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Ghost’s eyes are closed against the constant creasing of his brow. His palms spread, sweaty and sliding. One foot up on a storage box, jeans and boxers bunched around his thighs, face pushed into the wall of the metal shipping container in front of him. König trying to fuck him all the way through it, all this pressure and strength driving forwards, and Ghost just holding on to nothing, taking it, trying to be quiet.
‘That’s it, that’s it, that’s it, yeah, like that-’ König’s voice, tempered into a whisper when it wants to be harsh and loud, but still vicious. ‘This is mine. You’re fucking mine, do you know that?’
Ghost nods against the metal, tastes it momentarily when König shoves his jaw against it and uses it for leverage to fuck him at a new angle, one that has Ghost’s mouth falling open and his fingernails scratching thin, desperate lines into the paint under them.
‘Fuck you feel a-mazing.’ There’s this tilt in his words, like something had caught in his chest, sharp and hard and Ghost feels it in his own as if they’re linked, lets out a quick and fevered groan that he can’t stop, like someone has planted a hand flat on his sternum and pushed down. His fists ball up against the metal holding him steady.
‘Stop fucking talking,’ he murmurs, jaw tight. ‘Someone’s gonna hear you.’
‘I don’t care, I don’t fucking care if they do.’ A quick hiss of a sentence right up against Ghost’s ear. König smells like hours-old whisky - ‘I hope they see us. I hope they see you getting what you fucking deserve.’
The thought destroys whatever was left of Ghost’s resilience and common sense and dignity, and for a heart-stopping moment he wants it. Wants to see the look in someone else’s eyes, probably Soap’s specifically, the shock on his face, the pain or maybe the heat of it, wonders what would happen if he stayed to watch as Ghost was reduced to a moaning, wet, shuddering mess that does as he’s told and gets off on being hurt.
Not for the first time, not even in the last two hours, he searches for whatever the fuck is wrong with him, like it's something physical he’ll be able to locate; dig out of his body, hold in his hands or throw away. König wouldn’t let him do it, he’d look Ghost in the face and tell him unflinchingly that whatever was inside him was the reason they fit together so well. Ghost would struggle to hold his gaze, return the dead heat of his own like a barrier, and König would say I know, in that low tone that only Ghost gets to hear.
Ghost’s heart shakes in his ribs, a constant and frantic thudding that reaches through the skin of his throat, turns it hot and sensitive. He tilts his head, forehead shoved against cold steel and lets himself make some noise, a softly drawn out ‘ohhmygod, fuck’ that sounds as if it comes from a separate part of him, suffering and low, a cowering thing, bounced right back in the small space. The buckle on König’s belt is jingling where it hangs undone, a tinny rattle that matches the quick, hard jerks of his hips. Ghost listens to it for a second, two, three.
König had pushed him, liquor-loose and stumbling slightly, into the shipping bay. He’d reached out and pulled the balaclava off over Ghost’s head from behind without asking, shoved it into his back pocket. Ghost had let him do it with his hands already fighting the zip of his jeans, solid want in his gut burning with hot and real weight, gnawing at him to move faster. In a quiet corner bathed in red light that flickers intermittently König had spat heavily, filthily into his palm and then onto his fingers, slid the wet flat slick of his hand between Ghost’s asscheeks, fingers dipping lightly, almost carelessly inside him. It had made Ghost shudder, the sudden but soft press of König’s fingertips, pushing slowly up to the knuckle, a gentle pressure that lasted a few beautiful, perfect seconds before König said something about how fucking desperate Ghost was acting, then spat on his dick, already hard and nudging impatiently at the back of Ghost’s bare thighs, stroked it for a second and pushed it steadily right into Ghost’s ass.
Knowing that they were fucking so often that it really was that easy made something flutter in Ghost’s chest, almost like fear. Then the thick press of König’s cock opening him up and the eager, wet heat of his body accepting it had his brain shutting down so distinctly it was almost a physical sensation inside his skull.
‘Oh fuck, yeah. Please,’ Ghost softly begs as his knees shake, muscles all the way up the backs of his legs taught and struggling to hold his weight. König slides a hand up the width of his back, palm flat to the back of his neck and into his hair, fingers tightening, pulling, tilting Ghost’s head back. Ghost looks at the ceiling above them, dark and red-black and familiar, tries to stop his eyes rolling and only succeeds by closing them entirely, overly aware of the sound of his breath and the winded, laboured moaning coming from his mouth. König hears it too, slips his hand over Ghost’s face and covers his mouth, pulls him in close.
‘You like it like this, huh? Like it when it hurts? When I take it from you? Yeah you do. I can feel it.’
‘Fffu-ugh-’ Ghost’s words are lost against König’s palm, if they were ever even that. He breathes hard through his nose and his head buzzes, full and utterly empty at the same time.
This was supposed to be a quick thing; Ghost wanted his body used and he wanted König to do it, to empty his mind and offer up whichever part of him was most useful. He would have been okay with using his hands and letting König cum over his face, or having his mouth filled and his throat fucked until he got lightheaded, but he’s quickly learning that König will never let him leave any of these sordid little meet-ups anything other than brain-dead, dick-dumb, bone-deep satisfied, a lesson he’s happy to go over again and again until it sticks.
‘Make a mess. You can’t help it, can you? Let it out, come on.’
With one hand clamped over Ghost’s mouth so tight he can’t even turn his head, the other reaches around and grips his dripping cock. Strong fingers wrap the width of it and König starts stroking, rough and too fast, purposefully. Ghost’s hips twitch forward in a jerky, shocked movement. He moans into König’s palm and grips at König’s bicep in a vain attempt to hold himself up when his entire body wants to fall, to drop hands-and-knees to the ground until his face meets concrete.
‘That’s it. That’s so good. You’re fucking perfect-’
Ghost leans back against König, gives it all his weight, thinks for a second about the thickness of König’s dick still buried inside him, how it fills him, how he takes it so deep, and only has a moment of near-panic where he flinches in König’s grip and whines like a warning before his eyes are falling shut and he’s cumming all over his own stomach and König’s tight knuckles. His body jerks, quick, slight movements of his muscles as pleasure floods him in shaking pulses, one after the other. He’s aware of making weak sounds, moans and soft, stupid muffled whimpers, his brain given up entirely and his body turned pliable, a struggling, pleasure-soft thing.
‘There you go. You’re so fucking hot when you’re this pathetic.’ König’s words slur with the heat of his lust, fever strong and out of control. He releases Ghost and he falls forwards, sucks in air, catches himself by instinct and lets his body press weakly against the container.
König’s hands hold his waist, one still wet and sliding with Ghost’s own cum, the other with his spit, and Ghost is panting and drooling, he sees it falling from his open mouth more than feels it; watches as it lands on the floor next to his boot. He blinks, swallows, tries to remember who the fuck he is, but all he knows is König inside him, the thick, tight weight of his cock, the pounding of it.
‘Jesus fucking christ.’ He moans, too loud, overstimulated, too much like hurry up.
‘Now who’s being noisy?’ König bites, adjusts his grip and groans, animal-like and indistinct, a sound right from his core, a sound that Ghost loves -
‘Oh, fuck, yes-’
König fucks into him with savage intention, a fast, nastier pace that makes Ghost feel like he could cum again, easily, but being fucked like this through it would be the end of him. It’s vicious and desperate and pleasure-driven and raw and Ghost has to bite into the tattooed skin on his forearm to stop himself from making any more noise. König is murmuring under his breath yes yes yes oh fuck- over and over, his voice low and steady and taught with pressure. Ghost feels his body being used and it lights him up, separates him from his mind and lets him just exist, floating and weightless and strung out, like he could evaporate into the thick dark red air around them.
Ghost could taunt him, talk him through it like he has before, feel the throb of König’s dick inside him as he asks for it harder, begs to be full of cum like he’s dying without it, saying anything he can to tip König over the edge but this time he doesn’t even need it, and Ghost doesn’t have enough grip on reality to speak out loud anyway - König’s thumbs press dips into his lower back and he’s pulling Ghost’s body back and forward on his cock like a toy, and people must be able to hear them now, the rough groans from both of their mouths, Ghost’s gravel deep and worn, König’s full and loud and possessive, getting tighter and more strained until -
‘Oh-my-fuck-’
König cums inside him, almost staggering on his feet, shoving Ghost forward with the force of his thrusts, bottoming out deeper than Ghost has ever felt it. It turns slow and laboured, flinching, twitching, hot and wet -
‘F-fuck me,’ Ghost chokes, König’s breath is warm on the back of his neck and he’s still cumming, Ghost feels every single jolt of it through their bodies, heartbeats slamming, skin slick with sweat. ‘Holy fuckin-’ his words get cut off by König’s teeth in his shoulder, sinking warm and hard through his t-shirt. It makes his body shake, a tremor that runs over his skin to his fingertips.
He presses his palms flat against the container in front of them, rests his forehead on the metal and breathes through it, waiting for König to release his grip. When he does, Ghost misses it instantly.
‘Shit,’ König mutters, breathless and exhausted. ‘You’re incredible.’
He pulls out slowly, Ghost catches his body following the movement like he can’t stand the thought of being empty and hates himself for feeling that. König’s cum runs down the inside of his thigh in a thick, hot rush. Before his mind can stop him, Ghost turns and takes König’s jaw in his hand, dragging him into a kiss that they promised could never happen. It's soft and quiet and something close to peaceful after the almost violent wave of lust that has just crashed through them, left them hurting and spent and sore. When their mouths part they stay close for a moment, breathing each other in, waiting, clawing through the seconds together until it has to end.
‘You okay?’ König asks, low like a whisper. Ghost nods.
‘You?’
A smile, half-hidden. ‘Yeah.’
Then the air comes back between them and Ghost has turned away, pulling up his jeans, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, pretending that his legs aren’t shaking so badly he might not be able to walk. It feels wrong somehow, like there’s a thread between them, one half anchored in Ghost’s chest and as König moves away it snaps, painfully.
Maybe König feels the break of it too because he touches Ghost’s arm gently, veins high and full on the back of his pale hand, and the softness makes Ghost want to kiss him again.
‘Don’t forget.’
He holds out Ghost’s balaclava. Ghost takes it without a word.
*