much easier to make use of Spencer’s pace than to find a new one. If Spencer pushes in, Jack pulls back, and vice versa. It works. It keeps Jerry distracted and so beyond happy, and Jack couldn’t possibly be more pleased.

With that particular setup working out in their favor, they continue like that. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. A sharp reminder not to cum for Jerry. A mocking comment between Jack and Spencer. Sounds. Feelings. A haze. It’s good in a way that Jack never really thought he was worthy of, nor that he’d ever thought he’d experience. It’s worth it, and he almost can’t believe it.

By the time Jerry starts to get really, truly desperate, moans having turned to whines and muffled pleas, Jack can feel himself nearing his own peak. Spencer actually broke out into a sweat, too, face screwed up in concentration and his eyes down. He glances up at Jack occasionally, setting his jaw without saying a word, and one of those times, Jack can’t stop himself before he blurts out, “are you waiting for permission or something?”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Spencer snarls through gritted teeth, but the tips of his ears go red. His hips stutter for a second, and it dawns on Jack that, yeah, he is, in fact, waiting for permission. 

Permission he can give him.

“Go ahead.” Sure, Spencer looks like he might just reach over Jerry and throttle him, but when in Rome, right? “Cum. Do it. I want to watch.”

Spencer hisses, clenching his eyes shut. “I said-”

He never gets the chance to finish. Jerry wails as he spills over the edge , hands tightening in the sheets as hard as they can, and Spencer’s hips come to an abrupt halt. His mouth stays open, and he lets out a few sharp breaths before he digs his nails into Jerry’s skin and curses between his teeth.

Carefully, Jack eases Jerry’s head off of him with one hand, taking his dick in the other and pumping it rapidly as he chases his own release. Distantly, he hears Spencer hiss something like ‘he wasn’t talking to you’, but neither him nor Jerry are listening; as Jerry catches his breath, supporting himself on his hands, he stares up at Jack with a tired-yet-hopeful expression, focused entirely on him. His mouth falls open a bit further, tongue out, and-

That does it. Jack finishes on Jerry’s face, and he swears he sees hearts in Jerry’s eyes.

Once the aftershocks wear off and he sees Spencer pull out in his peripheral, Jack lets go of Jerry’s hair and brings both hands to his sides. Jerry never breaks eye contact, panting, as he brings his tongue back into his mouth and swallows, a sight that would have Jack hard in two seconds flat if he didn’t presently feel like he’ll never orgasm again. Either way, Jack’s face reddens, and he reaches down to wipe some of the cum off of Jerry’s cheek. “You okay?”

Jerry nods. For a second, that’s all he can manage, still trying to sort himself out. His voice is little more than a fucked-out croak when he finally finds it. “Thank you so much.”

Then, his arms give out beneath him, and he collapses onto the mattress. 

A jolt of panic shoots up Jack’s spine, and he immediately goes to check Jerry’s pulse, two fingers against his throat. “Oh my god.”

“Relax,” Spencer says, stepping away from the bed. He removes his boots and outer shirt before he rounds the edge of the bed and reaches for the collar around Jerry’s neck. It comes off with one clean slip of the leather. “Give him a minute. He’s fine.”

“He just passed the hell out! Don’t tell me he’s fine!”

Spencer snorts right as Jack’s fingers find Jerry’s heartbeat, still thrumming right along as it should. “He didn’t pass out. Just let him figure himself out, and whenever he gets there, you won’t be able to get him to shut up.”

With that, he starts to leave the room, and Jack pulls his hand up to his chest, still a little more panicked than the situation likely warrants. “Where are you going?”

“Jack, this isn’t the first time you’ve had sex, is it?” Spencer asks, too exhausted to put any real bite behind it. He never pauses, continuing out the door. “I’m getting snacks, water, and a towel. Keep an eye on him. I’ll be back.”

Then, he leaves. Jack sits there in that deeply uncomfortable silence, sweat cooling on his face and back, and remembers to put his dick away a solid thirty seconds later. When that doesn’t make him feel any better, he shucks his pants off, lays down flat on his back next to Jerry, and waits.

Jerry does regain some semblance of sanity eventually, even if it takes a while. He groans, rolling over and draping both arms over his face. He does this strange little half-wiggle to stretch out, too boneless to do anything else, and once he settles, Jack turns to look at him fully, moving onto his side. “Uh… hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Jerry replies automatically, tone erring towards neutral-positive.

“How are you feeling?
(Is that what you’re supposed to ask someone you just face-fucked? God, this sucks. Why hasn’t anyone written a manual for this?)

A dumb smile splits the bottom half of Jerry’s face. “Like a hundred bucks.”

“I thought the phrase was ‘like a million bucks’.”

“In this economy?” Jerry feigns shock, then laughs at his own joke before settling down again. “Oooh, scratch that. Maybe more like $95 and some change. I’m starving.”

Ah. There he is. Jack sighs, sinking into the bed. “Good to have you back, man.”

“I’d say ‘good to be back’, but eh. Kinky Sex Town is always pretty awesome. I also wouldn’t say I’m back yet, really. I’m driving down the street, but it’s pretty dark, so I’m squinting at address numbers ‘n stuff, and I keep doing circles around the block because I can’t quite-”

“Jesus, shouldn’t you still be a puddle right now?” Spencer interrupts as he strolls back into the room. He somehow found the time to change into clean clothes while he was out, dressed in a pair of sweats and a faded Judas Priest t-shirt with his hair tied up. He has a towel and a bag tucked under his arm, and when he gets a second, he tosses a water bottle to Jack and mimes drinking it, then sits down next to Jerry and nudges him lightly. “Go back to that. I missed it.”

“I mean, I’m feeling pretty normal right now, but if you’re into that, I can certainly try.” Spencer rolls his eyes, grabbing another water bottle and a little snack pack out of the bag, the kind with apples and peanut butter, both of which he holds over Jerry’s head. Jerry brings his arms away from his face, muttering an ‘oh fuck yes’ when he sees the food, but he pauses when he reaches to snatch them. Instead, he threads his fingers into the front of Spencer’s choker and pulls it off with one tug, dropping it onto the bed. Without a word, he takes both the food and the water, flips over onto his stomach, and opens them. 

Neither he nor Jack mention the way Spencer relaxes when the collar comes off. Jack notices, of course, but he staves off the urge to say something about it by opening his water bottle and taking a sip, and- shit. He had no idea how dehydrated he was until now. There’s no way alcohol could possibly be better than that water, regardless of the circumstances.

Spencer sets the towel in front of Jerry, then pulls a first aid kit out of the bag, popping the lid open. Jerry holds up a hand to stop him, midway through an apple slice, and Spencer pauses for long enough for him to finish. “Picture first. I wanna see.”

“Right.” Spencer takes his phone out and snaps a picture of Jerry’s ass, totally casual despite the state of everything, and props it up on the towel. With Jerry placated, examining the cuts with raw fascination, Spencer tears open an alcohol wipe and gets to work cleaning out the wounds. “Don’t think, just answer: good scene?”

“Hell yes,” Jerry replies. He shuts the phone off and uses the towel to wipe his face off. “You?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure.” He sets the first of the alcohol wipes on the bed, then grabs a second one. “Jack?”

“Uhm.”

Two sets of eyes snap over to him. Jack’s breath catches, and his spine goes rigid. He wants to say yes just as easily as the two of them did, and if they’d asked a minute ago, he probably would have; now, though, guilt gnaws at the pit of his stomach and begs him to leave the two of them alone. “Does it, uh. Really matter what I thought? This wasn’t about me.”

Silence.

“That’s not to say I didn’t like it,” Jack adds, a little too quick and a little too eager to please. “The sex was great and all, and I’m sure this probably counts as a bonding experience or something, and I had fun, I think, but this was for you guys. If you’re asking what I thought about the stuff that you guys did, then five stars, great show, but if you’re not, then I’m not sure if I was supposed to like it? Being mean and in control and stuff. Maybe I should just-”

“Hey, Jack?”

Jerry. The clouds clear from Jack’s vision, and he takes in a sharp breath. “Yeah?”

“Lay down.”

Jack makes a sound that may or may not be a laugh. He sure as hell doesn’t know. “You got it, boss.” That somehow makes even less sense, but he rolls with it. He doesn’t lay down, not exactly, but he does prop himself up against the pillows, low enough back that he won’t hurt his neck. To his surprise, Jerry scoots over a second later, wrapping his arms around his waist and putting his head in his lap, and while Jack instinctively reaches to put a hand in his hair, he can’t bring himself to follow through. Being allowed to touch him feels wrong right now, for some reason. Like he doesn’t deserve it. “What is this?”

Jerry shuts his eyes as Spencer shifts a little bit closer and continues his work (which he miraculously doesn’t say a word about). “Aftercare.”

“I thought aftercare was just for the sub. You know. Seeing as you’re covered in knife wounds right now.”

Spencer mutters a soft but emphatic ‘oh my god’ while Jerry shakes his head. “Nope. Aftercare is for everybody.”

“But Spencer-”

Spencer cuts him off there. “This is aftercare for me. I made a mess. I’m cleaning up after myself. I know that there’s nothing wrong, so I don’t lose any sleep over it.”

“Oh.” A beat. Jack shifts. “Should I-”

“You shouldn’t.” Jerry’s arms tighten around his waist, squeezing for a second. “You should stay where you are and chill out so you don’t have a panic attack.”

“I’m not going to have a panic attack.”

“That’s right, you’re not, ‘cause you’re gonna stay where you are and chill out, duh.” 

Jack gives up on trying to argue, shutting his mouth and leaning back against the pillows. Spencer continues cleaning the cuts and putting band-aids on them (Paw Patrol this time), and they sit there like that, mostly silent, waiting for the thrill to wear off. 

(Distantly, Jack picks up pieces of a conversation about the Paw Patrol band-aids. He doesn’t really listen, but the dog on the box keeps staring at him, so they draw his attention. The conversation proceeds as follows:

Jerry. “Oh, fuck yeah, Paw Patrol. Just don’t use the ones with Chase on ‘em, okay?”

Spencer. “I have no idea which one that is, on account of the fact that I’m a grown-ass man who has sex.”

Jerry, with a curt sigh. “The german shepherd.”

Spencer. “Okay. Fine. Why?”

Jerry. “‘Cause fuck twelve, that’s why.”

Jack. “This is exactly why I told you to buy the Blues Clues ones instead.”)

Jack… settles down. Sort of. Jerry damn near falls asleep, and Jack almost nudges him to ask, only for Jerry to speak up right then with a sigh. “Oh-kay, uh…” he pauses, his eyes fluttering open for half a second specifically so they can roll back in his head while he thinks, “so, Jack. Watching you boss Spencer around was really hot. You should pull my hair more, just in general, all the time, whenever you want. Apparently I-”

“Hold on, are you giving me a performance review right now?”

“Is it helping?”

Jack stammers for a moment, trying to find an answer. “I- I guess?”

“Then yeah, I am. Shush.” He presses his cheek a bit more insistently into Jack’s lap, decides he’s not comfortable there anymore, and puts his head on his stomach instead. “Anyway, I have a thing for you watching now, which I probably should have expected, but I am so down for you to join in. Really digging the audience participation thing. Maybe balance out all that gas station coffee with some pineapple juice every once in a while, but other than that… oh, yeah. I have two thighs. You should carve your name into the other one.”

What.

Jack stares at him, incredulous, trying to process what any of that was, only for Jerry to look back over his shoulder at Spencer and watch as he packs up the first aid kit. “You did fucking awesome, but you know that.”

“Obviously.”

“I-” Jack starts, but his brain has to take a moment to catch up with the rest of him. “I’m not going to do that? I’m not. I’m not doing that. Why are you so okay with all of this?”

“Uh, because it’s hot?” Jerry turns back around, and behind him, Spencer drops the bag and takes his usual spot beside Jerry, the one that he always settles into right when Jack slips out of the room after every scene. Instead of snuggling up to him, though, Jerry stays right where he is, sandwiched between the two of them, and Spencer combs through Jerry’s hair with his fingers for him. “Trust me, I would not have stuck around if I wasn’t into it, but I was. Good job.”

And Jack- well. He isn’t surprised, really, not with the way Jerry is, but it still feels like a revelation when the last piece of the puzzle clicks into place. No, Jerry won’t turn on him now that everything is said and done; this was Jerry’s idea in the first place. 

Spencer reaches over and nudges him again. “Don’t think about it. Good scene, yes or no?”

This time, Jack doesn’t think about it, as instructed. “Yes. That was- that was fun. I liked it. I don’t think I could do it all the time or anything, ‘cause sex is kind of exhausting and all, but I didn’t hate it.”

“And you still somehow managed to give me a longer answer than I asked for.”

“Okay, look, man, maybe you’ve got this whole sadomasochist thing nailed down, but-”

“Did we or did we not agree for a solid half hour of peace and quiet before you two start sniping at each other?” Jerry interjects. Both Jack and Spencer fall silent in an instant, and with a sigh of relief, Jerry rolls over onto his back, sprawling out on top of both of them. “There we go. Some of us still don’t remember how all of our limbs work, and it takes quite a bit of brainpower to figure that out.”

Spencer snorts. “I think you’re just high.”

“Eh. Same difference.”

One of the things Jack failed to reconcile in his head before all of this started was how aftercare would work. Jerry tends to get touchy after sex (or after anything with a high emotional or physical demand, really), but Spencer tends to check up on Jack and then fall silent. Hell, Spencer develops this weird aversion to touch half the time, and Jack can only imagine what that would look like with him and Jerry, with Jerry reaching over to grab his hand and Spencer promptly biting his head off. Jack usually gets to the point where Spencer sits down at Jerry’s side, but after that, he gets this weird, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach like he’s suddenly not meant to be there anymore, and he excuses himself from the room without watching the rest of it.

Apparently, that’s where it ends. They just sit together, touching, basking in the afterglow. Sometimes Jerry talks, and sometimes he doesn’t. Spencer stays pretty quiet, amenable to being grabbed or prodded or whatever so long as Jerry gives him the chance to stop him if he wants. They relax, and they decompress, and neither of them have to be talked off of a ledge or anything despite how intense they got less than an hour ago.

It is pretty cathartic, though. Getting all those emotions out at once, then sitting around doing nothing. Doing this as often as they do sounds like hell, but minus the actual sex, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. 

Still, though. They have this figured out, and Jack can’t shake the idea that he shouldn’t be here.

“If you guys ever wanna be, like, an item, that’s fine with me.”

Jack doesn’t even try to say it. It just slips out.

Spencer looks over at him, one eyebrow raised, and Jerry mutters something along the lines of ‘bwuh?’ before opening his eyes to join him. Jack tenses up, but forces himself to sound as casual as possible. “I know I’m kinda bad at this sorta thing, but I don’t mind being excluded. I won’t always want to, anyway. You guys know that part already, but- uh. If you guys wanna date, too, I’m okay with it. You’re really compatible with each other, I think.”

Spencer stares at him for another second, incredulous, and Jack thinks he may kick him out of the room immediately, but Spencer, per usual, manages to surprise him. “How the hell did you watch all of that and come to the conclusion that this-” he gestures between Jerry and himself, “could even be brought out in public?”

“Yeah, no.” Jerry nods along in agreement. “Weird sex, no commitment. That’s the dream. Life doesn’t get much better than that. Like, yeah, we were basically a match made in kink heaven and everything, but that means we’ve gotta keep that balance going, or else we’re both gonna have to live knowing that we’re not hooking up with our S&M-soulmates because one of us puts the toilet paper on the roll in the wrong direction or something.”

Spencer cringes. “Never say ‘S&M-soulmate’ again.”

“Fine. My BDSM-better half.”

“That’s not any better.”

“Lust of my life. Partner in cum. Kink-dred spirit. Sex husband, which is sorta like your work husband, but for sex.”

“I still have a gag within arm’s reach. Do you want me to gag you? Is that why you haven’t shut the fuck up yet?”

Jerry laughs, and suddenly, Jack doesn’t feel quite so out of place anymore. He sighs, sinking back down again. “Alright. That’s fine too.”

“Seriously, though, if you wanna do this again, I’d love to have you there,” Jerry says. Jack glances over to Spencer, and Spencer nods while refusing to look him in the eye, the tips of his ears turning red in the almost-unnoticeable way they always do when he gets flustered. “Even if we don’t get into the sex stuff, I kinda thought you’d like it anyway for the whole power exchange thing, ‘cause that can be cathartic, depending on the person, and-”

Jack cuts him off there. “As nice as that sounds, how do you know all of this? Is there a subsection of Wikipedia that I don’t know about?”

With that, a sly smile overtakes the bottom half of Jerry’s face. “Dude. Get this. There’s a manual. A couple of ‘em, actually.”

Oh, hell yes.