Bruce Banner has just returned from his lab, where his latest experiment came out really well. He should go straight to bed, because it's six in the morning, but he can't seem to become the right kind of tired, probably also because it's six in the morning. So instead he's watching the sun rise out the window of his cozy (tiny) grad-dorm single room.
Being pinned down is objectively less restrained than being tied to a bed, but he was having a hard enough time moving without that, and also it's slightly more effort to breathe now and it adds up to kind of unpleasant. He tries squirming sideways a bit to indicate that he wants to switch to side-by-side, since his mouth is still occupied.
The person on top of him does not seem to speak Wiggle.
That's very inconvenient, because Bruce doesn't seem to speak English!
The person on top of him reaches between his legs and starts to stroke his dick.
Apparently he can get hard again, now, but it's still too much at once especially with the weight on top of him. He makes some more incoherent noises about it.
The person on top of him pins his wrists to the ground and starts grinding on his dick.
Well now he can't move his hands, and suddenly it's very hard to move any of the rest of himself, and not all of his trouble breathing is from the pressure on his chest, and he's scared of he doesn't know what and confused by his own fear and very aware of how exposed and vulnerable and naked he is. He thinks, distantly, that if this is how deer feel when they freeze on the highway and get hit by cars then he doesn't blame them at all.
"You're fun," the person on top of him says, and sinks down on Bruce's dick.
Come on, brain, he's getting fucked, this should be nice. Bruce tries to even out his breathing and enjoy himself, with mixed results; it still feels like he has about twice as many nerve endings as he ought to and none of them know what signals to send.
The man gently caresses Bruce's chest. It feels like a threat.
Bruce shivers and makes another attempt to pull away. He should say something, explain what the problem is, but he doesn't have words for it and couldn't make them come out of his mouth anyway.
Eventually the man comes with a gasp and gets off Bruce and disappears into the rest of the party.
Bruce takes a bit to remember how to move, then finds the nearest wall and scoots over to sit with his back against it, dick rapidly going limp. He should get back into the party, keep getting people off, keep spreading happiness and accumulating points, but right now his heart just isn't in it. Seriously, who procrastinates on joining a magic orgy? Him, apparently, that's who.
He sits for a while with his arms around his knees. He's covered in sweat, and that was fine a while ago but now he really needs a shower. Maybe he should just grab his clothes and sneak out, everyone else will have plenty of fun without him . . . then he remembers the "Dr. Jenner Has Nothing On Me" skill. Nobody here will get an STD or an accidental pregnancy, as long as he's here too. If he leaves, everyone else's risk goes up. Probably most of the people here are being smart, but probably isn't definitely and most isn't everyone and sometimes you can do everything right and still get unlucky. And they're all only here because he was pushing the idea. Maybe he'll just sit next to this wall and zone way the fuck out until the party's over. It wouldn't be the first time.
Bruce puts his clothes on, slips out without tripping over anyone, and heads back to his dorm.
"How did the party go?" Leia says. She's wearing blue jeans and one of Bruce's shirts.
Bruce had not been expecting her to still be here and suddenly the night is going a lot better. "It was . . . okay, on balance? Had some good sex, had some bad sex, I think everyone else had fun? . . . Can I get a hug?"
"Of course. --I thought the Erogame protected you from bad sex."
Hug hug hug. "Apparently not. At least not when I can't figure out what I want or how to communicate it. Turns out sex is still a form of human interaction it's possible to suck at."
"Oh no that's terrible." Hug hug hug. "What happened?"
"Uh." Gah, it's so embarrassing in hindsight. "Turns I can physically have sex multiple times in quick succession but it's kind of--mentally taxing and not fun? And I discovered this with someone who was being . . . very physical about it, and that probably didn't help."
"...I... think that's rape actually."
"I don't think--I mean, I never actually said no? Or communicated anything, really, I just sort of, failed at having fun? It wasn't as bad as all that." Now he feels like an arse for complaining and making a big deal about it.
"Okay, so, imagine if the person saying this were me."
Wince. "That's. You wouldn't make the same bad decisions--not that it would be okay for bad things to happen to you if you made bad decisions!--argh, I'm making a hash of this. Sorry." He smushes his face into a pillow without un-hugging, which puts his neck in a position better suited to an owl's neck but successfully hides his face.