He's so tired and he can't move but sometimes there are dicks in his mouth or in his cunt and sometimes there are mouths on his thighs and his back and his neck and sometimes there are hands or mouths between his legs and he comes almost absently and Asher keeps stroking his hair--

He's so tired and it would be so hard to move or try to stand up and it's so easy to just let himself sink into the feeling and let Asher pet his hair and let himself be, be fucked and filled up and kissed and touched, he's too tired to think but he doesn't want to think he wants to let go 

He's getting fucked and there's a dick not that far from his hand and he could reach out and touch it if he could move--

His hand twitches; he tries to reach out, fails, tries again, succeeds the second time — he doesn't have to coordination to wrap his hand around it but he tries —

Asher guides his hand, helps him stroke.

Sasha must be feverish because they're both so cold.

Asher is so good and helpful and good. Sasha loves him. Does Asher know that. He should. 

Sasha lets Asher guide his hand, goes where he's put. 

And then, a small eternity later, all at once his clit stops throbbing and it stops feeling so terrible to be empty and he can think again and he's so so tired and he can't move. 

He slumps against Asher and says something that would be "What time is it," if it weren't nearly too slurred to hear. 

"Five AM."

"— I was supposed to be home five hours ago." 

"It will be fine," Asher says firmly. "Your parents will understand. You're not a kid anymore."

They probably won't but — he's not a kid anymore — Asher's right — and there's nothing to worry about, Asher will keep him safe — 

"Okay," he says, softly. "...I should probably still go home now." 

He can't stand up. That might be a problem. 

Asher picks him up and starts to carry him home.

"You're such a slut," he says fondly.

"Your slutty thing," he agrees. "...should probably put clothes back on. Before we get there." 

"Good idea," he says, "but I have no idea where your clothes are."

He thinks about it. "Over.... there?" and he gestures vaguely in the direction of the first wall he got fucked against. 

Asher carries him over to the wall. "I can't find it." He laughs. "My slutty slutty boyfriend who had two drinks and lost all his clothes."

Sasha laughs and tucks his face into Asher. "Loooooove you." 

"Well, you already had hundreds of people watch you get fucked, I don't think being naked for your walk home is going to make that much difference."

Oh. He liked that shirt and that binder but — Asher's right — 

"Okay," he says, and nestles into Asher's arms. 

Asher runs to Sasha's home.

"I bet you don't even know how many v-- guys you fucked."

"I don't," he admits. "Guess I'm really a lightweight." 

"You got really wasted!" he agrees. "It's safe to do once every couple weeks."

"Mmm. It was a really good night." 

"Mm. I'm glad." He stops at the door to Sasha's house, realizes it's locked, and climbs in through Sasha's bedroom window, carrying Sasha. "I'll call you tomorrow to see how you're doing?"