TW: D/s, Alien Biology

Title: ~Blue Ribbon Pony~

They'd been working up to it all day, arguments breaking out for absolutely no reason, manufacturing grievances the way you scratch an itch harder and harder for the pleasure of it. Smith's face was flushed dark green as he yelled, gesturing at the papers on the table. Sips didn't raise his voice, but he raised an eyebrow, goading Smith.

"You think they're gonna hit each other, or kiss?" mumbled Ross.

"I think Smiffy's gonna hump his leg," said Trott under his breath.

Smith's eyes were shining, and he was tripping over his own words with eager belligerence. Sips shook his head and didn't flinch back as Smith loomed over him, snarling in his face.

"You know what, Smiffy. You know what." Sips's voice was smooth and unhurried, but he moved fast, flipping Smith around and bending him over the table, pinning him with a hand between his shoulders.

"Bring it," snarled Smith, and Sips did, sliding his other hand between Smith's legs and rubbing.

"Need a hand there, Smith?" asked Trott, taking a step forwards.

"You alright, Smith?" said Ross.

"Think I can't handle myself?" growled Smith.

"Oh, you're definitely getting handled," said Sips, squeezing him through his trousers. "You're such a handful, Smiffy."

"Big handful," murmured Trott. He craned his neck for a better look.

"And getting bigger," said Ross, adjusting his trousers.

Smith aimed a kick back at Sips, pushing against the table with his hands. Sips lightened the pressure of his hand, testing, and Smith froze, breathing harshly. Sips pushed him back down and Smith struggled against him, swearing and lashing out.

"What do you think I should do with you, Smiffy?" Sips smiled and dodged an elbow, hand moving in firm strokes. "I think I can do anything I want to you, and you love it."

"Think what you like," said Smith between clenched teeth. He rolled his hips into Sips's hand.

"You do," said Sips. "Look at you."

The Sirs stepped closer. Smith's shirt was sticking to him, and his breath fogged the table.

"He's right," said Ross.

"That's an impressive boner you've got there," said Trott.

"I'm gonna make you say please," declared Sips.

"Bugger off," panted Smith. "Not gonna happen."

"Now that's not polite, Smiffy," said Sips. "That's no way to show respect. Was that respectful, Trott?"

Trott swallowed, his mouth dry. "I don't think it was," he said.

"No, very rude of him," said Ross.

"People should have manners," said Trott.

"Fuck you all," Smith choked out, bucking and sending the papers sliding to the floor. The table skidded half a foot and Sips closed in tighter, wedging a knee between his legs.

"Now, Smiffy. I'm the one setting the agenda here." His voice was slow and smooth as molasses.

Trott rubbed himself through his trousers. Beside him, Ross did the same, then mumbled "Switch hands."

They let go of themselves and started stroking each other with the easy coordination of lots of practice.

"Bet I could blow him under the table," said Trott.

Sips laughed. "That's the sort of cooperation I like to see. You could learn a few lessons from Trott."

Smith jerked his head away from Sips's pat. "You want it, you have to work for it," he spat. "And I don't see you doing anything but talking."

"That's right, Smiffy, I am talking, and you're gonna listen to me. You're gonna listen to everything I say, and then you're gonna do what I tell you."

He worked a hand between them and squeezed Smith's ass, listening to the hitch in his breath. Ross shivered. Smith's eyes were glazed, but he blinked hard to bring them back in focus. Trott fumbled at Ross's zipper.

"Now, take your clothes off," said Sips, taking three steps back.

Smith pushed off the table and turned to look at him, panting.

"Us too?" asked Ross.

"Yeah, why not. Come on, Smiffy, take your shirt off." Sips locked eyes with Smith.

Ross's belt hit the floor, and he struggled with the buttons of his shirt. Trott left his shirt on, unwilling to pull it over his head and miss a second, but Ross hissed and tugged at it until he shucked it.

Smith's mouth twisted, and he ripped his shirt off, throwing it to the ground between them. It hit with a splat.

"Christ, he's wet," said Ross softly. Smith's skin was shining in the light, slicker than Ross had ever seen it, and he was flushed a dark green.

"Pants too, let's see what you've got on underneath," drawled Sips. "You wearing panties, Smiffy?"

Smith bared his teeth. "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."

"Sure," said Sips, stripping easily.

Trott and Ross jostled for a better position to watch.

"There you go, Smiffy, happy?" Sips closed in, brushing a hand down Smith's slick chest, down his stomach, sliding his fingers into Smith's trousers. Smith closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

"Come on now, those pants aren't gonna take themselves off," said Sips, not unkindly.

Sips didn't remove his hand, and Smith worked the buckle around it, looking him in the eyes. Sips smiled as Smith's trousers puddled around his ankles. He skimmed his fingers up Smith's chest, and traced up the line of his throat to his jaw. Smith jolted away as if he'd been slapped, and Sips dropped his hand to his side.

"That's beautiful, don't you think so? Look at you, Smiffy, you're beautiful. I want you to touch yourself."

Smith bit off a noise and scowled. His hands knotted into fists, and the room collectively held its breath, waiting. Sips watched mildly, the Sirs with quivering interest. Smith's fist trembled, then his arm jerked towards his dick. Ross breathed faster as Smith tentatively curled a hand around his dick, moving loosely. The sound was wet, and Trott licked his hand, squeezing Ross's dick as he stroked him.

"Yeah, just like that." Sips's voice was warm with approval. Smith's hand closed tighter and sped up, and the Sirs listened to the familiar slick sound with avid interest. Trott eyed Sips's boner, but he wasn't doing anything to it. Such a waste, when there were eager volunteers to be had.

"That's great," said Sips, "but you know what would be better? If you kneel down, right here."

Smith balked, losing the rhythm.

"Come on, Smiffy, I know you can do it," coaxed Sips.

Smith shuddered violently, then kicked the tangle of his shoes and trousers away. He glared at Sips and stiffly lowered himself to his knees.

"Yeah, spread your legs," said Sips. "You're doing great."

"All talk, no action," said Smiffy through clenched teeth. His hand returned to his dick. "All the action I'm getting isn't coming from you."

"Oh, Smiffy, that mouth of yours."

"What a mouth," said Trott.

"Such a pretty mouth," said Ross.

"I agree," said Sips. "Wouldn't it look great with my dick in it?"

"Yes, definitely," panted Trott.

"Would improve things immensely," said Ross, his voice tight.

"There you go, the votes are in, Smiffy. Open your mouth." Sips stepped forward and held his dick steady, and Smith leaned towards it, lips parting.

"Yeah, there you go, Smiffy. Knew you could do it." He rubbed the tip over Smith's lips and drew back. Smith licked his lips. The dick in Trott's hand got wetter, and the dick in Ross's hand got harder.

Sips teased Smith slowly, offering him just a little and then pulling back with a pop. Smith's eyes followed Sips's dick, and he leaned further towards him with every attempt, but didn't move his knees except to spread them a little further apart.

"Suck me off, Trott?" whispered Ross.

"And miss this? Not on your life," hissed Trott.

"You want me to fuck your mouth, Smiffy? All you have to do is ask."

Smith sucked harder, bobbing his head.

"Was that a yes, Smiffy?"

Trott marveled that Sips's voice was still perfectly level and dry, even with Smith's mouth on his dick.

"I think that was a yes," said Ross.

"Definitely looked like a nod to me," said Trott, his voice hoarse.

Sips pulled out again, and Ross bit his lip at the wet sound. Smith was glistening all over, breathing raggedly through his nose, but kept his mouth shut. His hand moved fast and hard, and he looked at Sips's dick.

"Smiffy, I can't hear you over that wet smacking sound. Take your hand off your dick."

Smith's strokes stuttered and slowed, and with great effort he put his hands on his thighs. He looked up at Sips with a face like thunder.

"I don't think Smiffy wants my dick in his mouth," said Sips. "Do you, Smiffy? Use your words. Tell me what you want."

Smith licked his lips, swallowing hard.

Trott groaned. "Come on, Smiff."

"Come on, don't leave us hanging," said Ross.

"We wouldn't leave you hanging," pointed out Trott.

"I hear you can die of blueballs," said Ross.

Smith looked down, glaring a hole in the floor. "I. I want to fuck you," he said quietly but defiantly.

"Yeah, that's more like it," said Sips. "Did you hear that, guys?"

"I heard that," said Ross.

"Definitely heard that," said Trott.

"I dunno," said Sips. "I didn't hear anything."

"I want to fuck you," growled Smith. His lips clamped shut, his jaw hard.

"What's the magic word, Smiffy?" Sips said, rolling the words on his tongue like candy.

"Simon says, Smiffy," urged Trott.

"Come on, open sesame," coaxed Ross.

"Please." He said it as if it would kill him but he had to do it anyway.

"Aw, you're such a good boy, Smiffy." Sips reached over to tousle the tendrils of Smith's hair, and Smith held himself stiff.

"Good boys get treats?" said Trott hopefully.

"That's right, they do. Hey, Smiffy, is there a bed around here, or do you want to do it on the floor?"

"Bed. Trott's bed."

Trott cheered. "Let's make some happy memories!"

"Sweet dreams," said Ross.

"Come on, up you go, Smiffy, take me to bed," said Sips. Smith skidded on the wet patch he had made on the smooth floor, and Sips took his arm. Smith wrenched away after a second, and Sips rubbed the slickness between his fingers thoughtfully.

Smith led the way, Sips strolling behind him and Ross and Trott vying for the space behind Sips. The room was large and full of doors but almost bare, furniture and torches scattered haphazardly across the floor. Smith looked smaller in the emptiness, and more naked, his clothes left behind in the other room.

Smith stopped in front of the bed, looking back at Sips over his shoulder.

"Get on the bed, Smiffy." Sips put a hand on his back, pushing him forward, and Smith barely resisted. "On your back."

Smith looked uncertain suddenly, frowning. "I - I want." He couldn't make the rest of the words.

"Oh, I know what you want, Smiffy, and I'm going to give it to you. I'm gonna give it to you hard, right in Trott's bed."

Smith shivered and laid down on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to watch. Sips climbed onto the bed and straddled him, pushing him down hard with a hand in the middle of his chest. He leaned weight on it and didn't remove it as he settled himself, and Smith's breath came short.

"One of my life's ambitions, Smiffy, is riding you like a pony." He reached back to slap Smith's thigh. "Giddy up."

Smith was hard and dripping wet, and Sips kept him pinned down as he sank back onto his dick, twisting his hips back and forth. Trott licked his palm again, envying the easy slickness, and gave Ross a few good twists with his wrist. Ross did the same for Trott, matching his movements to Sips's slow, relentless rhythm.

Sips sighed, settling onto Smith's hips as he bottomed out. "There you go, nice and cozy."

Smith's eyes were screwed shut, his hands on Sips's thighs, squeezing.

"I didn't say you could do that, Smiffy. Why don't you put your hands above your head."

Sips started moving, not lifting up far enough for Smith to get any leverage to push into him, just rolling his hips and rocking the bed back and forth. Smith's hands fisted in the blanket, jerked towards Sips, then flinched back. His feet slid restlessly in the sheets.

"I don't think Smiffy can do it," said Sips. "That's sad, isn't it, guys?"

"Very sad," said Ross.

"The worst," said Trott.

"What are you gonna do about it?" asked Ross breathlessly.

"I think you should do something about it," said Sips. "Why don't you come give Smiffy a hand here?"

The two Sirs parted, each moving to one side of the bed and taking a hand. Smith snarled and fought against them, his skin so slippery it was hard to get a good grip, but they pinned him with tenacity. Trott slid a hand down Smith's forearm, gathering a palmful of slick, and continued wanking.

"Good job," said Sips.

They tightened their grip and Smith swore at them loudly, twisting and flexing against their hold, but locked his eyes on Sips as if hypnotized. They watched Sips rock his hips, watched his hand slide on his wet dick. Ross licked his lips, and Trott swallowed heavily.

Sips started lifting his hips and moving faster, and Smith powered up with his whole body to meet him, anchored by the firm grip on his wrists. The wet sounds and the slap of skin on skin was loud, and Smith was making noises on every exhale.

"Like a bucking bronco," laughed Sips. "We should rent you out to a rodeo, Smiffy, you'd be a very popular ride."

Smith bit his lip, and if he wasn't careful, he was going to bite right through it.

"But rides are worth more if they don't end too soon. Hold on, Smiffy, I want to get my money's worth. I put a whole two quarters in."

Smith made agonized noises as Sips moved faster, pounding him into the mattress. Ross pinned Smith's hand with a knee, sucking on his own fingers as he wanked himself. Trott struggled to breathe, stomach muscles stiffening.

"Hold on, Smiffy, I told you to wait."

"C-can't."

"You know what you can do, if you want to come?" His voice was soft and reasonable, and Trott caught himself nodding.

Smith twisted his head to the side, panting, eyes screwed shut.

"You can ask me, Smiffy. Ask me nicely, and I just might give you permission."

"Please," whispered Trott, his lips barely moving.

Smith set his jaw, but the rest of him was barely under his control, moving to Sips's rhythm and rising to meet him. Sips leaned back further, idly palming his dick, and Smith groaned at the new angle, his breath coming ragged.

"Any time you want, Smiffy, you can just say the word. Say the magic word."

Smith's breath sounded more like sobbing than anything else, and he clenched his teeth, whispering something into his arm.

"I'm sorry, Smiffy, but I didn't hear that."

"P-please."

"Again?"

"Please."

"One more time, Smiffy."

Smith started to lock up under Sips, stomach and legs trembling. Sips slowed down in warning, eyes dark.

Smiffy whined between his teeth. "Please Sips, fucking please, I need. Please let me."

"Oh, why didn't you say so? Of course you can come."

Sips squeezed with his thighs, and Smith came with a sob of relief. Ross was next, curling up with a grunt, and Trott sped up his hand until he came, splashing Smith's arm.

But Sips hadn't come yet. He was watching Smith with a smile, hand moving fast and loose on his dick. Smith was limp under him, skin shining. His head lolled towards Sips, eyes half open.

"Aw, look at that. It's like my birthday came early." His voice was warm and smooth. He finished across Smith's chest, and braced himself over Smith with both arms, breathing fast and watching his face.

Trott slumped against the headboard. He wondered if Sips could hear his heartbeat from here; it was certainly drumming loud enough to echo through the room. Ross panted next to him.

"Hey, Ross," Trott whispered.

"Yeah, Trott?"

"Think he'll do us too?"

"I'll do you," said Sips. "I'll do you so hard. Soon as I get my breath back."