PowerAngel
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That’s when Ghost rolls over, and Soap releases his cock instantly — holds his breath and prays to Christ that he’s just shifting in his sleep.
“Hurry up, Sergeant,” Ghost says, voice low and much too near. Soap shivers.
No use pretending he wasn’t getting off when Ghost clearly knows what he was up to.
“Can’t,” he whispers, “‘m not a lefty.”
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Bookmarked by PowerAngel
22 Feb 2025
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For a moment, Soap let the silence sink in. Let himself shift his gaze slightly to the side and rest on Ghost’s thick thigh, fat with the softness of his relaxed muscle, lightly dusted with fine blond hairs. He wanted to sweep the tips of his fingers delicately over those hairs, see if they were as downy as they looked. Wanted to see the way Ghost’s muscles would twitch at the sensation, wanted to see if he’d shy away or press into the touch. Wanted to know if he’d like it.
Would probably end up with a knife in his gut, but at this point, Soap thought it was probably worth it. For one touch, it might be worth it.
It's 3:30 in the morning, and Soap and Ghost can't sleep. How will they pass the time.
Bookmarked by PowerAngel
22 Feb 2025
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Yearning, Ghost realizes, aches even deeper than a bullet wound.
He’s trained himself not to desire, the same way he’s trained his body to sprint while in full tactical gear, the same way he’s trained his eyes to focus through a sniper scope for hours on end.
But he’s never wanted someone—anything—like he wants Soap.
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- English
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Bookmarked by PowerAngel
04 Feb 2025