#soap thoughts

the giggle that leaves you is maniacal as you hit the button. the whole building explodes, a large gust of fire and smoke and sparks that forces you and johnny to stumble back a few feet as you keep watching.

when he looks over at you, you're still looking out at it. there's fire in your gaze, and it sparkles. joy in you—excitement. there's something fucked up inside of you. the same nasty thing that must live inside of him.

he sees it in you during drills. knelt in front of the wires, watching it all spark as you twist them together. that smile on your face as you cut so confidently, tongue in your cheek now as the timer goes down, down down—just a few seconds left, and your last cut stops it from detonating. you laugh, looking up at your sergeant, sitting up on your knees.

"giving you a run for your money, huh, soap?"

he's caught staring when he's overseeing you shoot. the stock of the rifle in your shoulder, your head tilted as you look through the scope and fire intermittently. you shift on your stomach, spine arching, and johnny kisses his teeth as the curve of your ass is the only thing he can pay attention to—

"don't."

his lieutenant, much like his name, appears without warning. johnny jumps a little, cursing under his breath, his eyes going to the sky as he rolls out his shoulders.

"huh?"

"can't handle oll tha'," ghost mutters.

"fuck off," johnny rolls his eyes, but he's thinking it, and it's there now, and he can't stop thinking about it now. not when drills are over. not when you're seated in the mess, eating supper. not when he's in his bed, hand wrapped around his cock, drooling around your name as he thinks about what he supposedly can't handle.

if ghost tried and failed, it's probably because he can't read you the way he can.

he failed with me, slick bastard—

you're the one to make the first move. another mission, another detonation, another night with stars in your eyes that you put there yourself. no debrief, no break, just pure adrenaline as you grip the front of his vest and corner him in a closet, putting your mouth on his. he doesn't ask how you knew, because you must just be made for him. you're trying to eat him from the inside out, tongue across his teeth, whining into his mouth. you're grinding against his thigh like it's the last thing you'll ever do, cupping him over his jeans. you're a feral cat, pawing for your next meal, and johnny is getting dizzy from all the blood rushing south.

it's easy with you. everything is. you are spitfire and sparks flying in one woman. you bite and you snarl and you disobey, and he keeps following you into chaos because he keeps chasing that same look in those eyes. those beautiful eyes. those terrible ones. the ones that tell him everything you are too afraid to say out loud—because who would recognize you then?

does anyone recognize you now?

you pass by ghost in the mess, hitting his arm as you shove past him. he grunts, looking back at you, and you stop to look up at him. you run your tongue over your teeth to taunt him.

"your loss is my gain, i guess," you smile.

"didn't peg you as someone who fancies sloppy seconds."

"awww, don't do that to yourself, lieutenant," you pat his chest gently, and he looks at your hand as if it stung him. "it's okay to admit you don't know what you're doing. you're getting old. lost your game. it happens. better luck next time."

you leave, but his eyes follow you the whole way. eyes on the sway of you, your walk, your ass that you can't contain in any cargo pants you wear.

gaz — super into it. he's all smiles, all giddy, and he's warm all over thinking about it. knows the perfect angle, too. he props up a pillow at the end of the bed and lays the phone there. he throws your legs up and presses your thighs down, and gaz is buzzing when he checks the footage after. it's just the perfect shot of his cock ruining you. the smack of your skin is so nasty, and gaz finds himself already cupping under his cock when there's an insane shot of him pulling out, globs of his cum spilling out of you. oh, but no, that's not good enough, we need another angle. he loves the POV shots the most, where all the focus is on you. he loves panning from your swollen pussy to your bouncing tits all the way to your open mouth, and he loves it even more when he moves the camera closer to get a shot of you sucking on his fingers all wet and heavy. pretty, pretty, pretty...

soap — 100% down, but he's so bad at it :( you're always so wet and whiny when you fuck. you can't help it — johnny is so hot, and you can't get enough of him. he makes you downright stupid when he's inside of you, so you relied on him to film everything, but he's so bad. the camera is shaking as he tries to film, and you get motion sickness watching it back. the audio is quite nice—johnny's grunts are hot, but you really wanted more footage of him absolutely splitting you. the best you got was a blurry shot of your tits when johnny spit on them to keep you crying. oh well, maybe next time :(

price — he's old-fashioned, he doesn't get it. he has a couple polaroids of you back in his locker, and that is always good enough to get him off when he's away from you. you're not even fully naked in those pictures, and he's cumming across his stomach just fine, so he finds it really odd that you want to film. he doesn't say no, but you can tell he finds it strange, so you simply point the phone between your thighs and bring his hand between your legs. john stares over your shoulder into the phone as he watches his own fingers slip inside of you. he leans in a little, watching, licking his lips as he finds it mesmerizing to watch you become wetter and wetter and wetter. soon, it's a wet slap of his palm against your pussy, and you're crying with relief as you come, flooding his hand and wrist and crying through the overstimulation. the audio alone is enough for john to forward it to himself for later use.