Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Johnny can’t even begin to count how many times he’s deleted and re-downloaded this damn app. 

It happens at least once a month. He’ll hold down the wee icon on his screen until it starts trembling like a man facing his execution. Then, he drags it kicking and screaming to the rubbish bin, where it shrinks into oblivion, wiped from the face of his phone forever. (Not forever). He usually lasts a week, sometimes a bit longer. Then he’s back in the app store. By now, his phone knows what he’s there for. He only ever has to type the first two letters before the suggestion pops up.

For something that’s supposed to be the pinnacle of shame and a mark of utter biological failure, there sure are a lot of alphas out there begging to have their holes fucked. Himself included. 

It’s all anonymous, naturally. Some alphas take that more seriously than others. Most people don’t post any pictures from the neck up, which is rarely an issue anyway. It’s not like he’s looking to make loving eye contact while he takes some other alpha’s fat knot up the arse. 

Masks aren’t too uncommon either. Johnny wears one himself in most of his pictures. The red skull mask was leftover from a Halloween party. And one night, when Johnny had finally gotten drunk and reckless enough to sneak into the loo and take pictures while his mate was asleep, he grabbed the mask as an afterthought. Now it was a part of his persona. 

He does regret his username a little bit. He never tells anyone where “Soap” came from, because being honest would involve admitting that he simply looked around his bathroom in a drunken scramble for inspiration. The bar of soap half-melted into the tiles of the shower wall-shelf had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. 

He’s popular on the app. But, of course he is. When Johnny isn’t working his nine-to-five, he’s at the gym. He has a body that leaves omegas soaking in their own slick, and he knows it. It really hadn’t been difficult to find a mate. And he likes his mate! Gary is a good man. It isn’t his fault that Johnny is broken and dysfunctional and needs to be fucked stupid just to feel like there’s something in life worth living for. This isn’t his mate’s problem. It’s Johnny’s problem. And so, he takes care of it in the only way he knows how. For both their sakes.  

The first hookup had been absolutely harrowing. Johnny had kept his mask on for the entire duration, which the other alpha hadn’t seemed to give a shit about. He wasn’t interested in Johnny’s face. They’d met up at a hotel; the other guy had paid for the room. He seemed rich, which was a bonus in that regard. But rich men usually come with a profound sense of entitlement.  

Taking his first knot outside of a sex toy in the shower wasn’t exactly easy or painless. His body wasn’t fucking made for it to be easy or painless. But somewhere between the shimmering folds of agony and the bite of nails into his skin and some blokes beer-soaked breath in his ear, with his body stretched to its limits like leather fit to be tanned, Johnny found what he’d been looking for: mind-obliterating pleasure that left him drooling and babbling nonsense into the sweat-soaked pillow he clutched like a lifebuoy. 

There was a distinct lack of consideration taken towards Johnny’s comfort in that first hookup. It left him feeling (quite literally) raw and (a little bit) abused, but he’d compartmentalised it appropriately and elected not to think about it too hard. Besides, what’s a little bit of blood spilt in the pursuit of one of the best orgasms of his life?

He didn’t hook up with that specific alpha again, but from then on he was officially addicted. 

Well, not addicted. He can stop if he needs to.

It’s just the perfect solution. 

Why stop a good thing?

—

“Hey, love?” 

Johnny briefly glances up from the radio he’s been working to repair before returning his focus. “Yea, lamb?” 

Gary stands in the doorway to the garage, leaning one shoulder against the door jam, arms crossed. “Can we talk about something?”

“We already are.” Johnny gives the tiny screw a final twist before he grabs it with a pair of tweezers and drops it into a tray. 

“Yeah, I mean…” He wordlessly gestures over his shoulder, beckoning Johnny into the house. “Can we have a proper sit-down? It’s important.”

“Kind of in the middle of something, my dearest.” Johnny begins to untwist the final screw. “Can you just tell me here?”

Gary lets out a loud, long sigh. “Sure. Yeah. Fine. I’m gonna go on heat suppressants.” 

Johnny blinks, then sets down his screwdriver, abruptly straightening up. “You…are?”

“See?” Gary gestures aggressively at him. “S’why I wanted to sit down inside! Talk about it properly!” 

“No-no, we’re not… I’m– It’s fine.” Johnny rounds his work bench and closes the distance between them, stepping up onto the small landing in front of the door. Gary stands a step above him, making him slightly taller from this angle. “Is…everything alright?”  

Gary crosses his arms again and shrugs, but doesn’t offer any response. Johnny hates this game. The guessing game. He reaches out and wraps his arms around Gary’s waist, propping his chin against Gary’s crossed arms and staring up at him with a pout. 

“Is it something I did?” 

“No,” Gary says with a loud sigh. “It’s just, these last few times our cycles haven’t been syncing up. Or, even when they do, you’re away on business. And it’s just fuckin’ difficult to ride it out all by my lonesome.”

“M’sorry, lamb,” Johnny says with his softest voice. 

Gary doesn’t look at him, but shrugs again. “I know it’s not your fault or my fault. It’s just frustrating.” He does look down then. “And it’s gotta be uncomfortable for you, right? Going into rut alone?”

“It’s not pleasant,” Johnny agrees with a purse of his lips. “But you know, with my job, I’m able to work it out. The supplements make it so–”

“Please don’t give me your fucking sales pitch.” Gary pulls away from him and wanders back into the house. 

Johnny feels a spike of anger at that. “Wasnae planning on it, lamb. I was just trying to fuckin’…agree with you.” He follows Gary into the house, flipping off the garage lights and closing the door, mentally counting his nightly project as a wash. “You’ve got it worse off, is what I’m saying. It’s fine if you want to go on suppressants.” 

“You’re not angry?” Gary asks as he pulls the fridge open a little aggressively, reaching for a cider. 

“It sounds like you want me to be angry.” Johnny crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the kitchen island. “I thought you liked that I wasn’t controlling like that. That’s what we talked about, aye? When we decided to–”

“Yeah, but you’re not even a little bit peeved?” Gary pops the top off the cider and turns to look at him, brows furrowed. 

“Again, do you want me to be?”

Gary shrugs, and Johnny lets out a long, low groan, rubbing his hands over his face. When he straightens up, he slowly rounds the kitchen island until he’s standing directly in front of Gary as he petulantly sips his cider. Johnny abruptly snatches the bottle from Gary’s hand and slams it down on the counter behind him, spilling it across the tiles as it fizzes over the neck. Then his hand is on Gary’s throat as he shoves him back against the fridge. 

Gary lets out a soft wheeze, his eyes going wide as his mouth falls open. Johnny can smell his arousal hit the air like a lightning strike, prickling with ozone and musk. It makes him hate himself a little bit. 

“I think you’re trying to piss me off,” John growls into his ear. “Is that it?”

Gary lets out a soft whimper.

They fuck in the kitchen. Johnny’s knot doesn’t reach full hardness, but he manages to lock it in and finish anyway, shoving himself in deep and making Gary cry out. He doesn’t offer to help clean him up, instead zipping his pants and leaving his mate leaking onto the kitchen floor. There’s a soft flush to Gary’s cheeks and a pleased little curve to his lips. Johnny can barely bring himself to look over his shoulder before he returns to the garage.

—

Johnny is in London for work when he feels the first tug of his rut cycle beginning. It always starts with a case of the sweats. Of course, he’s on the fucking floor mid-pitch when he feels a trickle begin beneath his arms, tickling down his side and soaking into his nice button down. From that moment, he knows he has t-minus five hours before he needs to be as far away from the public eye as possible. It’s ironic because he’s paid to sell supplements that help regulate rut cycles. They do fuck all for him.

The London Health and Wellness Expo is a quarterly event, and one that his company never misses. He can feel his boss’s eyes on him even now as he holds out a sample of the supplements in his open palm for his current lead.  

“G’on and give it a taste. It’s practically a sweetie.”

“This won’t throw off my cycle?” the woman asks, plucking the quarter of the gummy from his palm and giving him a suspicious look. She’s a burly fuckoff dyke of a woman, and god help whatever wee omega bitch ends up beneath her once a cycle. 

“Naw. They’re adaptogenic. They work with your system instead of overriding it. It takes at least a week of consistent supplement intake to foster regulation. What helps even more…” Johnny grabs the smaller bottle off the table. “...is if your mate takes their corresponding supplements as well.”

“How convenient,” the woman says flatly, then pops the gummy into her mouth. She chews thoughtfully, looking off to the side for a moment. “Actually quite tasty.” 

Johnny gives an award-winning smile. “I’ve been takin’ them myself for about six months. It’s made mine and my mate’s cycles more predictable and manageable, especially when I have to travel.” 

Lie, lie, lie. Whatever. A job is a job.  

“Hmm…”

Johnny feels another rivulet of sweat trickle down his side.

C’mon, ye fuckin’ cunt, just gimme the fuckin’ sale. 

“Sure. I’ll take one of each.” 

Johnny beams. “You won’t regret it.”

—

The door to his hotel room barely clicks shut behind him before he’s unlocking his phone and downloading That Goddamn App all over again. He yanks his tie loose with a huff, throwing his phone onto the mattress as the app takes its sweet time downloading. He checks his watch. Another two hours before he’s really in the thick of it. He figures there’s a bloke somewhere in this fucking city who’s willing to give him a quick jobby jab in his time of need. After unbuttoning and tugging his shirt off, pits stained dark with sweat, he opens the freshly downloaded app, greeted by the all-too-familiar logo that fills his screen. 

He quickly logs in, updates his location, and toggles that he’s currently in rut. Then, he throws his phone onto the bed and wanders into the loo to take a slash. His cock is already starting to swell up, and if he doesn't piss now, he might not be able to for several long hours. It still takes a moment for his stream to get going, and he lets out a groan when it finally splashes down into the bowl. Toilet flushed and hands washed, Johnny takes a moment to study his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed and eyes are bright. He smiles at himself, imagining what some pumped up alpha might see for the first time. Running a hand over the stubble on his jaw, down his neck... Yeah, he's a looker. He'll find someone for tonight.

When he checks his phone again, he has several messages from a few different alphas. He wrinkles his nose as he clicks through their profiles, overall unimpressed. He can tell a few of them are lying about their height. Despite not quite having the luxury of choice, given the rapidly swelling cock between his legs, he begins to mindlessly scroll through the grid with a growing restlessness. He doesn’t want to have to settle for the bites he’s already gotten, but it wouldn’t be the first time. 

A picture catches his eye—the flash of a skull-pattern.

Curious, he clicks on the profile. The man’s username is ‘Ghost85’. Eleven years older than him. That’s nice. 193 centimetres, 15 stone. Motherfucker… Johnny’s mouth is watering just thinking about the sheer bulk of him. He glances at the tags on the man’s profile: hookups only, stone top, unmated. Then, Johnny scrolls through the rest of his photos. 

A mask in every photo. Unlike Johnny’s, he covers his lower face, leaving only his eyes exposed. In some he wears a full balaclava, in others a plain black medical mask. Most of his pictures are bathroom mirror selfies that have all the charming awkwardness of an older millennial doing his best, but God if he isn’t fit. Covered in tattoos, too. 

With a quickly hardening cock and sweat beading along his hairline, Johnny clicks the little ‘fire’ icon in the lower left of the profile, then wastes no time running into the man’s DMs to make the first move. The little green dot next to his name is promising. Fortunately, he gets a response near immediately. This bodes well.   

Johnny throws his phone back onto the bed with a long, satisfied sigh. Fuck yes. Best possible fucking scenario. Ghost seems like a dream so far. No-nonsense, clear communication, up-front and forward. Hopefully all that translates in person as well. He’s got about forty-five minutes before he’s set to arrive. Enough time for a quick wash and to start stretching himself a bit. He tugs his undershirt off and heads back into the bathroom to get on with it. 

—

There’s a knock on his hotel room door at exactly 7:30. Johnny slips his red skull mask on but otherwise remains shirtless, sporting only a soft pair of grey cotton joggers. His cock is fully hard now, and the fat plug taking up space in his arse does nothing to quell the heat roiling in his belly as he opens the door. 

“Ghost,” he says by way of greeting, unable to stop himself from grinning. 

The man is tall. Refreshing to see someone honest about that for once. He’s wearing a full balaclava with a faded skull pattern over the lower half of the face. Black shirt; dark blue jeans. His deep brown eyes flicker down Johnny’s body then back up to his eyes. 

“Soap,” is the response. It should sound stupid—that random username he chose—but something about the way the man says it has lust curling hot in his gut, cock twitching. He has a nice voice. Johnny can be ‘Soap’ for the evening, so long as it’s coming out of this man’s mouth. 

“C’mon in, then. Thanks for rushing over.”

“I wasn’t too far,” Ghost replies, ducking his head into the bathroom and glancing around, then taking a quick turn around the room, checking the closet and several of the drawers before drawing the curtains closed. “You’re Scottish.”

“Aye. Hope that isn’t a deal-breaker.” 

Ghost laughs. Or, Soap thinks he laughs. It’s more of a soft, stuttering huff from his nose. “As long as I can fuckin’ understand you, shouldn’t be a problem.” His own accent is hard to place, but then again, Soap’s never been great with the English regionals. Maybe Essex…? But there’s a bit of a northern pull to the way he said ‘problem’. Not quite Scouse, but something–

Soap shakes his head to clear his thoughts, then gestures to the bed. “So… How do you want me?”

Ghost’s brow furrows at that, a brief flash of concern in his eyes. “Jesus, Soap, let’s have a bit of a chat first, yeah?”

Soap blinks back at him, his cheeks growing hot beneath his own mask. “Oh, aye. Yea, that’s– I’d appreciate that, actually.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “Everyone’s a bit different, so…”

The furrow of Ghost’s brow hasn’t quite softened. “Sounds like you’ve had some shit hookups.”

Soap just shrugs. “Who hasn’t?”

Ghost hums with a non-committal nod. “Firstly, as I said: mask stays on. You prefer the same.”

“Aye,” Soap affirms. 

“Secondly, I don’t allow scenting, marking, or any kind of claiming, even if it’s just for roleplay. Copy?”

“Copy,” Soap repeats with soft amusement. 

“Thirdly, I’ll be using a condom. This is non-negotiable unless you can present me with a clean bill of health dated within the last week.”

“Cannae offer that,” Soap says with a laugh. “Condoms are fine.”

“Lastly, I stay for aftercare, but I don’t stay the night.”

“Already a far cry better than what I’m used to,” Soap admits with another nervous laugh. 

The concerned pinch to Ghost’s brow returns. “You need higher standards, Soap.”

“That’s a bit of a luxury I can’t afford.” He squeezes his stiffening knot through his pants with a groan. “Wouldn’t you agree?”   

Ghost’s eyes drop to his crotch, and Soap can smell his arousal flood the space between them. That’s a good sign, at least. 

“Hmm,” is all Ghost says in response. Then, he steps forward, slowly reaching out to slide his warm hands along Soap’s bare sides, sweeping down his ribs and settling at his hips, thumbs resting in the cut of the muscle just above his pants. “You know the stoplight system?”

Soap’s heart is pounding very hard. “Aye.”

“Anything you don’t like, you use it if you want me to stop. Affirm?” 

“Aye. Yes. Copy.” Soap swallows, his body swaying towards Ghost as if magnetically pulled. 

“You want me to treat you like an omega?” Ghost asks, one hand sliding back up to thumb at Soap’s nipple—short, maddening little flicks. 

“Oh, fuck–” Soap whines, tipping his head forward to rest against Ghost’s shoulder. “N-not necessarily. This isn’t really about roleplay for me. But if you want to, I dinnae mind.”

“It’s not about what I want,” Ghost says, still toying with Soap’s nipple. “No omega talk. Got it.”

“What I mean is, I don’t dislike it,” Soap argues, biting his lip through another moan. “I don’t let myself—ah!—think about it much…” He lets out a soft whimper as Ghost pinches and tugs on his nipple.

“Copy that,” Ghost replies with a bit of amusement to his tone. His other hand sneaks down the front of Soap’s pants to grip him by his knot, the other fisting the back of his hair. “How long have you been doing this, Soap?”

Soap can’t help the helpless groan that crawls out of his throat, hands shooting up to grip Ghost by his biceps. “L-long enough. Maybe about a year?” 

Ghost lets out a huff. “Jesus. That all?”

“What about you?” Soap manages to ask through a gasp, rolling his hips into Ghost’s hand. 

This earns him a deep chuckle, and he doesn’t really expect an answer, but Ghost leans in close to say: “Since 2007.”

Oh, fuck. Soap was eleven fucking years old in 2007… 

“Am I qualified enough for you?” Ghost asks, running his mask-covered nose along the column of Soap’s neck. “Fuck, you smell good.” It’s mumbled, as if he didn’t quite mean to say it out loud. 

“Highly qualified,” Soap agrees, reaching up to lace his fingers behind Ghost’s neck, eyes rolling back as Ghost gives his knot another tight squeeze. “God–” The front of his own mask brushes against Ghost’s jaw as he pants. 

The scent of Ghost’s arousal is like a physical force pressing in on him from all sides. It’s…different from what he’s used to. Most other alphas have a musk to them that Soap shamefully (and thoroughly) enjoys, but this has him wanting to bury his face into every possible crevice of Ghost’s body and take a big nasty huff. 

“Did you… Are you wearing something?” Soap asks, and it comes out a little watery and weak. 

Ghost pulls back only enough to look him in the eye. “What’d’you mean?”

“Like, a cologne or something?” 

“...No. Why? Something wrong?”

Soap shakes his head. “Dinnae fash. You just…smell good.” He feels ridiculous for echoing what Ghost just said about him. 

“Are your standards so low that you’ve been shagging alphas who don’t bother to wash first?”

His own startled chuckle takes him by surprise, but Soap uses it as an excuse to lean in, taking another deep inhale of whatever the fuck it is that Ghost is wearing—some kind of detergent maybe. Whatever it may be, it makes his brain light up with all the feel-good chemicals. 

“I’ve got a plug in, but I wouldn’t mind getting my mouth on you first,” he says instead. “Before you have me proper.”

“Yeah?” Ghost tightens his fingers in Soap’s hair. “Wanna suck me off a bit, then?”

Soap groans, deep and low. “Can I?”

“I think you mean ‘may I’,” Ghost corrects. 

Soap barks out a laugh. “Och. You trying to take me back to school, Ghost?” He pulls back to look up at him with a grin, unable to suppress the shiver as Ghost gives his knot one more firm squeeze before letting go. He lets out a shuddering moan that turns into another laugh. “May I suck your cock, sir?” 

“Abso-fuckin-lutely, you may. On your knees, pup.” 

Soap drops to his knees so fast he’s certain he’ll have a bit of carpet burn the next day. He tugs impatiently at Ghost’s dark jeans as the man works to unhook his belt. Once freed, he pulls them down, exposing tight black briefs and the straining bulge beneath. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Soap growls, shocked by the bass in his own voice. He leans in and mouths a hot line over the fabric, groaning long and low as another wave of that scent hits his nose. God, if he could bottle it, he would. 

“You gonna just slobber all over my pants, or are you gonna show me what that mouth can really do?”

Soap glances up at him, grinning wide before sucking a wet spot over the warm head of Ghost’s cock. Then, he tugs the man’s briefs down and is rewarded with quite the sight. Apparently, Ghost is pierced.

“Oh, but aren’t you fuckin’ perfect,” Soap coos, leaning in to grip Ghost by his knot and lick a long stripe up the underside of his cock, laving over the three metal bars through his frenulum and pressing his tongue into the slit. The taste of his precum has Soap’s head spinning, his own cock jumping in his pants. Steamin’ Jesus, what’s his secret? Soap has never felt so immediately addicted to the smell or taste of someone else before. He groans, loud and shameless, taking as much as Ghost’s cock into his throat as he can manage. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghoast croaks above him, both of his large hands coming to rest on either side of Soap’s head. “Talented little thing, aren’t you?”

Little? An adjective rarely used to describe anything about him. It has Soap squirming a bit, some unnamed tickle of excitement blooming in his belly. He sucks Ghost off sloppily, swirling his tongue around his piercings, popping the head of his cock against the inside of his cheek, swallowing him deep enough to press the tight ‘o’ of his mouth to the swell of his knot like a kiss. 

“Jesus,” Ghost whispers. “Could let you get me off like this if I didn’t know how badly you wanted to be stuffed.”

Soap pulls off with a wet slurp, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. “I would. For you,” he says. “God, you taste fuckin’ amazing.” 

Ghost blinks down at him, eyes looking a little dazed. His chest rises and falls beneath the tight stretch of his black t-shirt. Then, he jerks his head sideways, gesturing towards the bed. “Up you go. Pants off. Hands and knees.” 

Soap scrambles to his feet at the same time as he squirms out of his grey trackies, crawling across the mattress on all fours to bear his plugged hole to Ghost.

“Fuck,” Ghost murmurs. “Lube?” 

“On the night stand.” Soap gestures with his chin. He refocuses his gaze on the opposite wall. 

The hotel is nicer than what he’s used to for these kinds of affairs. Getting railed on the company dime makes for a novel experience. He maybe should consider feeling guilty, but fuck ‘em. Their supplements don’t fucking work and they’re required by law to give him the next twenty-four hours off. After Ghost rails him into oblivion and once he’s had a good night’s sleep, he can probably squeeze in one final fuck before his rut tapers off and he has to head back home. 

The thought of fucking someone other than Ghost causes a brief pang of…something in his gut. Annoyance? Panic? The emotion is hard to place. But Ghost made it clear that he doesn’t spend the night, and Soap’s rut isn’t going away after just one shag. 

The click of a lube bottle and the crinkle of foil bring Soap back into the present. Ghost slides on the condom with a hiss. 

“Let’s see what we have here,” he murmurs, and Soap feels warm, slick fingers tugging at the base of the plug. 

“Mmm…wasn’t sure how big you’d be. Figured it couldn’t hurt to be extra prepared.”   

“Very nice,” Ghost rumbles, pulling slowly until the fat middle of the plug is stretching Soap as wide as he’ll go. He lets out a soft whimper when Ghost presses it back in one final time before fully pulling it free. 

Then, the warm, fat head of a slicked-up cock presses into Soap’s loose hole, and he groans long and low.

Ghost goes in easy, like Soap is a hot sleeve made just for the shape of him, sliding in until the swell of his knot presses right up against Soap’s straining pucker. It forces a wheeze out of his lungs.   

“All good?” Ghost asks, his own voice tight with a slight tremor.

“Aye, good. Green.”

“Good boy.”

Ghost pulls out and presses in slowly a few times, the drag of his cock made vivid by those three metal bars gliding over Soap’s sensitive inner walls. Soap lets his eyes fall closed, his brows drawing together, mouth falling open. 

“Fuck me, man… You’re fuckin’ perfect. Already so fuckin’ good,” Soap babbles. “Harder. C’mon, I can take it–”

Ghost snaps his hips forward, and Soap lets out a yelp that turns into a delighted laugh. Something seems to give then, because before he can fully grasp what’s happening, Ghost is driving into him hard enough to knock his knees out from under him. He’s stomach-down on the bed moaning like he’s in proper heat, his cock and swollen knot trapped against the rough fabric of the hotel comforter. 

One of Ghost’s hands slides around the front of Soap’s neck as he drapes himself across his back.

“God, you’re tight,” he hisses into Soap’s ear. “Making me wish I was the first one to really split you open…”

“Shit–!” Soap wheezes against the pressure of Ghost’s palm as that thick cock continues to drill into him. He’s never really been one to put much stock into the concept of virginity, especially not his own, but the idea of Ghost’s cock being the very first one to open him up, his body stretching to accommodate him and only him, has him throbbing and clenching. “Yes…” he groans. “Ghost, nhg… Fuck.”

“Wish I could fill you up proper… Breed you like a good bitch.”

Soap’s eyes roll back, his mouth falling open. “Want you to,” he grunts in time to each punishing thrust. “Want to–” His thoughts turn to mush, and when he opens his mouth next, the only thing that comes out is one long, desperate moan. 

The slam of Ghost’s knot is like a kick drum against his arse. He wants it inside him in a frightful way, to be stretched around him, milking Ghost for every last drop of seed he has. But for now, he’s subjected to a brutal pounding, rhythmic and unforgiving and everything he could have asked for. For several long minutes the room is filled with nothing more than the sound of Soap’s punched-out moans, Ghost’s heavy breathing, and the muted thwack of bodies slamming together. 

“C’mon, c’mon–” Soap goads, wheezing against the heavy press of Ghost’s palm against his throat as he braces his hands against the bed, arm muscles straining. “Want it in me. Knot me up–” 

“M’close,” Ghost murmurs. “Fuck, I–” 

His rhythm stutters and Soap feels him press forward hard, the swell of his knot immense—and there’s always a moment before it happens when Johnny’s body feels hard and unyielding, like an under-ripe plumb, skin stretched too tight. Impossible, he always thinks. This will be the one that tears me in two. 

Ghost presses, relaxes. 

Presses, relaxes. 

Presses–

His knot pops past the tight ring of muscle, and Soap lets out a long, watery groan, saliva dripping from his open mouth and onto the comforter, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He clenches down, and Ghost curses in his ear. Ghost’s cock gives a strong jerk as he spills his load, knot swelling impossibly bigger. Then, as if he weighed nothing at all, Ghost wraps one thick arm around Soap’s waist, the other around his chest, and hauls him upright to sit against his lap, back-to-chest. That fat knot sinks even deeper into Soap, leaving him utterly impaled. The image of a field mouse on a shrike’s thorn flits through his sex-addled brain, and he starts laughing, breathless and delirious. 

One of Ghost’s massive hands reaches between his legs and gives Soap’s knot a punishingly tight squeeze, and it’s unlike anything Soap has ever felt. Both so full and completely surrounded. He lets out a shocked yelp, throwing his head back against Ghost’s shoulder, fingernails digging into Ghost’s thick forearms. His cock throbs, once, twice, and then he’s shooting off, cum arcing out of his cock and dribbling down over Ghost’s tattooed knuckles. 

For a moment, Johnny forgets where he is. If he’s entirely honest, he even forgets who he is—forgets that he’s in a hotel room, that the warm body behind him is a stranger. Above all else, he feels utterly and completely safe. Oddly…complete. He floats, skin buzzing, trying to catch his breath. Then, the world tips sideways, and he jolts, attempting to stay upright. 

“Shh, ‘s alright…” murmurs the warmth behind him, and Johnny realises he’s shifting the two of them to lie on their sides. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

Ghost, his brain reminds him.

His own mask presses awkwardly against the side of his face as he settles against the pillows, but he's too far gone to even care. 

“Ghost…” Johnny murmurs aloud, because he can. Because that name feels quite nice in his mouth. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Ghost replies. He’s also breathing hard, still lodged deep inside of Johnny’s arse, his chest heaving like a bellow against Johnny’s back. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Just relax for me, then,” he says. “I–” He hears Ghost swallow. “I just need to…” He slides his arms from around Johnny’s middle and reaches up to adjust something near his face—fabric shifting. Then, Johnny feels the hot, wet glide of a tongue across his shoulder, followed by equally wet kisses trailing up his neck, and he hums happily in response. Ghost rests his open mouth against the curve of Johnny’s neck, teeth against skin, breath fanning across his shoulder. “What the fuck?” Ghost asks softly. “Soap…”

Soap. Right. That was his name for the night. “Ghost,” he says again, a bit dreamily. His body feels like it’s filled with helium. He arches against him languidly, tipping his head to bear more of his neck as goosebumps ripple down both his arms.

“You’re fuckin’...” Ghost trails more kisses across the top of his shoulder. In lieu of finishing his sentence, Ghost instead lets out a long, low groan, tilting his head to lick at Soap’s earlobe, pulling it between his teeth and giving a tug. He curls his hips, his knot still hard, and it presses sweetly against Soap’s prostate, causing another dribble of cum to leak from his cockhead.

Soap lets out a long, contented sigh as his verbal functions come back online. “Fuckin’ mint. Pure brilliant.” He lets out a soft groan as he shifts and Ghost’s knot tugs at his tender hole. “You might’ve set the bar a bit too high for me, now. Fuckin’ shit, man. How am I supposed to fuck anyone else after that?”

It’s playful and teasing, but there’s some truth to it that has Soap’s stomach squirming. What if they did this again? What if–?

“Gonna pull out now,” Ghost mumbles against his skin.

“Aye, s’fine,” Soap agrees, and helps him along with a little push. He can’t help the reedy moan that’s pulled from his lungs as he’s stretched wide one final time.

Ghost shifts away, taking his warmth with him, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Soap rolls onto his back to gaze up at him, a dopey smile plastered across his face. Ghost had left his shirt on for all of that, the dark black fabric stained even darker down the centerline of his back and beneath his arms. He works the condom off his still-hard cock, breath laboured through the fabric of the balaclava. He ties the condom off, drops it in the rubbish bin beneath the bedside table, then doesn’t move for a long moment, hand balled into fists against the comforter. 

“Ghost…” Soap says softly, reaching up to trail his fingers along the bulge of Ghost’s tricep. “Y’a’right?” 

It takes a moment for him to respond, his posture still rigid, fingers clenching and unclenching. “I’m…ah…” He clears his throat. “I think I’ve gone into rut.” 

Soap blinks in surprise, his dreaminess dissipating like a cloud on the wind. He props himself up onto his elbows. “...Ah, well…I’ve heard that can…happen. Sometimes.” 

Ghost takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly, but doesn’t comment. 

“If you wanna ride it out with me, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to the company–”

Ghost abruptly gets to his feet. He stoops to grab his briefs and jeans off the floor, hastily stepping into them. “I…I just need to…”

“Ghost?” Concern replaces shock, and Johnny rocks to sit upright. “What’s wrong? It’s alright if you need to–”

“I gotta go.” Ghost interrupts. 

“Wha–whoa, let’s take a moment, aye?” Soap gets to his feet, his body shimmering with fresh panic. “Is it something I did?”

“No,” Ghost says, already heading for the door. “I just–” He stops, one hand on the door handle. “I’m sorry,” he says without turning around, then leaves. The door closes with a resounding thud. 

Soap stands in the centre of the room, utterly dumbfounded, a gaping hollowness spreading from the center of his chest and into his extremities. What happened? It had been going so well… 

As best he can, Johnny replays the entirety of the encounter in his mind’s eye, trying to figure out what he could have possibly done wrong. The only thing that his brain keeps coming back to was that smell. He’d never experienced that kind of olfactory attraction to someone before. He knew it existed, in theory. Well, it existed between mates… Gary loved the way Johnny smelled, or so he’d told him the first time they met. Johnny had always found Gary’s scent acceptable. It was pleasant, unoffensive. But, God, with Ghost… 

Johnny shakes himself from his thoughts and goes through the motions of his own rehearsed aftercare, trudging solemnly into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He looks into the mirror and rips the skull mask from his face to stare into his own red-rimmed eyes. Is he about to cry? It certainly feels like he’s about to cry. 

Emotional comedown, he reminds himself. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except it is something out of the ordinary, because he’s never experienced anything like that with another alpha before—he’s especially never triggered another alpha’s fucking rut. The idea of completely losing whatever the fuck it was that just happened between them without even so much as a ‘goodbye, thanks for the shag’ has tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. 

“Fuckin’ shit,” he says aloud, aggressively wiping at his eyes and turning towards the shower. Pathetic. Crying like a wee omega. It was a good shag, is all, and his emotions are knocked off-kilter as a result.

He showers quickly and efficiently, but the tightness in his chest refuses to soften. 

Once he’s toweled off, he slings the towel around his waist, fights off more tears, and raids the mini fridge. He doesn’t give a fuck if his company charges him extra for it. There’s a few cans of beer and a small box of white wine. He opts for the wine (banking on a higher alcohol content), untwists the cap, and knocks half of it back in one go. He considers getting back on Knot4Knot to see if maybe he can find someone to hook up with in the morning, but even just the idea has tears swelling hot in his eyes again. 

“Fuckin’ shit,” he croaks out, throat tight. “What the fuck!?” He slams the carton of wine down on the counter and grips the edge, arms trembling as he lets the tears fall free. “What the fuck…?” He asks again, more of a pained whisper this time.

A sharp knock on his door has him jerking upright and quickly wiping his eyes against his forearms. He furrows his brow and stalks over to the door with heavy steps, fists clenched at his side. A glance through the peephole and Johnny’s heart rockets into his throat. He pulls the door open wide to reveal Ghost standing in the hallway, hoodie drawn over the balaclava and hands in his pocket. The smell of cigarette smoke wafts into the room with the swinging of the door. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, Ghost’s eyes flicker across his face then sliding off to the side. 

“I wanted to explain,” he says, looking somewhere around Johnny’s left hand. “Broke my own fuckin’ rules by running out on your like that. You can tell me to fuck right off, and I won’t give you any trouble. But…I feel like I at least owe you an explanation.” 

Johnny is left at a loss for words, unsure of what exactly he wants. The whiplash of it has him reeling, and a part of him indeed wants to tell the man to eat shite and fuck off, but another (stronger) part can’t deny just how relieved he is that Ghost actually came back. He came back.

“Ehm…aye, yea, sure. I’d love to know what the fuck that was about, actually.” Johnny forces out a watery laugh, then steps to the side to allow Ghost to come in. 

Ghost steps through the doorway cautiously, still avoiding eye contact as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. Johnny closes and locks the door behind him. 

“Did you…” Ghost clears his throat, then gestures to his own face. “Did you want to put your mask back on?”

Johnny’s hands immediately shoot to his face to grab the mask that isn’t there. Fuck. Well, so much for that schtick. “Bit late for that now, don’t ye think?”

Ghost looks back up at him, as if he’d simply been waiting for permission. He stares at Johnny for a long quiet moment before speaking. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

It’s not what he expected, and Johnny feels his cheeks flame hot. He shrugs and leans back against the bar counter across from the bed. There’s really nothing he wants to say in response, so instead he reaches for the half-empty box of wine and takes another swig. 

“So?” 

“First, I should just say sorry. Really fuckin’ sorry,” Ghost says, voice tight. “I panicked. Fully lost my head. You didn’t deserve any of that. But unless you know…” He lets out a low growl, something deep and primitive that has the hairs on Johnny’s scalp prickling pleasantly. 

“Know what?” Johnny prompts, keeping his voice soft and gently curious. He can feel the weight of the unspoken confession hanging in the air. An alpha prepared to show his stomach. 

“I haven’t… I haven’t gone into rut in over a decade.” Ghost lets out a long, steady exhale after he says it, eyes trained on the floor near Johnny’s feet. “I don’t fuck omegas, Soap. I’ve never been interested in it. Never been mated; figured I never would be. It’s like something inside of me just turned off. Or maybe it was never ‘on’ to begin with. Born broken, y’know? I could only get off when it was with other alphas. And after a while, I was fine with that. Once fuckin’ smart phones were invented, finding other alphas to shag became as easy as anything, but I’ve never–” He shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

Johnny feels the revelation settle like a stone in his stomach. It’s…dangerous. Whatever the implications are. It’s not something he thought was possible. It leaves too much room for hope. 

“So…you’re in rut,” Johnny repeats. “First time in a long time. And I might have…caused it?” 

Ghost lets out a tremendous sigh and rubs at his eyes, then nods instead of speaking. 

Johnny drums his fingers against the box of wine clutched between his hands, pursing his lips as he mulls the situation over. Selfishly, he’s just glad he didn’t actually do anything wrong. And that Ghost came back. It feels like a physical relief for the man to even just be sitting across from him, like John’s no longer a balloon that’s about to pop. But the clear distress the situation is causing isn’t something he knows how to remedy. He’s afraid to offer the option to ride it out again, just in case Ghost says ‘no’. He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to handle Ghost leaving again… 

With a sigh of his own, Johnny takes another sip of the overly sweet wine, then offers it to Ghost. There’s a moment of hesitation where Ghost looks from the wine to Johnny’s face, then away again, then he accepts the offering. Yanking the balaclava up enough to expose his mouth, he takes a long pull from the box. Johnny notices a scar that cuts through his lower lip.  

“That’s bloody awful,” Ghost says as he hands the carton back with a grimace, recovering his mouth as he clears his throat. 

“Came with the room,” Johnny explains with a smirk. He knocks back the rest of it, then sets the empty box on the counter. “Ehm… Listen, I know this is…a lot. But I want you to know the offer still stands. If ye wanted to spend it with me. I’ve never–” He swallows, rolling his shoulders to chase away the nerves. He figures Ghost also deserves a bit of raw honesty. Tit for tat. “Never felt quite as connected to anyone as I have with you. Damn near broke my heart when you ran out.” Johnny lets out a soft laugh, crossing his arms over his chest with a defensive shrug. “Ridiculous, seeing as I don’t even know what ye proper look like.” 

Ghost sits unmoving for another long moment, staring up at Johnny with those dark, enigmatic eyes. His hand twitches upwards, then halts, pauses, then Ghost reaches up and hooks a thumb beneath the bottom of the balaclava, pulling it up and off in one fluid motion. 

Johnny gawks. “Oh…” 

Ghost is blonde, which Johnny didn’t quite expect, his hair smashed flat from the balaclava. A long nose and a strong jaw. Classically English features. He runs a hand through his hair and averts his eyes, looking a little nervous, a small crease between his brows. A tattoo of a dagger decorates his left temple, slightly covered by his hairline. 

“And you called me gorgeous. Jesus fucking Christ, Ghost. Look at ye. Bonnie as can be.” Johnny lets out a nervous laugh, then clears his throat. “I wasn’t trying to– Ye didn’t have to do that, y’know…”

“Figure it’s only fair,” Ghost mumbles.

“Aye, but–”

“I wanted to.” Ghost looks back up at him before he gets to his feet, tossing the balaclava onto the bed behind him as he steps forward into Johnny’s space. “You sure you want me around for this?” His gaze flickers between Johnny’s eyes and his mouth. “Dunno what it’s gonna be like for me.”

“Aye,” Johnny reaches up with trembling hands, sliding his fingertips along Ghost’s jaw. “Please stay. Please.” 

Ghost closes his eyes, leaning into Johnny’s touch with a shuddering exhale, breath smelling of wine and cigarettes. His warm hands slide around Johnny’s bare waist, fingers skimming the edge of the towel where it’s started to fall loose. “Alright,” Ghost whispers, pulling in a deep breath through his nose as he leans closer. “Alright, I will.” 

They kiss like they’ve known each other their whole lives. Johnny threads his fingers through Ghost’s hair and grips tight, pushing his tongue into the other man’s mouth, chasing the taste of him. Ghost groans long and low, sucking on Johnny’s tongue and digging his fingers into the meat of his hips. He slides his hands beneath the towel to grip an arse cheek in each hand, causing the towel to fully come loose and drop to the floor. Johnny lets out a pleased hum as he continues to thread his fingers through Ghost’s soft hair. 

“Got me undressed real fast,” he murmurs against Ghost’s mouth. “S’not fair.”

“Not fair?” Ghost replies with a twitch of amusement to his scarred lips. “How might we even the stakes, then?”

“Take yer clothes off.”

“Is that an order?”

Johnny pulls back enough to look up at him, mustering his saddest puppy eyes. “Pretty please?”

“Christ, you’ll turn me off with that shit,” Ghost scoffs with a hoarse laugh. “I’d rather it be an order.”

“Then take yer fuckin’ clothes off, Ghost. That’s an order.”

Ghost grins, and it’s a gorgeous fucking smile—a bit feral, a bit unhinged. It causes a ripple of goosebumps to shimmer down Johnny’s spine. Ghost steps back enough to pull his hoodie up and over his head. Then he pauses, rolling the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers. “You’re not squeamish, are you?”

Johnny furrows his brow. “Squeamish? Not at all. Why?”

“I’m ex-military. Got more than a few nasty scars from my time. Usually I keep my shirt on. Not for me, just for my partners. Don’t wanna turn anyone off.”

“You can get right tae fuck with all that. Cannae scare me off so easily.” He gestures impatiently. “Cummoan. Shirt off, big boy. Let’s see what yer workin’ with.”

Ghost lets out a startled laugh, giving Johnny a meaningful once-over with more than a little fondness. Then he tugs the t-shirt up and over his head.

For one, Ghost is fucking fit. Not movie star shredded, but proper fit. Thick around the middle with large pecs and solid arms—all of which Johnny had already felt, but now he can properly see. The tattoos predominantly cover his arms, though a faded chest tattoo spells out something Johnny can’t quite read. Mainly because a massive, jagged scar slashes its way across Ghost’s chest and wraps around his shoulder. It appears as though quite a bit of reconstructive surgery went into making him whole again. 

“Christ on the cross, someone really tried to kill you, aye?” Johnny steps forward and runs his hand across the scarring, tracing the deepest valley up over Ghost’s shoulder, across the divot where it broke his collar bone, the thick keloid wrapping around the cap of his deltoid.

“Indirectly. M120 mortar. It wasn’t personal.” He grabs Johnny’s wandering hand and pulls his wrist to his lips to speak against his skin. “Ended my career, though.”

Johnny slides his fingertips along Ghost’s jaw as Ghost places a kiss against the soft inner skin of Johnny’s wrist. “Glad you’re here.”

Ghost lets out a sigh, eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah, me too. For once.” 

Johnny feels a little ridiculous standing there fully naked with a hard cock while thinking such wildly tender thoughts like ‘I want to kiss every scar on his body’ and ‘I wonder how he takes his tea?’, but the evening thus far has been far from typical. His rut nags at the edges of his mind like a craving yet to be satisfied. Then, as if reading his thoughts, Ghost slides a hand down Johnny’s stomach and between his legs to squeeze his knot. 

“Sentiment aside, I’d really like to eat you out,” Ghost leans in to growl into his ear.

It startles a laugh out of Johnny’s mouth, and he grins wide and shameless. “Lucky you, I just so happened to have showered.”

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ care either way.” Ghost trails his lips along Johnny’s jaw, gripping an arse cheek in each hand. “I’d eat you whole if I could.”

Johnny’s heart flutters dangerously. “You’ll just have to settle for eating my hole, I’m afraid.”

It’s Ghost’s turn to laugh: a bright, resonant sound that turns Johnny’s insides to honey. “On the bed, pup,” he commands through his laughter, giving Johnny's arse a firm slap. 

With a sense of déjà vu, Johnny crawls back onto the bed, dropping to his forearms with his arse in the air. He looks over his shoulder to see Ghost step out of his trousers, his dark gaze laser locked onto Johnny’s arse.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he murmurs as he kneels on the bed, two warm hands reaching forward to spread Johnny open. 

The first hot stripe of a tongue against his still-tender hole pulls a desperate moan right from the pit of Johnny’s belly, spilling from between his lips like molten glass. He clenches his fists in the sheets, arching his back until his chest is pressed to the mattress. Ghost lets out a groan like Johnny’s arsehole is the best meal he’s ever had. His tongue is strong and insistent, fluttering against him and pressing in, in– 

Ghost pulls away with a wet suction. “You taste so fuckin’ good.” Then he dives in again, wet and sloppy.

Johnny’s mouth hangs open, his eyes closed, senses narrowed to the wriggle of Ghost’s tongue as it pries past the sensitive ring of his well-fucked hole, licking into him properly. He clenches around the intrusion, and Ghost lets out a low, satisfied rumble.  

“You like that?” Ghost asks, stubble brushing against his taint.

Johnny lets out a long, low moan. “Yer gonna make me come with just yer mouth, Ghost. Fuck…” He devolves into another wanton groan as Ghost presses his tongue back in, swirling and probing. Johnny bites at his lips, twisting the sheets between his fists. “Please–please, fuckin– Need you inside me.”

Ghost pulls away with a definitive smack of his lips, pulling a whimper out of Johnny when he lightly nips at his left arsecheek. “On your back, then,” he commands. “Wanna see what you look like when I knot you up this time.”

Johnny twists enthusiastically around, breathing hard and face hot as he watches Ghost roll on a condom. Then, he’s crawling over top of him. Ghost feels absolutely massive above him, a monster in his bed. Johnny smiles up at him and tucks his hands along the backs of his knees, drawing his legs up and exposing his clenching hole, his dick falling back heavily across his stomach. 

“There we are,” Ghost murmurs, guiding his cock back in. “Lovely little thing.” 

Johnny’s eyes roll back as he’s breached again. Everything is still tender, but he’s never felt more relaxed, more receptive. Ghost sheaths himself easy as anything, lowering to his forearms, bracketed around Johnny’s ribs. They kiss because it’s the most natural thing to do, but Johnny neglects to anticipate just how raw the act leaves him. To feel sheltered—Ghost’s entire body covering his, warm and inexplicably familiar—is a feeling he didn't know he craved. 

Johnny cards his fingers through Ghost’s short-cropped hair, their kiss matching the unhurried curl of Ghost’s hips as he slides in and out. Even as their lips still, Ghost’s thrusts picking up speed, their mouths stay pressed together, breathing each other’s air. As the pleasure mounts and Johnny throws his head back, Ghost never stops kissing him—his neck, his shoulder, his jaw, his ear…

“God…” Ghost whispers against the thud of his jugular, as if it were Johnny’s name. 

“John,” Johnny manages to whimper, impulsive and desperate. “My name is John. Johnny… Whichever. Ah–!” His words are interrupted as Ghost presses in deep, his thick knot beginning to stretch Johnny open. 

“Johnny,” Ghost murmurs, trailing his lips along his jaw, continuing to thrust. “…Johnny.” He repeats it like a prayer, a childhood nickname made to sound holy. 

There’s very little left to say as Ghost picks up speed, burying his face in the crook of Johnny’s neck. They devolve into the atavistic language of grunts and whimpers, chasing pleasure in the most primal way possible. Johnny hooks his ankles around Ghost’s lower back, his own thighs squeezing tightly ‘round Ghost’s middle. 

“Simon,” Ghost murmurs into Johnny’s ear, sounding remarkably unsure of himself, especially juxtaposed by the metronome mallet of his knot as he continues to pound his way into John’s body.

“Simon,” Johnny whispers back, holding Ghost’s (Simon’s) face between his hands, breathing in his hot exhale, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He lets out a soft laugh, suddenly giddy. “S’a good name.” 

“Fuck,” Ghost curses quietly as Johnny smooths his thumbs along the tops of his cheeks. Then, without warning, he rears back.

Johnny opens his eyes to see Ghost looking down at him, expression drawn and intense as he continues to thrust. He hefts Johnny’s thighs into the crooks of his arms and doubles his speed. John throws his head back with a ragged cry and grips the pillow beneath him tight enough to feel a seam pop. His own climax is fast approaching, especially as Ghost’s rhythm begins to falter and he pushes hard against John’s resistance.

Ghost’s knot goes in easy this time, and they both let out shocked gasps as Johnny’s body sucks him in.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Ghost croaks, sounding wrecked as he looks down in awe at where their bodies are joined. His dark eyes dart back up to Johnny’s face as he takes the other man’s cock in hand, beginning to stroke. “C’mon, Johnny. Give it to me.” 

“Oh, God–mng…!” Johnny arches into Ghost’s hand, tucking his lips around his teeth and breathing heavily through his nose as his thighs tense. “Mmph…fuck…Simon–”

Ghost lets out a ragged exhale, rolling his hips, his knot so hard inside of Johnny that it must be painful for him. He gives Johnny a few more strokes before gripping him hard by his knot, practically using John’s cock like a joystick as he thrusts minutely forward. His hips stutter as his mouth drops open, and Johnny feels Ghost’s cock give a powerful jerk. The expression of ecstasy on Ghost’s face is enough to push Johnny over the edge. He comes with a shocked gasp, grunting and wriggling in Ghost’s grip as he spills, an arc of his cum splattering against his stomach.    

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Ghost exclaims breathlessly, voice scraped raw. “God, you’re gorgeous.” 

Johnny floats in the aftershocks of his orgasm for a moment, unable to open his eyes. He manages a weak grabby gesture that gets him what he wants: Ghost leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of Johnny’s mouth. Then, they’re properly kissing again, Ghost still buried inside of Johnny’s body like he lives there. 

It’s terrifying, whatever this is between them. Johnny had never really believed in fate or even the alleged supranatural attraction some mates claim to experience for one another. But lying bonelessly in a stranger’s arms as he presses a soft line of kisses along Johnny’s sweaty temple with the gentle familiarity of a lover, John’s starting to second-guess his understanding of reality… 

Johnny traces his fingertips up and down Ghost’s back as they both work to catch their breath. 

“Not too bad for round two, aye?” Johnny finally says, his tongue tacky in his mouth. He swallows. “But I need an intermission. Definitely some water. Actually, there's beer in the fridge. It’s shite, absolute piss quality, but it came with the room. Maybe we can see what’s on the box–”

“Jesus Christ, Soap, you’re a talker, eh?” Ghost says with a chuckle. He begins to pull out, and Johnny grips him tighter with his thighs. 

“Not yet?” He sounds a little too meek for his own liking. 

Ghost draws back enough to look down at him, cheeks flushed, his neck and chest a splotchy red. “So long as you’re not uncomfortable.”

“I’m right where I wanna be,” Johnny answers with a grin, perhaps a little too truthfully. 

Ghost blinks a few times, his lips parting as if he’s about to say something, but then he simply dips forward and kisses him deeply. Johnny hums happily into his mouth, and they proceed to snog until Ghost’s knot softens enough that it slips out on its own. 

They clean up as necessary then quickly slide back beneath the covers of the queen-sized bed. Johnny snuggles into Simon’s side, but instead of reaching for the remote, he finds himself saying:

“Y’know, what’s funny is, I’m here for the health and wellness expo in the convention centre downstairs. I work in sales, God save my rotten soul. My company sells bunk fuckin’ supplements that’s supposed to regulate rut cycles. Make them more predictable, aye? Load of shite. Expensive fuckin’ sweeties is all they are.”

“That so?” Simon murmurs, pressing his nose to Johnny’s hair and inhaling. “How’d you end up becoming a con artist, then?”

This makes Johnny laugh, and then they…talk. And talk. Something about Simon makes John want to spill his guts, no secrets, no holds barred. He tells him about how he dropped out of secondary school, how he wanted to go into the service, but had a juvenile record because of some trespassing charges. He talks about his first job, then his second, how it all led him into this shitty line of work that he barely enjoys. But it pays the bills, and his mate doesn’t really have a steady job…

At the mention of his mate, Johnny’s stomach goes cold and he feels Simon tense. 

“Dunno what to do about all that, if I’m honest…” Johnny whispers, as if the walls might tattle on him. “I’m… Every time it gets harder to go home to him. And now, I–” He swallows hard, turning to press his face against Simon’s neck. 

“Quite the pickle,” Simon says flatly. 

John lets out an unamused huff of a laugh. “Aye, right fuckin’ mince.” He sweeps his fingertips through the curly patch of blonde hair in the centre of Simon’s chest. “What d’you do for work, then?” 

“Classified.”

Johnny gives his chest a smack. “Get tae fuck. Gies something, oh mysterious Ghost.” 

Simon finally admits that he works as a military consultant. He insists that can’t say more than that. His combat injury had ended his field career, but he refused to become a civilian. “Dunno how”, he says as he glides his knuckles up and down the outside of Johnny’s arm. “I spent too long being an attack dog. That's all I know how to be.”

“Hmm.” Johnny presses a kiss against the bump where Simon’s clavicle broke. “You give a good bosie for an attack dog.”   

Simon lets out a soft chuckle. “I have no idea what that means.” 

“You’re right cuddly, Simon,” Johnny translates, grinning wide and pressing his teeth against Simon’s pulse. 

“Piss off. I’ll kick you out of your own bed.”

“Nuh-uh. I think you like me too much.”

Simon grabs Johnny by the jaw, bringing their mouths close. “I like you when you’re quiet–”  

They start snogging again, the ebb of their respective ruts swelling back to life, knots growing hard. Simon slides beneath the covers and gives Johnny the best head of his life, sucking him to completion and swallowing everything he spills, large hands gripped tight around his knot. Then Simon fucks his way between Johnny’s clenched thighs, murmuring praises into his ear that turns Johnny’s viscera sticky with lust. 

They talk themselves hoarse, split the beer in the fridge, fuck again, and fall asleep sometime after three in the morning, a tangle of limbs and soft breath. It’s the easiest Johnny’s rut has ever been. A precedent he isn’t quite sure what to do with.