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Ghost contemplates which particular life choices could have lead him here; face down in an army bunk with worn cotton sheets between his teeth, gripped in his fingers, holding on for grim life, or death. And König tearing into him from behind with an astonishingly thoughtless pace that makes Ghost’s eyes roll back.
Maybe it’s because he feels unkillable. Immortal in the absolute worst ways, untouchable exactly how Simon isn’t. Wasn’t. Or maybe it just takes a certain level of adrenaline to make him feel anything at all. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe he was always this way and is only discovering it now. He’s none the wiser when König slaps a hand over his bare asscheek, a quick downward swipe, too hard, that he can’t help but shy away from. His body betrays him over and over; his dick leaks embarrassingly between his legs and his back arches, pushes, bends so much it cracks like his knuckles, just so he can take it deeper.
König tugs him up and back by the hips, a rough, strong pull that catches all the good, normal parts of Ghost’s brain and melts them. Turns them molten and thick and he closes his eyes, lets it happen, lets it be done to him.
‘You like that?’
‘Yeah,’ A whine that makes Ghost’s answer sound like a question, like he’s not really sure of himself.
‘Prove it.’
So Ghost spreads his thighs wider and holds himself there, pushing back, every muscle he’s ever earned straining and working and he’s sweating for it, veins out like cords on the backs of his hands and all the way up his arms braced against the bed. The springs complain under their weight.
König curls his hips and groans, sordid, fucking arrogant and aggressive and not hiding it. He’d asked Ghost what he wanted, meant needed, while his fingers tugged at the zip of Ghost’s hoodie, a playful little movement, an unspoken let me in?
And who else was Ghost safer with than a man who hides his face? So he had said ‘Make me forget my own name?’
Ghost hadn’t really felt anything when König knotted his fingers in the soft fabric of his balaclava and pulled it slowly off over his head. He’d blinked and rubbed his face like he needed to wake up and then König had pushed him down onto his knees and fucked his mouth. The back of Ghost’s head pressed hard into the wall behind him and he’d closed his eyes and choked.
It was an arrangement born of two people crossing paths a little too often, and not often enough. Sometimes whiskey-drunk and painful, something that left bruises and bite marks, an ache in the spine and shoulders and calves, sometimes something slow and dirty and way too close to intimate, something Ghost has to push out of his mind at night.
Another smack. ‘You wanted this, didn’t you? So take it.’
The accent pierces through the lust-dumb fog in Ghost’s mind and he listens to the noises he makes - ragged, stupid desperate little moans like he’s hurt, and maybe he is. The dick stretching him out feels right though, all eight thick inches of it fill him like it’s the only thing he was made for; like his purpose was just to be enjoyed. And König is enjoying himself, that’s obvious, from the grunts and the obscenely loud rhythmic slapping of their skin to the whispered praise - you feel so fucking good, fuck - and Ghost is dimly grateful that König is staying present enough to keep speaking English through it all, that makes him smile, a private, small curve of his lips that he’ll never admit to.
König bends forward, presses himself all along Ghost’s body. He’s damp with sweat and his dog tags slide over Ghost’s right shoulder. He hooks his arm around Ghost’s neck and pulls him up close.
‘I want to see your face while I fuck you. Get on your back. Spread your legs.’
Ghost takes a second to live in the muffled heat of that chokehold. He drifts there, locked on to the light, delicious sensation of blood flow to his brain being slowly restricted. He wants to stay in this half-life place, with his heart rate in outer space and his head lagging somewhere behind it, where he’ll only be hurt in the ways that he likes. In the ways that make him feel like he’s in control finally, in the ways that let him forget everything.
He detangles himself from König’s grip and impossibly long limbs, hates the feeling of being empty, even for a few seconds. He rolls onto his back, arms above his head, and his knees fall open.
König is kind of beautiful, Ghost thinks. Not in the way that Ghost’s usual type is; he likes them pretty and compact, easy to handle. König is nothing like that. He’s huge but graceful, stoic, savage. Hair too long that hangs over dark grey eyes, a nose clearly broken. A cut jaw and sharp, harsh features. He stares down while he pushes his dick back into Ghost, a soft slide that’s slow and so easy. Ghost tries to keep eye contact but his eyelids flutter and his brow creases up and he’s losing control of his own body entirely.
‘Oh, fuck.’
König fucks him slowly, a leisurely, thorough rolling motion that makes Ghost’s eyes water and his jaw clamp up. König always feels huge, so big that Ghost is sometimes quietly worried he can’t take it, and there’s nothing he wants more than to take it, but his body is receptive and willing and opens up so easily on his back like this, spread and safe and feeling high.
‘Look at me.’
Ghost does, and life has blurred edges, a swelling mess of colour and shapes and sensations. König spits in his face. Rough, without warning, and Ghost flinches. He fights the urge to wipe it away, thinks about what he must look like and lets the humiliation of that image burn everything in its path. His cheeks are hot as a line of spit runs over his jaw and down his neck. He wants to cover his face so badly it almost hurts to keep his hands anchored in the sheets.
‘My god.’ König slurs, settling back onto his heels with a lazy, careless push and pull of his dick. ‘I felt you go tight. You really like that don’t you?’
Ghost doesn’t know what to say so he nods, and König smirks right at him like all his dreams are coming true.
‘Open your fucking mouth.’
He spits again and this time it lands on Ghost’s tongue and across his cheek. Ghost kind of wants to let it slide over his lips and slip off his skin but he licks at it and swallows it instead, enjoys the way König’s mouth opens a little and his breath gets punched out of him in a half-cut moan.
It drives his body faster, jerking and smacking into Ghost’s, and Ghost makes a sound so choked and fucked he’s almost sure he’s crying. He reaches for his own dick, wet and throbbing against his stomach, so close now he only knows pleasure; the deafening chase of it, the twisting, pulling pressure in his gut and behind his balls.
‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ König grunts, tears Ghost’s hand away and traps it against the mattress. Ghost’s fingers curl, dead under the weight. 'You can cum from my cock. I know you can.’
He switches angles, just a quick tilt of his hips, and Ghost’s body goes rigid like a current wraps his spine and pulls it tight and his eyes flick up, dazed, staring unseeing at the ceiling.
‘Oh - fucking h- wait wait -’
‘No, stay with me. You can do it.’
‘Oh fuck oh f-’ Ghost manages to look at König, who holds him down and fucks into him viciously, steadily. His sweat lands on Ghost’s neck and chest. ‘Please, please let me-’
‘Keep begging.’ König’s voice is rough and low, struggling for space in his throat with his breath. ‘I fucking love hearing you like that.’
‘Pl - please - I - ohfuck-’
Ghost’s mouth goes slack and he stops breathing for a moment that seems to last forever and then he’s twitching, cumming all over himself untouched, full of dick and feeling out of his mind -
König makes a sound like a growl all tied up with fuck yes as Ghost clenches around him. He releases Ghost’s wrists to hold his hips and fuck him raggedly, his chin tilts up and he’s closing his eyes, Ghost can see the artery in his neck sticking out and all the muscles in his chest pumped and full and tight and it feels like he’s still cumming, like he’s floating outside of his body but sinking through it too -
His hands knot in the sheets so hard he could tear them and König is bucking his hips now, in short, fevered jerks.
‘Cum inside me. I wanna feel it.’ Ghost forces out, breathless, broken and still desperate for it. ‘Use me, fucking - do it.’
A low, choked moan tears from König’s throat, his thumbs dig thoughtlessly into the meat of Ghost’s hips and he’s cumming, Ghost swears he really does feel it, hot and fast, and he certainly feels the way König’s cock pulses and throbs inside him as his thrusts turn sluggish and stuttered.
‘Shit. Fuck-’
Ghost swipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and blinks stupidly, his body gone completely slack. König steadies himself against the bed for a few seconds and breathes heavy, buried as deep as he can go, head hanging down. Pulse slamming, hips locked. He pulls out with his dick still hard and Ghost’s thighs twitch from the sudden loss of it. He can’t silence the jagged breath that rushes out as his stomach clenches down. His face burns hot at state of himself, used and wet and weak. Covered in his own cum. He’s embarrassed and dazed and too fucked out to do anything useful about it.
König collapses next to him, the mattress bounces, creaks. Then nothing but the sounds of their breathing, laboured and ruined, and Ghost swears his own heartbeat shakes his vision. They lie like that, almost touching but not, for too long. Ghost can feel the heat coming off König’s body.
‘I’m a fuckin’ mess.’ He mutters.
König knocks his arm tiredly against Ghost’s raised knee.
‘You’re perfect.’
Ghost tries to think of one single time anyone has ever called him perfect before this, and can’t. He summons all of his strength, and most of his will power, and sits up. His legs feel numb.
‘I’m gonna shower.’ Then, after a moment, ‘You coming?’
*