Kota woke up slowly, his consciousness surfacing through layers of heavy, bone-deep exhaustion.
The first thing he registered was the weight.
There was weight everywhere.
On his chest, on his legs, on his arms, pressing down on him from every angle like a living blanket made of warm, sleeping bodies.
The second thing he registered was the smell.
The room smelled like sex and sweat and whipped cream and chocolate and about a dozen other things that he didn’t want to think too hard about.
He opened his eyes and blinked up at the ceiling.
Theo’s bedroom.
Of course.
The burgundy velvet canopy was still there, the crystal chandelier catching the pale morning light, the heavy curtains drawn against the world outside.
But the bed itself was a disaster zone.
Bodies were sprawled everywhere, tangled together in a mess of limbs and blankets and discarded clothing.
Theo was on top of him, his face buried in Kota’s neck, his blond hair a complete disaster, his lips slightly parted as he breathed soft and slow.
Sebastian was curled against his other side, one arm draped across Kota’s chest, his glasses long gone.
Riley and Corey were near the foot of the bed, their bodies pressed.
Camilo was hanging half off the edge, one leg dangling over the side, his pink robe bunched up around his waist.
Griss was twitching in the corner, his pale body covered in marks that Kota didn’t remember leaving.
Elliot and Grayson were sprawled on top of Corey and Riley, their identical ginger curls mixing together.
And Austin was hanging off the other side of the bed, his chef’s hat somehow still perched on his head, just at a jaunty angle.
Kota stared at the ceiling for a long moment, his mind struggling to piece together the events of the previous night.
He remembered the chocolates.
He remembered the cupid outfits.
He remembered Theo and Sebastian stripping naked and putting on that ridiculous lace and blowing him kisses.
But after that, everything was a blur.
A long, hazy, eighteen-hour blur of skin and sweat and moaning and positions he was pretty sure had never been documented before.
He looked around at the sea of contented faces and felt a strange swell of pride.
He must have done a good job.
Everyone looked happy.
Everyone looked satisfied.
Everyone looked like they had been fucked into a state of blissful unconsciousness.
He smiled to himself and muttered, “Good job, Kota.
You really outdid yourself this time.”
A voice came from under the bed.
“It was subpar at best.”
Kota jolted so hard he nearly threw Theo off the bed.
“What the fuck!?”
He scrambled to the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping bodies, and peered over the side.
There, lying flat on the floor beneath the bed like some kind of sex gremlin, was Beckett.
He was completely naked, his pale skin almost glowing in the dim light, his dark hair spread out around his head. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
He was staring up at the underside of the bed frame with his usual blank expression, his hands folded neatly on his stomach.
“Beckett?
What the hell are you doing under the bed?”
Beckett didn’t move.
His voice came out in that same flat, robotic monotone, each word delivered with clinical precision.
“I was observing.
My quarters in the basement remain compromised due to my continued illness, but I required proximity to the ritual to properly assess your performance.
The structural integrity of the bed frame provided adequate support for my observational position.
Additionally, the darkness beneath the bed allowed me to focus on auditory and vibrational data without visual distractions.”
Kota stared at him, his brain struggling to process.
“You were under the bed.
The whole time.
While we were—”
“Correct.
The entire duration of the event.
All 16 hours and 47 minutes.
I have compiled extensive notes.”
“Sixteen hours and forty-seven minutes?”
“The chocolates Theodore consumed contained a particularly potent formulation of the aphrodisiac.
His estimation of four hours per chocolate was conservative.
The actual duration of the effects was closer to four hours and twelve minutes per chocolate.
Sebastian’s dosage was similarly prolonged.
The resulting marathon session exceeded even my initial projections.”
Kota ran a hand over his face, his hangover already starting to throb behind his eyes.
“Beckett, I really don’t need a play-by-play of my own sex life right now.”
But Beckett ignored him completely, launching into what could only be described as a lecture.
“Your performance, while adequate for a novice, contained numerous areas for improvement.
First, your utilization of your fingers was suboptimal.
You possess ten fully functional digits, yet you rarely employed more than three at any given time.
The prostate is a highly sensitive organ that responds favorably to targeted, sustained pressure.
A fourth finger, or even a fifth in the case of more experienced partners, could have elevated the experience significantly.
Sebastian in particular would have benefited from a more thorough manual exploration prior to penetration.”
Kota opened his mouth to interrupt, but Beckett kept going.
“Second, you exhibited a complete lack of spanking or degrading dirty talk.
Both Theodore and Sebastian have demonstrated clear preferences for such treatment in previous encounters.
Theodere responds positively to verbal humiliation paired with physical affection.
Sebastian’s praise kink is well documented, but it functions optimally when contrasted with light degradation.
You neglected both of these tools entirely.
A simple ‘good boy’ is insufficient without the contextual threat of consequence.”
“Beckett, I don’t—”
“Third, you consistently took the lead rather than allowing your partners to do so.
In a marathon scenario such as last night, energy conservation is paramount. Get faster updates on g.com.
By doing the majority of the work yourself, you shortened your own endurance and limited the variety of stimulation your partners could provide.
Theoderou is particularly skilled at riding.
Sebastian’s oral technique, while still developing, is enthusiastic and should be encouraged through active participation.
Letting them take control periodically would have extended the session and improved overall satisfaction scores.”
Kota was staring at him with a mixture of horror and fascination now, unable to look away.
“Finally, and most significantly, you focused too heavily on making your partners climax.
While partner satisfaction is not inherently negative, in a marathon sex scenario one should strive for extended, long-winded encounters where orgasms arrive late and are of greater intensity.
Your repeated focus on bringing Theoderou and Sebastian to completion early and often resulted in a rapid depletion of their energy reserves and a corresponding decrease in the quality of later rounds.
A more measured approach, with deliberate edging and strategic denial, would have yielded superior results.”
Beckett reached under himself and produced a folded piece of paper, holding it up toward Kota with two fingers.
“I have compiled a detailed assessment.
Two pages.
Single spaced.
With footnotes.”
Kota took the paper on autopilot, his fingers unfolding it slowly.
The letter at the bottom read, in large, underlined script: “OVERALL GRADE: B-”
Kota stared at the paper.
He stared at Beckett.
He looked down at the paper again, then back at Beckett.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and absurd.
“Are…
are we fucking serious right now?” Kota finally managed, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Beckett simply stared back, unblinking.
“My assessment is thorough and objective.
You would benefit from reviewing my notes before your next marathon engagement.”
Kota didn’t have the energy to argue.
He didn’t have the energy to be angry.
He didn’t have the energy to do anything except shake his head and push himself off the bed, stepping over the tangle of sleeping bodies with exaggerated care.
His clothes were scattered somewhere on the floor, and he grabbed them piece by piece, pulling on his boxers and jeans with slow, deliberate movements.
“I’m due for a huge shower,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
“A long, hot, extremely private shower where no one is hiding under any furniture.”
“I could observe,” Beckett offered from under the bed.
“To grade the effectiveness of your testicular washing technique.
Proper hygiene is an often overlooked component of sexual performance.”
“Ew.
Fuck no.”
Kota pulled his shirt over his head and headed for the bathroom, stepping around Austin’s dangling arm and Camilo’s twitching leg.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound of the shower starting was the only response Beckett received.