Kota collapsed back onto the velvet sofa the moment Gideon stepped away, chest heaving like he'd run a marathon uphill. Sweat soaked through his shirt, sticking it to his skin in cold patches. His legs wouldn't stop trembling; every muscle felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry.
Four orgasms in under an hour Carter's slow worship, Charlie's yapping blowjob, Corey's thunderous clapping, Gideon's silent, poetic milking had hollowed him out.
His cock lay soft and oversensitive against his thigh, still glistening, balls drawn up tight and aching with that deep, overworked throb that promised nothing more without serious recovery time. He couldn't even sit up straight. His head lolled back against the cushion, eyes half-closed, breath coming in ragged pulls that burned his throat.
Twenty minutes passed in a haze.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just existed in the purple-lit fog of the apartment while the hypno spirals kept turning on the giant screen and the LEDs pulsed like a slow heartbeat.
The others milled around Carter touching up his glitter in a compact mirror, Charlie still whispering rapid-fire observations to himself near the incense burner, Corey sprawled on the rug giggling weakly every time he shifted and felt the mess on his ass, Mort sulking on the bean bag scrolling his phone, Toby curled into the far corner of the sofa like he wanted to disappear, Gideon standing statue-still beside the onyx monolith as though Phase 4 had never happened.
Beckett finally broke the silence. Still naked, still blank-faced, he stepped into the center of the room and raised both hands in that stiff, robotic gesture. "The tether requires recalibration. Physiological stress indicators exceed optimal parameters. A twenty-minute recess is granted for hydration, cleansing, and autonomic reset. All participants will proceed to the available shower facilities. Three bathrooms are operational: primary en-suite, secondary hallway, tertiary guest. Proceed in orderly fashion. Energetic hygiene is mandatory before Phase 5."
Corey perked up instantly. He rolled onto his stomach, ass still sticky and glistening, and grinned wide enough to show teeth. "Shower? Four dudes in one? Cum dripping out of our asses and mouths all mixing under the hot water? Fuck yes. I volunteer as tribute." He waggled his eyebrows at the room, already pushing himself up on shaky arms.
"Who's joining me? We can make it a proper rinse cycle."
Beckett tilted his head exactly fifteen degrees. "There are three separate bathrooms. Simultaneous group cleansing is not required. Individual hygiene is sufficient."
Corey's face fell like someone had yanked the plug on his fantasy. "Three? That's no fun." He pouted dramatically, then turned the pout on Beckett, crawling forward on his knees until he was right in front of the naked facilitator.
"C'mon, robot boy. You, me, one shower. I'll wash your back. Or your front. Or whatever part of you needs attention. Bet I can make even you moan once."
Beckett didn't blink. "Negative. Sexual contact outside designated phases disrupts vibrational sequencing. Refused."
Corey's pout deepened, but his eyes lit up brighter. Rejection only seemed to fuel him. "Oof. Cold. I like it." He licked his lips slowly, voice dropping to a husky whisper.
"You're making me harder just by saying no, you know that?"
Beckett turned away without acknowledgment and padded toward the primary en-suite, robe-less and unbothered. Corey groaned theatrically and flopped back onto the rug. "Tease."
Kota barely registered the exchange. He let the others filter out—Charlie chattering the whole way to the hallway bathroom about water pressure and aura cleansing, Carter humming some pop song as he disappeared into the guest bath, Mort muttering curses under his breath as he claimed the en-suite after Beckett vacated it. Toby slipped away last, avoiding eye contact entirely. Gideon simply walked to the window and stood there staring out at the Houston skyline like nothing had happened.
Kota stayed on the sofa, breath finally starting to even out, until he realized he was alone in the main room. Or almost alone.
Kin approached like he was walking into a final boss fight slow, deliberate steps, latex skirt already hiked high around those monumental hips, crazy eyes darting left and right as though expecting black helicopters to crash through the brick walls at any second. He muttered under his breath the entire way: "breach the firewall… before the agents arrive… source code requires update… must initiate transfer…"
Kota tried to sit up straighter. "Hey—wait, man, I need a minute—"
Kin didn't wait. He hopped onto Kota's lap with frantic energy, knees bracketing his hips, skirt bunched around his waist, panties already shoved aside. His long fingers scrambled at Kota's shoulders, latex gloves squeaking against damp fabric. "THE CIA! THE CIA! THEY DON'T WANT US TO FUCK!" The words came out in a frantic, stuttering rush, eyes wild and glassy. "They'll reset the simulation—they'll wipe the cache—we have to—now—before the blue screen—"
Kota's hands came up on instinct, trying to push him back. "Kin—slow down, I can't just—"
Kin ground down hard, already hard cock rubbing against Kota's softening length through the latex. "Harder—break the code—fuck the simulation—" He kept glancing over his shoulder at invisible watchers, paranoia flipping the frantic energy into desperate submission mid-sentence. "Don't let them reset me—fill me—keep me here—anchor me—please—"
Actual tears started rolling down his cheeks—black mascara streaking in thin lines—while he begged. "Anchor me—don't let them take this—fill me up—keep the instance alive—"
(THIS BITCH IS CRAZY)
The intensity was uncomfortable. Kota's stomach twisted at the raw desperation, the way Kin's voice cracked between conspiracy rant and broken pleading. He tried to shift, to slow things down, but Kin was already lining himself up, sinking down in one frantic drop that forced a groan out of both of them. The fuck started frantic—Kin bouncing with manic speed, hips slamming down, ass rippling violently under the hiked skirt. "Harder—break it—fuck the agents—fuck the watchers—don't let them win—"
Kota gripped those monumental hips on reflex, trying to steady the rhythm. "Kin—easy—fuck—slow down—"
But Kin only sped up, tears streaming faster, voice hitching between paranoid mutters and pleas. "Fill me—keep me real—don't let the code delete this—please—"
He came violently whole body seizing, ass clenching like a vice around Kota, scream tearing out of him that was half ecstasy, half terror: something incoherent about source code and blue screens and agents resetting the timeline. The spasm milked Kota hard, dragging him over the edge despite the exhaustion. He finished inside, deep and helpless, holding Kin's hips still while the tall femboy sobbed and thanked him in broken phrases: "thank you—anchored—still here—thank you—"
Kota assumed it was over. He tried to catch his breath, hands loosening on Kin's waist.
Kin looked around wildly, mascara-streaked face twisting in fresh panic.
"Reality isn't breaking apart! We have to do it again!" Before Kota could protest, Kin started hopping again—more violently this time, latex skirt flapping, long hair whipping across both their faces. He lunged forward and gave Kota the meanest French kiss imaginable black lipstick smearing across Kota's mouth, tongue frantic and deep, tasting like salt and tears and desperation.
Thirty minutes passed in a blur of relentless motion. Kin never slowed. He rode Kota like the simulation would collapse if he stopped, sobbing the whole time, muttering about firewalls and agents and needing to be filled again and again to stay "persistent." Kota barely held on—overstimulated, sore, every thrust pulling painful sparks from his spent body. He tried to speak, tried to slow it down, but Kin only fucked harder, grabbing Kota's hand and pinning it to the sofa while he cried harder.
The others returned in a loose group—freshly showered, hair damp, towels slung around shoulders. They froze in the doorway. Carter's glittery eyes went wide. Charlie's mouth opened mid-yap. Corey grinned like Christmas came early. Mort sighed heavily. Gideon simply tilted his head.
Kota desperately reached out a shaking hand toward them help, stop this, anything. "h-help.... meee"
Kin grabbed it instantly, laced their fingers together, and fucked even harder—sobbing louder, hips slamming down with bruising force. "Stay—stay real—don't let them take you—"
Kota came again weak, almost painful, spilling what little he had left inside while his vision grayed at the edges. Kin shuddered through another violent orgasm, then collapsed forward, forehead against Kota's chest, both of them passing out in a sweaty, trembling heap on the sofa.
The room stayed silent for a long beat.
No—five now.