Archive of Our Own

“Anybody ever made you cry?” Soap asks, right into the skin of Ghost’s neck, and for a second Ghost forgets how to breathe.

He knows what Soap is asking. Soap has him backed against the desk of Ghost’s own room, one of his knees resting between Ghost’s, both of them hard. Of course he knows what Soap is asking.

“Enough have tried,” he retorts carefully. This feels- dangerous. They’ve fucked before, of course. They’re spending their fucking leave together, for god’s sake, but still, this is dangerous. Soap hums against his neck at that, and then he bites down into the soft skin there, and Ghost’s eyes fall shut.

Soap kisses at the bruised skin, and for a second, Ghost thinks that that’s the end of it. Somewhere between disappointed and relieved, he tangles his fingers in Soaps hair – he’s not wearing gloves, and that’s scary, to be so without armor here, in just sweats and a shirt, even his mask abandoned for the moment, but it’s so nice, when he can feel Soap’s warmth beneath his palms – and yanks him away from his neck to kiss him properly.

Soap lets him, because Soap always lets him.

Soap opens his mouth for him, lets him lick inside, lets him be as rough or as soft as he needs to be. Right now, with Soap’s thigh against his crotch and that thought – anybody ever made you cry? – at the forefront of his mind Ghost kisses like he’s starving for it. He is, after all. Soap has his hands steady on Ghost’s hips, keeping him from bucking against him, and he needs something to take the edge off.

Another thing about Soap is that he gives as good as he gets. He kisses back just as rough, his hands on Ghost’s hips gripping so hard Ghost wouldn’t be surprised if he finds bruises there tomorrow.

Soap is the one to pull away first, grinning when Ghost tries to follow him.

“You want me to try?” he asks, and it takes Ghost a long second to understand what he means. Soap is picking their earlier conversation back up.

Anybody ever made you cry? echoes in Ghost’s head unbidden. You want me to try?

Ghost suddenly, overwhelmingly, misses his mask, because he knows his face is flushed. He can write it off to his own horniness, to Soap’s thigh against him, but deep down, he knows that Soap’s proposition is getting to him.

Soap, Ghost assumes, knows as well.

When Ghost doesn’t answer Soap moves his leg a little, finally giving Ghost some hint of friction and keeps his gaze fixed on Ghost’s face as his breath hitches. They’ve done this before, but Soap never did get tired of looking at Ghost’s face, seeing all his little reactions no matter how hard he tries to keep a straight face.

Soap tilts his head a little, his grin dying down to make something a little more vulnerable, a little more tell me if you want me to stop. “Well?”

“Do whatever you want,” Ghost grunts finally. It’s a little ridiculous to still be putting on the tough guy act when they both know how affected he is, when Soap can see it on his face and feel it against his thigh, but no matter how often they do this, Ghost never did learn how to be honest with Soap, or himself.

Soap searches his face like he can’t quite believe he actually got permission. When Ghost just raises his eyebrows at him, pretending still that he isn’t half as affected as he is, Soap leans back in to kiss him. It’s a brief little thing, closed mouthed and sweet.

“Don’t worry LT,” he murmurs against Ghost’s lips. “I’ll take care of you.”

Ghost smirks. He doesn’t feel half as confident as he acts. “That so, Johnny?”

Soap just leans in to kiss him again, a second time, and then he promptly falls to his knees in front of Ghost. “Yeah,” he says, before he makes quick work of Ghost’s pants and underwear, yanking them down until they pool around his ankles.

Before Ghost can even step out of the mess of clothes, Soap has his hand on him. He runs his thumb across the slit, spreading precum, before he strokes him once, twice, the slide a bit rough. Ghost is so hard, having been denied so long, that he tries to buck against the contact, but Soap’s free hand is still on his hip, keeping him locked in place.

“Aren’t you eager?” Soap grins up at him, winks, and then he leans forward.

He presses a kiss into the side of Ghost’s cock, then another, keeping the contact light and barely there to tease him. One of Ghost’s hands falls to tangle in Soap’s hair, the other moving to grip on the edge of the desk behind him for stability. Without thinking, he pulls at Soap’s hair a little to get him to look back up.

“Get on with it, then. I thought you were going to make me cry?”

Soap smirks, and licks a long stripe along Ghost’s cock. The sensation and the sight – Johnny on his knees is not something Ghost will ever get tired of, he’s sure – drag a moan out of Ghost.

“That comes later,” he says nonchalantly, and then his lips close around Ghost’s cock, and any possible retort dies in Ghost’s throat.

He keeps his hand around the base as he sucks at the tip for a moment, tongue running across the slit. Ghost can’t help the way his hand clenches in Soap’s hair, and Soap hums in response to that, the sound resonating through Ghost like a shock. Soap stays like that a little longer, tongue lazily swirling across Ghost’s tip as his hand works the rest of his cock in lazy strokes, driving Ghost insane and yet somehow it’s not enough.

With the hand still tangled in Soap’s hair, he pushes at his head a little. It’s not enough to actually force Soap any deeper, but the implication is clear. Soap catches his eye for a second, and his flushed face and stretched lips make the tight coil of heat in Ghost’s stomach flare up.

Then, Soap closes his eyes, and presses forward. He takes as much of Ghost’s cock into his mouth as he can and hums around him.

“Fuck,” Ghost murmurs above him, and then again, a little louder when Soap doesn’t give him a moment of rest. Soap stays nestled there, Ghost’s cock heavy on his tongue, making such a pretty picture Ghost can’t bring himself to close his eyes.

They stay like that for a few seconds, Ghost’s hand fisted in Soap’s hair the only thing keeping him grounded before Soap pulls back a little to give his jaw a rest. He doesn’t pull off entirely, keeping the tip of Ghost’s cock buried in his mouth. Licking across the slit, Soap moves his hand in tandem, building a steady rhythm that leaves Ghost trying to fuck into his mouth without thinking. Soap’s hand on his hip holds him back, but the movement of his tongue keeps it’s brutal pace, focusing on the most sensitive part of Ghost until Ghost feels something tight and hot coil in his stomach.

“Johnny,” Ghost tugs at Soap’s hair warningly. They’ve done this enough for Soap to understand, but he doesn’t stop, just takes Ghost as deep as he can until the tip of him hits the back of Soap’s throat. Ghost groans at the tight heat, and then Soap swallows around him, and that’s really all Ghost needs right now, with how keyed up he is.

He comes like that, down Soap’s throat, his hands clenching against his will. Soap swallows around him until Ghost has nothing left to give, and then he pulls off, grinning. He wipes saliva and cum off his lips with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact with Ghost.

“That’s one,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“You keeping count, Johnny?”

Soap smirks up at him. “Course I am, LT,” he replies. “Gotta know how many it takes for next time.”

“Next time?”

Soap moves to get up, crowding Ghost against the desk once again. He presses a kiss against Ghost’s lips, and Ghost can taste himself in Soap’s mouth. When he pulls away, Soap is smiling. “Yeah,” he says. “Next time.”

Ghost wants to retort something, but Soap just keeps going. “Get rid of the pants, yeah?”

Ghost obeys without thinking, finally kicking his pants and underwear off from where they’re still pooled around his ankles. Soap chuckles. “The shirt too.”

Taking off his shirt leaves Ghost feeling oddly vulnerable. Here he is, naked, perched on the side of a desk, with Soap still fully clothed in front of him. Soap doesn’t leave him enough time to ponder the situation, and the trust that Simon is giving more freely than he thought he was able to.

Soap puts a hand to Ghost’s shoulder and pushes until Ghost gives, and lets himself fall back. The hard wood is cold against his bare skin, unexpected. It grounds him, as Soap’s hands settle on his naked thighs, and pull them apart so he can settle between them.

He stays there for a long moment, Ghost’s knees bracketing his hips, just looking. Ghost doesn’t quite have it in himself to feel self-conscious, not after everything they’ve been through together. If Soap wants to get a good look, he can. Ghost won’t deny him.

Finally, Soap’s lips quirk up a little, and one of his hands leaves Ghost’s thigh to root around in his ridiculous cargo pants that he insists on wearing even while they’re on leave. It is only then that it strikes Ghost that Soap had planned this.

Soap pulls a small bottle of lube out of his pocket, and Ghost can’t help but roll his eyes, because Soap planned this. From the very beginning, Soap was expecting this situation to go as it’s going. From the very beginning, Soap was expecting Ghost to say yes.

Ghost doesn’t have it in himself to be upset. Not when Soap uncaps the bottle, and spreads a generous amount of lube across his hand. Not when the air is heavy with a promise. Ghost doesn’t really believe Soap will make him cry, but he knows that Soap will give it his best shot, and that’s enough to make something warm pool heavy in his stomach again, entirely too early after his first orgasm.

Soap grins. His fingers find Ghost’s hole, too cold, and Ghost shudders. “You’re just full of surprises, LT,” Soap says conversationally, circling his finger softly to get Ghost used to the feeling.

“Didn’t expect me to go along?” Ghost responds, voice a little rougher than usual. The feeling of Soap’s finger against him is strange in his sensitive state, but he likes it. It’s good, as Soap finally applies pressure, and it slides inside, all the way to the last knuckle.

“Nah,” Soap murmurs. His eyes don’t seem to be able to settle on any one part of Ghost. They flit from his face, to where his finger is buried, and back to his face again, like he’s worried he’ll miss out on some minute facial shift. “You just make a prettier picture than expected.”

With that, Soap pulls his finger out, fucks it back inside. Against his best efforts, Ghost makes a little noise at that, a choked off moan. One finger doesn’t usually affect him like this, but so soon after his last orgasm it feels like more than usual. Soap keeps the motion up, fucks his finger into Ghost in a slow, steady pace, like he really is just enjoying the view and not trying to hurry this along.

“Been fantasizing, Johnny?” Ghost asks, though his voice isn’t half as mocking as he wants it to be.

Soap chuckles, and pushes two fingers into Ghost without warning. “You don’t know the half of it, LT.”

The sudden stretch is good, and just that side of painful. As Ghost’s eyes momentarily fall shut against his will, it’s almost enough to distract him from the fact that Soap had been thinking about this, about him.

Not quite, though.

Ghost suspects that he does know the half of it. If he’s honest with himself, he probably knows the whole of it, but he never quite manages honesty, even in the privacy of his own thoughts. The fact of the matter is this: he’s been looking forward to these two weeks of leave they are granted. If Soap hadn’t made the first move, he would’ve.

The implications of that- Ghost doesn’t have it in himself to think on them. They spell out something he is not quite ready to face, and even less ready to address.

Thankfully, he’s spared from any more thought by Soap, and his clever fingers finding that spongy center of him that make the pleasure decidedly outweigh the pain. Entirely against his will, his head falls back against the desk as Soap keeps working that spot for a long moment.

Ghost can feel Soap’s stare on his face, but he doesn’t care. Not when his cock is hard again and Johnny spreads his fingers, opening him up, promising more.

Soap spends a long moment just fucking Ghost with two fingers. It’s good, and it’s not enough, and Ghost moans with every press inside. “Get on with it,” he grunts finally, when Johnny makes no move to speed this along.

Soap snorts, but on the next press inside, it’s three fingers spreading Ghost open. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager, LT,” he says softly, as he settles into a steady rhythm fucking his fingers into Ghost.

It takes Ghost a long moment to get his voice back under control. They’ve done this enough times for Soap to know him inside and out, and so he finds that place within Ghost almost instantly, hits it with every press inside.

“You said it, Johnny,” Ghost rasps, out of breath. “I’m full of surprises.”

Johnny chuckles, and then thankfully, terribly, his hand settles on Ghost’s cock. The touch alone punches all the air from Ghost’s lungs, but Soap doesn’t offer him a moment of respite. He starts stroking at it, matching the pace of his other hand.

Ghost can’t do much more than lie there and let Soap take him apart, bit by bit. Heat pools hot in his gut, and as Soap runs his thumb across his slit just as his fingers strike home again, it becomes too much.

He comes like that across Soap’s hand and his own stomach, making an utterly undignified sound. Soap keeps the movement of his hands up a moment longer, his fingers rubbing insistently at that spot inside that drives Ghost insane. He keeps it up, until Ghost’s legs begin to shake, just barely, and then finally, seconds before it becomes too much, he stills.

Ghost’s breathing is heavy, uneven, and he can’t get it under his control for the life of him. When Soap pulls out his fingers he wipes them off on the inside of Ghost’s thigh without a second thought, and Ghost doesn’t trust his own voice enough to complain right now.

Johnny above him grins, and leans down to press a kiss into his cheek, terribly, overwhelmingly soft. “That’s two.”

“Fucking hell,” Ghost murmurs, and pulls him in to kiss him properly. This time, it’s slower. Soap licks into his mouth as his hands travel up Ghost’s naked sides, the touch almost too gentle. They stay like that for a long moment, getting lost in the familiarity of it all. Soap’s mouth against his own is warm and insistent, and Ghost wants to kiss him forever.

When Soap pulls away, Ghost almost follows him in his desire to keep going. Johnny just grins. “I’m giving it my best shot, LT.”

There’s that promise again. Anybody ever made you cry?

Ghost lets his head fall back against the desk. “I’m not crying yet.”

Soap leans down to press one last kiss against Ghost’s mouth, quick and closed-mouth. “Give it time,” he says, and then his attention shifts as he fumbles with the fly of his own pants.

Ghost’s mouth runs dry. He wants this, is the thing. He’s been wanting Johnny to fuck him since before they started this. But now-

Under Ghost’s watchful gaze Soap manages to open his pants, and then pull out his cock. Seeing it- Ghost wants it. Seeing Johnny so hard, just for him, makes everything else fade into the background. It doesn’t matter how sensitive he is, he wants Soap to fuck him.

Soap catches his gaze as he slicks himself up, and there’s that question on his face again, that tell me if you want me to stop. As Soap lines himself up, he catches Ghost’s eye.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice softer than it should be, considering the situation they’re in.

“Yeah,” Ghost reassures, and then, “fuck,” as Soap starts to push inside, just the head at first.

Soap had made sure to prepare him properly, had taken his time, but so soon after his last orgasm, the stretch feels impossible. Soap just keeps pushing, gentle but insisting, and every centimeter leaves Ghost feeling impossibly open.

It takes torturous moments of Soap just pushing, further and further, as Ghost beneath him tries to get used to it, but finally, Soap stops, his cock an insisting, all-consuming weight within Ghost. They stay like that for a long moment as Ghost tries and fails to breathe through it all.

Soap’s eyes never stray from Ghost’s face, like he doesn’t want to miss a single expression. He rocks his hips, just barely, and Ghost’s mouth falls open involuntarily in response to the friction.

“Fucking hell, Ghost,” he murmurs, sounding genuinely awestruck.

“Move,” Ghost chokes out in response. Soap above him catches his eye, momentarily unsure. He makes another tentative little movement with his hips, and Ghost is so sensitive he has to bite back a groan. It’s not enough.

“Fuck, Johnny. Move.”

It seems to do the trick. Soap finally, finally, pulls almost all the way out, only to thrust back inside, his grip on Ghost’s hips firm. It’s good. It’s so fucking good Ghost forgets how to breathe. Soap above him groans, and thankfully, doesn’t stop the movement of his hips.

Soap lets him be as rough or as soft as he needs to be, always, and right now, Simon needs him soft. He’s oversensitive, stretched to the brim, and Soap takes his time, because Simon needs him to take his time.

He fucks into him gently, not at all the way this usually goes. He sets a steady pace, slow but deep, leaving Simon breathless with every slide in. It’s too much, and yet not enough. Simon is decidedly not crying, but he’s starting to believe Soap that he might get him there.

Soap finds that spongy center of Simon soon enough, and Simon’s eyes fall shut. “Fuck,” he breathes, and Soap above him grins.

He keeps that angle, hands moving to hold Simon’s thighs open, and hits it with every thrust. It’s overwhelming. It knocks the breath from Simon’s lungs, and Soap just keeps his pace steady, never showing how this is affecting him.

Simon’s cock is hard again, but Soap pays it no mind. Instead, he leans down to press a kiss against Ghost’s lips, sweet and closed-mouthed. “You good, LT?” he asks softly.

“Fuck you,” Ghost rasps, sounding desperate even to his own ears. Blindly, he reaches out for Johnny, fists his hands in the fabric of his shirt to give him something to ground him. “Yes, I’m good.”

Soap kisses him again, and then a third time, the movement of his hips steady but insisting. “You’re doing better than expected,” he murmurs, right against Ghost’s lips, and then he picks up his pace, and Ghost couldn’t respond if he wanted to.

Soap stays bent over like that, pressing kisses into Ghost’s skin as he starts to fuck him in earnest. It’s messy, Ghost too lost in the sensation of Johnny’s cock pressing inside, over and over, never giving him a second to catch his breath. It’s too much, and Ghost can’t do much more than cling to Soap and take it, moaning with every thrust inside, every press against that sensitive spot within him that makes pleasure coil white-hot in his gut.

Soap buries his head in Ghost’s neck, presses a mess of kisses and bites into the sensitive skin there and Ghost keens at the sensation. His cock is a heavy weight between them, but Soap pays it no mind, and as that heat starts to pool inside him again, Ghost realizes that he doesn’t need him to.

He’s so sensitive, wound so tight, that he can come just like this.

“Simon,” Soap mumbles into his neck as his pace becomes erratic. “Fuck, Simon, you feel so good.”

Simon doesn’t know what it is – that name, Simon, in Soap’s rough, desperate voice, or the praise, or the way his cock keeps hitting home, keeps finding that place deep within that Simon’s only ever let Soap find – but something pushes him over the edge. He comes with a drawn-out moan, his cock barely releasing a few drops of come, on nothing but Soap’s cock, and Soap’s voice, and Soap’s mouth against his sensitive skin.

“Fuck,” Soap groans, and pulls away from Simon’s neck to press his lips against Simon’s instead. His hips don’t stop their movement, even as Simon dissolves into a whimpering mess beneath him, too far gone to actually kiss him back.

Soap is close, fucking into Simon almost frantically, now that he’s not focused on getting Simon off anymore. “Si-,” Soap moans, and Simon below him whines as Soap comes inside, the sensation overwhelming. Soap rides out his orgasm like that, fucking into Simon a few more times as Simon tries to stay quiet, and fails miserably.

Finally, Soap stills, both of their breathing heavy. It takes another few seconds for Simon to open his eyes again, and he finds Soap’s face above him, the look in his eyes terribly gentle. “Hey,” Soap almost whispers, and leans down to kiss him.

It’s just a peck, closed mouthed and quick. “Three,” Johnny murmurs against Simon’s lips.

They stay like that for a long moment, Soap buried inside him, just kissing. It’s a silent reprieve, getting to wrap his arms around Soap’s shoulders and licking along his lips, and it doesn’t last half as long as Ghost wants it to. Before long, Soap pulls away from him.

“Think you can do four?”

Ghost shudders, like he’s only now realizing what exactly he got himself into. Johnny’s gaze on him is expectant, but never demanding. Ghost can say no. He can always say no.

But he’s a stubborn bastard to his core, so he catches Soap’s eye, and doesn’t.

“You tell me,” he says, voice rough. “I thought this was your best shot?”

Johnny’s face splits into a grin. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs as he bends down to press a kiss into Simon’s cheek. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” With that, he pulls out, the little movement enough to make Simon bite back a gasp.

It’s strange, to see Johnny pull back from him to stand upright between Simon’s legs, looking like a man on a mission. They’ve never- They’ve never done this before. Something heavy settles in Simon’s gut, somewhere between nervousness and arousal. They’ve never kept going before, never pushed boundaries.

This could mean- anything. This means trust, and with that, something else. Simon lets Soap take him apart, because he trusts him. He trusts him, because-

Johnny saves him from his own overthinking by settling a hand on Simon’s cock. The touch is light, tentative, like Johnny is just testing the waters, but Simon’s come three times, and so, he makes a pathetic little sound in response to it.

A little smile settles on Johnny’s lips, and Simon wonders distinctly whether he’s made a mistake, when he agreed to this. Then, Johnny swipes his thumb across his slit, and Simon stops thinking completely.

He takes it slow this time, careful never to overwhelm Simon. He keeps him just on the edge, stroking him back into hardness slow but sure, like he has all the time in the world. He does. The movement of his wrist keeps Simon lost in it, forgetting time as he tries to bite back little whimpers anytime Soap’s hand brushes along his cock, the touch gentle.

Simon doesn’t know how much time they spend like that. It feels like his brain is fogging over, like he’s still there, can still feel the pleasure but some part of him is gone. He doesn’t miss it. Not when he has all of Johnny’s attention on him, focused on nothing but taking care of him, making him feel good.

Johnny’s touch is soft and slow, jerking Simon off gently but deliberately as his other hand traces little distracting patterns across his ribs, and Simon feels- loved. Safe.

Johnny looks downright adoring, and Simon has to close his eyes in the face of his soft smile. He’s so oversensitive, so overwhelmed, he can’t think about what that might mean right now. His thoughts are too clouded over to face the way Johnny looks at him like he’s something precious.

“Look at me?” Johnny asks, his voice gentle.

A soft bright haze has settled over Simon’s mind, leaving him pliant and obedient in a way he never is, usually. He opens his eyes.

Johnny smiles, and runs a finger through the mess on his stomach and brings it up to Simon’s lips. “Open?” he asks, almost a little tentatively. Simon obeys without a second thought, and when Johnny’s finger pushes into his mouth, he licks at it without another command, tasting the salty tang of his own cum on his tongue.

Johnny rewards him by running the thumb of his other hand across his slit, and Simon moans around the digit. An instant later, he pulls the finger back out, and runs two across Simon’s stomach this time, before pushing them back into Simon’s mouth. The movement of his other hand never stops, keeping Simon too lost in the overwhelming white-hot pleasure to think, to do anything more than what Soap asks of him.

Soap keeps doing this, over and over, jerking Simon off nice and slow as he feeds him his own cum, and Simon keeps being pliant and good, licking it off his fingers without a second of hesitation.

“Oh, Si-“ Johnny murmurs, “You’re cute like this.”

Simon can’t speak around the three fingers in his mouth, but he also doesn’t particularly want to. The heat has been gathering in his stomach again, slowly and steadily, and the praise only makes him moan.

Johnny keeps watching him as his hand moves steadily over his cock. It’s overwhelming, to have his entire attention focused solely on himself, to know that Johnny sees every miniscule detail – sees the way Simon’s cheeks are a bright red, his hair a mess, sees the way Simon’s legs shake just a little, the way his hands are clenched around the edge of the desk, the way his lips stretch around Soap’s fingers – and to know he likes it.

Johnny likes to see Simon like this, desperate and obedient.

“My cute boy,” Johnny breathes mostly to himself, the movement of his hand speeding up just a fraction, and Simon whimpers around the fingers in his mouth, and comes dry.

The movement of Johnny’s hand keeps up a moment longer, as Simon’s whimpers get louder and louder, too overwhelmed to care about keeping quiet. Johnny pulls his fingers out of Simon’s mouth, and Simon almost sobs at the loss.

“Fuck, Si, look at you,” Johnny murmurs as tears start to form in the corners of Simon’s eyes. He looks down at where Simon’s cock is softening in his hand, like he’s only now realizing Simon has come again, an odd sort of wonder plain on his face.

“Four,” he points out, and finally, finally, pulls his hand away, mere second before the tears would have started to fall.

Simon’s breathing is heavy, uneven and he can’t think. “Johnny,” he mumbles dumbly, the only thing left in his head.

Johnny tilts his head curiously, and runs a finger up Simon’s limp cock lightly, experimentally. Simon makes a broken noise at the hint of contact. “Johnny,” he almost sobs. “It’s-“

Another finger, barely there, traces along the head of Simon’s spent cock, and Simon cuts himself off to moan.

“Fucking hell, Si-“ Johnny rasps. He’s staring at Simon’s flushed face with clear adoration, but Simon can’t think, can’t find focus long enough to mind. “I didn’t think you’d be so cute.”

With that, his hands settle back on Simon’s hips, and he uses his grip to manhandle Simon until he’s spread out on the desk, chest pressed against the now warm wood and ass exposed in front of Soap. Simon isn’t entirely there, brain fogged over in a way he’s never experienced before, and he doesn’t put up any kind of struggle, lets Soap position him however he wants.

It isn’t until he can feel the press of Johnny’s hard cock against him that the situation dawns on him.

When Simon speaks, his voice has a frantic edge to it that he can’t choke down, no matter how hard he tries. “Johnny, I don’t think I can-“

“That’s alright,” Soap murmurs as he lines himself up. “You don’t have to come anymore, love. You just gotta take it.”

He stays there for a long moment, cock pressing insistently against Simon’s slick hole. The pressure alone drives him insane in his oversensitive state. He’s not sure whether to push back against it or to shy away from it. His choice doesn’t particularly matter either way, since Soap’s hands are tight on his hips, keeping him locked in place.

“Simon,” Soap rasps, sounding like he’s just barely holding himself back. “Can you take it? I need to hear you say it.”

Simon knows that if he said no now, Soap would stop. He moves his ass as much as he can with Soap’s tight grip, which isn’t a lot at all, but the hint of friction is enough to make Soap groan behind him. There’s not really a choice. Not when Soap is this desperate, and Simon is this far gone, just trying to be good.

“I- I can take it, Johnny. I want to.”

“Oh,” Johnny breathes behind him. Simon can’t see his face, but he can imagine the soft, adoring expression he wears, and it would be overwhelming, if he could just think. As it is, with Simon having come four times and too focused on the all-consuming pressure of Soap’s cock against him, it’s a comfort.

It makes him want to let Soap do whatever he wants to him. It makes him trust Soap to pick up the pieces, after.

“Good boy,“ Soap almost coos behind him as he pushes back inside, and that’s what breaks him. “Simon, you’re so good.”

Simon feels tears gather at the corner of his eyes, either from the intrusion or the praise, he isn’t sure. “Thank you, sir,” he chokes out.

Behind him, Johnny makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a moan as he bottoms out inside Simon. “That one’s not surprising.”

Simon can feel the way the back of his neck burns, but he can’t think straight right now, much less articulate anything more than please, and thank you, and johnny.

“I like it,” Soap murmurs, then, and something in Simon breaks. Three words, and they’re enough to banish any semblance of pride left within Simon. “Say it again?”

“Please, sir,” Simon chokes out without thinking. Soap is buried in him, still, and Simon just wants him to move.

“Oh,” Soap breathes, “You are cute.”

He makes a tentative little movement with his hips, barely anything at all, his grip on Simon’s hips firm and grounding. It’s not enough.

Simon buries his face in his elbow. “Please,” he sobs.

“Don’t worry, Si,” Soap reassures him softly. “I’d never deny you.”

With that, Soap pulls out, fucks back inside, holding Simon in place, and Simon sobs in gratitude.

“Thank you, sir,” he mumbles into his elbow, and Soap laughs in response to it, not mocking, just- exhilarated. He loves it as much as Simon does.

“Of course, love,” he responds, his voice rough as he settles into a messy rhythm. “Anything for you.”

Before, Soap had fucked him nice and slow, had taken him apart bit by bit. Now, Simon has already ripped at the seams, revealing the soft center of him, and Johnny doesn’t bother with gentleness. He sets a rough pace from the very start, leaving Simon unable to catch his breath as the first tears start to soak into the skin of his arm.

Simon can’t breathe, can’t think. All he can do right now is try his best to keep still and let Soap fuck him as tears fall from his eyes. It’s too much. He doesn’t want it to end.

“Fuck, Si-“ Soap groans, his grip on Simon so tight it will bruise. “You’re so good.”

The praise makes Simon let out a pathetic whine. It’s all so much. Johnny’s hands on him, his cock in him, his voice, the praise. The slick slide in, out, as Johnny takes his pleasure.

Simon’s cock hangs limp and useless between his legs, and Johnny pays it no mind. The knowledge that he can’t get off anymore, that this is just for Soap, makes Simon feel dirty. It makes him feel like a toy to be fucked, and then left broken and bruised without second thought. Except, this is Soap, so of course that’s not what this is.

Except-

Johnny keeps breathing mindless praise into the air between them – You feel so good, love, you’re taking it so well. You’ve done perfectly. You don’t even have to come anymore, you just have to lie there and let me fuck you, yeah? – and in return, Simon sobs a broken string of yes, sir and thank you, sir into his elbow.

He feels broken open, too full, too sensitive, too vulnerable, but the thought of stopping doesn’t even cross his mind. Because it’s Johnny.

It’s Johnny, and Simon just wants to be good for him. His cheeks are wet with tears, and he’s so overwhelmed but it doesn’t matter, because Johnny moans behind him as he fucks him. He just wants Johnny to feel good.

“Johnny,” he sobs mindlessly, over and over, the only thing left in his head. “Johnny, please.”

“Si,” Johnny moans. His voice is rough, and his thrusts are becoming uneven, almost frantic. He must be close. “It’s good. You’re good.”

Simon lies there, and takes it. “Thank you, sir.”

“Si,” Johnny chokes out again, and then he comes, deep inside Simon.

Simon sobs as Johnny rides out his orgasm inside him, as Johnny thrusts into him, again, and then a third time, making a mess of Simon beneath him until he finally stills, buried deep inside, preventing his own cum from leaking out of Simon’s hole.

“Johnny,” he mumbles, his voice a broken mess. He can’t stop crying, even now that Johnny has finally stopped, has given him a moment to breathe.

Johnny’s hands on his hips unclench, and instead move to trace a gentle pattern into the bruised skin, almost like an apology. “Simon, love,” Johnny murmurs, voice so soft it would make Simon cry, if he wasn’t already. “Was that too much?”

Simon takes his first lungful of air in what feels like an eternity, and it helps to calm him down, if only a little. “No,” he responds, honestly and embarrassed. “I liked it.”

Soap runs his hands up Simon’s back and down again, a gentle little motion meant to help him calm down. “Me too. I like you like this.” With that, Soap pulls out, and it’s so jarring to be empty now that Simon has to bite back a gasp at the sensation.

He can feel some of the Soap’s cum start to run down his legs, but he doesn’t particularly care right now, too focused on getting his breathing back under control, and getting the tears to stop. It takes an awfully long time, Soap rubbing gentle patterns into his skin the whole time as he murmurs sweet nothings.

“You did so good, Simon. I’ll take care of you. Breathe.”

Simon’s breathing evens out, slowly but steadily, and his cheeks are still wet, but he manages to stop crying. “You can stop that, Johnny. I’m fine.”

Johnny hums behind him. “I like taking care of you, Si,” he says, finally, but pulls his hands away anyway, apparently satisfied with Simon’s ability to string together sentences again.

There’s a desk chair that Soap had pushed out of the way earlier, before this whole thing started, and now, Simon can hear him drag it back and fall down into it heavily.

“Fuck,” Johnny says after a long second. “That was-“

He trails off, like he can’t quite find the word. “Yeah,” Simon responds. “I know”

There’s another second of silence, both of them trying to get their heartbeats back under control. Then-

“Fuck, Simon,” Soap rasps, one of his hands finding Simon’s ass, his thumb spreading him open just a little. Simon can feel the mess of cum and lube between his legs, can feel it escape his hole a little as Soap holds him open, and that should be humiliating, but Soap doesn’t sound mocking, and Simon is too far gone to care much either way. “Don’t you make a pretty picture.”

An instant later, Simon can feel Soap lean forward and press a kiss into the skin of his ass. He’s so sensitive that little bit of contact alone makes him choke back a moan.

Soap behind him chuckles and finally lets go of his ass. “Makes me wanna eat you out.”

“No,” Simon rasps, his voice hoarse. “Don’t even think about it, Johnny.”

At that, Johnny laughs, the wanker. “Next time then, LT.”

Simon wants to respond, but Johnny just keeps talking.

“I’ll run a bath, yeah?” Soap continues. “Think you can get up on your own?”

He doesn’t. He can barely feel his legs, and he doesn’t trust them to carry his weight. Simon is notoriously bad at admitting his own shortcomings, and even worse at asking for help, but right now, he can’t find it in himself to care. “No,” he admits simply.

Soap chuckles. “That’s alright,” he responds easily as Simon hears him get back up. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Simon agrees as Soap starts to manhandle him into an upright position. His brain still feels hazy, fucked out, and he’s so tired all of a sudden. He lets Soap help him up, and then, they’re face to face again, Simon leaning heavily on Johnny.

Johnny’s face is flushed, his hair a mess. He’s still wearing his shirt, and his pants are still around his hips, the front only undone enough to pull out his cock. He looks like a mess, and Simon knows he must look a hundred times worse, but Johnny looks at him with fond eyes, so it doesn’t matter.

Without thinking, he leans in to kiss Johnny, sweet and soft and closed mouthed. Johnny smiles against him and that’s- Simon’s too tired to think about how that makes him feel. He likes it, simple as that.

They stand there for a long second, just kissing. Johnny’s hand settles on Simon’s wet cheek softly, and wipes at the tear stains there, and Simon slips a hint of tongue against him, and it’s nice. Johnny pulls away first, smiling softly.

“We can continue this in the bath, yeah?”

Ghost’s bathtub hasn’t been used, ever, but Soap doesn’t let that stop him. He helps Simon all the way to the bathroom, and lets the water run hot as Simon sits on the edge, a little dazed. When the tub is full, he helps Simon inside with gentle hands.

It’s an awkward fit. Simon is taller than Johnny, and the bathtub is only so big, but it doesn’t matter. Johnny settles behind him, wraps his arms around Simon’s waist and presses a kiss into Simon’s hair.

Simon’s never felt this warm, this loved, this safe. Usually, he would pull back, but right now, he’s too tired to pretend he doesn’t like it.

He dozes off like that, in the warm water, his back pressed to Soap’s chest.

He trusts Soap to take care of him.