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The Professor took longer than truly necessary to make himself look presentable, he couldn’t help himself through, he had a very special guest coming over today.
Not another new scientist come to assist in the cloning project’s research. Nor a new linguist come to teach the already born, young offspring another new tongue.
No, an old friend was coming over. Coming over for a professional visit, entirely related to his research, but an old friend none-the-less.
One of his four closest compatriots, well that wasn’t exactly an accurate description, since Otto Wolfgang Ort-Meyer only ever allowed himself to become close to those four men. They had met by complete chance, each running from something, and all deciding that a few years of bloodshed in the French Foreign Legion was the appropriate response. There was no ‘click’ when they eventually all met in their shared unit. But it did become apparent very quickly that all five men were compatible. Very compatible… In more ways than one.
Ort-Meyer forced himself to take a calming breath, this was only business, not pleasure. He discreetly smoothed a hand over the front of his trousers, thankful his reaction to those special moments of intimacy with his most dear and special friends was not noticeable.
Simple khaki, a plain white dress shirt, and cardigan were not out of the usual for his attire at any point in his life—the semi-informal look always suited him. The professor did instruct one of his one of his minions to have his outfit taken into the nearest respectable dry cleaners. However that took some time, having his home base be in the middle of the Romanian wilderness had its ups and downs.
Still, he wanted to look his best tonight, not that any of the five truly judged by appearances, as the five of them ran the gambit of taste and personality.
And size and shape, and of their origins. Their DNA and theirs alone would be cherry picked and recombined to make the perfect man, both the impartial scientist and the biased man in Ort-Meyer knew that was the absolute truth.
Their sons were magnificent specimens, truly. But…
But it just wasn’t right yet. There was always just something off about their sons together, almost 40 of them now, but there was always just missing something… Something to make them perfect always going awry…
Ort-Meyer shook his head, now was not the time to lament the lack of that perfect and beautiful son that he had dreamt of for so long… He had business to attend to.
He finally makes his way from his private above ground study, then down the multiple sets of grand staircases, to the lobby of the mansion-turned-insane asylum-turned secret lab. Said patients ordered to be doped up extra today, as to not ruin the ambiance.
And then he saw his brother-in-arms across the car park, and it was quite difficult to maintain his brisk pace and not break into a sprint—he had a reputation to uphold after all.
His friend Lee Hong has one too, hard, and heartless, and rich—a better man than the gutter rats he is forced to interact with for his own business.
He casually tapped his tented fingers together, his face impassive and cold, cruel eyes staring down any of the staff that dared to approach him. Or his cadre personal guards. Of course, he had brought his triads with him, the local Romanian staff barely comprehending Hong’s Chinese guards through their both less than stellar English.
Professor Ort-Meyer simply orders all the men to stop acting so tough. The Red Dragon triad members mutter under their breaths, but that’s alright, he had learned enough common Cantonese sayings over the years to know they are only griping whilst complying faithfully.
The crime lord’s usual stony face softens ever so slightly at their reunion. “Professor Ort-Meyer!” He called out just loud enough to cover the distance, his low but reedy voice close to thickening.
“Mr Hong!” They walk briskly towards each over from the space not far from the front steps of main entrance to the great oak in the centre of the dead end road connecting the asylum to the rural road. They barely stop from crashing into each other as they reunite, finally face-to-face after… How many years was it? Two?
If there were no witnesses Ort-Meyer would have allowed himself to be walked backwards and be crushed between the bark and his friend’s chest.
Instead, their handshake is firm enough to feel bruising in a sort of pseudo-compromise, but they do embrace, and their chests are squeezed tightly together. Both men shut their eyes, hands snaking around the other to give long, firm pats on their upper backs, so easily mistaken for a more… standard act of friendship.
Ort-Meyer angles his head in blind bliss, rubbing his nose against his old friend’s jawline, burying it into the space where it meets his neck and ear. The scent of his cologne is just as enveloping as any physical touch.
“It’s been too long.” The scientist crooned, his friend only responded with a low, short hum. “Come along, my friend.” He grinned as he led him with a hand a resting a bit too low on his lower back.
The scientist knows better than to ask if any of his goons will be following their master, but they all patiently wait outside without being asked.
“May I have a drink?” Hong asked politely, despite the fact he had already stridden over and opened the liquor cabinet in the corner of the office.
“You may, but if you do this I will have to take the DNA sample the other way.” Hong only gave his friend a small smirk as he reached for the brandy.
“You should know, my friend, that I have ulterior motives.” The crime lord said after appreciating the smoothness of the Armagnac, “hmm.” He almost scoffed, “and how much of the funding goes to our sons, and how much goes to your pleasure?”
Ort-Meyer’s borderline mocking laugh was very short. “You should know by now that I work best when I’m happy. But I do assure you I put our boys first.”
His friend just finished his drink, “we all want pleasure, Otto. But there is an important matter of business. We should talk about the clones.”
“Yes,” the professor forced out, “as you know there have been some difficulties… Another of the first generation boys has died.”
Lee Hong was known as ‘the man with no conscience’, he had killed his own uncle for control of the family business. The death of a son meant nothing to him. Perhaps it should have meant something to Otto and their other three friends too, but the oldest batches of their progeny weren’t really anything worth writing home about in the first place.
Coincidently, the lack of letters to his friends, was something of a sticking point to the other fathers.
“You asked for me, and only me to come here tonight.”
“I underestimated your DNA profile,” Ort-Meyer said honestly. And he truly had, progress to creating perfection was being made every new day, so many advances compared to when this all started in the last years of the 50s. “I knew there was a reason I chose you, my friend” He crooned lovingly.
The other man simply stirred the liquid in his second glass, “yes.” He said curtly. “Yet you did not think to inform the other donors?”
“They are not relevant! Yet you sent them letters about it!” He nearly gnashed his teeth, “and now I have to respond to three men who believe themselves wronged.”
When Hong took another sip, the professor did let out an indignant little noise. “And that takes time away from the project, and puts stress on all of us!”
“Did you even miss me? Or any of our comrades?”
“Of course I’ve missed you all!” His words were mostly honest. “But this work demands my attention, the four of you have simply never understood this.” He huffed, and crossed his arms over-dramatically, refusing to even look in his general direction.
The sound of the scraping of glass on wood caused the professor to turn around, and he found his friend had closed the distance between them. “I did not intend for this. But I am the greatest financial contributor, do I not get a say?”
“… You do.” Otto was more than a little sick of the constant negotiations since staring this project, but what was the alternative? A thumb was ran gently over his bottom lip, and any thoughts of punishment or retaliation evaporated instantly.
He closed his eyes and sighed in pure pleasure, “I didn’t mean for this to happen either, can we just finish our work for today, and kiss and make up later?” He asked in a tone somewhat close to pleading.
All was forgiven, for now at least. Hong’s guards were instructed to wait just outside the patients quarters. Only those in the project’s know themselves needed to know about the secret room at the back of the elevator shaft.
The two men’s shoulders bump together as the professor leads his friend to an empty examination room—said room that had been ordered to not be used for today and that no staff should interrupt their business unless the situation is beyond dire.
The cheap metal folding chair is not only a contrast to the cutting edge technology of the lab, but also a terrible substitute for the throne the red dragon of Hong Kong should be sat on.
Ort-Meyer removes his comrade’s jacket without asking or being told. It’s a beautifully custom-made overcoat, made of black herringbone wool, the colour of the upper lapels is gorgeous too, how the crimson contrasts beautifully against it. He takes a moment to gaze down at the red embroidery on the sleeves. Once it is neatly folded, he places in on the centre table with the rest of the important things.
Returning to his old friend, the professor cannot help himself from admiring his reddish-brown waistcoat. Both how it hugs his lean frame and exaggerates his still broad shoulders just a bit. His attention is once again drawn to his tie, how it contrasts beautifully with his crisp white shirt. He runs a finger over the simple knot teasingly, before moving it down the narrow fabric, enjoying the both the feel of the expensive silk, and the slight shine of it.
Their sons will all be so handsome in suits like this, maybe only have a splash colour be from the tie instead of a waistcoat or overcoat. Simple, yet elegant—that’s their boys. His perfect son.
Ort-Meyer pushes that theoretical perfect son out of his mind, and plants both hands on his subject’s shoulders. Squeezing them hard. “Are you ready to begin extracting your DNA, my friend?” He husked, drawing each word out teasingly.
“You tell me.” His friend wore half a smirk while undoing his belt, then stood to lower his trousers.
The prominent bulge in his underwear points to the left, straining quite painfully against the white cotton of his briefs. The tip just starting to soak the fine fabric.
The impartial, intellectual scientist in Ort-Meyer dies as soon as the cock is fully revealed. Lee Hong is not the thickest of the five men—that’s Frantz. Nor is he the longest—that’s Pablo. But his cock is thick, and long, and oh so heavy, and it always stretched out Otto so beautifully when they fuck.
He just can’t stop himself from kissing it, running his lips up and down the shaft to lick a stripe up and down the wide, prominent underside ridge. He nuzzles his face all over his beautiful cock, sighing from the simple pleasure of inhaling his musk, so much more intoxicating than any cologne. “Magnificent.” He sighs again in pure veneration.
Hong places a hand on the back of Ort-Meyer’s head, gently kneading the cropped hair, as the other hand rests on his own hip lazily. “Don’t keep me waiting, Professor.” He warns half-heartedly, secretly enjoying the teasing despite the long wait.
He doesn’t. Ort-Meyer takes hold of the base with his left hand, as his right slowly moves up and down the shaft, twisting and rotating his wrist every now and then. His thumb moves up and down as well—almost of its own accord—over each and every beautiful vein it finds. The professor moves that hand upwards to the tip, gently pulling back the foreskin concealing the head.
As soon as the glans is even slightly revealed, a small but steady stream of precum begins to leak all over Ort-Meyer’s hand and the shaft underneath it. He moves that hand onto his friend’s bare upper thigh, to give it a cheeky squeeze, as the left gives a far gentler one to the base, before slowly tugging it.
Ort-Meyer brings his lips down to the eager, twitching cock, taking the tip into his mouth. He suckles at the foreskin, greedily slurping down all the pre it could possibly make.
“I almost forgive you for this.” Hong spoke around his low moan.
Ort-Meyer takes the entirety of the narrow head and a few inches behind it into his mouth, swallowing both it and his own moans. He opens his eyes to stare up at his friend who is simultaneously enraptured and annoyed, just like himself. The scientist is too aroused to remove him from his mouth to chide his old friend. So he simply swallows him all the way to the base instead, his hooked nose completely buried in the thick nest of jet-black curls there.
He lost his gag reflex a long time ago, five years of sucking off his brothers-in-arms in Vietnam does that to a man. What else was there to do in the French Foreign Legion? Ort-Meyer hollows out his cheeks, humming all the while, vibrating around the cock stuffed there. His loud moan barely muffled as Hong’s cock finally breaches the rest of his throat.
“Otto,” The crime lord sighed in pure pleasure, as his old friend laps at the underside of his cock with that experienced tongue of his. “My whores could learn a thing or too from you.” His words are demeaning in the best possible way. Hong grips his current whore’s hair tightly to keep him still as he starts thrusting lazily. “I should bring you back to Hong Kong, let my customers use and abuse you. They would fuck you until you just can’t take it any more.”
He only moaned louder in response, palming himself roughly through his slacks.
“But that a l-lie isn’t it?” Hong’s mocking words compromised by his arousal. “You could never have enough cocks inside you. Never have enough men stretching you out, fill-” he shouted in pleasure loud enough for anyone upstairs to overhear, but neither would dare to stop. “Filling you. You would always keep crawling back for more…”
Ort-Meyer whined around the cock in his mouth, immediately moving his hands away from his own dick, so dangerously close to finishing what they’ve only just started. It’s an erotic idea, the concept spectacular, but it could never happen, they are all simply too jealous to actually go through with that. They had an arrangement; they could fuck as many women as they wanted, but only the five of them could share each other.
He focuses on what’s actually happening right now, opening his eyes to gaze up at Hong. He is still wearing his trademarked stony faced subtle frown, but his mouth is slightly agape. His eyes are burning black as coal in his state of ardour. His thrusts now shallow, as he moves the hand on his hip to cup Otto’s cheek, fingers running over the narrow jaw, a thumb over his dimpled cheek.
Without breaking eye contact, Ort-Meyer pulls his head back enough to only contain the tip, his left hand caressing the skin connecting the base to the balls. The right swiftly jerking off Hong’s dick, taking turns between sucking the tip, rubbing it over his lips, and smacking it softly against his chin and mouth. A trail of spit threatens to the fall onto the sterile white floor tiles, but is quickly slurped back up, alongside the rest of Hong’s fluids.
He stops jerking him off, the hand now gently cupping his sac. Lee Hong’s balls are not small, but they are the smallest of their brotherhood, the scientist always needed to be extra particular with them. Ort-Meyer strokes them lightly, devoutly brushing his fingers over every inch of them. His other hand gently cupping and squeezing the base of the sac, before running a finger over Hong’s taint.
Ort-Meyer is a man of science—of learning, and education. He knows the anatomy of the human body off by heart, and he knows how to stimulate the prostate externally. Like the gracious host that he, the scientist presses into the flesh of the perineum firmly but gently, rubbing little circles to double his special friend’s pleasure.
Hong begins to cant his hips, squeezing himself as close as possible to the hand rubbing between his legs as he hunches over with a strangled groan. This new position causes his cock to shift, the tip now scraping across the bottom of Ort-Meyer’s tongue. The professor happily obliges to this new angle by kneeling even lower to the ground and leaning his head backwards to let his friend keep fucking his throat.
“It’s too good.” Hong groaned, low in his throat, before suddenly becoming frantic. “I’m close. I’m close.” He hissed through delicious agony.
Otto choked as he franticly pulled Lee’s dick out of his mouth, standing clumsily on skidding feet, damn near throwing himself at the examination table to collect the nearly forgotten plastic cup.
Professor Ort-Meyer bends his subject’s penis downwards slightly, placing the tip halfway inside the sterile container. The hand not holding the cup holds it in a very firm grip, methodically milking it.
Hong throws his head back violently, moaning unabashedly as he finally reaches his orgasm. Spurting out four long, thick ropes of semen that splatter noisily against the insides of the little plastic cup.
Ort-Meyer wants more than that, he wrings the dick even harder for every last drop. The crime lord’s moans begin to wane, replaced by hissing groans at his now completely overstimulated cock. “Enough!” Hong grunts out, even through he is still cupping his own sac. “That’s all I can give you for now…”
Ort-Meyer only moves his hand down to the tip, giving it a single gentle squeeze, before pulling back the foreskin roughly to tug even harder. Once it becomes apparent that Hong is not even making a peal at the slit any more, he finally releases him from his torment.
Professor Ort-Meyer stares at the container in his hand with a deep yearning in his heart. The logical part of his brain is not fully functioning yet part of him wants it in his mouth, craving the bitter taste on his tongue. In that moment it’s the second greatest thing he’s ever wanted, lost out only to making a perfect son. Reluctantly, the container is placed down on the examination table and another doctor is called to have the sample safely stored away.
By the time he returns, Hong is now fully dressed and wearing a subtle sneer that is not truly malicious. “What happens now?”
“I keep selecting your genes to experiment with.” Ort-Meyer explains simply. “Until I am satisfied. Maybe giving a son one ear with dry ear-wax and the other wet could make him sensitive to subtle changes…” He goes on and on, almost forgetting about the hard and aching cock tenting his own trousers.
“I meant about the five of us?”
“Oh. Well, what do you all want from me?”
“We would like more communication for starters.” He crosses his arms. “More letters, more meetups more often.”
“Perhaps. But you all knew that as soon as we decided to start reproducing together, that I would have to shift priorities!” Ort-Meyer begins to frown, “if you want to have sons with me, you know I’ll have to put focus on creating them first.”
Hong is not entirely placated but its enough… for now. “Of course.” He says coolly.
“So… What now?” Otto asks, his usual self assuredness faltering, not quite feeling like the lord of his castle at the moment.
The dragon of Hong Kong takes pity on his oldest friend, and bridges the gap between them again. “Let’s go to bed.” He half murmured in his ear.
They do, although ‘bed’ is a strong word to describe the small cot in the corner of the private room that resides even deeper into the bowels of the underground facility.
It’s utterly spartan, with none of his office’s fine décor, he only really uses the room to sleep and eat. Inside is an even smaller room that could only just fit a bathtub, sink, and toilet.
Inside they embrace, differently from their formal reunion on the surface. Hong’s nose is sharp but short, the tip barely flattening against his friends cheeks as they kiss, open-mouthed yet languid.
Ort-Meyer’s always hated that stupid moustache and goatee, but he’s always tolerated it because the crime lord doesn’t want to shave it off and he’s accepted that. Thecourse hair is softer than it looks when it brushes against his mouth as Ort-Meyer sucks on his friend’s thicker lower lip. His hands cradle his face, rubbing oddly tender fingers over the wide and very defined cheekbones. “What do you want, Lee?”
“For now, I just want to fuck you.” He says roughly, then lowers both hands to the other man’s lower back, to pull him flush against him.
Ort-Meyer’s flagging erection is brought back to life as they frot their cocks together, the grinding simultaneously too much and not enough. The barrier of their clothes forces them to stop, just as Hong’s cock becomes fully hard again.
He seized Ort-Meyer’s belt, the brief clinking and clanking of metal is the most beautiful music to ever grace his ears, before it was replaced by the ugly smack of leather on linoleum as it is tossed to the ground. If the scientist was ever capable of shame, he would have mortified at just how aroused he was by it.
Clothes are unzipped and unbuttoned in a flurry of hands (Ort-Meyer’s being a bit more deft and measured) some are even thrown to the floor haphazardly. The professor cannot stop himself from beholding his bare friend’s chest through his open shirt, he always loves when their clothes are still mostly on, it brings back nostalgic memories of when they would stroke and fondle each other in Vietnam.
Skilled hands grope at the other man’s chest reverently, his body was the true luxurious display, not the expensive clothing. Ort-Meyer simply cannot stop himself from admiring his friend’s still lean form, rubbing and pawing his chest, flicking and squeezing his nipples, before rubbing them with his palms. He thumbs the valley of his dear friend’s pecs, enjoying the feeling of the thin, almost arrow shaped hair located there.
Ort-Meyer’s opinion on body hair changes depending on whose actually fucking him at the moment. Hong doesn’t have much, only having some very sparse hair on the forearms and shins, with the thicker hair only on his chest, underarms, and between his legs. Ort-Meyer likes it, loves seeing the unconcealed muscle there, adores feeling the sensation of bare, smooth skin.
Ort-Meyer also loves the feeling of thick, coarse chest hair. He rememberers running his hands all over Arkadij’s hirsute torso when he had last rode him, and how the Russian had practically purred when he tugged gently at it, and then again afterwards when fingers combed through it in the afterglow.
The professor’s boxers became even tighter at that memory…
Lee Hong was something of a jealous man even when he saw nothing wrong with their five-way arrangement. He grabbed Ort-Meyer’s cock to palm it roughly, coaxing startled moans out of the usually smug scientist. Hong tore the blue boxers down to the professor’s feet carelessly, before barely pulling his own briefs down enough to re-expose himself.
The crime lord stopped his groping just long enough to retrieve a small bottle from his splayed overcoat. He held out the bottle at arms length teasingly, the olive oil almost glowing under the single incandescent bulb “One of your idiot orderlies tried to take this off me.”
Ort-Meyer wanted to make a sarcastic remark on Lee bringing lube with me to his facility, but the knowledge that one of his guards had overstepped cut that off at the knees. “What?! Give me his name, I’ll have him dealt with.”
“Later,” Hong said dismissively, “what about you? Did you prepare yourself for me? Are you clean?”
He stopped pulling off his shoes. “I am clean.” He pointed at his old friend disdainfully. “But don’t think that I did that for you!” Ort-Meyer had developed a so called ‘bad habit’ of only eating just before bed, it meant he could focus all his time on his experiments. Ort-Meyer had changed his routine for this meeting however, he’d eaten only yesterday morning so, his guts would be completely spotless for him, just in case. Not that he also wasn’t willing to clean himself out just like in the salad days when their private visits were much more frequent.
“Good.” He replied simply. “Keep your bow-tie on,” Hong ordered in a tone that left little room for argument, “and sit on the bed for me.”
Otto obeyed instantly, his rebellion immediately forgotten, his cock twitched and empty hole clenched on their own accord. The now stuffy air, of the tiny windowless room almost seemed to cling to his completely bare lower half.
He only paused to pull his cardigan and shirt up to his sternum as to not stain it with his growing precum. Afterwards, he retrieved the ratty old towel he kept under his cot for special occasions just like this.
Ort-Meyer sat on the bed, the nape of his neck pressed against the tiled wall uncomfortably, but he is simply too busy spreading his legs in eager invitation to notice or care.
Hong unscrewed the cap in plain view, pouring the thick, viscous liquid over his index and middle finger slowly. Ort-Meyer let out a soft groan when they finally brush against his hole. The long, narrow, glistening fingers tease the puckered opening, rubbing them slowly in a large circle that was barely grazing his entrance. The oil only caking the hair between his cheeks there.
“You’re just denying yourself.” He argued impatiently, the scientist’s pride unbroken even as he rolled his hips for extra stimulation.
“Remember, Otto, you need us as much as we need you.” He said darkly, tightening his teasing motions, almost pushing a finger inside, before tapping his hole to a rhythm the scientist didn’t understand.
Was that true? Were his friends overstepping again? Professor Ort-Meyer thought for a moment—he only liked to be pushed around by his four friends when they were fucking out their frustrations on him. He chose to believe the latter interpretation, that his crime lord friend was just talking shit. Ort-Meyer let out a very unprofessional and longing whine at the concept.
He grabbed his arse cheeks, the fingers digging almost painfully into the still mostly supple flesh, to pull his pink hole completely taut.
Hong only let out a short pleased hum at the view, reapplying more oil to his two fingers, spreading even more over them with his thumb teasingly. The excess dripped onto the towel beneath.
“I think you’ve learned your lesson, professor.” Hong said as he pressed a finger lightly against his opening, the tip barely entering his insides. He continued the shallow fingering, taking turns between rubbing oil over his walls, and pressing in and out.
Ort-Meyer could only respond with a breathy moan, and a stupid grin. He fought valiantly against his own fluttering eyelids, to keep watching the finger move deeper with each new thrust.
Once it was halfway inside and felt no more resistance, Lee Hong pulled it out completely, only to add his middle finger alongside it, causing a fresh moan to spill from Otto’s lips. “Yes, yes…” He whispered, mostly to himself, squeezing his eyes shut in pure pleasure as he felt the fingers inside him begin to scissor his insides, his wanting hole finally being stretched out.
Ort-Meyer leaned back on his palms, fingers digging in to the sheets. “Yesss!” He hissed in pure pleasure. “Stretch me out, get me ready for your big cock.”
Hong pressed in as deeply as he physically could, before he lowered both fingers to brush over that part of his insides. His friend reeled in pure ecstasy, simultaneously bucking forwards, and trying to back away, the pleasure too much. A hand was placed against Ort-Meyer’s already arched back to pull him closer, then his special friend crouched down to take the leaking cock into his mouth.
He gagged slightly, they’ve all sucked each other off over the years, but evidently the rising star of Hong Kong underworld is not fully used to giving them. Hong takes most of Ort-Meyer into his mouth, humming all the while, his fingers lightly jabbing and stroking his prostate, timing the bobbing of his head with his fingering.
Ort-Meyer lets out a steady stream of moans with every breath he takes. The combined stimulation of his cock being sucked and the energy building up just behind his balls is almost too much, yet not enough. He almost voices that, but his dear friend stops his attack on his prostate, instead just focusing on spreading the lube even deeper, before abruptly pulling out completely.
Giving him one last suck, his friend makes a loud, lewd pop as he removes the reddened cock from his mouth to stand. Three fingers positivity dripping with oil, are shoved inside the professor unceremoniously.
“You’re so tight.” Hong groaned, low in his throat, “It has been too long,” He watched appreciatively as the hole clenched shut on its own accord then gaped even wider when he withdrew his fingers to lube up his own cock.
The crime lord rubbed his messy fingers on the towel, as he stared deeply into his friend’s eyes “You are usually much looser, professor. I’ll fix that.” His tone beyond smug, as he finally settled between his legs, grabbing both thighs to drag him to the end of the bed.
Ort-Meyer was finally rendered speechless, he let out a little gasp in equal parts excitement and trepidation as he was pulled closer to the other man, his head slammed against the mattress. It has been too long. Otto Wolfgang Ort-Meyer can only look up at the ceiling as he feels his thighs being spread, legs being pulled over his old friend’s hips.
Hong’s cock is coated in oil, enough to cause a squelching noise when it is slowly inserted. “Just like that”, Lee Hong almost coos, sinking in inch-by-inch, “just like always.” Once he was fully inside, a deep hiss was drawn from his throat, the snug warmth just as amazing as he remembered. He couldn’t help but pause to fully appreciate the sight of his completely buried cock, and the debauched look on the other man’s face.
The scientist writhes lazily at the simple pleasure of being completely stuffed. The thickest part of the cock inside him was pressed against his prostate, so he squeezes his hole greedily in response. A few dribbles of his precum trickle down messily from the tip to his abdomen as his cock twitches at the wonderful feeling. “So full!”
Ort-Meyer barely registered Hong’s possessive growl when he pulled out to only the tip, before slamming his hips forward. Again and again, somehow moving even deeper inside Ort-Meyer’s guts with each fresh snap of his hips. The slap of skin on skin is obscene, and almost as loud as the scientist’s gasping moans. “Yes! G- give it to- to me!”
He wants the sensation of skin-on-skin too, but his friend is too far away, and in the moment it feels like they’re miles apart. “Get closer to me!” Otto Ort-Meyer half begged, half ordered.
Hong shifted him neatly, pushing the other man’s body further onto the bed, almost rolling him onto his side. As the crime lord stood still, he came dangerously close to pulling him off his cock completely. Otto desperately clamped his hole impossibly tight to keep his friend inside, but when only the tip remained he nearly sobbed in defeat.
“Beg like the whore you are.” Hong sneered, before pulling out completely and getting on the bed to kneel between the other man’s legs.
“I need you to fuck me!” Ort-Meyer let out a cry of frustration, “come on! I need it!” He raised his hips needily, with a pathetic whine, “bitte?” He begged quietly in his native tongue, before crying out. “Fick mich bitte in den Arsch, ich brauche es jetzt!”
“Please fuck me in the arse, I need it.” Hong’s translation was dripped in smugness. He leaned back on his haunches to truly take in the sight, before manhandling his legs, pressing them backwards as far as they can go, toes now touching the headboard.
The mighty crime lord was forced to pull his trousers up slightly, so he can spread his legs to get closer to his friend. The sight of Hong having to fish his balls back out afterwards could have been amusing if they were both not so preoccupied.
“Look at yourself now, you whore.” He grunted out through his sneering, rubbing his slippery cock all over his friend’s taint and hole. Hong stole a moment to squeeze one thigh with a bruising grip. The scientist legs were manhandled, both calves now thrown over his shoulders as he was folded in half. “Nothing but a slut.”
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Ort-Meyer’s words are half begging and half a mantra. He bucks his hips madly, his hands pawing at Lee Hong’s chest, snaking them under the now sweaty shirt, to pull him flush against his chest. Ort-Meyer nearly screamed for real as he was suddenly filled for the second time. His head thrashed against the pillow, “yes! Finally!”
The thrusts are relentless, Ort-Meyer usually rich voice, now beyond strained and raised several octaves higher, as strangled cry after strangled cry is forced from him by his friend’s unforgiving rhythm. But that didn’t bother him, his mind could only comprehend his insides being completely stuffed.
“You were born to take our cocks, Otto. And to give us sons.”
He cried out even louder, “y-es!” The professor had competently lost the plot, agreeing with whatever the man above him said, completely surrendering himself and his pride.
“I- I’m close, do you want this in a cup?” The crime lord’s words were mocking in spite of his little stumble. “Or inside you?”
“Inside! Put a baby in me, now!” He practically sobbed.
Warmth flooded his hole as Hong spilled himself inside, then another kind of warmth took over him. Ort-Meyer barely registered the hand of his cock milking him as well. Several short spurts paint his stomach, then his friend’s when he collapses onto him.
The scientist breathes were beyond ragged, and he was too weak to do anything other than gasp through his slack jaw. He vaguely sensed the cum beginning to leak from his hole, and something touching his abdomen. When a finger coated in semen is brought to his mouth, he suddenly perked up at the beautiful sight. He seized the wrist to bring the fingers to his mouth faster, eagerly tasting himself.
When his chest and stomach were both completely spotless, he stole one last suck of Hong’s fingers, before he released him and sat up.
The other man was completely naked now, wearing only a stony face. Ort-Meyer was just going to warn him to not write another letter to their other friends, but as soon as he caught a glimpse of that surgery scar, he forgot all about business.
His lips are soft as he kisses the bicep once, tenderly rubbing his finger over where the bullet wound should be, and then the oval shaped ring of scar surrounding ‘it’.
This was how this all started, the cloning was originally just about growing fresh skin, and muscle, and organs. But after some time the concept of reproductive cloning had been brought up (he can’t remember who had actually first said what) and the idea of combining their DNA to father children together was too tantalising a concept to stay just a concept.
He can’t help but smile at his work, one day he’ll get rid of the faint line connecting the natural flesh to the cloned area. Not today, but soon enough…
In spite of the fact he was currently worshipping his friend’s body, Ort-Meyer was pulled from his thoughts by said man’s words. “How long until the baby is born?”
The professor sighed a little in disappointment, “not for a year and a half. At least.”
Hong pressed his palm onto his friend’s lower abdomen, musing, “if only I could put a baby in you right now.”
The scientist’s flaccid cock twitched in response. “Breeding is wasted on women.” He said, his tone oddly forlorn at something so nonsensical.
“Yes,” his friend’s tone was bold however. “But you would think you would be able to give me one all by yourself by now. Considering you’ve had four men turning your hole into a sloppy cunt for years.”
Ort-Meyer buried his face into his friend’s neck to hide his pathetic moan at that thought. Arms were wrapped around him, and they once again kissed. Although this time they were slow, allowing themselves to wallow in this stolen moment.
“I want to make you cum again.” Hong told his friend, then he swiftly rearranged him to be on hands and knees.
“I- I don’t know if I can again. It’s too soon.” Ort-Meyer said quietly, even as he raised his rear, feeling the now cold slickness of the lube and his friend’s cum leaking down his still gaping hole down to his sac.
“Oh, I think you can.” Hong said as he casually scooped most of the slickness back inside him with a lazy finger. “Just not from your cock.”
The professor bit his lip, their group had experimented with cumming untouched in the past, sometimes it was too good. Orgasming from only his prostate was always such an exquisite torture. Ort-Meyer buried his face into his forearms, even as he wiggled his hips invitingly.
Hong briefly fondled his balls, cupping them softly only once, before two of those awfully long fingers stroked up and down his vulnerable taint, lightly skimming over both his hole and the beginning of his sac. The index and middle fingers are ever so slightly calloused, he clearly hadn’t done his own dirty work in years, in return they have become so much softer since their Legion days.
The little shout that left Ort-Meyer’s throat was barely muffled by his wrists, when those fingers began to rub little circles at his prostate, repeating what he had done to his friend less than an hour ago.
A very loud strangled cry ripped through him, when those same fingers were roughly shoved inside, jabbing that spot inside him. Again and again and again. Sliding in and out, very easily and very noisily.
Ort-Meyer’s cock is still flaccid but that doesn’t matter. This is so much better than pleasure from his dick alone, the only way he could describe would be from going from greyscale to a rainbow. That special sensation builds just behind his balls again, blossoming from little bundle of nerves to the what feels like almost everywhere.
His wrecked hole can only barely clamp down on anything, let alone those skinny fingers, so Ort-Meyer brokenly begs, “more.”
His friend only stuck to his established pace. “Do you even deserve more?” Hong words were mocking and rhetorical.
“Is- is this payback for before?” Otto can barely breathe, let alone speak. He gasped brokenly, meeting the fingers with his own frantic thrusts. “Please.” He could only whine now, even as the pleasure inside him slowly spread.
“Remember that one time when Frantz put his entire fist inside you, then Pablo actually made you gag on his manhood?”
Ort-Meyer’s whine was one of frustrated pleasure, “yes.” He croaked out. The memory aiding him where the fingering was lacking.
“Good.” He said smugly as he withdrew his fingers. “Never forgot the value of friendship.”
When the fingers were replaced with Hong’s girthy cock, Ort-Meyer sobbed in pure joy. He let out a very unprofessional moan when his friend shifted the angle of his thrusts. The tip slamming into his prostate, pressed flush against the walls of his guts each time he entered him. The meaty slap of balls slamming into his own were muffled slightly by the globs of fresh cum leaking out of him.
At some point Otto had been flipped onto his side with Lee spooning him. The scientist was so sensitive now he could taste a hint of the brandy on his friend’s tongue when it was shoved down his throat. But in truth, the only thing he is drunk was his cock. Ort-Meyer tried to kiss back, but even that was too much for him now in his ultra responsive state.
Something as simple as his nipple being tweaked had Ort-Meyer both keening and whimpering. “So pink,” Hong said, as he pinched the tip, rolling it between his fingers roughly, “they’ll both be as red as your hole when I’m done with you.”
Every nerve felt as if it was on fire. He could feel each and every hair follicle, and when they stood on end as his pleasure peaked. Again and again and again. His hard cock slapped against his stomach with the force every thrust entering him. It spurted out barely half a tea spoon’s worth of fluid, yet refused to soften, he was already close again. And the worst part was that each orgasm hit harder than the last.
The professor who had pioneered human cloning and completely revolutionised genetic engineering, had actually forgotten how many times he had came, and how many loads he had now taken today. The genius could only moan like a common whore. And sob brokenly at his overstimulation.
The next wave flowed over him. Pleasure radiated through him, as his entire body thrummed. He shuddered so hard, that Ort-Meyer convinced himself he was experiencing hypothermia, in spite of the fact the private room was as boiling and stuffy as a sauna.
He tried to pull away, forgetting that the crime lord had taken his bow-tie and wrapped one end around both wrists, and the other to the bed post when he tried to jerk himself off and end their session before he was allowed to.
His insides were spasming now, milking the dick that was brutishly spearing him. It was Hong’s turn to cry out as he spurted another three or four ropes deep inside him. But he refuses to stop fucking him through both of their orgasms. Otto cried out, this time in relief when he felt a hand tugging his cock.
A tiny part of him was disappointed by this—comparatively—weaker orgasm, while what remained of his higher brain cheered and sobbed in kind. He still shuddered violently through the aftershocks of his pleasure.
The hands that stoked his arms and throat could easily be mistaken for gentler ones. They untied him, then snaked around his torso.
Hong kissed the short hair at the back of his friend’s neck slowly.
Ort-Meyer rubbed at his sore, red wrists and croaked, “what now?”
“Does this building have a shower?”
“Yes,” he said quietly barely managing to get the words out. “In the bathroom here.”
Hong kissed the back of his head again, “we’ll shower together like the old days.” He ran a hand down Ort-Meyer’s abdomen languidly, “I want to visit the nursery next, to see our babies. Then I will inform our friends about today.”
The scientist frowned. “Is that wise, my friend?” His tone threatening, despite his voice and body being utterly wrecked.
“They’ll be easier placated when they know we kissed and made up.”
Otto Ort-Meyer should have protested, but his friend was mostly right, hopefully things would work out between the five of them. He placed his own hand over Hong’s, pressing it deeper to his belly, as he thought about their next baby.