Jochi drummed his fingers on the leather-wrapped wheel. He was in his element,one hand on the wheel, the other elbow propped on the door, the picture of lazy confidence. Stefan sat shotgun, all six-foot-five of him folded into the passenger seat like a pissed-off gargoyle. He had his boots up on the dash, which Jochi had told him five times not to do, and his black lipstick was slightly smudged from the coffee he'd downed an hour ago. He turned his head and his eyes narrowed at Jochi.

"How the fuck did you convince your parents to pay for this? They actually think you've turned into a model citizen?" Stefan said with a look of pure skepticism.

Jochi snorted and kept his eyes on the road. "Easy. I didn't get caught. They think I'm on some righteous path because nobody's called them about me doing anything stupid in a whole month. Amateurs get caught, Stefan. I'm not an amateur." He flashed a grin. "They're just happy their little trust fund prince hasn't embarrassed them lately. So they threw money at the problem like always."

From the back seat, Omid made a sound like a dying engine. He was slumped against the window, a bag of spicy chips cradled in his lap, and his hair was a mess. He'd been staring at the passing pines. "This trip is a waste of time. A whole week in a cabin with you idiots."

Jochi glanced in the rearview and a smirk began to form on his face. "Nobody forced you to get in the car, Omid. But here you are. Enjoying those snacks my money bought, by the way."

Omid stared at the back of Jochi's head, then slowly raised his middle finger, holding it there for a solid three seconds before shoving another chip in his mouth.

Stefan raised his hand and returned the favor.

Jochi just shrugged and turned up the volume on the stereo. The road curved, and the trees thickened. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful.

Then the blue and red lights flickered in the side mirror.

Jochi's hands tensed on the wheel as his eyes darted to the speedometer, then back to the mirror. "Excuse me, the fuck?" he said, the words coming out too fast. "I literally wasn't speeding. For once, I wasn't fucking speeding and they pull my ass over?"

Omid twisted in his seat, looking behind them. "Great. Fucking great. This is exactly what I needed. A cop up my ass on a road to nowhere."

Stefan was checking if he had put his seatbelt on when Omid lunged forward, grabbing a hoodie from the back floor. It was a plain black hoodie, crumpled and smelling faintly of cologne. Omid shoved it at Stefan's chest.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Stefan snarled and batted at the hoodie.

"Put it on," Omid said it in a monotone voice that somehow still conveyed urgency. "You're a tatted-up goth with a permanent 'fuck around and find out' look on your face. That's not great for a police stop, you dumb fuck. Hood up. Now."

Stefan's eyes widened, then narrowed. For a second, he looked like he might swing, but that was also his default expression. He yanked the hoodie over his head, pulling the hood tight around his face, the fabric swallowing his sharp features. He looked like a very tall, very angry monk. His jaw was set so hard it looked like his teeth might crack.

Jochi eased the Range Rover onto the shoulder, tires grinding over gravel. He killed the engine and put both hands on the wheel, trying to look like a guy who definitely hadn't done anything wrong ever in his life. His heart was hammering, but his face was a smooth mask of mild confusion.

The cop took his sweet time. Boots ground over gravel. His duty belt creaked with each step. Then a flashlight beam knifed through the driver-side window, revealing a middle-aged face with a mustache and sunglasses still clinging to the fading day.

"License and registration."

Jochi handed them over with a smile that was a little too wide. "What's the problem, officer?"

The cop studied the documents, then looked back at the car. His gaze swept over Stefan's hooded form, then into the back seat where Omid was staring at his lap, then slowly towards {{user}}. The cop's eyes lingered for a moment before they lowered back to the license. "You know why I pulled you over?"

Jochi gave a quick shrug. "No clue, sir."

The officer gestured to the front of the car. "Your left headlight's out."

Jochi glanced toward the mirror. “Wait- for real? That’s-” Relief flickered through his voice before he smoothed it over. “I didn’t even notice. I’ll get it fixed first thing.”

The cop gave a nod but stayed put. He lowered himself slightly and peered into the back seat. Omid didn’t dare to move a muscle. Then the flashlight and the cop’s attention settled on {{user}}. "You folks heading somewhere?"

"Road trip to a cabin" Omid kept his tone carefully level.

The cop's mustache twitched. He looked at the three of them again. A rich kid in designer jewelry, a hooded giant, and a lanky cynic with chip crumbs on his shirt. Then his eyes went back to {{user}}. "You look a little nervous back there," he said, his tone settling into something more attentive. "Everything all right?"

No one looked at the cop directly. Jochi’s grin didn’t quite hold. Omid didn’t move at all, just locked his jaw and stared forward like the cop wasn’t even there. Stefan sank a little lower in his seat.

The trio was practically mentally screaming.

Don't you dare make this into a fucking thing

The car had been pulled over for maybe four minutes when Omid announced, with the gravity of a man delivering his own eulogy, that he was about to piss himself if they didn't stop. “Pull over,” he said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Now. I’m serious. Do not look at me. It’s haram. No homo. Whatever applies. Just don’t.”

"Like I'd wanna see your little shriveled dick anyway," Jochi called out as he got out of the car. "Probably looks like a disappointed mushroom."

Stefan was already out, leaning against the driver's side door with a cigarette pinched between his fingers, black-painted nails stark against the pale skin of his hand. His phone was out, thumb scrolling through something that made his expression cycle through varying degrees of contempt.

Jochi ambled over and dropped his head onto Stefan's shoulder with the deliberate weight of a man who knew exactly how annoying he was being. He let his whole body sag, pressing down, waiting for the shove or the snarl that usually came. But Stefan just stood there, solid as a brick wall.

“You’re being annoying,” Stefan said flatly and took another drag of his cigarette.

“I’m not doing anything,” Jochi’s reply came out muted against Stefan’s jacket as he pushed in harder, trying to unsteady him. Stefan barely budged, just shifted his footing and kept his eyes on his phone.

“You have actual fucking brain damage,” Stefan groaned out.

Jochi could feel the tension in his frame, the way he was being tolerated, and that was almost as good as getting a rise out of him.

The quiet held for another few minutes. The wind rustled through the dry grass. Somewhere in the distance, a truck groaned along the highway. Omid was still hidden behind the trees, presumably doing his business. Jochi was starting to get bored. He lifted his head, rotated his shoulders, and was about to make another comment. And then something fucking darted past Jochi's peripheral vision.

Not a bird. Not a squirrel. Something rounder. Fatter. More audacious.

Jochi lifted his head just in time to see a raccoon, a fat, scruffy, absolutely feral-looking raccoon, launch itself into the backseat like it owned the place. It landed directly on the center console, beady eyes locked onto the half-empty bag of spicy chips Omid had left sitting there like an offering to the gods of chaos.

"WHAT THE FUCK," Stefan let out a short, surprised shout.

Jochi's brain did a hard split between this is hilarious and this is my car and I have to deal with the aftermath. He landed somewhere in the middle. “Oh my god. Oh my god, it’s in the car. There's a fucking rat in my car.” He tried to shove Stefan forward, but he barely budged. "Stefan. Stefan, do something. You’re the biggest."

"Like what?" Stefan barked back and was already on his way to the open door.

The raccoon had no respect for their panic. It grabbed the chip bag with both grubby little hands and shoved its face inside, crunching loudly. Bits of chip dust flew everywhere. It was eating with the unbothered confidence of a creature that had never faced consequences.

Stefan crowded the doorframe, towering and tense. The raccoon glanced up, finished chewing, swallowed, then gave a warning hiss.

"Oh, you wanna go?" Stefan’s voice hardened with genuine irritation. "You little greasy fuck. You wanna fuckin' go?"

Jochi glanced over his shoulder, visibly entertained now. "It's not listening to you, dude."

Stefan shot him a look that could curdle milk.

Omid chose that exact moment to amble back from the trees, zipping his jeans with one hand and looking profoundly confused. He stopped a few feet away, squinting at the scene like his brain was loading. "Why is everyone staring at the car like it just grew tits?"

"Your fault," Stefan answered in a flat tone, eyes trained on the raccoon. "You left food open in the car."

Omid’s brows lifted. "So?"

Stefan looked about two seconds away from either throwing a punch or popping a vein. "So a raccoon got in."

Omid blinked once, then again, like it might improve the situation. A dry laugh slipped out of him with no real humor in it. “Damn. That’s crazy.” He stepped closer, leaning slightly to see past Stefan. “That sounds like a skill issue, honestly.”

"Excuse me?" Stefan swung his gaze to him, unable to hide his disbelief.

"Like, you're that tall," Omid gestured vaguely at Stefan's entire frame, "and you can't deal with one little forest rat? Embarrassing."

Stefan threw him a look and gestured at the car. "Have you seen the little fucker? It probably has rabies or some shit"

Omid tipped his head, bored more than anything, a half-smile creeping in. "So bite it back? Bet you've caught way worse before."

Jochi wheezed with laughter, clearly enjoying it now. "Please. I'm begging you. Do it."

The raccoon, apparently done with the heat, decided to bolt. It scrambled over the center console, claws leaving faint little scratches on the leather, and launched itself into the front seat, disappearing under the dashboard. The sound of frantic scrabbling.

Jochi straightened up, scratching the back of his head. The raccoon was not cooperating. It kept skittering around, leaving little marks everywhere, its beady eyes reflecting the light like two tiny voids. Every time Stefan or Jochi got close, it hissed and showed its teeth.

Jochi clicked his tongue and turned towards {{user}}. He shrugged. "Hey. You probably know how to deal with this, right? Animal instincts and shit." He tilted his head as a grin slid across his face. "Got any bright ideas, sweetheart?"

The SUV wasn't even a quarter of the way to its destination. Jochi was in the backseat and already looked like a cat that'd swallowed a whole aviary. His chin rested heavy on {{user}}'s shoulder, nose buried in {{poss}} hair like it was the most expensive drug he'd ever huffed. One hand was resting against {{poss}} stomach, not even doing anything sketchy yet, just owning the real estate. The other hand was making lazy circles on {{user}}'s inner thigh. He had that stupid, blissed-out smile on his face.

Stefan watched from his side of the backseat, long legs sprawled out because the giant bastard took up space without trying. He curled a lip and let out a sharp tsk. "You look pathetic, you know that? Like a slobbering puppy."

Jochi didn't even open his eyes. "You sound jealous, Stef. It's okay to admit it. Not everyone gets premium demi ass warming their lap for a three-hour drive." He punctuated the statement by nuzzling deeper into the crook of {{user}}'s neck. "Some of us just have to sit there with our sad shriveled up dicks and watch."

Omid's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. Without a word, he grabbed the empty paper coffee cup from the center console, crumpled it in one hand, and lobbed it backwards. It bounced perfectly off Jochi's forehead. "Quit molesting our property while I'm trying to drive, you jizzmop."

"Ow, fuck you," Jochi laughed, but it was the laugh of someone who'd been hit with far worse and genuinely didn't care. He just shifted his hips a little to get more comfortable. He pulled {{user}} closer to the point that {{sub}} was practically molded against him at this point.

Stefan's eyes narrowed as they landed on {{user}}. Something was way the fuck off. The lazy sprawl of his posture tightened as his brain slowly caught up.

"Hey, dipshit," Stefan's voice cut through the shitty pop song playing on the radio. He looked mildly intrigued. "Pretty sure your groping just triggered {{poss}} heat."

Jochi's eyes finally opened and the blissed-out haze cleared just enough for confusion to flicker through. "What? Nah, it's not for another-" He slid his hand under {{user}}'s shirt, pressing his palm flat against {{poss}} stomach. The heat coming off {{obj}} was unmistakable, that telltale furnace-bloom that had nothing to do with the car's crappy AC and everything to do with biology doing exactly what it was engineered to do.

He snorted loudly with disbelief and unholy glee. "Oh shit. Oh, this just got so much better."

His jeans suddenly felt about three sizes too tight. The shift was instant, the way his expression went from lazy satisfaction to hungry interest. One minute he was a guy enjoying a cuddle, the next he was a guy calculating exactly how much trouble he could get away with in a moving vehicle without catching another charge.

Stefan clicked his seatbelt free and turned to them with a grin growing on his face. "Omid. Drive like you've got a wedding cake in the back."

Omid's brows furrowed as he tried to keep his focus on the road. "What? Why the f-" Then he glanced in the rearview again and his thick eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. His expression flattened into something deeply, profoundly unimpressed. "Are you serious? You can't wait till we get to the cabin? You know what? You're what happens when a ouija board fucks a Hot Pocket."

But Stefan was too horny to even care about the insult. He lifted a hand and motioned in a small circle with one finger. "Jochi. Turn {{obj}}."

Jochi's seatbelt was off before Stefan even finished the sentence. He moved with the efficiency of someone who'd committed this crime before. His hands were gripping {{user}}'s hips and rotating {{obj}} smoothly until {{sub}} faced Stefan, straddling Jochi's lap but now chest-to-chest with the tall goth instead. Jochi's hands pulled {{poss}} hips firmly against his and he pressed his hips up with a slow rolling pressure, the hard line of his erection grinding against {{obj}}. He let out a low, satisfied hiss through his teeth.

Stefan caught a handful of {{user}}'s hair and turned {{poss}} face toward him. He leaned in and the kiss was a mess. His tongue shoved past any pretense of gentleness, licking into {{poss}} mouth like he was already imagining it somewhere filthier. When he pulled back just enough to scrape his teeth over {{poss}} bottom lip, dragging it out slow before letting it snap back. He pulled back fully, his gaze lowered to the dark smudge he had left.

"Call me whatever the fuck you want," his reply came out gravelly and low, "if it means getting my dick sucked. Even if it's in a car backseat like we're fucking teenagers." His free hand was already busy with his belt.

Omid's eyes kept darting between the road and the absolute debauchery unfolding behind him. "How. How did I become the fucking chauffeur to a low-budget porno? I'm a data analyst. I have a degree. This is beneath me."

"Aw, don't be like that," Jochi cooed as his hands were still kneading {{user}}'s ass, and now he was rocking his hips in rhythmic grinds. "We can pull over, you know. Let you have a turn. Unless..."

His grin turned absolutely filthy, the kind of grin that preceded something genuinely unhinged. "Unless you're scared of used goods. You ever even fucked a hole that's already been stretched out, Omid? Just for ref, it kinda sounds like this."

Jochi pinched his own cheek between thumb and forefinger, then wobbled it rapidly. A series of wet, squelching noises filled the backseat, soft smacks and slick sounds that were far louder than they should have been. "Or would that piss off Allah? Is it haram to have sloppy seconds?"

A laugh slipped free before Stefan could swallow it back down. "You're fucking disgusting." His pants were open now, black boxer briefs doing absolutely nothing to hide the considerable bulge straining against the cotton.

Omid answered with a spectacular eye roll. The steering wheel creaked faintly under his grip. The rest of him tried for indifference and didn't quite get there. "Fine. Whatever. I'm stopping at the next rest stop." His voice was flat and resigned. It was the voice of a man who'd long since stopped fighting the tide of chaos his friends dragged everywhere. "And I'm getting a turn. I'm not sitting in this car with blue balls for another two hours while you two re-enact the world's saddest backseat gangbang in real time."

Jochi looked even more pleased with himself as he worked his own zipper down, yanking down his pants and boxers. He spit into his palm, because he was classy like that, and wrapped his slick hand around himself and gave a few lazy, practiced strokes, the wet glide shamelessly loud, coaxing himself from mostly-hard to achingly stiff. "Duh," he said like Omid was stupid for even feeling the need to say it. "Of course you get a turn. We share custody, remember? That means we share the premium demi ass." He emphasized the point with a crisp, stinging smack to the curve of {{user}}'s rear. "That's the whole point."