Are You Listening Yet?

Three months ago, a heated argument in a safehouse ended with Ghost fucking the brattiness out of his sergeant. The frustration bled into vulnerability in the light of day and by the time exfil picked them up, they’d decided there wasn’t any going back. 

It wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t paraded around. Sure, people had noticed two of the 141 men stepping out of each other’s quarters or a kiss over Ghost’s mask on the tarmac after one of them returned from a mission. Yet, there wasn’t a single soul, the rest of the 141 included, that had the type of death wish required to bring it up. Price, in particular, had no interest in putting sight to the sounds coming from the supply closet.

Simon had been a switch his whole life. He started out bottoming with a fellow recruit in empty bunks. Then an older man on leave, the one time he was horny enough to use apps— it was a release for his pent up frustration and need. The first time he’d topped, he understood why a tight warm hole drove some men insane. At the end of the day all he knew was that the idea of being with a woman didn’t sit right, but he’d take a man any way he could. And right now he wanted to see where the fiery Johnny he sees on the field disappears to when they're in bed.

Johnny was feral for women. He’d take a pretty bird home and leave her babbling nonsense while shaking with pleasure. With men, he was more reserved but no less insatiable, but Johnny bottomed. Always. The loss of control, the feel of a cock nudging against his prostate, being manhandled like he smaller than he was. It felt so good he never bothered to question it. His other partners had offered to bottom for him, but he shrugged it off. It felt too vulnerable— too much pressure to take care of someone who dwarfed him in size and experience.

But with Simon? He wanted everything and would give it his best shot.

It wasn’t the next time, nor the next, but one night Johnny had whispered in Simon’s ear that he wanted to top. Simon’s face split into a wide grin and anyone who might have looked their way could have seen it with the way his mask moved. 

“Come here,” Simon murmured once they were alone, pulling Johnny closer until their bodies were flush. Johnny’s fingers shakily traced along the mask, always asking; always giving Simon a choice, but Simon never denied him. 

Once the mask was off, neither man hesitated to meet the other’s mouth. Tongues tangled and Simon’s hand was heavy behind Johnny’s neck, keeping him close as they devoured each other.

Johnny, half hard already, pressed into the muscular planes of Simon as he kissed along the cords of his throat. Simon’s hand drifted down, making quick work of Johnny’s belt and zipper. He squeezed Johnny’s cock over his boxers and growled into his mouth when he bucked into the touch. 

“Look at you,” Simon bit Johnny’s lower lip, savoring the feeling of the soft full flesh as he pulled it back, “Already desperate for something to squeeze you tight.”

Johnny moaned and slipped his hands under the waistband to feel Simon’s muscular hips, “Aye, Simon, want ye so bad.”

They fell back onto the bed in a familiar position; Johnny straddling Simon’s lap and grinding down. Usually, Johnny anticipated feeling the cock underneath him spearing into his ass, but it would be different tonight. Tonight, his own cock twitched and pushed against his boxers as he imagined warm tight skin squeezing him just so.

Simon’s hands were everywhere, kneading the flesh of Johnny’s ass, pulling on the mohawk and biting along Johnny’s neck, and tugging off their shirts until they were fully skin to skin. 

It was all so familiar, the dominance and control Simon held over Johnny every night. 

“How do you want me, Johnny?” Simon murmured against his lips, swollen and puffy from their heated make out. Simon rolled his hips up against Johnny’s boxers, teasing the man straddled on his lap, “Like this? Hands and knees?'

Johnny’s heart thumped out of his chest as he stared down at his lieutenant. This was happening. He’d agreed, of course, he’d been thinking about it for days— months if you counted the wet dreams he’d been startled out of in the middle of the night.

“Ah always imagined ye on yer hands an knees.” 

"Been imagining it a lot, have you?" Simon teased, but dutifully rolled onto his stomach and settled on his forearms. The arch of his back exposed his ass to Johnny, strong hairy thighs planted on the mattress. 

Johnny palmed Simon’s ass reverently, squeezing the pale muscles. The motion pulled his cheeks apart enough for Johnny to see Simon’s hole pucker and his eyes glaze over. 

“Christ, Simon…” Johnny breathed out, “Yer so bonnie…” 

Simon looked over his shoulder and smirked, pushing back into his hands to tease the man. He was rewarded with Johnny kissing one cheek and then the other. “What happens next, pretty boy?”

“Ah… Ah use my fingers.” It was a question cradled in desire, one Simon didn’t need to answer.

Johnny tore his eyes away from temptation to yank open the nightstand drawer. He popped open the cap and lube flowed over his fingers. 

With trembling hands, Johnny ran his thumb up and down the crease of Simon’s ass. He was rewarded with a roll of Simon’s hips, which pushed his digit closer to his entrance. Johnny switched to his index finger, circling the rim before pushing in up to his well cut nail. 

Simon struggled to keep still, letting Johnny explore at his own pace. When Johnny pushed further, Simon groaned wantonly into the pillow, “Just like that…” 

With a slow exhale, as if he was the one being penetrated, Johnny started to crook his finger and pump it in and out. It was heavenly to feel the muscles contracting around him, resisting before relaxing in a steady rhythm. Johnny’s other hand drifted up to rest on the small of Simon’s back. 

“Another?”

“Yes,” Simon huffed half a laugh, “I’m pretty sure your cock is bigger than a single finger, Johnny.” 

“Ah ken,” Johnny pulled out, swatting Simon's ass half heartedly, “Ah was tryin’ tae be polite.”

“I don’t want polite,” Simon replied, voice demanding to be put into his place, “I want you to fuck me, Johnny.” 

The words only fueled Johnny’s impatience and growing irritation. If it were any other time, he’d be snapping back until Simon fucked the sass out of him. Johnny added another finger, pushing past the tight ring of muscle with more intention.

“That’s it, pretty boy, just like that.” Simon grunted out, Johnny's fingers weren’t overly large, but the burn was a familiar sensation; it had been a while since Simon bottomed. But he was only a man, so when Johnny curled his fingers and found his prostate, he jolted back,  “Fuck, right there. Don’t stop.”

“Ah wasnae plannin’ on it,” Johnny growled; he kept his eyes on how Simon’s hole took his third finger greedily. His movements became faster, more confident. It was different than a pussy, the walls didn’t have as much give, but the lube made it just as slick and warm.

Johnny continued to rub against his sweet spot, he didn’t need confirmation— not when Simon pushed his hips back to meet his thrusts. Simon’s balls bumped against Johnny’s palm, so he moved his hand from Simon’s back to cradle them. He massaged and groped and groaned when he felt Simon’s hole clench down on his fingers. 

“Fuck, cannae wait to feel ye on my cock,” Johnny muttered, leaning forward to kiss along Simon’s ass cheeks. He dragged his teeth across the pale skin, biting once to earn another reaction. 

“I’m not stopping you, am I?” Simon grunted, dizzy with pleasure. For never topping, Johnny sure knew his way around a man’s asshole. Simon pulled forward, Johnny’s fingers slipping out, “If I’m going to come, I want it to be on your cock.” 

Johnny’s eyes were glued to how stretched Simon’s hole was, inviting him to a pleasure he’d never known. Another squirt of lube, a few strokes along his painfully hard cock, and Johnny was lining up his cock to Simon’s ass. He paused on the precipice, adjusting his grip on Simon’s hips before slowly pressing in when Simon exhaled. 

Holy shit.

Johnny croaked, primal and shocked, when the head of his cock disappeared into Simon’s body. He stilled, apparently for a moment too long because Simon pushed back again, 

“I said fuck me, Johnny.” 

“Simon—” Johnny battled against coming immediately, “Ah— It feels so good. Steamin’ Jesus, yer squeezing me so tight.”

Johnny began to rock in and out of Simon, his thick cock stretching Simon's hole was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. He continued sinking inch by inch until he was fully inside, pelvis to ass. His eyes closed, his head fell back, and he moaned as he moved his hips in shallow circles, opening up the man to take more.

The sensation was better than any pussy. Simon's ass was squeezing him while he pushed and pulled against the muscles, and when he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t some pretty bird from a bar. 

It was Simon. The largest man he’d ever met, the man who he trusted to ruin him in bed, the man who he would kill and die for— that drove him wild.

Simon focused on his breathing, his fingers digging into the sheets, anything he could find besides how incredible Johnny's long veiny cock felt inside him. When Johnny started to move in earnest, Simon found himself making noises he hadn't made in years. His forearms trembled as his guts were punched into again and again, the curve of Johnny's cock naturally rubbing his prostate.

Johnny wasn’t holding back and that’s exactly what he wanted— Johnny taking his pleasure this way no matter who he was fucking. 

“Bout time you fucked me,” Simon taunted, biting back the moans that threatened to escape, “I thought you were all talk. Always so pretty and begging for my cock. I wasn’t expecting much.”

Johnny’s face screwed in frustration and pulled out until just his head was inside Simon’s ass before he slammed his hips forward, scraping against the spot he’d found earlier. His grip on Simon’s hips became bruising, pulling the man back on his cock with every thrust.

“Wheesht—” Johnny growled, “Donnae talk like that, ye wanted this.” 

“I wanted to feel your cock in my ass,” Simon agreed casually, but Johnny caught how his jaw ticked when his balls grazed Simon’s taint. “Didn’t expect you to be such a pussy about it.” 

“Shut. Up.” Johnny moved one hand from Simon’s hip to push down on Simon’s back, right between the shoulder blades. When Simon didn’t yield, Johnny ground against his prostate with rough precision until Simon’s arms started to give. 

Johnny pushed harder and Simon’s front flattened against the bed. Whether it was from true overstimulation or Simon giving in to his lover’s desire, Johnny didn’t care. He moved animalistically, and his balls grew tight as that familiar coil started to form deep in his belly. 

“Ye wanted me tae fuck ye?” Johnny snarled, banding his arm across Simon’s hip to keep his ass in the air while Johnny wrapped his fingers around the man’s cock. His thumb swiped along the tip, collecting precum from his weeping cock to stroke the man faster, the thrusts becoming punishing “Take it then.”

Simon moaned into the pillow as Johnny’s hand moved in time with his thrusts. He didn’t bother answering, not when Johnny was finally giving in to the power Simon knew was inside him.

“Donnae 'ave shite tae say now,” Johnny grunted, sweat dripping down from his chest onto Simon’s ass. Johnny watched the bead roll between Simon’s cheeks and disappear into the place where his cock was swallowed into the stretched hole. “Come fer me, Simon. Come fer me while my cock is in yer ass.”

Simon wanted to hold out, to take more of Johnny’s newfound confidence and lust, but the way his cock was being squeezed and twisted had him coming undone. His back arched against Johnny’s chest as he exploded under him. Thick white ropes shot out over the sheets under them. Johnny didn’t stop, determined to feel every spurt fall onto his hand— milking Simon for everything he’s worth.

The overstimulation didn’t last long. Simon’s body clenched around Johnny’s cock so hard he almost blacked out. He thrust in once more, as deep as he could go, and fell forward to sink his teeth into Simon’s back as he filled his ass to the brim. A ring of cum and slick formed at the base of Johnny's cock as he stuttered through the orgasm. 

Simon collapsed when Johnny pulled his arm away, but Johnny leaned back on his laurels and looked down at the man who had given him this new experience. Simon was breathing heavily and twitching on his own mess. Johnny spread Simon’s cheeks apart, gently rubbing the sweaty skin along his hips, and watched his spend drip out of the gaping hole.

He stayed like that for a minute, basking in the pleasure and satisfaction he'd felt when topping. He hadn't felt the pressure to be in charge. There had been no need to be larger or smaller than he already was. In fact, he might better understand why Simon enjoyed fucking him when he got mouthy.

Both men caught their breath before Johnny shakily stood. He tapped Simon’s ass once, smirking when the larger man made a muffled noise into the mattress, and shuffled over to the bathroom. He quickly washed off himself before bringing a warm cloth back to Simon. He wasn’t going to let Simon deny him the chance to give him aftercare. Johnny took pride in taking care of the birds he’d fucked, and Simon deserved four times that attention.

Simon stifled back a whine when Johnny wiped down his ass, collecting come and sweat. He rolled over obediently when Johnny guided him to his side, but his eyes stayed closed, fists clenching in the sheets as Soap wiped down his abdomen and cock. 

Once they were both clean, they laid down next to each other with a familiar pattern. Simon on his back and Johnny pressed into his side with an arm draped over his chest.

Simon reached over to the nightstand, nudging the lube out of the way to grab the pack of cigs. He flips open his lighter, taking a puff and offering it to Johnny.

Both men sat with the silence, processing in their own ways. Johnny hummed when he exhaled the plume of smoke, the vibrations moving over Simon’s sternum.

“Felt like you were enjoying yourself back there, Johnny,” Simon murmured, weak arms tugging the man closer to press a kiss against his head. A deep satisfied sigh blew over Johnny’s mohawk, both hearts returning to a normal rate. Johnny took a second drag and handed it back to Simon.

“Aye,” Johnny’s grin pressed against the sweaty pec under his cheek, “Ah liked it quite a bit.” 

“Good,” Simon sighed, satisfaction and accomplishment moving through his veins, “I’d been waiting for you to ask.”

“Ah…” Johnny paused, considering why he hadn't asked, “Ah dunno, always enjoyed bottoming enough tae never think about it.” 

“Yeah?” Simon asked, stifling a yawn, “And now?”

Johnny kissed Simon’s sticky throat, tasting the musk and sweat of the man who once again made him feel more seen and loved than ever before.

“Ah’ll have tae ask mor often.” 

Simon hummed and pulled the covers up over both of them. He couldn’t wait to feel his ass hurt every time he sat down tomorrow. It was a feeling he was surprised he missed. But for Johnny? It was a wonderful reminder of how he had been given another piece of the man he loved.

You still cry out when he peels the tape away, your lips bruised and bloody. He's quick to kiss them, licking into your mouth, even when you cringe away. Poor thing, still unsure, still not understanding how much he loves you. If you can't understand his words then he'll have to show you with his body.

The duct tape on your wrists is older and fraying, and he cuts it off, taking the weak blows easily when you strike at him. You're dehydrated and hungry, too small and worn out to fight back, a mouse scratching at the floor with its tail in the trap. König only needs a minute to roll you over, twist your arms behind your back, push them high, and wraps a new length of tape around your wrists and neck, making a collar, solid grey that he longs to replace with something prettier.

As you cough, arching your back, he cuts the tape from your ankles and spreads them. Soft, soft, scratched and dirty skin under his fingers, up your calf, past your knees. You haven't been kind to yourself, scraping and wriggling around, and König delicately brushes the soft, sensitive little folds between your thighs. Your legs try to close, tightening around him, and his cock aches.

"Soon," he promises you, and bends to kiss you instead, licking up sweat and old piss, the stink of fear slowly fading away to warmth, to wetness, and the first time your pussy clenches around his tongue he comes untouched, moaning against your clit. You're gasping and pleading, still arched in the tape, your shoulders straining and belly tight, and König doesn't stop, pulls out his cock and uses his cum to slick his hand, stroking himself, slurping down what you give him. You taste delicious, thick and heavy on his tongue, even as your struggles fade.

You come again for him as he rolls your clit through his teeth, sucks at it like candy, and he feels the way your body shudders and gives up, gives in, lets him take care of you the way you deserve.

As a reward, he cuts the tape on your throat, leaving only your wrists still bound, and sits you upright. Your bottom lip splits as he gives you his cock, blood leaking onto his balls. Your eyes are so big and soft and beautiful, looking up at him, pleading.

You just need to accept that he's going to take care of you. He can help you, make you feel better, so long as you let him. He thinks you can handle it, flexible enough to accept the changes without breaking under them- he hopes you can.

You're so soft and wet between your thighs still, hips rocking as you suck his cock, and König leans down to palm your breast. Sweet, perfect flesh, nipple hard when he twists it, your little wince so cute. He loves taking your mouth like this, loves the way you gag when he goes too far. Loves coming across your tongue with a low moan of pleasure, spurting it over your teeth, making you swallow- and a new strip of duct tape to seal it all in as you whimper, holding it tight to your skin the wet gulps of your throat around his cum prompting König to kiss your hair, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

"Perfect, sweet little pet," he praises, and stands you up to wobble over the grate in the floor. You whine behind the tape, twisting in his grasp, but it's as ineffective as your fight earlier- the only sustenance he's given you for three days has been his cum, but he wants to establish a routine for when he gets you back to strength enough to take his cock- so he forces your legs apart, and strokes soothingly over your belly, spreads your folds and rubs at your clit with the heel of his hand pushing hard on your lower belly.

You moan and jerk, but you can't stand up well enough and finally sag against König's body, weeping, though he wishes you'd save the water. Your clit pulses under his fingers, and finally you clench and a weak spurt of piss comes out, splashing down into the grate. He doesn't want you to get a UTI.

Routine completed, he scoops you up, peppering you with kisses again. You're limp and dazed when he lays you down on the soft cot. No real bed yet, not until he knows you won't hurt yourself on it, or try to escape, so he leaves your wrists twisted in the tape and lays you on your front, propping your head on a pillow, your hips on another, and loops the duct tape across your ankles.

The vibrator is small, but you still clench around it, pussy soft and wet enough he can easily settle it against the swollen nerves inside your body, more tape sticking the remote to the back of your thigh, where you can't switch it off. It's a low setting, just enough to keep you on edge, to make your body desperate to come even as your biological needs grow sharper.

You whimper when he stands to leave, the pain and self loathing and naked loneliness in your eyes making his chest ache. König hates to leave you, to make you wait for his touch again, his attention, his company- but he learned through the military how mind-breaking loneliness can be, how much it can twist a person up, to be left on the outside. The way it can make a hardened man break down and beg for the touch of a hand, a comforting voice. A tongue on your clit and his cock in your mouth.

"I love you," he promises, and he's said this phrase enough he thinks you understand it. Or at least, your heart does, and he rubs his thumb over your thumping pulse, pressing into it briefly, steeling himself against your whining when he closes and locks the door of your little room.