a little bit of everything

Soap presses into Simon's back, hips flush to his arse, teeth in his shoulder, hands roaming over the planes of his stomach, his tits, sliding down to press a palm against Simon's half-hard cock.

"Come oooon," Johnny is whining, sweetly, nearly begging by tone of voice alone.

"You're not— not making this— ah, fuck— any easier."

Simon hisses when Soap cups him through his trousers. His fingers shake trying to push the key into the godforsaken keyhole. The light's out in the whole damn stairwell, some fuse or the other apparently giving up the ghost. The corridor is black as the night they just escaped, lips already aching with kisses, Soap clawing at Simon's back when Ghost pushed him up against the wall before they even made it into the house.

He almost let Johnny talk him into it, too, to get him off again right there, pressed against the side of his building. The only thing that kept him from giving in was the thought of how beautiful Johnny might look when Simon denies him, again and again, like he can only do if he takes him to bed properly. Makes him cry and plead for it before he gives his boy what he needs. It'll be a thing of beauty, Johnny's eyes red-rimmed, and his face blotchy and pink when he begs to finally cum.

That thought had Simon rock-hard, but strengthened his resolve to make it the fuck inside where they can take their time. A luxury, in their line of… of life, really, and as much as he has been enjoying showing Johnny off for anyone who cares to look, he wants this to be just theirs. Wants this time to themselves, and nobody else. Wants to be the only one to hear Johnny fall apart, to watch him and know that it was him who did all that. Wants to feel like Johnny is only his.

Insistent lips press kisses along the nape of Simon's neck now — it's a wonder Johnny can reach, and Ghost grins to himself, then groans when Johnny's fingers dip beneath his waistband, slide along his length. Soap is pressing up against him urgently, his own cock firmly nestled between Simon's cheeks, panting, moaning, whining for it already.

"Like a dog in heat, you are," Simon mumbles, enjoys feeling the shiver that sends through his boy.

His.

Finally, the key slots in, and they stumble inside as soon as Simon turns it, sent forward by the force of Johnny's body against his. Soap kicks the door shut, is on Simon not a second later, all tongue and hands, and Simon is just as bad, even if he loves to pretend he's not. Grabs at Johnny's arse through the thick fabric of his kilt, moans when their cocks slide together, despite the layers of fabric. Opens his mouth to let Johnny in, who still tastes like greasy fries and old cigarettes and cock, and it's so fucking good anyways.

Simon pushes him away from the door into the living space, the room only lit by the street lights outside shining in through the window. It reflects on Johnny's glowing skin, sweaty and dewey as he steals another kiss from Simon's lips.

"Bend over," Ghost pants into his mouth, can't help himself, needs to see him, needs to know Johnny will let him. "Come on, Johnny, please. Let me see."

He can feel Soap smile into his mouth, and goes easily when Soap's hands tug him along, his mouth only leaving him when Johnny follows his order: Drapes himself across the armrest of the couch, skirt riding up so high it almost exposes the soft place where his arse connects to his thighs, covered in dark hair, the tape on his knee invisible from the back. Johnny's all skin and curls like this, could almost be mistaken for tame if Simon didn't know him like the back of his hand. If he didn't know the sly smile that must be pulling at Johnny's lips, because of course he is getting exactly what he wants. Just so happens that it's what Simon wants as well.

Johnny's thigh twitches, the meat of it trembling, and Simon's mouth waters at the sight. He is on his knees nearly as fast as Johnny was, back in that alley, cum still drying in his hair now. Filthy little pup, and so fucking good for Simon.

He runs his palms up and down the backs of Johnny's thighs, lets himself revel in the shivers his touch elicits, licks along the cords of muscle, bites at the meat and soft fat of his inner thigh. Tastes sweat and Johnny's skin, and can't remember a moment he was ever happier than he is right now. His hands slip up and up and up, below Johnny's kilt, kneading his round cheeks until Ghost is sure he must have left more bruises, kissing and licking and sucking marks into Johnny's soft flesh all the while, until the man is moaning, hand reaching back to pull at Simon's hair.

"Ge' on with it," Soap hisses, but he's smiling to soften the complaint, Simon can hear it in his voice. Not that he'll listen anyways. He can be selfish, just this once. He wants to be, and Johnny is letting him. Simon bites into the skin beneath his teeth, sinks his fangs into his willing prey until he can almost taste the blood.

"Always good to take big things slow, isn't that what you said earlier, Sergeant?"

God, it really was earlier. Not even a whole day, and so much has happened. Soap snorts.

"Fuck, since when d'ye listen tae me, LT? Fuck tha', fuck me instead."

He's twisted around to stare at Ghost with big, blue eyes, cheeks deliciously flushed just like the rest of his skin, and it's hard to resist. Even harder when Simon has to ignore his own cock, aching and straining again like it shouldn't be fucking possible. But Johnny makes him insane, doesn't just drive Simon off the edge but explodes the whole fucking cliff instead.

"No," Simon says, and stops there, because if he said any more, Soap might try to convince him otherwise again, and if he keeps begging so sweetly, Simon won't be able to resist for long. He flips up Johnny's skirt instead, thick wool draping along his narrow waist, exposing the straps of his jock and baring his ass.

Ghost loses his mind a little at the sight, can't look away, can't move, can't fucking breathe. Everything he has ever wanted, presented to him as if he deserves it. As if he could ever fucking do right by him. It doesn't matter now. Johnny wants this — wants him, even if Simon doesn't understand why.

This angelic man, his beautiful Johnny, laid out for him, waiting, panting for breath and impatient already. Simon takes his time, though, admires the view. It's what he has denied himself for so long, after all, coward that he is:

The thick, muscular trunks of Johnny's thighs, spread a little to accomodate Simon kneeling between them. The soft hair that covers them, dark and curly and fucking mouth-watering, sticky with sweat and dried cum. The globes of Johnny's ass, round and plump and already starting to show the traces of Simon's fingers, red and purple outlines of his hands where he grabbed him hard. And Simon's prize, the perfect, pink furl of his hole, covered in dark hair just like the rest of him.

He has never wanted to taste anything more in his fucking life, thinks might die if he doesn't.

Simon takes a breath, as if that might help to steady him, but all it does is make his head swim more. Johnny. Right here, in front of him. Begging for Simon to take him. Letting himself be defiled like this, wanting it, begging for it. Wanting Simon.

Soap's hand is still buried in his hair, his arm too twisted to have much force, but he tugs at him anyways, and Simon goes more than willingly, bites Johnny's inner thigh again just to hear him moan, kisses and kisses whatever he can reach. Worships his skin, and the man beneath it.

He makes Johnny wait just a little before he spits on his hole, tries to tell himself he's still in control. He is, but it's slipping, getting worse by the second, and the really bad thing is that Ghost doesn't even fucking mind. Not if it gets him this: Johnny trembling beneath him as Ghost lets more saliva drip onto his waiting hole, foamy white on puckered pink, sticking in the dark hair, clumping it together like Johnny's tears did his lashes.

Simon's cock twitches at the memory. He ignores it.

"Good lad," he mumbles into Johnny's hot skin, to feel him shiver again, to reward him, to see if it works. And it does, Johnny's hips jerk forward, and Ghost chuckles. "Love that you're so easy for me, sweetheart. Relax now, yeah? Let me take care of ya."

He spits again, then presses his face between Johnny's cheeks without warning, tongue flicking at his hole. He loves the taste of it, always has, musk and sweat and bitterness. It's even better when it's Johnny, writhing beneath him, fucking whimpering and moaning for it.

Simon slips his hands up Johnny's thighs, digs his fingers into the meat of his arse, spreads his cheeks for easier access. Slowly licks his way inside, lapping at his hole with gentle strokes until he feels Johnny's muscles unclench beneath him, feels him go lax and pliant beneath his own blood-stained hands. He pushes his tongue inside, pulls back for a split second to breathe, right hand inching towards Johnny's hole. Spits on it again, looser now, loose enough to press in the tip of his thumb alongside his tongue.

Johnny hisses, and Ghost feels his knees buckle.

"Fuuuck," Soap grinds out, voice muffled by the pillow his face is resting on. "Jesus, baby, if I'd known ye were so good at this— oh bleedin' hell, Simon, fuck, that's— that's good, oh god, please… please…"

Ghost hums, presses his thumb deeper. He's not trying to reach Johnny's prostate, thinks the lad might shoot off on him if he does, but he'll need the stretch. Needs to get him nice and loose before Ghost loses his fucking patience, and he will, much as he enjoys this, but it's only a matter of time. His balls feel full like they haven't been emptied in weeks, and his dick is throbbing in time with his pulse, every taste he gets.

"Taste fucking good, Johnny," he murmurs, keeps his thumb hooked inside but pulls back to lick at Johnny's rim, pink and puffy from Ghost's efforts. "Gotta get you nice an' open for me though, yeah? Make sure you're ready to take me."

"'m fuckin' ready, Sir, fuck."

And God, Simon is a terrible man for the way that makes his insides curl.

"You're not even close." Simon is a little mean with it, wets his pointer and middle finger quickly, effectively, and replaces his thumb with them. Johnny shakes a little.

"Simon— oh fuck, Si—"

"There ya go," Ghost whispers. "Takin' it so well for me, sweetheart. Gonna be so fucking good when I finally get my cock in you, yeah? Make sure you can take it, then fill you up so good you won't be able to move tomorrow without thinking of me."

Soap is panting heaving breaths, the muscles in his thighs twitching as Simon flicks his tongue along his rim, steadily thrusting with his fingers, scissoring them open slowly, his other hand greedily grabbing at the meat of Johnny's arse.

"Thought— oh fuck—" Johnny buries his head in the pillows for a moment when Simon pushes his tongue inside him again, between his own fingers. Might go easier if he had lube, but fuck knows he won't give this up for anything. Goosebumps rise on Johnny's flesh.

"… thought I was the fuckin' talker," Soap sounds like he's grinning, and Simon can't help but smile as well. "If I'da known all I needed tae do tae get ye tae talk was tae seduce ye-"

"Ya seduced fuckall, Johnny," Ghost grunts, spits and slowly, carefully, pushes a third finger in. Johnny's knuckles go white where he grabs the pillows beneath him, but if the way his hips are thrusting into nothingness are any indication, he's fucking enjoying himself. "Wha', chattin' up other men counts as seducing now, does it? Fuckin' hell. Ya licked me, is what ya did. Filthy little pup."

Johnny moans, high like he didn't mean to, just couldn't hold it in. Blinks back at him, mischievous, happy, slow like a cat.

"Ye like me like this, dinnae pretend, Si." His mouth drops open a little, a hushed groan when Simon curls his fingers just right, but Simon doesn't grant him the pleasure again. Soap bites his lip. "Still on about Oscar, are ye?"

"Had already forgotten his name again," Simon mumbles. "Not a good sign you still remember it, Sergeant. Time I'm done with ya, ya shouldn't even remember your own fucking name."

Johnny's eyes are so fucking bright. How is that allowed?

"Ye promise, Sir?"

"Mh." Simon pulls his fingers out of Johnny's perfect, tight warmth, slowly, ignoring his boy's pleas. Stares at his work… and sees perfection. Never was gonna turn out any different, not when it's Johnny: his thighs covered in bites and bruises, his hole gaping just a little, swollen from Simon's attention and shining in his spit. Simon needs to see his cum drip from it, pearly white, needs to see Soap filled up and fucked out.

"Look good like this, sweetheart." His voice is barely audible even in the quiet of the room, but Soap perks up. If he had a tail it would be fucking wagging.

"Could have me like this every day, baby," he says, and it's teasing, but also so fucking soft that Simon forgets how to breathe for a moment. Has to remember, has to force his lungs to contract like they should.

"Keep you open," he muses, quietly, mostly to himself even if he sees the shiver it sends down Johnny's spine. He pats his flank as if to calm him down, can't keep his hands to himself and needs an excuse, still. "Be a dream, sweetheart. Have ya waiting and ready for me every day? Christ, I'd go soft."

"Was rather hopin' ye'd go hard," Johnny grins. Cheeky bastard. Simon smiles.

"That too, love."

He grunts when he pushes himself up from the ground, drapes himself across Soap's prone body, hard cock pressing up against Johnny's sensitive hole, slotting right between his cheeks where he belongs. Johnny moans softly, pushes his hips back to meet him.

"Feel what you do to me?" Simon whispers into his ear. "All that, just for you, Johnny. Gonna take me so well."

Johnny whines, arches his back harder, begs for more with that beautiful, willing body of his that makes Simon give in like nothing else ever has.

"Please," Johnny whimpers. "Please, want ye inside, Sir. Need tae feel it, need tae be so full."

"Gonna be," Simon promises, already pushing down his own trousers even though he has no intention of fucking Johnny here, like this. But he just needs to feel it, just for a moment. Wants to know what it's like, skin on skin, needs to stare and take without being watched. Needs to press Johnny's face into the pillows so he won't see the look in Simon's eyes. So he won't know he loves him.

His trousers drop, no elegant fucking way about it, boots still on. Doesn't matter, though, not when Simon gets to spread his precum along his length, slot his cock between Johnny's cheeks.

His piercings drag along warm skin and soft hair, the glide eased by the drying saliva already there, but Simon spits again for good measure. Christ, at this rate he'll dehydrate before he even gets to blow his load again. Inside, this time, there's no fucking question about that, Johnny's pink hole gaping, filled up and leaking. Claimed.

"Fuck, Johnny," he breathes, feels his cock weeping more pre, smears it between Johnny's cheeks. "Wet like a woman, you are. All that for me?"

"Jesus," Johnny sounds like he's biting the pillow, twisting to close his hand around Simon's wrist, squeezing until the pain is so much Simon feels on the edge from just that.

"You like that, sweetheart?" It's barely a whisper, right in Johnny's ear, his hair tickling Simon's face when he presses closer.

"Shouldnae," Johnny whines, pushes back more urgently when Simon cups his tits where he can reach, flicks his thumb over a pebbled nipple and tugs at the piercing running through it. "Christ, yer dirty. No' playin' fair, Sir."

Simon shivers at the title, thrusts harder against no resistance, leaks more, loves it more.

"Oh, but you are?" He's smiling, can't help it, wants to give Johnny everything he wants but also wants to wreck him a little. Ruin him for anyone else.

"Mh." Johnny stretches his back, grinds his hips back until the slick head of Simon's cock catches on his loose rim, wiggles and whines when Simon won't push in, pulls back instead.

"Patience, love," Simon scolds, though he can't hold on much longer either. He needs to be inside Johnny, and preferably right fucking now. "Gotta get you to the bed, yeah?"

It takes everything in him to pull back, and he fucking hates it, immediately hates the lack of skin to skin, misses Johnny's warmth and wants it back. Wants so much after years of not letting himself want anything.

He rights himself, pulls Johnny with him, not that he needs to do much, Johnny jumping and wrapping his legs around him. He knows Ghost can carry him, makes it slower to get to the bedroom but it's worth it to be kissing Johnny.

Ghost toes his boots off while he does, steps out of his pants so he doesn't trip and split their skulls open on the way to the bedroom, because wouldn't that be fucking awkward. Johnny is panting into his mouth, rubbing his wet cock against the soft hair on Ghost's belly, kissing him all wide-eyed like he's not in control, like Ghost isn't giving him everything he needs.

Simon drops him on the bed unceremoniously, flips Johnny's skirt up, presses his knees to his chest.

"Think ya can take me, Sergeant?" He asks mostly to use Johnny's title, to see his pupils blow out, to watch him struggle to think of the right words. Johnny's eyes flutter shut when Simon rubs the wet tip of his cock against his hole, but Simon doesn't press in. Pushes his thumbs in instead, both of them this time, to pull Johnny's hole apart and fuck, isn't that a sight to see. Perfect.

"Please, Si- fuck, put it in, please, please." Soap is whining, so far gone.

"Patience," Ghost grits out, so close to giving in, just because Johnny is begging and he looks so beautiful with tears in his eyes.

"L- lube," Johnny moans, shaking and shivering, and Ghost thinks that yeah, might be a good idea, even though he hates to leave Johnny like this even just for a second.

"Stay," he says, same tone as he would to a dog, and Johnny grins. But he stays, doesn't even need to be told off for touching his flushed dick, keeps his hands behind his head. Good puppy.

It takes Ghost all of two seconds to pull the lube from the drawer of his night stand, slick himself up, but it's too fucking long anyways. Slowly, he pushes his hips forward, lining himself up, pressing in, just the tip, goes a little weak-kneed at how tight Johnny is, how warm and wet.

"F-fuuuuck, LT," Johnny pants, claws at Simon's shoulders, his sides, his arse, pulls at him. "More, more, c'mon baby, gimme more, I can take it."

And Simon obeys, would be too hard to resist now, and he doesn't want to anyways. All this effort to get Johnny here, in his bed, but he can't fucking hold on. Doesn't matter. He pushes in, more careful than he wants to be, but he has to take his time so he doesn't fucking explode before he's ever been inside Johnny.

It's still a close fucking call.

His breaths are quiet, but Johnny is loud, moaning and writhing as Simon fills him up, inch by inch.

"Feel so good, Sir, fucking good, god, I woulda— fuck, oh fuck, I need— move, baby, please, please, need it, wannae feel it— make me— oh god, fucking make me—"

Johnny is slipping, falling apart beneath Simon's broken hands, babbling and whining, rocking his hips down to meet Simon's, knees bent even though his bad one must hurt, and his eyes are so desperate and full of tears. Simon could look at him forever, wants to fuck him hard and fast and soft and slow at the same time. Anything, so long as Johnny keeps staring at him like this, eyes wide open and lips plush and red amd raw from Simon's barely-there five o'clock shadow.

Simon slides his hand across Soap's flat belly, pretends he can feel himself there, pushes deeper with quiet breaths and inaudible curses until he finally bottoms out. He pauses, sweat dripping from his brow, waits for Johnny to say something.

Waits a little longer.

"Jesus, Simon," Johnny is half moaning, half laughing, like it's absurd that they are here, and it is. That they get this, get to be here, together, hold each other, kiss each other. They deserve none of it, Simon least of all.

He kisses Johnny, hungry and wet, mouth open, rolls his hips when Johnny moans, does it again and again. He's skirting the edge already, palm of his hand grazing Johnny's leaking cock.

"Fuck, baby, I'm gonnae— don't— please, wannae come with ye, don' make me—"

"'s alright, Johnny, fuck—"

"Fuck me—"

Simon slides his hands up Johnny's sides, cups his tits, squeezes them together like a woman's, all muscle and fat, thumbs over Johnny's pierced nipples until his eyes roll back in his head and his mouth drops open.

His balls draw up, and he wants to come so bad, but he wants to feel Johnny first, needs to feel him squeeze and lose control and whine and cry and beg, but maybe he doesn't have the patience to wait for it, not tonight.

"Gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he mumbles, voice only shaking a little, rolls his hips faster, deeper, can tell that he hit Johnny's prostate spot on when his back arches off the bed. Does it again. And again. Presses his fingers into Johnny's hairy pectorals until he knows he'll leave bruises. "Come on, Johnny, wanna feel how tight your perfect little hole can get, yeah? Let me feel it, sweetheart, let me—"

"Fuck!" Johnny bites at Simon's lip, hard, and Ghost tastes iron but he doesn't mind, wraps his right hand loosely around Johnny's throat and licks his blood from Johnny's open mouth.

"Come for me," he whispers again, and it's a plea more than anything but Johnny obeys like it's an order anyways, back arching, fingers digging into Simon's arse, pulling him in closer, mouth open and willing and wide as he moans.

His hole spasms, goes so tight it almost hurts, but hurts so fucking good though.

"Come inside me," Johnny whines, desperate and low, and Simon can't hold on any longer, has to fill his boy like he deserves. His legs shake as he spills his load, hips moving slowly as he pumps Johnny deep and full, watches a tear slip from the corner of Johnny's eye before he bends down to kiss it off his cheek, then slots his lips to Johnny's again, blood smearing between them, vanishing between hungry mouths.

"Fuck," he says, out of breath and out of words. Doesn't mind that he collapsed into the puddle of cum on Soap's stomach.

"Fuck," Johnny agrees, smiling and sated.

Simon closes his eyes and breathes in Johnny's sweat-slicked skin. Lets himself lay there and just… be. Just for a little while. Maybe that can be alright.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘💀🧼⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Chapter 9 ⮜ ♦ ⮞ Chapter 11 [coming]

have another! if u wanna be on the taglist just lmk in comments or reblogs. next chapter will be the last one of this series so far, i think.

Soap is clawing at his legs, and Simon feels fucking unmoored. He doesn't deserve all this, any of it. But he wants it anyways, and Johnny… Johnny is so easy for it. Just lets him have it. Sinking down on Simon's fat cock like it's nothing, all willing mouth and eager tongue.

"Fuckin'— good pup," Simon growls, unused to doling out praise, unused to loving it so much. Unused to Johnny's huge blue eyes blinking up at him with tears already gathering in their corners, and Simon has to look away so he doesn't fucking blow his load at the sight. He drops his head back, doesn't mind the cold stone against his skull. It calms him, grounds him, that edge of discomfort keeping him sharp where Johnny's soft, welcoming mouth threatens to make him lose control.

Soap is experimenting now, licking at him, sucking just the head with gentle motions of those plush lips, and it's fucking unfair how good he is at this. Ghost will have to kill everyone else who ever got to have him, can't live with the knowledge that other people might walk around on God's green earth knowing what Johnny's throat feels like from the inside. What he looks like when he does this. How soft his skin is and how deep his moans. They can't be allowed to live, and Ghost knows that's not a healthy thought to even entertain for a split second, but he can't help it. Wants to hunt them all down. Push his knife through yielding sinew and watch them bleed out. They don't deserve Johnny. None of them. Not even Simon, but at least it's him Johnny wants, even if Simon can't understand why.

But it's reason enough to stick around.

When Soap runs his hot tongue along the underside of Simon's cock, teasing at the metal rungs, rolling the silver balls between careful teeth, Simon thinks he might just fucking explode.

Johnny is moaning like he is the one getting sucked off, humming around Simon's length, swallowing him down before letting him go. Eyes closed as he sucks the pink, flushed head into his mouth again, lets out a sigh so soft he might not even notice he's doing it. But Simon notices. Simon will remember this sound until the day he dies, and he hopes it's the last fuckin' thing he ever gets to think about because surely this is better than any promised Eden or Elysium ever could get. Not that he isn't hellbound in any case.

Johnny's mouth is his personal fucking heaven, and Simon lets himself be selfish.

He buries his hands in Soap's hair, is glad for the stupid fucking mohawk, glad it's getting long. Loves feeling the thick strands between his bare fingers, and how it makes Johnny purr when he scratches his scalp, not guiding him, not pulling him, merely enjoying the extra point of contact. God, Simon has needed this for so long. Has wanted it even longer.

He can feel Johnny gag just a little as he opens his throat to let Simon slip deeper, but he catches himself in time, breathes steady through his nose as Simon's cock lodges into the back of his throat, just at the edge of too much. And yet Johnny remains so sweet, so willing. Would probably pass out sucking him off if that's what Simon wanted, and fuck that's a scary thought. Scary mostly because it's so fucking tempting. Almost enough to make himself forget all caution, turning him on beyond fucking belief, his cock pulsing with it.

He presses the back of his skull into cold bricks so hard he thinks they might crack. Nothing makes him lose his restraint and quickly and as thoroughly as John MacTavish, and it's a hard thing to accept. Simon relishes it. Hates it a little too, by nature of his own mind. Knows he needs to work on that, that much all the shrinks have had in common so far in telling him, and he hates that too. Hates it a little less when it's Johnny.

Johnny, who's sucking him off like his life depends on it, lips round and wet with spit as he tries not to gag so hard, as if Simon would ever pull back willingly. As if Simon would ever let him go again.

Ghost must be sweaty and disgusting between his legs, would be even without having gone to a damn concert and stewing in his own perspiration for hours, but Johnny doesn't seem to mind, just lets his rank fucking cock slip deeper like satisfying a craving. Cups his balls, and it's almost too much then, but Simon holds on by a fucking thread.

Doesn't want this to end. Johnny breathes him in as deep as he can, moans loudly when the first rung of Simon's piercings pushes past his stretched lips, and Simon has to fucking look at him even if that might be the end of his carefully curated control. Just has to. Might go mad if he doesn't, so he pries his lids open.

Soap looks better than he did that day in church, cock clearly hard this time, though he was so fucking tempting even soft, with his thighs spread wide on that carved bench. But he's hard now just from he sucking Simon off, skirt draped across his thick thighs where he kneels, and Simon feels a little bad that Soap's doing this with his bad knee, but not bad enough to make him stop.

Especially not when Johnny lets out another moan, desperate and rough, lets Simon slip deeper, swallows again, and his throat becomes this perfect, tight, wet thing for Simon to fuck into, but he doesn't. Keeps his hips still, waits for Johnny to notice that he's being looked at. Feels his cock twitch when he finally does, those baby blues swimming with tears, warm and content and glazed over with pleasure.

And it's Simon who did that to him. Simon who is doing that to him. Making Johnny look like he's getting everything he has ever wanted, on the dirty ground in a dark back alley, moaning like a whore and choking on his cock like it's worship. He looks better on his knees for Simon than he did for God.

Soap makes a little pleased noise in the back of his throat and Simon clenches his teeth. He's already too fucking close, leaking and twitching in Johnny's mouth.

"Fuckin' hell," he says, because he can't fucking help it. His boy looks so perfect like this. His. Claimed and used. Nuzzling his face into Simon's thigh like he's begging for more even already stuffed full. Simon swallows thickly. "Need it bad, Johnny, eh?"

And Johnny, the cheeky fuck, kisses Simon's tip as he releases him, pulls himself closer by Simon's waistband, pushes his cheek up against his cock, smearing saliva all over that beautiful, flushed face, and Simon has to clench his stomach so he doesn't fucking explode.

"Fucking love it," Soap groans, sounds wrecked. He tilts his head before he tacks on a brazen little, "…Sir."

Ghost bites down so hard on his own cheek he tastes blood. He shouldn't enjoy this as much as he is, shouldn't love the position his rank gives him. It's wrong and fucked up on so many levels, but he can see Johnny's cock twitch every time he says it, and tells himself that makes it better. That he wants it just as much as Ghost does. Maybe it's true. Couldn't stop himself if it wasn't, though.

Soap is still staring up at him, blinking away the wetness from his eyes, shifting on his knees like he's trying to rub himself off without touching his prick.

"Please… let me get ye off like tha', Si. Wannae taste it."

Simon shudders, can't push down the noise that rises from his throat, like a throttled fucking deer, his skin buzzing with the need that is so clear to see on Johnny's face. That hunger, same as Simon's, just as deep. He needs this as much as Ghost does. Willing to do anything, the little slag, and Simon is so tempted to test his boundaries. See if he thinks about the same things he does, if he has the same fantasies when he gets himself off in his own bed after a long day.

He already knows some of Soap's twisted fucking mind, his own thoughts Ariadne's thread, guiding him to the middle of the maze, following the same path as Johnny's way too often. Fearing what lies in the midst of it all, craving the release it will bring to find out.

"Open up, sweetheart," Simon rumbles, pulls Johnny in closer, right where he wants him. This perfect man, pushing himself up, trying to take Simon's cock again like he's hungry for it, fingers digging into Simon's skin and he doesn't mind, but he does notice. His spine tingles pleasantly when he thinks about bruises the shape of Soap's hands, marking his skin, slotting between his scars. Marks of ownership, for both of them, a matching set.

Johnny is kissing along his length, trying to wrap his lips around the leaking tip, but that's not what Simon wants right now. He is after something else entirely.

"Open up," he demands again, gruffer this time, and Johnny scrambles to follow his order, open mouth, stuck out tongue, looking every bit the slag he is. Every bit the good pup Simon knows he can make of him. Deserves some praise. "Good lad."

He grins, feels untethered, already floating in pleasure even without Johnny's wicked mouth on him, nerves alight at the prospect of Johnny's reaction. He leans forward, lets saliva gather on his tongue, doesn't give Soap a warning or a chance to pull back. Just spits, right on his waiting tongue.

And Johnny fucking moans. Simon can see how his hips are bucking, watches those eyes slip closed for a split second. Watches how Soap swallows without even closing his fucking mouth, showing off proudly, the thick glob sliding down his tongue, into the back of his throat. It's mesmerising. It's sick how much satisfaction it gives Simon to know that Johnny is this willing and pliant, just for him. He has to grab his cock, squeeze tight at the base, stave off that edge of bliss that threatens to drown him. Has to push it back, make himself last. Johnny watches him with wide eyes.

Maybe he deserves a reward.

"Please, Sir," Johnny whispers just at that moment, thoughts matching as they so often do. It's a mumbled plea, he doesn't close his mouth after but sticks his tongue out again, and Simon has to breathe deep, his mouth suddenly dry as his boy begs for more. Would beg for anything. Take anything. Do anything, if Simon ordered him to, fuck. Johnny's right. He is a sick bastard.

Ghost spits again, slower this time, watches it drip down from his lips into the wanting cavern of Soap's mouth and thinks how pretty his face will look covered in his load. Wonders if he'll swallow it just as enthusiastically, knows at the same second that he will. Fuck.

He squeezes himself again.

And nudges his boot between Soap's legs. An offering, if Soap is fast enough to take it. Good pup deserves a treat. Johnny cocks his head, shuffles forward a bit, stares up at Simon like he doesn't fucking know what to do. Like he wasn't moaning for it a mere minute ago.

"Take what's on offer, sweetheart," Simon mumbles, presses the tip of his boot forward, upward, until the steel toe must nearly be nudging Johnny's taint. Greedy thing. Doesn't even know what to do with himself now that he got what he wanted. "Ain't got all night."

Soap clambers onto his offered boot like it's the only thing saving him from drowning, pressing up against Simon's leg, all plush tits and soft face, mouth forming a perfect little O as he rubs his cock against the sturdy laces. Must hurt, just a little, rough material not much softened by his soaked jock, probably covered in dried precum and spend. Simon likes that thought a little too much. Likes how desperate Johnny gets just from giving head, from the weight of Simon's cock on his needy tongue.

"Jesus-" Soap whines, grinding down hard, whimpering and moaning, so fucking desperate for it that Simon doesn't know what to fucking do with himself. "Thank ye— fuck, thank ye, Sir— fuck, fuck, thank ye—"

Open-mouthed, he presses his face into Simon's crotch, hot breath on the throbbing length of his cock, warming his balls, lips sliding along Simon's fingers where he's still gripping his own cock so he doesn't fucking shoot off.

He can barely control it, not himself, not Johnny, not any of it.

The feeling stirs something inside his belly, something anxious and dark, but he pushes it down, focuses on Johnny, his mouth, his face, his warmth and his fingers digging into Simon's thighs. Willingly submitting. Letting himself be used. Getting off on it, fucking made for him, his perfect boy.

He doesn't want this to end, needs to hold on so Johnny will stay like this, close and safe and by his side. At his feet, pretending he's taking orders from Simon when all he really does is coerce him so sweetly into giving what he wants. Yes, Simon knows him so well. Doesn't mind. Loves the feeling of security and fucking safety it gives him, this guise of command. A safe crash. Controlled addiction.

"Let me, please," Soap is moaning, pushing his face into the apex of Simon's thighs, and Simon can't do anything but let him. Can't do anything but moan when Soap swallows him down, throat open and needy and begging to be filled. He forces himself to stay still, to let Johnny work, let him do the hard part, let him adjust, let him take what he needs, what he's been fucking begging for all night.

And Soap does, gluttons himself on it, is greedy for it and lets Simon's cock slide down his throat until his pink, obscenely stretched lips meet the fabric of Simon's cargos, throat bulging where the piercings are pressing against it from the inside, and Simon has to keep so fucking still. Breathes a sniper's breath, can't waste this, has to hold on a little while longer. Buries his hands in Soap's hair but doesn't try to pull him off when Johnny stares at him, wide-eyed and desperate.

"You took it," Simon says. Can't believe the fucking view, can't believe this is real. That he really gets to have this. That Soap wants to be good for him. That he'd let him— "Fucking— fuckin' hell, Johnny, oh fuck. You— you are… good fucking boy. Knew you were greedy, god— still didn't think you'd— oh, fuck-"

He chokes when he feels Johnny's throat constricting as he swallows, too hot, too tight and for just a moment, Simon thinks this might be fucking it, but he hangs on by a thread, cock pulsing out so much precum he wonders if Johnny can taste it when he pulls off to breathe. Half-expects him to go back to something gentler, make it easier on himself, but Johnny doesn't. Of course not.

Like a good little soldier, he sinks back down on Ghost's cock — his CO's fucking cock — and just… stays. Blinking up at Simon, throat stuffed so full there is no way he can breathe, and Simon is so fucking close, has been from the second Johnny was on his knees, probably before.

"Fuck, 'm so close, Johnny," he groans, fighting to keep his eyes open so he can take in every second of this, of the tears welling up in Johnny's eyes again as he struggles to inhale but still doesn't fucking pull off. Keeps Ghost down his throat like that's where he's meant to be. Taps his fingers against the back of Simon's hand to make him lift it.

Takes it, and presses it firmly to his own throat.

"Fuck," Simon wheezes, can't fucking think, because that's his cock down Johnny's throat, he can fucking feel it, pressing up against his own palm. He can't— "'m not gonna last, sweetheart, don't—"

He chokes, breaks off when Soap just blinks, and stays where he is, eyes slowly drooping from the lack of oxygen, shallow breaths wheezing and slow. He stays.

"Fuckin' hell," Simon breathes, tugs at Soap's hair just to feel him moan, then regrets it when the vibration shakes his entire body. Johnny's own hips have long since stilled, too focused on the task at hand, too focused on Simon's pleasure to take his own. Good boy when he wants to be. "Fuck, you'd stay right there too, wouldn't you?"

He slides his hand up from Johnny's neck, runs his fingers along his strong jaw instead, loves feeling the spikey stubble. Presses his knuckle into Johnny's cheekbone, right where his blush blooms warm and pink beneath freckles like stars.

"Stay right there until you pass out," Ghost mumbles, like he's in a trance, floating and yet feeling every single fucking nerve inside his body. "You'd do it, if I ordered you to, yeah? Let me fuck your mouth until your body gives in? Jesus, I don't—"

Johnny makes a little choked off noise when Simon cruelly pushes his cock down just that little bit further. Fingers digging hard into Simon's thighs, scrambling for purchase as Soap struggles for breath that won't come. Doesn't struggle as hard as he could though. Simon would know. Has seen him fight for his life on more than one occasion. Knows what his Johnny looks like feral and covered in blood and viscera, licking his teeth clean from ripping a throat out. This is not that.

Johnny's nails barely break skin as he closes his hand around Simon's arm, pulls at him. Like gentle kisses on his pale forearm, burning in their wake, scratched open and raw as Johnny slowly runs out of breath and just… lets it happen.

And Simon could stay there, could do it, knows Johnny would probably go for another round when he wakes up with his mouth tasting of Simon's cum. Wouldn't think to complain for a second. Just as fucked in the head as he is, his Sergeant.

But Simon wants something else more.

He eases off Soap, pulls back until his leaking cock slips from between Soap's fucked out lips, and watches as his boy gasps for air, face red and pupils blown wide, chest heaving with deep, panting breaths.

"Yer fucked, LT," Soap grinds out, coughing and shaking, pulling harder at Simon's arm than he did when he was choking on his prick. "Get down here and kiss me, ye bastard."

And Simon obliges all too happily, even if it's uncomfortable, leans all the way down to meet Johnny's lips as he rises on his hackles, pushes his tongue into his mouth that tastes sweaty and bitter and like Simon's own cock, and doesn't mind one fucking bit.

Johnny wheezes out a moan from a bruised throat, hips bucking, brushing against Simon's boot like he's forgotten it's there and only just remembered.

"Fuck, Si," he breathes, "fuck, coulda come like tha', jus' stuffed with yer cock— Jesus, gottae do tha' again where it's safer— make good on all yer threats, aye? Fuck—"

"Ya gonna come for me, Johnny?" Simon asks, still out of breath, still so fucking close. "Open your mouth again for me, sweetheart. Wanna make a mess of you, god— fuck, looked so pretty like that, always do, but love seeing you like this, fucking slag you are. Taking my cock like you were made to do it, can't wait to stuff you so full you can't fucking think, yeah? Make you pass out and just keep going, you won't mind, sweetheart, will ya?"

And Soap lets out a fucking pathetic noise, hips pressing against Simon's leg when he shoots off just from his words, goes off so hard Simon can fucking smell him. His jock must have been pushed out of the way, because Simon feels warm fluid trickling into his boot, Johnny's cum soaking the leather, and god, fuck, isn't that something? After all the things that could have pushed him over the edge, this is what does it, this, and the look of blissed out pleasure on Soap's face. His cheeks are rosy and flushed, and his eyes red-rimmed, and he's never looked this pretty before. It barely takes one stroke of Ghost's fist down his cock before he comes, hard, gasping for air.

Johnny opens his mouth just in time, whining and moaning and begging even as Simon covers his face in his load, pearlescent and thick where it lands, most of it on his cheeks, some clumping his lashes together, some in his hair. Some in his mouth, where Simon watches that throat work again, swallowing his spend down open-mouthed, moaning at the taste like it's the best he's ever had.

Simon groans as he comes down, thighs trembling and his left toe twitching, drunk on pleasure and Johnny. Johnny, who pulls himself up from the ground with a rough grunt, leans his warm body into Simon's, heavy and broad-shouldered, all the right kinds of sweaty, and smelling like sex.

Nuzzles into the crook of his neck, smears cum all over him. Simon doesn't mind, not when Johnny kisses him there, bites down just a little.

"Gonnae have tae carry me home, baby," he mumbles. "Fuckin'— took it outtae me, dinnae ken how much longer I couldae made it with that batterin' ram down my throat without actually fuckin' croakin'."

And Simon laughs, soft and quiet, and kisses Johnny's cheek.

"Did so good for me, sweetheart," he says, his own voice the softest he has ever heard it. "Sorry for—"

"Stop apologisin, ye geezer." Soap leans his head back to fixate him earnestly. "Fuckin' loved it, alright?"

Simon's heart is all warm and out of rhythm.

"Alright," he says. Takes Soap's hands and drags him along, slinging an arm around his shoulder to keep him up like his own legs aren't fucking weak. Stopping him just before they step out of the alley. Closing his hand around Johnny's jaw, tilting his face into the light. Chuckling.

"Made a right mess of ya," he says, swipes his fingers through the drying spend that covers Soap's cheeks, and watches Soap's eyes go dark when he feeds it to him, two gentle fingers pressing past his abused lips. A soft, breathy moan.

"Taste fucking good, Si," Soap sighs. "Little sad ye didnae come in my mouth proper."

"Mhm," Ghost grunts, bends closer to lick his own spend from Johnny's cheek. "Tastes better off your skin, sweetheart."

He swipes more fingers through the mess, can't resist rubbing some of it into Johnny's freckled skin. To make it feel like he won't even be able to wash it off. Like he'll belong to Simon forever.

"Daftie," Soap says, fond and smiling, looking every bit as love-sick as Simon feels. He tries to rub his face against Simon's chest, clean the rest of the mess, but Simon's iron grip keeps him at an arm's length.

"Oi!" Simon complains. "This is a good fucking shirt, lad. Better not fuckin' stain it, don't know how many more washes it'll hold. Fallin' apart at the seams, it is."

Soap wrinkles his nose.

"Ye were nae gonnae wash tha' rag after ye wore it tae a fuckin' concert?"

Ghost shrugs.

"I'll air it out. Good as new."

Soap barks a laugh.

"Yer fuckin' rank, d'ye know tha', Si?"

"Says the man with cum in his hair," Simon retorts, then laughs at the way Johnny runs his hands through his curls like he could get rid of the dried, sticky residue. "Don't panic, love. I'll wash it out for ya when we're home, yeah?"

He doesn't let himself linger on the way his heart feels ablaze when Soap doesn't reject the mention of home.

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Chapter 8 ⮜ ♦ ⮞ Chapter 10

forgot to post this on here apparently lol have a treat. if u wanna be on the taglist just lmk in comments or reblogs!