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"Come on, Sergeant," Ghost bites out. "I don't have all day."
The wall he is leaning on with his forearms is pleasantly cool, the roughness of the brickwork grounding him a bit.
He makes sure to sound bored while he still can, still holds some semblance of control. As if he isn’t the one currently pinned to the wall behind the furthest training building, his ears hot and still ringing from Soap pleading with him to "let him have some". Right bloody here, where anyone could potentially walk on them. Soap pretended it wouldn't go further than his hand down Ghost's pants, and Ghost pretended he believed him.
Now his pants are around his ankles, his ass bare and back arched like a whore's, but Ghost still makes sure to feign disinterest, even with his Sergeant's dick pressing into his cunt, breaching his tight entrance.
“Hurry the fuck up.”
Soap’s breath hitches; his uneven panting is hitting the skin between Ghost’s shoulder blades, hot and wet even through the thin t-shirt.
"Yes, Sir."
It's the only warning Ghost gets before Soap swiftly bottoms out.
Fuck.
It pushes all the air out of his lungs, and for a second, Ghost isn’t sure if the memory of Soap’s fingers hastily but carefully preparing him for this moment is even real. It's sharp, and it fucking hurts. He doesn’t let out a single whimper, but he’s close to that, feeling Johnny all the way inside, searingly hot and thick.
Johnny presses his forehead into Ghost's back with a strangled curse.
"Holy shit, feels so good…"
He sounds blissed out already, as if the feeling of Ghost’s twitching cunt wrapped around his prick is enough to make his head empty. He doesn’t move just yet, and Ghost knows it’s a mercy.
He doesn’t need it. Wants to be stripped of it.
"Better shut up and get on with it."
Johnny huffs and obeys right away.
His thrusts are harsh, uneven in the beginning, with no regard to Ghost’s pleasure. Ghost bites his lip, tries to steady himself against the wall. Even with their height difference, Soap isn’t a small man; he’s brawny, his weight is considerable, especially so when he is acting like he is going to climb on top of Ghost any second now.
Ghost is still a bit too tight for him, it’s obvious in his drawn-out movements. It’s not for long, though. Not when Johnny is that persistent, loosening the pussy given to him with a plain bestial devotion. It’s a matter of a few more seconds before his thrusts are getting unrestrained, more indulgent.
It feels fucking heavenly.
Ghost’s face is hot, fully flushed by now, and he is glad the mask is rolled up on the bridge of his nose, allowing him to gulp fresh spring air with an open mouth, despite it doing fuck all to cool him down.
Johnny presses his mouth between Ghost’s shoulder blades, keeps up his thrusting. He’s trying to be quiet, Ghost can tell. Fails, of course, still whimpers and huffs, fucking into Ghost's body. He’s mumbling, too.
"Feels so good, Sir… So tight fer me, shit— love your pussy…" his grip is branding on Ghost’s bare hips, his undone belt clanks with each movement. No matter how spoiled he is, he won’t touch anywhere else for now, not without Ghost’s say so.
Ghost lets his own head hang between his shoulders, panting silently. His tee is rolled up, allowing a glimpse of his abdomen muscles contracting, the shining layer of sweat coating his skin. The red tip of his cock, swollen fully and peeking out just slightly between his folds, framed by damp curls of fair pubic hair.
He could tell Soap to touch him. To put his fingers there and stroke him nice and quick. He doesn’t. Makes sure nothing leaves his mouth except for harsh breathing as he’s being steadily pounded from behind.
The slick sound of it is almost louder than Soap’s content groans. Ghost knows it’s his own arousal making the slide of Johnny’s cock inside him so easy, the slap of Johnny’s balls so lewd each time he bottoms out still not adding enough friction to where Ghost’s body seeks it most, each time right on the brink.
"So wet... Loving it, aren't ya…"
Ghost sure fucking is.
He's never thought he could get like this. He knows he is twisted, fucked up both mentally and physically. His body is affected by the constant strain, by meds too, never relaxed enough to produce such an amount of natural slick. Until Soap.
It’s embarrassing really, how soaked Ghost is for him now, always, his inner thighs damp and shiny, his cunt eager to be taken and used.
Maybe it has altered his brain somehow, their connection, making him crave every bit of Johnny’s touch, of his raw shameless affection. To Ghost, it’s everything. This absolute trust between them. The desire that is just shy of unhinged. Ghost is willing to offer every part of himself to the man. Johnny has crawled inside his brain somehow, has fucked some insane commitment into him with his fat prick.
"Can feel how hard you're gripping me, Sir," Johnny pants into his back, sounding almost smug. "Perfect fit, aren't we?"
He's regained some of his usual brattiness, it seems.
Ghost is having none of it.
"Shut up," he growls, but it comes out tense, just a bit too desperate, too breathy to sound unshaken or bored. It seems to be enough for Soap though, as he curses and his pace falters for a moment.
Ghost takes the reprieve as a chance to spur him on.
"Hurry up. Want someone to walk on us here, catch you balls deep? That eager to shag me in front of the others, Sergeant?"
Soap actually moans at that. His hips shudder as he presses fully into Ghost, and this curt thrust sends a blunt dart of pain through Ghost's abdomen, making his legs weak. Soap's skin is searingly hot, damp with sweat that sticks between them, and Ghost swallows hard, has to clench his fingers into fists against the wall to distract himself from the urge to reach behind himself to touch—
"Fucking slag. I'm wasting my time on you..."
"Am sorry, Sir. I'll be good, ah swear—"
"Then quit your whining and make it good."
Soap does, but only for a moment, as he resumes the rough pounding. He is aiming now, little shit, and it’s too deep, too precise. Ghost can’t help a breathy moan escaping his lips. Johnny instantly presses an open mouth kiss to his back where he can reach, lapping up everything Ghost lets slip.
"Yes, yes, fuck— tell me it's good, tell me you love it…"
It should frighten Ghost perhaps how seamlessly Johnny has learned his body.
He squeezes his eyes shut and licks his drying lips.
"Filthy mutt… Should let ‘em all see you trying to mount me. Can’t even do it properly, can you, Johnny?"
Johnny is sobbing, blabbering on top of him, his sweet little sorry and thank you and so good Sir flow like a litany, and everything about him is overwhelming — the heat, the smell of his skin and sweat after the day in the sun, light traces of his cologne. His obvious determination to make it good for Ghost despite it being for him now.
Ghost wants to slide to the ground, hide his burning face and spread his legs. Let Soap have his way with him for as long as it takes to satiate him.
"So desperate to shove your prick in me, couldn’t even wait."
Soap's sweaty fingers tighten impossibly on Ghost's hips, kneading the muscles and healthy fat to bruises.
"Yes," shamelessly, fervently, "fuck, yes, please… Sir, Simon, I'm gonna…"
Ghost squeezes down on him, arches to meet the thrusting even better. Distantly, he muses how much of his t-shirt is going to be soaked in Johnny’s drool.
"Yeah? That's all you need, huh?"
"Inside, lemme cum inside…"
"Let you?" Ghost bites out, harsh and condescending. And god, the way Johnny lets out a full-body shudder, stops almost completely, only grinds his hips in tight little circles. The pause is enough for Ghost to get more air into his lungs. "Think I wanna walk around like that the rest of the day, warming you inside?"
Johnny’s repressed defeated moan is something Ghost will be savoring for days.
"God, please…"
He wraps an arm around Ghost’s waist then and gasps, slamming their bodies together. When Ghost is sure his face won’t be smashed against the wall, he slides one hand down to catch Johnny’s palm still gripping his hip. He laces their sweaty fingers together for a moment — a tiny tender gesture — and Johnny exhales harshly, squeezing his fingers in turn.
Fuck, Ghost is close. His cunt is so filled with blood it hurts. He gathers whatever is left of his demeanor, though it’s kind of ruined by how his voice wavers, how breathy and small he sounds. He is glad no one else ever gets to hear him like this. No one else but Johnny.
"Couldn't even make it worth my while. Just get it over with."
Johnny chokes on a moan. There is no haste to his deep precise thrusts now. He is savoring it, and each movement leaves Ghost completely out of breath, fills him up with unbearable pressure. The slide, the heat, the embrace Johnny has on him — it’s overpowering. It’s like Ghost has no more control over his body.
He doesn’t want it. Doesn’t need it when it’s Johnny.
Johnny's hold steadies him when Ghost is practically folding into himself with a muffled shout.
Even his own voice is distant. It is delivered to him, the peak, and it’s numbing, coming in waves through his whole body, sending hot chill up his spine. His legs are trembling with the force of it, and Ghost doesn’t even register putting more of his weight in Soap’s arms as his orgasm leaves him floaty. He doesn’t know how Soap is still able to move in him. Ghost clenches on him way too hard, cunt pulsing and enveloping, nearing overstimulation. It doesn’t cease as Soap crudely pushes into him again, and again, and tenses, spilling wet warmth so deep that Ghost has to bite his lip to muffle himself.
Johnny is much more expressive in his sounds. Grinds his hips, pushing his own spend deeper, catching the remnants of his own bliss. It can’t be comfortable, the way he is still holding more of Ghost’s weight against the wall, but the grip around Ghost’s waist and on the hip remains tight and secure.
Then it's just their panting.
Ghost can barely straighten up, helped by Johnny's insistent pushing against his body. He's wrung out.
Johnny rubs his cheek against him in a single-minded satisfied adoration.
"Steaming hell, Simon—"
He sounds raw and deep and full of awe. Ghost simply can’t help it, the way his own insides twitch yet again, his cunt pulsing around the cock, softening but still plunged deep in him.
At that, Johnny has an audacity to chuckle, patting Ghost's hip.
"Sorry, love. This pussy is heaven, but ah need a wee breather."
"Get off of me," Ghost huffs.
It takes an elbow to the side for Johnny to comply and Ghost hates doing it, especially when Johnny manages a quick clumsy kiss to his bare nape where he can reach. Then he is withdrawing, and Ghost hates the emptiness, the cool air licking his sweaty skin as Johnny pulls away. He hates already having to think about them not being late for the training, or how obvious the stains on his tee and pants would get if he is going to be leaking Johnny’s spend for the rest of the afternoon…
He feels the way it trickles slowly, leaving his fucked out hole, and when he tries to clench, it’s no use. Johnny has made sure of that.
At least Ghost is wearing black.
He is about to bend down to hoist up his pants, but Johnny’s hand is suddenly on his lower back.
"Hold still for a mo."
Ghost turns his head to give him a harsh stare, but he is granted a sight.
Johnny is already zipped up, but disheveled, blushed, lips bitten raw and eyes frantic, the blue of them shining in the timid spring sun.
He is the most gorgeous thing Ghost has ever seen.
Then Johnny simply kneels. Right there, on the ground beside Ghost in one swift motion, completely unperturbed, like he would rather be nowhere else in the world. It can't be pleasant for his knee, and yet, he is doing it.
Ghost's heart skips a bit.
Soap's hands grab a handful of his pale ass cheeks, spreading Ghost fully, baring both of his holes, one ruined and already dripping sticky seed, despite all the clenching.
Ghost reaches out quickly, grabs a hold of the ruffled mohawk.
"Johnny."
The warning is weak at beast with how hoarse he sounds, and it leaves Soap unbothered, his grin way too impish.
"'s alright, not doing anything. Made a mess, did I? Gonna clean after myself, is all."
The thought of it alone, the phantom feeling of Soap's hot clever mouth tending to Ghost's fucked out cunt, lavishing his swollen folds with attention, the slight burn of his stubble against the sensitive skin… Ghost doesn't trust Soap not to exploit the inch he's given, though, and what's more, he does care about his Sergeant's reputation. But he is a weak man when it comes to the one person at his feet.
"Bloody hell, is it ever enough for you?" Ghost glances at their surroundings once more before tugging Soap's by the hair, feeling the product melting in the soft strands under the sun. "Be quick or you'll be running with those cadets yourself."
Soap dives in with the eagerness of a cat that's found its cream in the middle of a desert.
Fuck, Ghost thinks, holding his lower lip between teeth. He already knows he's going to come again, riding Johnny's mouth.
To hell with it. Maybe he will snatch another handful of minutes for himself. Pull rank and make everyone else wait. It's not like anyone is foolish enough to go actively look for the Ghost. Especially when Sergeant MacTavish is nowhere to be found either.