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He really didn’t want to believe it when Winter, red-faced and unable to make eye contact, passed him the report. After all, Atlas prides itself on the world’s foremost militaries; this kind of impropriety and filth shouldn’t even be considered among his men. Not to mention it’s incredibly dangerous and unsanitary anyway.
It’s called a ‘gloryhole,’ though if you asked James, he doesn’t see much glory in the crudely shaped circle cut into the stall, its harsh edges padded with layers upon layers of medical tape and its perimeter decorated with graffiti of all kinds. Scroll numbers, flirty messages, even words of encouragement. Given where they’re positioned and the phrasing, James can assume that the stall he’s standing in is for the individual typically ‘receiving.’ He can’t help but shudder as he glances over one particular message that cheerily informs him, “Good soldiers swallow!”
This has apparently been going on for some time now. Thankfully, it’s only the one bathroom, and said bathroom is pretty deep into the lower levels of the barracks. Its unique location is how Winter was able to figure out something inappropriate was happening in the first place, since far more soldiers were making their way to this level than were assigned. She’d offered to shut the disgusting operation down herself, but James insisted otherwise.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, lieutenant, but I’m more concerned the kind of people using this thing will assume you’re there to participate. I’ll handle it. Put the fear of death back in these men.” It’s been a while since he oversaw drills, but he knows that voice still haunts quite a few of these soldiers’ nightmares.
It’s lunch now, meaning most of the soldiers are far from this hall, so James gets himself set up. He closes off the women’s restroom with a sanitation cart and hangs an out of order sign on the remaining stall, leaving just the two stalls connected by the grimy hole to use. When he’s satisfied, James puts a bit of toilet paper down on the seat, locks the door, and sits; he’s going to have to kill some time before anyone comes in if he really wants to scare anyone.
It takes nearly an hour of switching between playing mind numbing games on his scroll and awkwardly excusing himself when the occasional soldier comes by and knocks on the stall door before he finally strikes gold. James immediately notices a difference with the footsteps of the approaching individual, who hesitates a bit just outside the bathroom as if looking around for anyone watching. Heavy boots pass by the sinks, then the urinals, and the receiving stall, and though the stranger gives the door a gentle knock, he doesn’t stop until he’s in the opposite cubicle and the door is locked. He stands for a while, apparently waiting for James to do or say something, and when he’s finally passed the threshold of ‘appropriate amount of time to stand in a stall without doing anything,’ he speaks.
“What’s wrong, you nervous?” A pair of hands appear over the top of the connecting wall, tanned fingers curling over the edge as the stranger gives an anticipatory hum. “That’s okay. You picked a good time to swing by if you are, no one’s here except a couple janitors.” He laughs gently. “And they like to use it too, so I don’t think we’ll be interrupted.”
It’s the laugh that tips him off, and James has to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from making a noise that gives away that he knows. After all, this is supposed to be entirely anonymous. But why Clover Ebi of all people would be using something like this to get his kicks is a mystery. Fraternization isn’t entirely against the rules, it just needs to be reported if it’s a consistent pillar in someone’s relationship, and James hears the whispering from male and female soldiers alike; Clover could have his pick of the army if he really wanted. A shame the ladies haven’t picked up on his preferences for male company, though: some of those girls seem absolutely smitten.
The hands disappear over the wall again, and James feels his face go warm when he hears Clover unzipping his pants. This is not happening.
“Hope you don’t mind, I just got done training…” A shadow covers the little bit of light coming from the hole in the wall, and Clover’s cock slowly appears in front of James. Looks like he really was born lucky, because the length of flesh before the general is well over eight inches, girthy and already stiff and twitching. A bead of precum pools at its uncut tip, dripping onto the tile as Clover shivers. “...didn’t get a chance to shower yet.”
James isn’t sure what comes over him, but he slowly lowers himself to his knees, putting him at eye level with the hole, the graffiti, and his best man’s massive cock. In the little window of the hole, James can see the barest glimpse of Clover’s abdomen, hardened muscle slick and shiny with sweat and the skin dusted with a bit of reddish-brown pubic hair. The warning was warranted, it seems, because James can spot deep sweat stains on even the hints of Clover’s uniform pants from here, and from this angle he catches a few small drops of sweat hitting the floor on the other side of the wall.
Clover shudders again and his hips twitch, pushing his dick forward a bit and pressing the tip against James’ pursed lips, which makes him recoil with a surprised and disgusted noise of protestation. Clover just laughs. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart, it’s not gonna hurt you,” he teases, his hands appearing over the top of the stall again to help him press his hips against the hole. James makes another noise, a bit less surprised and a little more disgusted. The smell is hard to ignore. The thick, heady, musky scent of Clover’s sweat-soaked cock, locked away behind layers of heat-insulating uniform for hours and hours of rigorous training should be expected, but it’s still surprising.
“I did try to warn you,” Clover hums. “But if it stinks that bad, babe, you can just clean it for me.” James can almost hear the wink in his voice.
The plan is already spiraling out of control. According to the original blueprint, James should have stepped out of the stall the second he heard the zipper, probably sooner, and dragged Clover out of the bathroom by his ear to set an example to the rest of his men. But as he sits there on his knees, feeling almost hypnotized by the challenge literally sat before him, he wonders if there are people out there who think Clover’s semblance is bad luck; it must only be good for himself, if this is what it’s doing to the general.
It’s worth noting that James has pleasured a fair amount of partners in his time. After the accident that rendered most of his body metal, he had to relearn how to have sex, given that he’d lost so much to fate. He’s more than confident that he could draw the loudest sounds from Clover with just a few movements of his tongue, but when his lips close around the twitching cock before him, he finds himself terrified that it won’t be up to the specialist’s standards. Who knows what good luck has brought him on a lonely night?
“Ohh, fuck…” But that’s a good sign. The way James’ tongue vibrates with the shudder running through his partner’s body is a very good sign. The hands on the wall tighten, making the metal groan a bit under the pressure as James’ head moves slowly back and forth. His tongue twists, dragging along the underside of Clover’s cock and tracing a particularly thick vein all the way to the tip, where he lets it bounce in the cold air for a moment before swallowing it in one quick move. Clover curses and slams himself against the wall with a moan.
James never put much stock in the idea of pheromones before, but Clover’s stink is intoxicating. His eyelids flutter, vision going cross with every downward motion that presses the thick cockhead against his gag reflex. It’s just past the point of comfort, fucking James’ throat even without hilting to the hip. If he still had a working stomach, the general would fear vomiting on his best soldier’s dick. Sweat beads on his forehead, the heat of his uniform and Clover’s cock in his mouth enough to make James regret coming unprepared, though in his defense he wasn’t planning on participating. A small part of his pleasure-addled brain wonders if the rising stench of his own body is just as intoxicating to Clover as the operative’s is to him.
“Hah—oh fuck!” Clover suddenly exclaims, pounding himself so hard and quick against the wall that James worries about its stability for a moment. In that fleeting second of confusion, the general loses track of what exactly is happening, and keeps his mouth pressed firmly against the hole as a burst of salty cum splatters against the back of his throat. He whimpers in shock and grabs for something to keep him stable, landing on one of Clover’s ankles as he tries to will the cum from spurting out of his nose. He’s cross-eyed again, but he can make out the blurry words of encouragement he’d stuck his nose up at earlier, and does what good soldiers do: he swallows.
It’s certainly not an impossible amount of cum, but it’s hard to imagine this is average either. James can feel the warm ejaculate settling heavy in what’s left of his stomach, and when Clover mercifully pulls away, there’s plenty left covering his tongue and connecting the muscle to the specialist’s engorged cock.
“Shit…” Clover breathes. James can feel him tremble where he’d grabbed hold. “For someone so nervous, you sure know what you’re doing. You okay over there? Holdin’ on pretty tight—” James quickly yanks his hand back, and Clover laughs. “I wasn’t complaining! Just checking on you, rookie.”
For some reason, the name makes James’ stomach do a flip, and he lets out his first sound outside the little moans he’d graced Clover with so far: “...uh-huh.”
“Good!” Clover chuckles again. James can’t help but notice that the massive erection in front of him has only gone down by a fraction, and he wonders for a moment if Clover’s refractory period is included in the good luck department. “Good…” But that growl in his voice is telling; they aren’t done yet.
James shakily plants his hands on the ground, waiting for what comes next, and it’s apparently enough for Clover to get the message that he’s not being turned down. “You got your mouth open still, rookie?” Clover asks, taking a half step back from the wall and pulling his hands back.
James nods, realizes he can’t be seen, and makes a pathetic little open-mouthed, “Uh-huh.”
“Good. Keep it that way for me…”
There’s a pause where James fears he’s been found out, and the irony of such a fear isn’t lost on him. Clover is quiet, leaving the general with just his heavy breathing and the throb in his pants that he knows won’t be resolved for hours. Before he can consider how to fix this when he’s home, Clover lets out a long, drawn out moan, and his dick twitches again.
The bitter taste hits his tongue first, as the hot stream of Clover’s piss lands on his face. With no visuals to guide him, the stream has no real target, and James finds himself frozen in absolutely mortifying horror and a confusing spike in arousal as he becomes soaked in the yellow liquid.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Clover gasps, the arc moving with another twitch of his cock. “Oh fuck, I’ve needed to do that all day…” he moans. “Do you have any idea… how hard the t-training they put us through is? Nonstop bullshit… ohhh…”
James’ pristine white uniform slowly starts to turn yellow from the hours upon hours of piss pouring down his face. He knows how rigorous the Ace Ops’ training is, he designed the course himself, and Clover isn’t exaggerating; the average day is a good ten to twelve hours of constant work, exercise, and errands, and Harriet is the only one who’s gotten away with running off to use the bathroom in their combined few minutes of downtime. As he ruts into the floor, grinding the empty expanse of grafted metal where his prosthetic dick would normally attach against the tile for some semblance of relief, James thinks he might overhaul that training system later tonight.
With a few more moans and a couple more spurts of piss, Clover finally seems finished with James, until his breathy voice commands in that spine-chilling growl, “Swallow for me.”
He doesn’t even think. It’s like Clover hit a button. James cringes as he feels the mouthful of urine go down his throat, and he bucks his hips a bit harder into the floor. This is beyond humiliating. He doesn’t think there’s even a word for how awful this is. He moans when he finishes swallowing.
“Good boy,” Clover purrs. “I hope you come back. You make a good urinal, rookie.”
Clover’s cock disappears through the hole again, and he zips himself up and exits the bathroom as quickly as he entered. James stares at the empty hole, sat in a puddle of quickly-cooling piss that isn’t even his own, shivering as he mindlessly grinds against the wet tile.
What the hell is wrong with him? He can’t even pretend this was done against his will, the mere nature of this hellish setup ensures that both parties have an escape route without the other being able to interfere. And yet he was so willing to put what could have been a stranger’s filthy, sweat-soaked cock in his mouth? For what? And now he’s sitting in a public restroom in a facility where every resident knows his face, covered in piss and smelling like a truck stop urinal. Just like Clover said. A stupid, useless, good-for-nothing—
“—urinal!” James doesn’t even know how long he was talking to himself, if he even really was at all, but the electric wave of pleasure pulsing through his body is enough to bring him out of his trance. He can feel the phantom sensations of his cock pulsing, as he pushes his crotch into the puddle of piss beneath him. His thighs tremble, voice caught in his throat as he rides out an orgasm he’s needed for months but hasn’t been able to find something to compensate for the lost nerves with.
When it passes, he finally comes back down to earth, shivering from the growing cold of being covered in urine. Did he seriously just have his first orgasm in nearly a year from being throat-fucked and pissed on by his top specialist? Is he seriously going to have to figure out how to leave the bathroom like this? Is he seriously getting turned on again thinking about being seen like this?
When his head finally and fully clears, James solves his first problem by hurrying to the sink and splashing his face with water until he feels like the worst is taken care of. He strips out of his coat and shoves it into the trash bin, covering it with an obscene amount of paper towels. Then, just for good measure, he pumps his hands full of scented soap and rubs it into his arms like lotion just to help the stink. It’s not perfect, and it earns him a few odd looks on the walk back, but as long as he ignores the squishing in his shoes, he can rest easy about making it to his office.
Winter drops by the next day to ask how the visit to the lower barracks went. James gives her some half-baked lie about no one coming in because they were scared of the janitor finding them once they saw the sanitation cart parked at the women’s restrooms. Whether she buys it or not, Winter drops it, and that’s that.
It’s harder to give Clover orders now, knowing how easily he can switch that winning smile and boy-next-door attitude to make James do the most depraved things imaginable without a second thought. But he gets over it. Pretends to. They have a job to do, after all.
“Clover!” James calls after giving out mission assignments for the week. “Just a moment, I have documents on that den in Mantle before you go.”
The specialist hangs back, standing at a lazy sort of attention in front of James’ desk while the general searches through his files for the documents at hand. When he finds them, he sends them to Clover’s scroll, which beeps and pops up with a notification that makes James’ heart drop to his stomach.
“I’m sorry, Ebi, I don’t mean to pry, but why exactly do you have your commanding officer in your scroll under the contact name ‘Rookie’?” James asks, trying to sound angry, commanding, anything. Clover laughs and shrugs as he looks over the given files.
“Well, I couldn’t put your face next to ‘urinal’ without getting a few prying questions, now could I?” He winks as he pockets his scroll. “I’ll have a report ready for you in the morning, rookie.” He salutes and starts a slow and purposeful saunter toward the door, as James stands frozen and slack-jawed behind his desk.
“Oh!” Clover pauses by the door. “And if you feel like rewarding all that hard work, I’ll catch you below deck. Sound good? Good.”