Blake He/him 19

One of Grian's large primary feathers came loose, falling gently to the ground like a palm tree leaf in a side-to-side swaying motion. They both stared at it as it settled soundlessly on the dry grass beneath them, iridescent beetle shell–blue against faded green.

"Oh wait, hold on," Scar said, coming to a sudden realization. "You need that to fly, don't you?"

Grian gave him a surprisingly withering look for such an objective statement. He said, in a deadpan tone that somehow managed to be scathing despite its complete lack of inflection, "No, Scar, I just flap my arms and lift off the ground that way. I don't need these 'flight feathers'—" drawing verbal air quotes around the words with devastating clarity "—for anything, they're obviously just here for decoration."

"Wow, going bald has made you way crankier than you usually are!"

Not even bothering to dignify that comment with a proper response, Grian shook his wing out and curved it around to his front so he could prod at the coverts along the top edge. It didn't escape Scar that this rearrangement of limbs also let Grian block Scar from his view. But Scar didn't mind; he wasn't a curmudgeon who made a big deal of every little thing like how Grian was currently acting. He was content to take this time to study what exactly the effects of molting were having on his friend.

***

Once, when it was late at night and they were lying in bed together, Scar had asked Grian what being preened felt like. Grian went quiet, biting the inside of his cheek in thought, and he'd eventually said, "It kind of feels like having your hair brushed and being massaged at the same time? Here, let me try show you."

He wound his fingers through Scar's hair, gently finger-combing through the strands. Then, with his other hand, he stroked up and down Scar's back, pausing occasionally to press down against Scar's muscles. And Scar had melted under the touches, as though he was a block of ice left to sit out under the noontime sun, rendered boneless and pliant from the kneading of clever fingers against his shoulders and spine, and the scratch of short, blunt nails against his scalp.

Johnny had warned him that it was the primary language spoken under the MacTavish roof, in deference to Johnny’s Grannie, whose grasp of English isn’t the best. Ghost had been forbidden from worrying about it and Johnny had assured and reassured him that "Ma an’ all ae mah wee siblings speak English jus’ fine", so he was trying his best to obey and not stress out. 

Mrs MacTavish released Johnny, prompting even more people to crowd into the room to get at him and Ghost redoubled his efforts to not freak out. Wishing he hadn’t been so adamant in rebuffing Johnny when he’d said no one would care if Ghost wore his mask. Being able to hide behind his balaclava would be really nice right about now. 

“Ye mus’ be this Ghost fella mah Coinneach is always yammering abou’,” The voice piping up at Ghost’s elbow does not make him jump. Ghost is a highly trained Special Forces Operative, he would notice a middle-aged Scottish woman approaching him before she spoke. He Would.

“Oh! Ah’m sorrae, laddie. Didnae mean tae spook ye,” Mrs MacTavish apologises, “Come in, Come in, Donnae stan’ on the stoop like y’ur no' welcome.” 

Ghost finds himself ushered into what he discovers is the kitchen of the house. To his right was the kitchen proper, there was what Ghost could only guess was a genuine wood stove crouched directly in front of the door and guarding the threshold, it was in direct competition with the gas cooker pressed against the far wall, bracketed by counters covered in various appliances that looked like they'd hopped straight off the pages of a fifties home catalogue, but still seemed to be in good repair. Quaintly, the cupboards hanging over them were closed with curtains rather than doors. The only acquiescences to the modern era seemed to be the nice big fridge humming away like an afterthought at the end of the counters, and the washer tucked away in the corner. 

It was a nice kitchen, it looked homey, lived in.

To his left was a long oval table with an assortment of seats surrounding it. Ghost could pick out a few chairs with carvings the same as the ones on the table’s legs that could only be the matching set, but they were outnumbered by ones that had clearly been added as needed. He could also spot a leaning stack of metal folding chairs half tucked behind a hutch in the back, clearly the MacTavish house was well accustomed to crowds. 

Ghost was chivvied into one of the seats around the table, his Special Forces joints extremely grateful for the soft cushion padding the chair and guarding him from the ache of the hard wood. A glance at his table mates revealed whom the cushioning was truly intended for. A lady that must be around seventy sat to his right, and to her right, at the head of the table, sat a man in the same age range. The man was watching him. 

Ghost took an educated guess and presumed that these must be Johnny’s Grannie and Grandad. 

Fucking Hell.

Johnny never told him their names. 

He’d always just referred to them as Grannie and Grandad, so Ghost had always called them ‘your Grannie and Grandad’ when asking after them. He didn’t even know if they were MacTavishs. Thinking about it, they were probably Johnny’s mother’s parents.

Oh, Bloody Fucking Hell.

What the fuck was Mrs MacTavish’s first name. 

How the hell had he managed to have a panic attack over memorizing the names of Johnny’s five siblings and never have the thought cross his mind to learn the names of his mother and grandparents. Ghost is in their house, sitting at their table, and he doesn’t have a single clue what their names are.

What the fuck, Johnny. 

The awkward staring contest he’d been entered into by Johnny’s Grandad was only growing more and more uncomfortable. It’d be rude to look away without saying anything, but what the fuck was he supposed to say, ‘Sorry for barging into your home, Johnny demanded Simon Riley crawl out of the grave that Ghost left him in to come meet the extended MacTavish family’?

Johnny rescued him by coming over to the table, leaning down to accept his Grandad’s seated one-armed hug and back pats, then pressing kisses to his Grannie’s cheek as he passed by on his way to drape himself over the back of Ghost’s chair, because sitting in his own chair like a normal human eludes Johnny. 

He talked back and forth with his grandparents for a moment then turned to Ghost to make the least helpful introduction he has ever been forced to be a part of, “Ghost, this is mah Grannie and Grandad,” Then turning to his grandparents, “This is mah L.T, Ghost.” 

Johnny’s Grandad seemed well used to Johnny’s foibles and reached an arm across the table to shake Ghost’s hand and supplement with his own introductions, “Ah’m Amhlaigh Milne, an’ this is the missus, Fionna Milne,”   

Amhlaigh Milne’s hands were broad with liverspots speckling their backs, textured by hard calluses and soft wrinkling skin. His handshake was cursory and firm. He was a man that had shaken a thousand hands before and had no interest in adding pomp or frippery to the exchange.

“Simon Riley, sir, ma’am,” Ghost replied, nodding to Mr then Mrs Milne, “Thank you for having me in your home,” 

Mrs Milne said something to Johnny in Scots Gaelic, sounding almost despairing. Johnny cried a shocked ‘Seanmhair!’ and a wild barking laugh carvoted out of the kitchen, followed by a multitude of variations on the same. Mrs MacTavish had been puttering about the kitchen getting tea and nibbles together, and was now bracing against the counters to not fall off her feet laughing. The people that Ghost hadn’t been introduced to, but could only assume were Johnny’s siblings, were leaning against each other and various pieces of furniture as they fought to stay upright on knees weakened by their cackling. 

Well, it was good to see that Johnny came by it honestly. 

Mrs MacTavish pulled herself together enough to pick up the tea tray and bring it over without spilling, the occasional giggle rattling through the teaset before she made it to the table. 

“Ma says-,” Mrs MacTavish cut herself off, planting a hand on the table as a new wave of laughter wracked her, Johnny was hiding his face behind a hand, but the deep red of his ears betrayed his blush, “Ma says, it’s guid tha’ Coinneach is the firs’ ae her grankids tae bring ‘ome a fella, bu’ did ye have tae be a fuckin’ sassenach!” 

The last of the translation is squeaked out in between laughs, but Ghost thinks he’s gotten the jist. Mrs Milne was hoping her grandchildren would bring home partners that were Scots. 

Add her to the tally of people Ghost had lived to disappoint. 

“None of your siblings have had partners before?” Ghost turns his head to address the question to Johnny, getting some vindictive pleasure from the offended squawks coming from the peanut gallery of siblings milling about in the kitchen.

“Nae, they’ve ‘ad partners, bu’ all ae 'em 'ave been too feart tae bring ‘em fer a visit,” Now Johnny is the one laughing, and the greedy beast that weaves through Ghost’s ribs squeezes tight, viscerally glad to have been the one to cause it. 

A succession of offended noises comes charging out of the kitchen, followed by the siblings in question. 

“Oi!” barks a young man with Johnny’s mousey brown hair, Mrs MacTavish’s straight nose, and hazel green eyes that Ghost doesn’t recognise, “Ah’m nae feart!” The rest of his defense is in Scots Gaelic and therefore lost to Ghost, but by the gasps and laughter it triggers, it’s nothing good. 

“Artair!” Mrs MacTavish scolds, and Ghost assigns the name to the face on the internal profiles he’s been habitually building in his head for Johnny’s family, “Donnae say tha’ we’ve company!”

“He cannae understan-” Artair complains,

“Tha’ donnae matter. Artair MacTavish, ye’ll watch y’ur tongue or so help me Jesus, Ah’ll give ye a doin’!” Mrs MacTavish asserts, hands on her hips. Nodding sharply when Artair obediently subsides, “Noo, did ye wan’ a cuppa, Ghost?” She presents the full tea service to Ghost.

“Please, call me Simon, Mrs MacTavish,” Ghost almost begs of the woman, being addressed by his callsign by such a motherly figure is disconcerting in ways that Ghost refuses to analyze. 

“Simon i’ tis,” Mrs MacTavish easily agrees, and starts identifying the nibbles she's brought over, “These ‘ere are egg an’ cress pieces, bridies, butteries, tablet, an’ shor’ bread. Have y’ur pick ae the lot.” 

“Mo ciallian, did ye-” 

“Nae, Da. Ah didnae pu’ onions in the bridies,” Mrs MacTavish supplied before her father could finish his question.

“Guid lass. Pass us up a few, noo. There's a guid lad,” Mr Milne chivvies Johnny into popping a few on a plate for him, Ghost was fascinated to see Johnny automatically make up and pass along a cup of coffee too. His family had never had that kind of camaraderie. A sudden wave of despair welled up to drown him as the unwelcome thought that he had no idea how his mother used to take her tea and there was no one left that he could ask struck him.

Johnny gently squeezed at the nape of his neck, bending down to put their heads in line, so that he could mutter to Ghost what exactly was in all the snacks Mrs MacTavish had just offered him. If Ghost leaned into the contact, buoyed by Johnny’s presence, that was between him and the devil, thank you very much. 

Having clocked the identity of the coffee pot, Ghost got himself a tea from the teapot. Opening dishes until he found the milk powder, he mindlessly filled a mug with coffee for Johnny and slid it over along with the milk bowl, setting the dish back amongst the teaset when Johnny had taken what he wanted. The teapot was ensconced in a nicely knitted plaid tea cosy, a brief glance up at Johnny netted him a nod, and he studied the cosy with more interest. 

So this was the MacTavish… hmm.

Another glance to Johnny, with a tip of his head in Mr Milne’s direction. Another distracted nod from Johnny, one of his sisters was ranting to him about an incompetent chef. 

So this was the Milne tartan. 

A woman burst through the backdoor, a small dog following at her heels. Another ecstatic cry went up and the family rushed to welcome her home. Johnny had told him that this was the first time all the MacTavish children would be under the same roof in years, Johnny’s mother had been planning it for months. 

“Kennie!” the latest addition cheered, breaking free of the scrum to tackle Johnny in a hug, “How’ve ye been! Still ten, ten, an’ two?” 

Johnny threw his head back in a laugh, then held up his hands to wiggle his ten fingers at her, “Aye, ah’ve still go’ all mah bits, Maggie.” 

Ghost watched the crease of his eyes, the flash of his teeth, the jump of his chest. Glutting himself on Johnny’s happiness. 

“So ye finally brough’ us y’ur man,” Maggie nodded in Ghost’s direction, a released Johnny coming to perch at Ghost’s shoulder again. Memorizing her face Ghost updated his profiles, this must be Maighread, the youngest. 

“Aye, doin’ Ma proud, Ah am,” Johnny retorted, “Pickin’ up the slack ae allae youse,” 

“Oi,” Maighread barked with a laugh, bending to pick up the dog that had been standing on its hindlegs to paw at her thighs, “A’ leas’ ah’ve brough’ Ma her firs’ grankid,” 

“Aye, right.” Johnny conceded, reaching forward to give the dog a few pats, “An’ how’s wee Calum been farin’?” 

“He’s grand! Vet said he’s great joints for nine,” Maighread enthused, then gave Calum a smooch on the head and pressed him into Johnny’s arms, “ ‘ere, be a lad an’ hold him while I say hullo to ar seann-phàrantan,” 

Watching Johnny juggle a small grey dog and a hot mug of coffee twisted a smile onto Ghost’s face. 

“Calum?” He let the question stand on its own and was gratified by Johnny’s response.

“Aye, he’s Maggie’s wee lad. A mini schnauzer. She go’ ‘im off a breeder, he didnae qualify fer a showdog, so noo ‘e’s the first MacTavish grankid. Ma’s go’ ‘im in the albums an’ every’hing.” Hearing Johnny’s accent thickening with every second that he spent amongst his fellow Scots was captivating, “Maggie trea’s ‘im like ‘e’s her own bairn.”

Ghost is not legally obligated to confirm or deny whether he did or did not open a mental profile for Calum the nine year old miniature schnauzer. 

“Why’re you holding him?” Ghost asked,

“Dae ye wan’ tae?” Johnny asked in return. That hadn’t been why he’d asked, but he wasn’t going to say no. 

Ghost nodded and scooted back from the table to give Johnny room to set the warm armful of dog on his lap, carefully bringing his arm around to make sure Calum didn’t accidentally fall. 

Calum the miniature schnauzer snuffled at his face, his shirt, his hands, then seemed perfectly content to take a seat on his lap, propping his forepaws up on the table, like he truly was part of the family. 

“Aye, tha’s fine,” Johnny supplied at Ghost's questioning look, “Donnae le’ ‘im jump up or no’hing, bu’ it’s fine as long as ye wipe the table after ‘e gets doon.”

Ghost was then perfectly content to sit, drinking his tea and petting the dog weighing down his legs. Normally the hustle and bustle of the many people talking and swarming about the rooms would quickly become too much for Ghost and he would need to take a break or else risk disassociating or having a panic attack, but oddly he was feeling fine. 

With Johnny standing sentinel at his shoulder, his hip pressed against Ghost’s side, and his arm arm idly draped across the back of his chair, Ghost was able to feel secure where he was. In spite of the commotion and chatter around him. 

Eventually the whole MacTavish brood was sat to the table, including Calum, who had abandoned Ghost to curl up on Maighread’s lap as soon as his owner had sat down. With cuppas and plates of nibbles close to hand, the air thrummed with idle chatter. Everyone updating and catching up, sharing the newest gossip about people that the table’s occupants would never meet. Mr Milne clearing his throat muted the room, though the silence wasn’t the oppressive tension that Ghost’s father had loved to employ, rather it was more of a curious waiting. 

“Riley, ‘ave ye met,” Mr Milne cast a wide gesture out to encompass the entire room, grunting like he’d expected as much when Ghost replied with a quick ‘No, Sir’, and then proceeding to efficiently go around the table, putting names to faces.

“Mah oldes’ daugh’er, Oighrig.”

“Oh, jus' call me Effie, dear,” Mrs MacTavish interjected,  

“Oighrig’s oldes’, Iseabail,” Mr Milne spoke on, unphased, 

“Izzie,” The woman sat to Johnny’s left offered,

“Ye know Coinneach o’course,” Mr Milne didn’t miss a beat and Ghost got the feeling that this was routine for him,

“Folk ‘roun ‘ere call me Kennie,” Johnny grinned up at him, his chair leg-to-leg with Ghost’s, letting Johnny easily press up against Ghost’s left arm,

“Then the twins, Donella-”

“Nella,” Chirps the woman directly across from Ghost

“an' Eilionoir,”

“Ellie,” Spoke the identical woman sat to Donella’s right, 

“Artair,” The young man sat to the right of Eilionoir offered only a nod, “our younges’, Maighread,” Mr Milne indicated the woman sat to his own right,

“Call me Maggie,” She offered with a bright smile, 

“An’ Maighread’s Calum,” Mr Milne rounded out, giving the dogs ears a ruffle.

Ghost gave the table a nod, “It’s good to meet you all, thank you for having me,”

His thanks are immediately waved away, eight separate voices speaking their denials of any thanks being necessary. Ghost holds his hands up in surrender and sits back to sip his tea 

“So Ellie, did ye tell tha’ man wit’ the gormless ring idea tae get tae fuck?” Maighread’s question forces an aggravated sigh out of Eilionoir, and with that the conversation moves on. 

Ghost is happy to have the attention off him, but is even happier to revel in the line of heat that comes from Johnny pressed tight against his side. Planting a hand on Johnny's leg, Ghost silently urges him impossibly closer, appeased by the way Johnny immediately obliges him. Scooting half off his chair he pushes down on Ghost’s shoulder and tugs him around by the waist so Ghost's slumped back against Johnny’s chest. Perfectly aligned for Johnny to drop his head down to rest his chin on Ghost’s shoulder, the soft scratch of the shaved sides of his warhawk rasping over Ghost’s ear and rubbing intoxicatingly against his cheek. Ghost squeezes at the leg he hadn’t released and revels in the tight squeeze Johnny returns to him.   

No one at the table gives their new seating arrangement a second glance and Ghost allows himself to wholly relax. Dropping his weight back onto Johnny without any fear of falling. 

There aren’t words for the feeling that fills up Ghost’s chest. The closest might be devotion. A gluttonous loyalty, content to share only because it gains him ever more of Johnny, others drawing out sides of him Ghost can’t. A burning obsession that banks and surges with every moment, every glance, every touch that Johnny allows him. 

What else is he meant to feel for a man that brings him home.

Thank You For Reading!

So the idea I set out with was "Soap takes ghost home to meet the family, ghost gets a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people, and realises he’s treating soap like some absurd mix of a touch/worry stone and a therapy dog. Thereby realising that soap makes him feel safe, and that wherever soap is, is home to him." I don't know how that became 3000 words, but here we are.

For anyone curious here are my notes on the MacTavish family:

Amhlaigh Milne -Grandad Fionna Milne - Grannie 69yo Oighrig MacTavish - Mother 53yo Iseabail(lesbian, the devil's advocate, she likes to look like the reasonable one and sometimes she is, trained as a professional chef, Job: restaurant owner) 34yo +1yr Coinneach John, 33yo +2yrs Eilionoir(Poly, is used to sharing Donella's partner, is not attracted to Donella, thoughtful and assessing, judgemental, realist leaning pessimist, job: makes jewelry) Donella(Poly, is used to sharing Eilionoir's partner, is not attracted to Eilionoir, more outspoken, open-minded, optimist, Job: professional horse trainer,) 31yo +3yrs Artair(sarcastic, always has a comment, acts like the baby of the family, Job: broker, he gets a budget from his client to find a specific/rare item for them, he bids in auctions and stuff), 28/yo +1yr Maighread(is the baby of the family, no one asks Maggie to do anything she doesnt want to, kind, warm, obliging, but not selfless or overly giving, Job: house sitter). 27/yo

Eilionoir and Donella live together and have four cats, all of which used to be stray cats. Their names are Sir Gawain, Darcy, Croissant, and Soot.

A photo of Calum to make it fair.

Later that night he walks into the common room with Aether, nervous with anticipation, to find Mountain and Rain fussing with the pull-out couch, the mattress now unfolded and made up with blankets and pillows. Swiss stands nearby watching them, arms folded over his chest. When he sees Phantom walk in he flashes a grin and gives him an encouraging thumbs up.

A few moments later Dew saunters into the room. He’s wearing nothing but a thin black robe that he hasn’t even bothered to tie shut, with his hair pulled up into a tight little bun at the top of his head. He makes his way over to the pull-out couch before shucking his robe and tossing it over the back with a flourish.

Around him, Phantom hears the other ghouls start to disrobe, the sound of fabric rustling, belts clinking, and zippers coming undone. He stands there dumbfounded for a beat before he’s peeling off his own shirt and clumsily stepping out of his jeans and briefs, tossing them in a messy pile off to the side. He doesn’t know what to do, where to stand, or what to look at. For now, he plans to just hang back and watch.

Instead, Phantom is startled out of his thoughts as Dew steps in front of him, puts one hand on his naked, bony hip and points directly at him. 

“You. You go first,” Dew says curtly, before turning back to clamber onto the mattress, arranging himself completely unashamed on his hands and knees in front of the group. 

Dew looks back over his shoulder and sticks out his tongue. 

“Show me what you got, new guy,” he teases, before turning back around and spreading his knees just a little bit more. Making sure his newest packmate gets an eyeful.

Phantom’s breath catches when he sees that Dew’s been prepped already, pink little hole already wet with slick and lube. Phantom wonders if he’d fingered his ass open himself, or if another ghoul had helped him get there before dutifully taking his place back in the den. 

Phantom flushes, suddenly self-conscious, but Mountain and Rain are stepping in and guiding him to take his place behind Dew. Mountain’s hand rests on the small of his back as he takes himself in his fist, cock already impossibly hard at the sight of Dew spread out and waiting for him.

Dew wriggles his hips playfully, an invitation for Phantom to line himself up and sink in slowly, slowly, until he’s bottomed out and breathless. Until he’s fully seated inside the smaller ghoul’s hot little body. Distantly, he registers Mountain and Rain pulling away as he starts to thrust. He gives rapid-fire, shallow little thrusts, hips moving rabbit-quick and totally off rhythm, but Dewdrop is so tight around him, and so hot. He feels so unbelievably good and he realizes with a panic that there’s no way he’s gonna last more than a few minutes inside him like this.

Dew must be able to tell, because he barks out at him. “C’mon, harder. Give it to me deeper, new guy.”

And Dew is playing just a little bit cruel, Phantom thinks weakly, speeding up his thrusts and pushing in harder, because he feels the way he clenches around him on each stroke, squeezing blissfully tight around Phantom’s cock each time he pulls his hips back. After a few more strokes Phantom feels that telltale coil in his gut pull tighter.

He realizes it’s too late with a whimper, gripping Dew by the hips and giving him one more thrust, as deep as he can manage, skinny hips flush against Dew’s as he cums with a cry, emptying himself inside the smaller ghoul. 

He’s lightheaded when he pulls out.

Dew turns his head to the side and Phantom braces himself for more teasing, but instead he just reaches back and swipes one finger through the mess between his cheeks before winking at Phantom and licking it clean.

Phantom’s dick twitches pathetically, but just as quick as he got there, he’s being ushered back towards the end of the line by Mountain while he watches Rain step up to take his place behind Dew.

“Hiya, Rainy,” Dew says sweetly, demeanor instantly changed and ready to play nice for his favorite water ghoul.

“Hi Dew,” Rain answers back with a smile, just as sweet, a well-timed blush rising to his pretty cheeks. 

Rain climbs onto the mattress behind Dew, runs his cock through the slick mess between his legs a few times before he’s pushing in and leaning forward until he’s got his entire body draped over the back of Dew’s. Bracing himself with one hand, he takes Dew’s face by the jaw, turns him to face him - and then they’re kissing. Straining, sloppy kisses, all tongue and spit, as Rain humps his cock into Dew, his perfect ass flexing as he bottoms out with each thrust.

“Mmm, that’s right,” Dew hums into the kiss, “give it to me Rainy,” he mumbles, muffled against Rain’s lips.

Pushing himself back to meet every thrust with a high-pitched, showy little moan, Dew tells him that’s right, keep going, that he can take more, that Rain can give it to him even harder, harder. He tells him just how properly he expects to get filled up now that he’s in the water ghoul’s capable hands.

And Rain is so good for him, fucking in at the perfect angle every time and letting Dew shove his tongue halfway down his throat at he does it. Perfectly happy to give Dew anything he wants, as he always is.

Dew grabs for Rain’s hand and threads their fingers together as he fucks him harder, craning his neck back at an impossibly awkward angle just to keep kissing him as deep as possible. Lips slick with spit and fangs clacking together with one final deep thrust, and Rain busts inside him with a groan.

Rain stills while he catches his breath, still sheathed inside Dew’s hot, throbbing little body and admires the thin sheen of sweat starting to show down the back of his neck. He presses a kiss to the fire ghoul’s shoulder and pulls out to see his cum, now mixed with the load Phantom just fucked into him moments earlier, start to drip back out in a thin stream. 

Dew reaches down once again, drags two fingers through the mess, and pushes everything back inside himself.

“And that’s round two,” Rain hears someone say behind him with a chuckle, ears still ringing from the blood rushing from his head. It’s Swiss, he registers, biding his time near the back of the lineup next to Aether. Both ghouls have a hand curled around themselves, giving lazy little strokes as they watch the show play out in front of them.

A moment later and Mountain moves in, stopping to pull Rain close, wrapping his arms around his slender waist and dipping him down for a kiss. He releases the water ghoul, who makes his way back on shaky legs towards Phantom hovering at the edge of the group. Rain winds his arms around his new packmate’s neck and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss of his own. 

As interested as he is in seeing Phantom and Rain naked and pawing at each other, Mountain turns back to Dew, eager for his turn. The sight of Dewdrop, face down on the couch and panting, looking increasingly more used up - but still waiting for more, has Mountain growling possessively. 

He moves in and takes the little fire ghoul by the hips before pushing his entire length deep into Dew, bullying his way inside until he’s fully seated. He’s the biggest of the pack by far, and the stretch and burn of it drags a long, ragged moan from Dew, and for the first time that night, the fire ghoul’s smug demeanor starts to falter. Mountain pulls back, almost all the way out, just enough that he can watch the blunt head of his cock kiss Dew’s twitching, puffy little rim. And then he’s slamming back with a thrust hard enough to push Dew all the way forward on his elbows.

Dew moans again, a real moan, none of those overly showy, bullshit porno moans from earlier, his eyes rolling back as Mountain fucks him hard and deep. He sets a relentless pace, full-length strokes pulled all the way out and then slammed back in until he's punching out breathless cries from Dew with each powerful thrust. He fucks him like that, with big hands wrapped around Dew’s skinny little waist.

If he squeezes hard enough he can make the tips of his fingers meet just below Dew’s navel. With each thrust, he can feel the hard length of himself pushing out Dew’s taut little belly just so. The bulge of him inside is barely noticeable, but it’s enough to rip the orgasm out of Mountain so fast it hits the both of them like an electric shock.

Dew goes stiff with it, surprised, clamping down around Mountain’s spasming cock, milking every drop from him with a ragged cry. Mountain pulls out, and Dew groans at the loss. He reaches out with a shaky hand, an attempt to feel the wet flow of Mountain’s load dripping out of his hole, but not before Mountain beats him to it, catching the rivulets of cum dribbling out of Dew’s ass and pushing it all back in, deep up to the knuckles. He fucks Dew’s loose hole with two fingers until the little ghoul is moaning again, and the wet, slick sounds of Mountain’s fingers inside him fill the room.

Phantom and Rain abandon their lazy, post-orgasm kissing as their interests are piqued again, pulling away from each other to creep in closer for a better look at how increasingly wrecked Dew is starting to look after just three rounds.

Mountain grunts, satisfied, and stands back to admire his work - at the way Dew’s wet little hole has been fucked pink and puffy from the stretch of Mountain’s fat cock and long fingers.

Dew only gets a brief moment to catch his breath before Swiss bullies his way in with a grin, sidestepping Mountain and cracking his knuckles. 

“You ready for me, firecracker?” He quips, one big hand squeezing the base of his dick in anticipation.

“Yeah,” Dew nods, face down into the pillows and breathless, hair spilling out of the bun on top of his head. He reaches back with both hands to grab his cheeks and spread. He pulls himself open just for Swiss, to let him see what a wrecked little mess he is. 

“Make me take it, Swiss”

Swiss grins wider and pushes Dew’s head until he’s face down into the pillows. He spits a wad of saliva directly onto Dew’s clenching little hole, takes his hard cock in his hand, and buries himself to the base in one stroke. 

Dew yelps as Swiss grabs a handful of hair, fingers wrapped tight around his bun and tugs, pulling until the fire ghoul’s back is bent into a perfect, pretty arch. He fucks him without mercy, hard and fast and deep. The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin grow louder as Swiss sets a relentless pace that has Dew crying out, ragged moans and pleas of yes yes make me fucking take it until the springs in the couch are squeaking and Dew’s blush is bright red and spread all the way down the back of his neck and shoulders.

Swiss reaches back with his free hand and smacks Dew’s ass with a wide, flat palm. Dew cries out, caught off guard. Swiss gives him another one, relishing in the way Dew clamps down around his cock with each slap. He repeats until both of the little ghoul’s ass cheeks are bright red and angry and Dew is drooling into the pillows. 

He fucks Dew rough, until he has him split open on his cock and moaning like a whore, and then he lets go of his hair, brings both hands to those bony little hips and squeezes. Squeezes hard enough to leave bruises, digging his nails in to mark Dew up just the way he knows he likes. He tugs him in by the waist with a bruising grip, pulls him back and forth on his cock like a pretty little toy, slamming in deep enough to bully Dew’s prostate with every stroke, until Dew is scrabbling at the sheets with his claws and and sobbing into the pillows. Desperate for Swiss to touch him, begging him to make him cum.

Swiss obliges with a grin, reaches around and wraps one big hand around Dew’s stiff dick, hanging hot and heavy between his legs, bouncing in time with the thrusts wracking his body. Swiss jacks him off until he feels Dew start to flutter around him, until he feels him clench. Until he gets him right on the edge of an orgasm.

“Please ohhhhh!” Dew’s just about shouting now, gnashing his teeth between sobs as Swiss fucks his brains out. “I’m gonna ohhhhh!”

Swiss growls, heavy and deep, when he blows his load inside him, fisting Dew’s cock as he paints his insides with his release.

He jacks Dew off through it all, feeling the way Dew tightens around him, sees the way the fire ghoul’s tight little sack draws up taut, seconds away from an orgasm. 

From relief.

And then, at exactly the right moment, he uncurls his fingers and wrenches his fist away. He lets Dew’s dripping cock fall back between his legs, heavy and straining, so red that it’s almost purple at the tip.

Dew lets out a ragged cry at his ruined orgasm, tears spilling down his splotchy cheeks and soaking into the sheets as he chokes back sobs of frustration, desperately trying to hump his hips into nothing, chasing any sort of friction Swiss might grant him.

The multi-ghoul just laughs. And then he’s flipping him over so fast Dew’s head spins. He grabs him by the leg, fingers wrapped tight around one slim ankle and tugs him to the edge of the couch.

Dew’s chest heaves, choking out sobs between dragging in deep, shuddering breaths. Skinny little hips still humping at nothing as Swiss drags him around like a ragdoll.

“Please let me,” Dew is begging, sad little pleas between gasping cries and hiccups. “Swiss, please, I need to.. I…” 

Swiss is still holding Dew’s leg in the air with one hand when he reaches in with the other to spread him open with two fingers, watching the entire mess flow out and pool between his cheeks, until it starts to puddle, leaving a dark, wet spot on the mattress. 

“So pretty,” Swiss admires. “Made to be stuffed full of cock and filled with cum, aren’t you, firecracker?”

Dew looks up at him with wet, pleading eyes and nods.

Instead, Swiss just lets more cum dribble out, and then he’s running his fingers up Dew’s sticky, wet cleft and back down to his balls, still drawn up nice and tight. He pushes his fingers back inside, and feels how hot and wet and loose Dew is.

Dew squirms, tears streaming down his face in frustration as Swiss plays with his hole lazy and unhurried, agonizing in the way he just pushes the cum back up inside him and lets it all dribble out again. In and out, until he’s got his fingers coated and Dew’s entire body is shaking.

Swiss presses a kiss to Dew’s ankle before gently placing his leg back down on the couch and then he’s bringing his fingers to Dew’s lips, shiny and soaking wet with cum and slick and lube.

“Suck,” he commands, pressing his fingers between the fire ghoul’s lips. 

Any other time and Dew would fight back, hissing and spitting and loving the challenge, but now, fucked loose and pliant, tears still streaming down his pretty face from his ruined orgasm, and he complies immediately. Opens up and lets Swiss pet at his soft, pink tongue with filthy fingers. He wraps his lips around them and sucks. Hollowing his cheeks and suckling until Swiss is satisfied and pulls them away nice and clean.

“He’s all yours now, Aeth,” Swiss says, looking down at Dew reverently, before stepping aside for Aether to finally take his place.

Aether steps in to gather Dew into his arms, smoothing big, warm hands over Dew’s shaking body, soothing him, leaning in to whisper sweet words of praise into his ear, quiet enough that they’re just for Dew to hear. He leans in close, tells Dew how proud he is, how good he’s been for them, how well he’d taken all of them. How good he was for welcoming Phantom properly into the pack.

Aether parts Dew’s legs gently, gets him spread open nice and wide one last time. He presses in and folds the smaller ghoul nearly in half, leaning in and kissing him, deep and loving, as he slides inside. There’s absolutely no resistance, Dew’s body wet and loose and full with everything the other ghouls have given him up.

Dew reaches up with shaky arms and wraps them around Aether’s neck, pulls him in as they kiss. 

And Aether talks him through it, sweet words murmured against his lips. He tells him how good he tastes, how sweet. His perfect Dewdrop. He fucks him with long, slow strokes, reaching in so deep and feeling how wet and full his little mate is with their entire pack’s cum.

Dew groans into his mouth, squeezes his arms around his neck and pleads against his lips. Little whimpers of pleasure as Aether makes him feel so good. Proud to know he’d taken care of his pack so well.

Aether kisses him in time with each push, each thrust hitting deep and perfect, bringing Dew’s flagging erection back to full attention. He whispers more words of praise against the fire ghoul’s lips as he takes his cock in his hand and strokes. He jacks him off and tells him how good he is. His sweet baby boy. His love. His mate. 

“Feel that, Dew” Aether asks as he bottoms out with a particularly deep thrust. “Feel how full you are inside?”

Dew nods, eyes closed and jaw slack as Aether fucks a litany of obscene, wet sounds out of him. With each push a little more of the mess inside Dew’s body dribbles out. Dew is stuffed so full that Aether’s cock is coated in it.

“That’s right, baby boy. Filled you all the way up, didn’t we? Oh, there’s so much inside you. That’s just how much we all love you, isn’t it, baby?

And that does it, Aether’s filthy, sweet words ring a surging orgasm out of him. Dew comes so hard on Aether’s cock he almost blacks out, his vision dark around the edges as he feels Aether spill hot inside him, adding one more load to the everything he’d already taken. 

They kiss, breathing ragged into each other’s mouths as they come down, sweaty foreheads pressed together. For just a moment, it’s only the two of them. 

And then Aether is taking Dew’s hand and guiding him down to feel where they’re connected, he presses the pads of Dew’s fingers against his own rim as he slips out. Lets him feel the hot gush of cum as he slides out, feel how hot and wet and completely fucked open his own little hole is.

Dew hums when Aether pulls away, satisfied and spent and boneless. He holds himself up on shaky elbows just long enough to see the way the rest of the pack is watching him with rapt attention before letting himself fall back to the pillows with a smug little smile tugging at his lips.

“Now,” Aether says, loud enough to pull everyone’s attention back to him.

Soap’s always loved to make out with Gaz. He matches Soap’s energy perfectly, completely willing to pull when Johnny pushes, to bite back when he gets a bit worked up. Johnny’s so used to always being the more enthusiastic partner, having someone to match his energy is almost relieving.

It’s also addictive. Half the time they hook up, they never get any further than some heavy petting, instead just laying with each other and making out for hours on end. Sometimes they get off - clumsy hands, humping against each other’s hips or thighs or stomachs - but sometimes the act is just the kissing. It’s enough, with Gaz.

But sometimes it feels almost like too much.

Sitting in an old leather booth in a dive bar, Soap’s legs tangled with Kyle’s while they make out, it feels like too much. The music is so loud that it’s difficult to hear someone at your own table speaking, there’s a thick cloud of smoke floating over that smells suspiciously like weed, and Johnny can feel Ghost staring at them. (It doesn’t bother him - Ghost is the perfect voyeur to Soap’s exhibitionist.)

The constant presence of everything else floats away as Johnny’s tongue tangles with Kyle’s. The other man tastes like the tequila shots they’d taken, the taste passing from one mouth to the other. Where Soap is all nipping kisses, trying to stick his tongue as far down Gaz’s throat as he can, Gaz is focused on the touch of it all, hands wandering over Johnny’s chest while he tangles their tongue together.

Johnny hitches a leg over Kyle’s lap, so that his knee is pressed up against his half-hard cock, and his own length is pressed to Gaz’s side. When he wraps his arms around Kyle’s waist, the other’s going around his neck, they’re both in the perfect position to grind against each other.

And oh it feels good to grind against the hard muscle of Kyle’s side, to lean his weight onto the other man and feel himself tugged closer. Gaz whimpers into his mouth when Soap’s knee shifts further forward, his hips beginning to rock into the pressure.

“Jesus,” Soap hears Ghost murmur, the sound of his glass being set down loud despite all the noise. He can’t help but smirk into his kiss, feels Kyle reciprocate. 

He spares a moment to glance over his shoulder at Simon, Gaz’s lips immediately going to his neck. “Jealous, sir?”

Ghost snorts, shaking his head dismissively as he crosses his arms. “Jealous of what, those sloppy kisses? Jealous of two pups humpin’ each other? I could have each of you ridin’ my boots with just a look, there’s nothin’ to be jealous of.”

Soap smirks, goes to bite out something about Ghost’s tone betraying him when Gaz grabs him by the nape of his neck, tugging their mouths back together.

“Gonna - get - us - in - trouble,” he whispers between nipping kisses, sharp spikes of pleasure-pain left against Johnny’s bottom lip, then the soothing stroke of his tongue. “Not lettin’ you take me down with you, MacTavish.”

Johnny’s laugh is a little loud for such close proximity, and Kyle presses their lips together to muffle him.

They stay like that for several long moments - humping each other, smiling into the kiss. They end up more bumping teeth and biting at each other than kissing, both lips stinging at the roughening treatment. 

It’s fun to play with his fellow sergeant like this, to take knowing that Gaz will give. Ghost and Price are so commanding, always so in control of what’s happening, and Soap loves submitting to that but he also loves the reprieve of a casual kiss with Kyle. 

His hips work a bit faster at Gaz’s hip as the low simmering in his gut grows warmer and warmer. The desire to get off is becoming a substantial need, driving him closer and closer to the other man. He levers himself up a bit more, so he’s fully sitting over Kyle’s thigh, and moves his arms up so he can scratch at the man’s back.

Gaz grunts, hips bucking up into Johnny’s knee as he arcs his back further into the sting of nails down his back. His arms stay around Soap’s neck, tugging him further down so there’s hardly an inch of space between their bodies.

It’s good to get off like this. A slow growing pleasure controlled only by them, no waiting (or begging) for permission, an orgasm controlled just by them. The freedom is rare, and Soap savors it as much as he savors the taste of Gaz’s tongue.

He doesn’t notice when Price comes back to the table with a fresh round of drinks, only clueing in to the man’s presence when he speaks.

“They’re still going at it?”

A grunt from Simon. “Think they’re almost finished.”

Price sighs, and Kyle and Johnny share a smile with each other. There’s nothing quite like putting out the Captain, and the casual way he had spoken leaves both of them even hornier. 

Soap is the first to come, like he almost always is when he’s allowed to control his own orgasms. One is rarely enough for him with his sex drive as high as it is, and he already knows he’s got a few more in him as he gets himself off against Kyle.

His climax is slow, a building thing coming from his gut and moving through him in long waves. It hardly even feels like an orgasm, more like strong waves of pleasure that nearly bowl him over. If his boxers didn’t get uncomfortably wet, he might have thought he was just exceptionally horny.

But he shudders through the peak, panting into Gaz’s mouth and leaving the other man to do most of the work as he humped erratically, hips moving on instinct alone.

He has enough sense to know better than to leave Kyle hanging, so he lets his arms drop to the man’s waist and sneaks his hands up the white shirt he’d worn. He tries to press his knee further into Gaz’s movements, stroking over his chest.

It’s the pinch to his nipple that finally gets him, Soap’s short nails digging in and giving him just enough pain to get off. Johnny pulls back enough to watch Gaz’s eyes go wide, watch him bite his lip to hold back a moan (even though someone has surely noticed what they’re doing). Soap is quick to lean in and return Gaz’s favor from before, loving their lips together to quiet his moans.

Johnny recovers before Gaz does. Slowly but surely he starts to shift against the man’s thigh, his cock pushing uncomfortably at his now soaked underwear. There’s an element of humiliation that comes with humping your friend with cum filled boxers, and that only makes Johnny more eager.

“Soap,” Gaz moans, letting his forehead fall forward to Johnny’s forehead and trying to move his own hips away from the pressure Johnny’s hadn’t pulled away. “Too much, too soon.”

“Nah,” Soap pants, settling into a faster rhythm now, working himself up much more quickly. “Nah, c’mon, feels good.”

Gaz shakes his head, grunting. “No, mate, it’s- fuck, ouch, how are you not too sensitive?”

Johnny’s orgasm comes far quicker, like a tidal wave in the distance that he watches grow closer and closer. He’s nearly breathless as he falls forward a bit, giving more of his weight to Kyle and almost kneeling on top of his groin. “Feels, fuck, feels so good… you don’t wanna feel good too? Come on, mate.”

Johnny reaches down, pressing a hand roughly down on Kyle’s crotch. The other man yelps spine going straight as he tries to squirm away.

“Johnny! Stop, stop, that- ow, motherfucker!”

Soap would laugh if he wasn’t riding the edge himself, pressing his entire weight into Gaz’s body, hips working in quick little thrusts. He can feel himself throbbing, grits his teeth when he can practically taste the orgasm.

Gaz tries to get revenge by gripping Johnny’s cock through his pants with a (frankly unreasonably) tight hold, a sharp squeeze.

The jokes on him though - the spike of pain is what gets Johnny off.

He settles a bit more after the second orgasm, the cum becoming a truly horrendous discomfort in his boxers, but worth it for the pleasure cooling his bones. He slumps against Gaz until the other man shoves him off, legs shaking slightly.

“That was quite the show,” Price rumbles, and Soap smiles with his eyes still closed, basking. “Think everyone else enjoyed it?”

Ghost grunts. “How could they not? Two of them moanin’ like that, damn lucky we didn’t get kicked out.”

That startles a laugh from Soap, the playful degradation a pleasant familiarity from Ghost. He blinks open a bit blearily, makes eye contact with the masked man. “Couldn’t have been too loud, what with him tryin’ to suffocate me.”

Gaz makes an offended noise, kicking the side of Johnny’s leg. “Shut it. You nearly had me choking on your tongue.”

There are soft sounds of amusement from all of the men, and Price slides a try with four shot glasses towards the sergeants once they all calm.

“Your tequila, boys. Should give you enough energy for another show.”

Johnny can’t help but smirk when he and Kyle make eye-contact, both wearing matching expressions. If Price is already trying to get them drunk, it’s going to be a long night.

roach kissed over ghosts cheek to his neck, smiling at the giggles it pulled out of him.

"tickles, bug," ghost laughed, but roach just matched the giggling and pressed a firmer kiss against his throat.

"you wanna help me get my trousers off?" ghost asked, running his palms over roach's bare chest.

roach sat back onto ghost's thighs. always, beautiful, he signed, before dropping his hands to undo the button and zipper on ghosts jeans. ghost blushed and watched for a moment while roach shuffled around as he worked ghosts jeans down, leaving just his boxer briefs that were tented up at the front with his erection.

he quickly took his own trousers off before he was back on ghost, kissing him and letting their dicks frot against each other through their underwear. he breathed in the soft moan ghost let out; he always loved the little sounds his boyfriend let out when they made love like this, all sweet soft pleasure.

they stayed like that for a bit, just kissing and rubbing against each other, chest to chest, hands gently exploring each other with the almost timid gentleness of a first time, despite this being far from their first.

after a bit, ghost ran his hands down roach's sides and slipped his fingertips into the waistband of roach's underpants. "off?" he asked quietly.

roach nodded, working them off before gently tugging on ghosts.

"please," ghost said, lifting his hips up slightly to help roach get them off easier.

once they were off, ghost parted his legs a bit while roach grabbed the lube off the side table. he held up his arms to invite roach back in, eager to feel the warmth and weight of his lover again.

roach obliged happily, quickly getting a slick finger over ghosts entrance, grinning at the happy hum ghost let out at the sensation.

you like that? he asked.

"i like you," ghost said, "you know i love anything as long as its with you."

roach kissed him again and pushed the tip of his finger in, slowly working his way in while ghost rocked his hips back to get him in deeper.

they took their time until roach had three fingers in him and ghost was panting hard against him, clipped moans coming out with every thrust of roach's hand.

roach paused for a second, looking at him questioningly.

"i'm ready," ghost breathed, "go ahead."

roach pulled his fingers out and got more lube to slick his cock up, quickly working to line himself up. he looked back up at ghost, who nodded hard.

leaning forward, roach pushed his tip in, sighing over ghost's lips as he worked his way inside.

ghost let his head fall back into the bed, closing his eyes to soak in the way it felt: the satisfying fullness, the softness of their bodies against each other, the gentle feel of every shared breath.

he shivered at the smooth slide of roach's cock when he pulled back until just his tip was inside, parting his legs wider when roach thrust back in.

"so good," he breathed, "fuck; you always feel so good."

roach bit his lip as he started setting a rhythm, tapping ghost in the middle of the chest: you.

ghost pulled him closer into another kiss, deep and passionate, only breaking it with a shaky moan when roach reached down to wrap a hand around his cock to work him in time with his thrusting.

"just like that, fuck," ghost almost whispered, panting against roach's lips as he began moving faster, "don't stop, fuck don't stop - "

roach thrust in hard and kept it there, grinding up to find ghost's prostate until he was squeezing around his cock and crying out underneath him, legs tight around roach's waist until he was spilling over his hand and onto his own stomach, gasping deep breaths of air while roach carefully stroked him through it.

he kissed down ghost's neck and started moving again, wishing he could make it last forever...but seeing and feeling ghost get off always left him close, feeling him tense and relax and release -

"come on , bug, please, please i want it so badly, fuck i wanna feel you all the way inside me, god i love you - "

roach let out a harsh whine into the side of ghost's neck and his hips almost slammed into ghosts, pulsing hard and deep inside him. he felt ghosts chest rising and falling with heavy, satisfied sighs at the feeling of being so deeply entwined with each other.

they stayed like that for a time, just breathing each other in, allowing themselves the slow, gentle closeness and intimacy that military life so frequently denied them.

"love you," ghost quietly murmured into roach's ear, wanting to say it but not wanting to disturb the peaceful quiet of the room.