(John becoming older and asking Simon to keep his dollybird... entertained.)
tw. kissing, talks of sharing.
...................
John knew things were different, as a man in charge, it was in his blood to pick up on changes, and you were no different.
"John, things are fine in that department, i don't know why you worry so much." You gently chide, bodies pressed together in bed, your arm over his middle.
John huffs in reply.
"I know i'm getting older, bird. And i just feel a little-" he pauses, unable to finish his sentence.
You kiss him softly, and settle next to him.
"You are enough, John. Promise." You placate, even though you had picked up on things too.
"I could ask-" He starts, eyes meeting yours.
"Someone younger, someone-"
Your face goes red, you know what he is silently asking, what the unspoken mist is between you. Someone else. And deep down, you have thought about it.
Soap would be too eager, too full of himself to make sure you are taken care of, and Gaz was off the market, so that left one man.
"Simon." you whisper.
John simply nods. his arm tightening around you.
"How would you feel if i asked him." he asks you, his voice deep and a little rough with the gravity of the situation.
Out of the task force, Simon was the one who scared you the most, strong, tall and mostly silent, but always polite to you when you come onto base for things.
"Would he even be up for it. Imagine if he wasn't and i could never visit you on base again." You say quietly, letting your fear hang in the air.
"Seen the way he looks at you, bird. That wont be a problem." John assures you, rolling over so he can look at you properly, his body looming over yours.
" I have a confession." John admits, with the grace to look sheepish.
Your eyes meet his, and you know already.
"You asked him?" You hiss, ignoring the feeling in your stomach, cheeks flushed with emotion.
He responds by nuzzling your neck, placing soft, placating kisses along your jawline.
Soap strikes me as the kind of guy that sends you dick pics, but like, so you can send them to people that send you unsolicited dick pics. He thinks itâs funny, and more often than not, gets them to leave you alone.
Like, heâs absurdly well mannered about it too. Asks you ahead of time, makes sure you know heâs serious, warns you through text before he sends them, and after you have them, he sends a few filler messages so you arenât immediately seeing them when you open your texts next.
And maybe thereâs a part of him that gets off on knowing that you have pictures of his cock on your phone, but mostly he lives for the screenshots you send him of the responses you get (he tries to not let seeing you call his cock yours get to him. God forbid he let it slip that you could absolutely lay claim to it)
Ghost telling everyone about his new dog, a feisty little thing that needs some training.
"Still needs to be trained not to bite," ghost explains to kyle one day, rolling up his sleeve. He holds out his arm to show a very much human looking bite "got me good this morning."
"...ghost. thats...that's not a dog bite..." kyle replies, eyes narrowed and slightly judgemental.
"Affirm." Ghost's grin is evident in his voice, tapping the bite. He still remembers when you have it to him, a nice lock on his forearm when he had you in a headlock. Thrusting into you even after two rounds. The bite was totally instincts, and maybe had ghost coming way too fast.
It is impossible to sleep in the same bed with Konig. He's bloody massive and produces so much heat you can barely stand to cuddle. But worst of all, he's a horny mutt even when asleep.
You've woken up multiple times to him grinding against you in his sleep. Throbbing and leaking a stupid amount of precum onto the sheets, your clothes, his clothes. Nearly every set of bedding you owned is stained. At least you can prepare and put down a towel if you're awake. But theres nothing you can do when he gets hard and needy in his dreams. And when he manages to cum in his sleep? Cock shoved between your thighs and pulsing with each spurt of cum? It's such a mess. And he won't even clean it up in the morning! Just laughs when you complain and goes about his day.
It's so annoying. You're sick of having to change the sheets every single day. So you've come up with a solution.
When you feel his cock prodding your ass in the middle of the night you move. Straddling his waist and slowly sliding down onto him. You just sit there. Rubbing your eyes and holding back yawns. Konig whines and ruts up into you sleepily until he cums. It's so much. You can feel the hot ropes filling your cunt. But it's all plugged inside by his cock. Once he's done you lay down on top of him. Nuzzling into his chest and drifting back off to sleep.
It's a treat for him in the morning to find you already on his cock when he wakes up hard. Holding your hips and using you like a fleshlight until you wake. Whimpering in pleasure as he adds a second load deep inside you.
Of course if you were to pull off him now it would still make a mess all over your nice clean bed. All that effort for nothing. So you quickly move to sit on his face. Gripping his hair while you grind down on his tongue. You get a lovely orgasm first thing in the morning, and he cleans up the mess he made. It's only fair.
Soap is the biggest strap advocate you will ever meet, and loves to voice his opinion when even a little tipsy.
Which, unfortunately, means his teammates have heard in great detail exactly how he likes to take it. Mostly price tunes him out, and Gaz isn't all that bothered seeing as he also overshares, but then there's Ghost.
Ghost, who always rolls his eyes and tells Soap "nothin' better than fucking a tight hole, you just don't know how to top."
And of course, this pisses Soap off, because Ghost hasn't even tried it! So they make a deal. Ghost has to try it, and if he still doesn't like it Soap will let Ghost have free use over the weekend. Of course, soap needs to make sure Ghost doesn't just stay at home and lie about trying it, so he gets to choose who gives him the strap.
Enter you, who takes one look at Johnny's friend and decides he needs to get his guts rearranged.
Now imagine the glowing red blush Ghost sports when you show him the strap you want to use. Definitely on the bigger side, larger than his own dick, with a faux Jacob's ladder. He tries to resist it at first, but you've trained plenty of men.
Which is how you get ghost chest-down into your mattress, hands pressing between his shoulder blades because you can't quite reach his neck. He's making little choked off gasps between thrusts, babbling mindlessly "ahâ ah please! Fuckâ pleaseâ more, iâ" the same way he has been since the second orgasm.
There's a thick pool of his cum on your sheets, and a few thick strands over his stomach. Each thrust of your hips is met with him thrusting back, arching his spine sinfully so you can really abuse his prostate.
"cmon, si' you can do one more, can't you?" You ask, hand reaching around to cup his balls and lightly stroke at his tip even when he cries. "You're already moaning like a slag, don't you wanna cum like one too? I'm sure this one will be a blank, come on and be good for me."
Ghost whines, hips stuttering in a way you've come to recognize, and you fuck him through it until he's gently pushing at your hips. Totally fucked out and mindless as he rolls over to catch a breath.
You take a photo of the puddle of cum next to Ghost's hip, angle it to get your strap in it too, and send it off to Soap for confirmation.
When Ghost can speak again, his voice is shot "...can we do that again?"
Simon's fingers are thick enough to make it burn at the stretch.Â
He rarely uses only one. Just at first, of course. Middle finger testing around before it finds a place to slot in and curl. He waves it inside, dancing back and forth with his wrist but never going in too deep, straying from bruising your cervixâknows it's not there that you like it.
Knows you inside out, actually.
Every bloody time you and Simon have sex, it turns into one hell of an anatomy lesson. The patience of the man is genuinely unmatchedâperks of dating a sniper, you think.
No, not there. Bit to the left. Yeah, can you feel that? Should feel a bit rougher.Â
Slow. Slower. Nah. No. Lost it.
Fast. Oh Godâyeah, like that. Touch my clit too, baby. Yeahâyes, oh my Gâplease, keepâno, no notâoh. Alright. Lost it.
Fucking hell, that man has put his whole blood and sweat into it. Fingers, tongue, cock, toys, hands, fistsânothing.
You're oddly alright with it. Frustrating as it is, of course. You're not immune; it's obvious that you want to come too. Alas, you've made peace with it.
You never had a good orgasm with someone else. Or a bad one either.Â
Pretty trustworthy of your fingers, or your vibe when it's your hand guiding it, your orgasms are usually mind-blowing when it's you coaxing them out of yourself.Â
When it comes to someone else, though, it's like your body immediately shuts off and doesn't know how to climb over that edge.Â
Simon once insisted on watching you get off as he did too (quite the hot experience), using that newly discovered kink to study what you didâbut you didn't come, that night, even though you changed absolutely nothing of your usual masturbation routine.
It's a trust thing. An anxiety thing. A stress thing. So many things crammed into one big, cumbersome, unnamed feeling that sits heavy in your guts.
Simon's hurt, even if he doesn't show it. He trusts you wholly, and it took him a long damn time to reach this level of commitment, so why don't you do the same? It's not as simple as that, thoughâhe knows it. However, itâs not easy on either of you.
Your relationship has faced its share of rough patches throughout all of this, largely due to this impediment of yours. But Simon... well, Simon loves you. He won't give up something so precious because of a few obstacles.
So, no matter how many times you tell him that it's okay if you don't come, he just doesn't let it go. And while you have to admire his stubbornness, it has put even more pressure on you.Â
Tonight, he's settled between your legs. Got his face in there right as you opened your thighs. You like it when he initiates it, though his expectations of you still tighten your stomach into knots.Â
It's been fifteen minutes. Youâre sure of it, since the clockâs right above the door to your left. You looked at it when he went down, and youâve been glancing back every five minutes, like usual. Now your eyes find it for the third time, so you can confidently say that Simon's been eating you out for the past fifteen minutes.Â
Mathematical. Precise.
And you still haven't come. Unsurprisingly.Â
You're taking too long. He must be getting bored. Once again, vitriolic thoughts rush through your head and make you feel like a dull, frigid monster who canât even feel good.Â
Simon seems unbothered by the switch in your eyes, mostly because heâs paying little attention to them.
He sucks on your clit. Leaves kitten licks when he pulls back, unsheathing it with his thumb to have the most sensitive part of it at his mercy. God, it feels weirdly good when he does itâlike you've been zapped out of the blue and your toes curl and your fingers fist the sheets.
And he never leaves any part of you empty. He sucks on your clit and fingers your hole. One finger at first, then two. He usually goes in with a third, and whenever you want to explore a bit of pain, he fits in four of them. His fingers are thick enough to make you exclude the possibility of a whole fistâyou tried once and never again. It scarred you for life, you think.
He amps it up, usually. Starts soft and slow, and by the time you're precisely twenty minutes in, he's tried it all, and you stop him. Tell him it's enough. That you can't come and it's okay. And then you have sex, and he comes a bit after that. Pent up as he most certainly is, it doesn't take him long to reach his high.
However, it's been eighteen minutes now, and he's still slow and teasing: two fingers and a gentle mouth. He's not being methodical and precise. He's lazy and sloppy, drool trailing down his chin. Slurping noises here and there, your wetness coating his fingers and making his pads all pruny.
And like usual, there's this knot building at the base of your belly. Tightening and churning, melting liquid in pleasure, but still not enough to tip you over.Â
When the clock signals that it's been twenty minutes, you go for his hand on your thighâlike routine.
"Can't do it, baby," you whisper. Gently, you pat his knuckles like you're consoling him, giving him the reassurance that it's fine and he can stop this and fuck you so he can feel good too.
But instead of pulling back, Simon swats away your hand.
"Like it," he rumbles, mouth to your clit. He sounds... annoyed? Like you're interrupting something.Â
You cock your head. He's still licking down at you and hasn't even opened his eyes.Â
"But I can't come," you explain slowly.Â
His fingers curl upward inside you. Inadvertently, your hips meet his hand, shifting towards it to chase the feeling.Â
"And?" He asks. "Feels nice anyway don't it?"
You blink.Â
"I mean, yeahâ"
"Then let me."
"But I thoughtâ"
"Stop with tha'," he grumbles.Â
His eyes open, finally, and land on your face. With a slow lick on your clit that makes you shiver, he unlatches his mouth from your pussy.Â
"Stop with what?" You ask, feeling slightly lightheaded and breathless. Just because you can't come doesn't mean you can't feel what he does to you.Â
It's the most frustrating thing about the whole ordeal, honestly: you feel good, so good that you might just have one of those earth-shattering orgasms that change your life. One of those that seize up your legs and trap him between your thighs. One of those that ultimately never coâ
"Stop bloody thinkin'," his voice interjects, quite effectively stopping your train of thought. "See it all over yer face. Knock it off."
You scoff. "You can see it?"
"I can, yeah," he drawls. "Now lemme get on with it. I wanna eat you out."
"But I won't comeâ"
"Said tha' already," he interrupts. Slowly, his eyes return to your cunt, glistening with his spit and your arousal. Simon licks his lips.Â
He pumps his fingers unhurriedly, watching enraptured at the flesh stretching around them and the wetness collected on his palm. He goes down, licking it from his own hand.Â
Jesus fucking Christ help you.
The crooked bridge of his nose nudges your clit, and he nuzzles it. You clench your teeth, eyes rolling back behind closed eyelids. When he returns his focus on you, he's wet from nose to chin; there's a heaviness to his eyes, blown dark and murky with hunger.
"I wanna eatââ and he slaps your clit. You gasp, wide-eyed and choking on a breath. ââthis fuckin' pussy." Slap.
Heâs crude and abrasive.
"Can I do it, or we on the clock?"
And with a healthy smattering of sarcasm, too.
It's embarrassing beyond belief that he's noticed your gaze flitting to the clock every time. Of course he has, always so attuned with you and with his eyes and ears perked. God forbid he turns off his senses for once.
You feel your cheeks grow hot and your chest bloom with sweat.Â
His hand unfurls from your thigh and snakes upward, landing flat on the valley of your breasts. Gently, he guides you down, letting your back meet the mattress.
"Lie back, yeah?" He rumbles, sounding suddenly softer. "Kill the lights, eyes shut, anâ quit the bloody thinkinâ for once."
He's got this pull on you that has your hands comply before your mind even registers it. They reach behind, testing blindly on the wall above the headboardâeasily, your fingers find the switch, and the room goes dark.
âStay here, focus,â he whispers against your thigh.Â
âHear that?â He stops. Curls his pads inside you. âFuckin'Â soaked. Jus' feel it, love. 'S all I want.â
You exhale shakily. Your eyes struggle to focus in the darkness, and the clock is out of sight. So, you do as he says: you close your eyes.Â
Simon's breath puffs on your pussy: warmth meeting even hotter skin. His stubble scratches the inside of your thigh. You can feel him shift his head, like he's caressing you with his cheek.Â
The moment your legs soften up on his shoulders, Simon sighs.
"Atta girl," he murmurs, kissing your clit ever so softly.
You jolt in his hold, and he keeps you still by tightening his hand around your thigh.Â
The press of his lips turns open. Wetter. Languid and soft, and completely selfishâa meal prepped for a feast. His tongue splits you open, tracing the seam of your pussy only to tip at your clit and draw sloppy circles around it. Then he flattens it, leaves it there as he bobs his head to increase the pressure more evenly. Fingers pumping you full, slow and unsteadyâa rhythm that has no rhyme or reason.
A rhythm that, despite it all, you try and tune. Hips meeting his hand, lifting slightly off the bedsheets.
He grunts. Sounds pleasedâyou wonder what his eyes look like, whether they're trying to find you in the darkness, or if they're already accustomed to it. Whether he's looking at your face, or if he's decided to focus on your taste, on your smell, on your touch.
You screw your eyes shut and try to do the same.
You concentrate on the callouses of his palms brushing your ass and sliding up your knee in a soothing fashion. On the roughness of his tongue dragging against your clit as it swells and throbs for him. On the sting of his stubble, the sound of his breathing.Â
On the smell of sex, so pungent yet sweet.Â
With a quiet pop, Simon releases your clit. He's panting, close enough to your pussy for you to feel his lips moving when he speaks. Tickling, almost teasingâa mellow contrast compared to the two fingers pumping inside you, or to the way your hips meet his hand.Â
"Like this?" He asks softly. He sounds like another man entirely, not at all like the one who almost barked at you previouslyâfrustrated and annoyed at your interruption.
You nod your head blindly. God you wish you could check how long itâs taking you to finish. Wish you could see his face, if he's bored or if he's enjoying it. Maybe meet his eyesâ
"Words, pet," he whispers, leaving a fat kiss on your clit. He sucks and you arch into him. Pop. "Can't see yaâpitch black âere."
You feel your throat close in. "Y-yeah, like that," you croak.Â
He hums appreciatively. Noses your clit as his hand follows a new rhythmâthe one you set. Not the sloppy, uncoordinated mess from beforeâSimon instead follows your hips. It's good. Scratches you right, with the softness of his pads alternating with the rougher patches of skin marring his knuckles.
You clutch his forearm, the one wrapped around your thigh, and dig your fingernails in.Â
Once again, Simon kisses your clit. "Show me," he murmurs.
"Just tryâ"
A light slap on your thigh. Your legs seize in anticipation.Â
"Said show me, not tell me," he admonishes. "Go on."
On instinct, you heed him. Your hand slides from his forearm to the top of his hair, clutching short strands in a tight fist. Simon grunts, and it's lost in a chuckle so deep and dark that you feel it vibrate against your pussy, where you guide his mouth.
This time, your hips drive forward to meet his tongue and not his hand, though somehow he doesn't lose that rhythm you showed him before. Not too deep, not too shallow: just there, just past your entrance, on top. A constant and deliberate curl of his fingers, hitting upwards and then retreatingâslow, controlled, delicious.Â
God this feels the closest youâve ever been to an orgasm. You might even believe it will happen, and if he keeps following that pace, you might justâ
Quit the bloody thinkin' for once.Â
You exhale. Inhale. Deep, feel your chest swell with air.
Stay here, focus.
His palm brushes your leg, his fingers curl inside you. His tongue is perfect, guided by your hand fisting his hair. Slowly he draws deep sighs from your lungs, fills your belly with molten pleasure, liquid lust.
Hear that? Fuckin' soaked.
Squelches echo each time he pushes in. Muted slurps when he sucks on your clit, thick grunts spilling freely from his lips.
Jus' feel it, love. 'S all I want.
And that tightness that builds around his fingers. The soreness of the muscles in your legs, cramping as your heels dig into his back.Â
The shortness of breath. The darkness around youâtangible, warm like a hug and yet constricting your throat like a vise. Your mouth opens wide to gulp in air, but all that comes out is a groan that shocks your bones, an orgasm so innerly loud that your ears ring.
You donât feel your hands, what they clutch or how hard, nor the movement of your limbs. All you know is that you're cumming in Simon's mouth, around his thick fingers. And it's wave, after wave, after wave that crashes at the shore of your neck. Blooms rapidly to your cheeks, steals your breath away.
Simon keeps the rhythm you set, head soft under your hold, allowing you to pull it in or push it away. A puppet to your strings, surrendering entirely to your control.
You breathe, finally. In, out. Tingles run up your arms, tickle the sides of your neck. His tongue softens but keeps lavishing your clitâand the tide retreats, still brushing up your navel every time the tip of his tongue touches where you're now overly sensitive.
It's awfully hot and Simon's a walking furnace, so the feeling is tenfold strongerâand yet it's more of a hug than a restraint.Â
Gently, you leave the grip on his hair and caress his cheek. Fingers dance to the nape of his neck, and you tug him to you. Upwards he follows, hands landing on either side of your face.Â
You pull him in, but it's dark, so his mouth initially lands on the corner of yours. Still he kisses you there, and then travels to your lips where his tongue delves in.Â
You taste yourself. You feel the wetness of his fingers when he comes to cradle your cheek. His smile cracking his face. Simple at first, until you feel his teeth smooth against your skin.
A bit of pride, a ton of thankfulness.Â
"Oh my God," you breathe, airy giggles riddled with disbelief.
"I know," he whispers fondly. "I know."
You smile too, threading your fingers through his hair, and you kiss him again, and again. Kisses that taste of love and breathy chuckles, of happiness and relief and searing hot lust. Sparse grunts and moans that rumble like a hungry stomach, famished still.
Your limbs shake. They feel gooey, falling off the bone. You wrap them around his waist, feeling the heaviness of his cock pressed between your belly and hisâsandwiched hot and wet.
"Fuck me," you breathe.
Simon groans. He slides in seamlessly and fucks you thoroughly, biting your shoulder to stave off his orgasm becauseâ
"Never been this wetâfuckinâ hell, petâ"Â
Each thrust is punctuated by a heavy grunt. Sometimes it breaks, crackles in your ear like a freshly lit fire. A wheeze, a thick breath drawn in. Fingers grasping greedy handfuls of your ass. Teeth biting your lip, traveling downwards to suck marks on your neck. His voice raucous and scratching your brainâ
"Perfect girl. Wish Iâd seen yaâmaybe 'nother time, yeah?"
A promise with no expiration date. No matter how long it takesâmaybe, not surely. No pressure, just your pace.
You don't come. But you feel it all. When he spills inside you and plugs you full, and some of his cum trickles down the curve of your ass. When he whispers sweet nothings in your ear as his chest sticks with sweat, flattened against yours. His heart in a frantic search for your own.Â
You kill the lights. Close your eyes. Stop thinkingâfor once.
being the new, shy tech for the 141 introduced by laswell, and the boys are already trying to tease you. (18+)
youâre playing a game of truth or dare, taking shots and laughing and trying to relax even though the pub is so loud. itâs a saturday, thereâs a footie game on, and youâre just trying to get to know them better.
well, johnny and gaz dare you to ask ghost out. the big brute thatâs standing like an awkward statue ordering more drinks at the bar. and there you go, swaying on fawn legs, poking ghost gently in his meaty arm. the boys watch as ghost has to bend down to hear you over the noise, and you stand on your toes, putting your hands on his shoulder and murmuring in his ear.
you disappear with that big giant manâs arm around your waist, and when you come back to the table about twenty minutes later, youâre giggly and a little sweaty and stumbling just a little more. johnny leans over the table, confused.
âwhat happened? what did he say?â
âhuh?â you raise a brow.
âwhat did he say? when ye asked him out?â
âohâŚâ you go warm all over, pressing the backs of your hands to your cheeks. âis thatâŚis that what you meant? i couldnât hear you!â
âwhat?â
the booth rattles when ghost sits his weight down right beside you, big fingers wrapping around the nape of your neck and curling you up so he can press his forehead to yours. the eye contact is intense, and you break out into another fit of giggles as you stare right back at him.
big, scary bear. adorable giant.
you turn back to johnny, shrugging your shoulders.
âi thoughtâŚi thought you said to ask him to eat me out.â
