Dennis's POV
The aftershocks were still rolling through all three of us when I finally untangled myself from the sweat-slicked heap of limbs in the backseat. Ben was breathing like he'd sprinted a marathon, his forehead pressed against Peter's shoulder, and Peter was making these soft, dazed little sounds that told me the Dawngleam tethers were still singing with residual pleasure. I let myself enjoy the sight for exactly three seconds before the pragmatic part of my brain, the part that kept an empire running on a seventy-three-day countdown, kicked back into gear.
I climbed smoothly over the center console into the front passenger seat, letting the cool recycled air hit my bare skin. My clothes were exactly where they were tossed earlier, a rumpled pile of dark denim, black cotton, and my favorite worn leather on the floorboard. I pulled the jeans on first, zipping them nice and quick with practiced efficiency, then dragged the fitted black t-shirt over my head. The leather jacket came last, settling across my shoulders like armor. My sneakers I left off for now.
The Succubus God System interface materialized the instant I gave it the mental nudge, its familiar golden display hovering translucently across my field of vision. I scrolled past the diagnostic readouts and locked onto the number that mattered most.
*Sex Points earned: 300.*
*Total Sex Points 902.*
I let myself exhale. Three hundred. Combined with what I'd banked from Frank and the earlier session with Ben and Duke, my reserves had climbed to a genuinely comfortable cushion. Still not enough for the absolute top-tier summons, the kind of reality-warping sorcerer who could shred an Infinity Stone's influence like wet paper, but enough to start seriously shopping. I finally checked out the price tags for the high-tier magic users and Zatanna's price tag hovered around six fucking thousand. Constantine was significantly cheaper at only seven hundred but came with a personality surcharge I wasn't sure I had the patience for this week or ever. Either way, magical defenses were no longer a distant fantasy but not this very moment either. They were on the menu.
I dismissed the interface and glanced into the rearview mirror. Behind me, the backseat had become its own private world. Ben had shifted Peter onto his back across the wide leather seats, one massive hand braced against the door panel, the other gripping Peter's hip with possessive authority. Peter's legs were hooked around his uncle's waist, ankles locked at the small of his back, and the look on his face was something between worship and absolute ruin.
"Again," Peter breathed, arching up. "Please, Daddy. I need it again."
Ben's jaw flexed. The golden tether between them blazed so brightly in my mind's eye that it practically threw shadows. Whatever lingering hesitation or guilt over what they were doing that had survived our first round was gone now, incinerated by the reality of what they'd shared and the bone-deep certainty the bond provided that this was right, this was theirs, this was Pack and they were going to be repeating this action often. He lined himself up without a word of protest and drove forward in one brutal, claiming stroke that made the entire vehicle rock on its suspension.
Peter's cry bounced off the soundproofing. I settled comfortably into the passenger seat, propped one foot on the dashboard, and watched.
Ben was a revelation. The Rank Two enhancement had returned his body to its physical prime, and the man had clearly been a force of nature even before life and disease ground him down after this I should have him hit the gym more like Frank as while his physical strength is even greater than when he was in his prime his actual body still looked like it hasn't seen a proper workout in ages even if it wasn't bad to look at. His hips worked with devastating, metronomic power, each thrust landing with the kind of authority that came from someone who had decided, with absolute finality, that the person beneath him was going to feel this for the rest of the night. He pulled almost entirely out, paused just long enough for Peter to whimper, then slammed home again so hard the seatbelt buckle behind them jingled.
"Harder," Peter gasped, fingers scrabbling at Ben's shoulders. "Daddy, harder, please, I can take it."
"I know you can. And even if you couldn't I wouldn't stop now." Ben's voice had dropped into a register I'd never heard from him before, low and rough and utterly commanding. He grabbed both of Peter's wrists in one hand, pinned them above his head against the doors armrest, and shifted his angle just enough to make Peter's eyes roll back. "Dammit your still so fucking tight. Dennis probably hasn't had enough time to break you in properly don't worry I'll fix that when I'm done with you not only are you going to feel me for hours but never need lube again to slide right in. That's a promise."
I let the show play out, genuinely impressed. The tether fed me every spike of pleasure, every pulse of deepening devotion not to him for once but to each other, and I cataloged it all with the clinical appreciation of a god watching his creation function exactly as designed this is how the harem of the god of gay sex should act with each other. Ben broke his rhythm only to lean down and kiss Peter savagely, swallowing the younger man's needy moans, murmuring filthy encouragements against his lips before resuming the punishing pace. Peter took every inch like he was born for it, his enhanced muscles clenching and yielding in perfect counterpoint.
I let them have their moment. Then I remembered geography.
"Legion," I said quietly, pitching my voice just below the noise from the backseat. "Halt the vehicle once we're two miles from the Parker residence."
"Confirmed, sir. Estimated arrival at the two-mile perimeter in approximately six minutes."
I turned my attention back to the rearview mirror. Ben had Peter folded nearly in half now, one of the kid's legs pushed up against his own chest, and the new angle was clearly devastating because Peter had stopped forming coherent words entirely. His mouth was open, his eyes were glazed, and every exhale came out as a shattered, desperate moan that fogged the tinted glass.
Ben leaned in close, lips brushing Peter's ear. "You wanted me to paint your insides white right?" A brutal thrust punctuated the question. "Ask me properly. I said ask me you little cock slut!" a second even more forceful thrust immediately followed when Peter took to long to answer.
"Please," Peter sobbed, his voice cracking beautifully. "Please, Daddy, fill me up, I need it, I need all of it."
The SUV glided to a silent stop. Legion's voice chimed softly from the dashboard speakers. "Two-mile perimeter reached, sir."
Neither of them noticed. Ben's pace had become something almost savage, his enhanced lower body driving forward with the full, magnificent power of muscles rebuilt by divine magic. The leather seats creaked in protest the car even rocked slightly on its axis. Peter was clinging to him like he'd drown if he let go, his heels digging into Ben's back, trying to pull him deeper with every stroke. I noticed that sometime during Ben's high-speed thrusting, my cum had started to leak out of his ass to down the back of his legs but most of it now covered his balls which kept smacking the bottom back of Peter's shirt making a large wet spot or throwing little droplets further down on it making it look like someone hit him with a Water balloon or something still thought it was pretty hot.
They lasted another three minutes. Then Ben buried himself to the hilt one final time, his entire body locking rigid, a guttural sound tearing from his chest as he came deep and hard in Peter's ass. Peter followed him over the edge almost instantly, cock untouched, his back bowing off the seat as the orgasm ripped through him painting the front of his shirt white. The golden tethers between all three of us flared white-hot.
The cabin fell into heavy, panting silence.
Peter recovered first, because of course he did. Enhanced biology, teenage hormones, and his Rank Two status made him practically insatiable its simply a fact that sadly hasn't been fully tested yet that besides me Peter had the highest sexual endurance in the Pack. He was already shifting his hips experimentally, testing whether Ben was still hard inside him. "One more time," he whispered, his voice wrecked. "Just one more time, Daddy, please."
Ben, to his credit, wasn't even winded enough to consider refusing or delaying for rest. His hands were already moving back to Peter's hips, grip tightening with intent.
I cleared my throat.
Both of them froze. Their heads turned toward the front seat in almost comical unison, flushed and disheveled and clearly having forgotten I existed for the last several minutes.
"Glad to see you two enjoying yourselves," I said, letting genuine warmth color my voice before sharpening it with authority. "But we have things to do. You still live together. You can have sex again literally anytime you want. Right now, Peter, get dressed."
Peter opened his mouth to protest. I raised one eyebrow. He closed it.
"We can't arrive at the house at the same time as Ben let alone in the same car," I continued, turning fully in my seat to face them. "He's supposed to be on his way back from his boss's office which nobody knows the address to yet. If we roll up together, there are going to be questions neither of us wants to answer tonight. So here's the plan. Peter and I take the BMW parked behind us. We drive to the house first. To anyone watching, and there are people watching, we look like two normal teenagers coming back from a date. Ben, you wait ten to fifteen minutes, then follow. By the time you walk through that door, I'll have already finished making May a Rank One. But you and Peter are handling the introductory conversation. Explain the bond, the Pack, whatever she needs to hear to feel safe. I need to get back to the mansion for the feast."
Ben nodded slowly, the CEO resurfacing behind his blown-out pupils. "Understood."
Peter was already scrambling for his jeans, which had ended up draped over the headrest of the driver's seat. He yanked them on, hopping awkwardly in the confined space, then shoved his feet into his sneakers without bothering with socks he just stuffed them in his pocket. His shirt was a complete lost cause, wrinkled and damp from sweat and his cum, but it would have to do.
I laced my sneakers, opened the passenger door, and stepped out into the cool Manhattan night. The BMW sat twenty feet behind us, black and gleaming under the amber glow of a streetlamp. The neighborhood was quiet, residential, the kind of place where people minded their own business but definitely peeked through curtains.
Peter stumbled out of the SUV after me, and I had to suppress a laugh. His hair was a catastrophe. His lips were swollen. His shirt was buttoned wrong. And most tellingly, he was limping. Not dramatically, but enough that anyone with eyes would notice the careful, bow-legged quality of his stride.
"Stop trying to fix your hair," I told him as he frantically ran his fingers through the mess. "You're making it worse."
"I look like I got hit by a truck," he muttered.
"You look like you got railed in the backseat of a car, which is exactly what happened and exactly what I want the watchers to think." I slung an arm casually around his shoulders, steering him toward the BMW. "Two horny teenagers coming back from a very successful date. That's our cover story. Own it."
He groaned but leaned into me, and I felt the tether hum with easy, uncomplicated affection. We climbed into the BMW, Peter wincing visibly as he lowered himself into the passenger seat, and I keyed the ignition manually this time, enjoying the growl of the engine.
Seven minutes later, we pulled up to the Parker residence. The street was quiet, but I clocked the faint irregularities immediately: a parked van four houses down with slightly too-dark windows, a sedan at the corner that hadn't moved since Snake Eyes team tagged it a while ago. S.H.I.E.L.D. had replaced the units Snake Eyes chased off with fresher ones. Persistent but as long as they stay a certain distance and aren't stupid enough to start something they can stay to make S.H.I.E.L.D feel better which is the only reason they weren't made to leave. I filed it away and killed the engine.
I stepped out first, stretching casually, making sure anyone with binoculars got a good look at the leather jacket and the easy, relaxed body language of a teenager who'd had a very good evening. Peter followed, and the limp was even more pronounced after sitting still for seven minutes. He tried to straighten up, square his shoulders, project normalcy, and failed so spectacularly that I had to bite the inside of my cheek.
"You're hopeless," I said fondly, and took his hand as we walked up the front steps together. To the surveillance teams, we were exactly what I wanted them to see: two kids, flushed and rumpled and obviously post-coital, fumbling for house keys on a Thursday night. Nothing supernatural. Nothing worth flagging except maybe that Peter had a boyfriend. Just teenagers being teenagers.
The front door opened, and the warm light of the Parker living room spilled out across the porch. May's voice drifted from inside, calling Peter's name with that particular mix of relief and suspicion that only a guardian could manage.
I had eight to thirteen minutes before Ben arrived. Plenty of time to make May Parker part of the family.