A/N: Writers, please feel free to view this lil drabble as a writing prompt and expand on it!! That would be so fun! I've been meaning to spin this into a whole fic myself but who has the time. If you do, please make sure to tag me so that I can read what you've come up with! <3
Word count: 300
Warnings: Cassian
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Cassian rarely ever bothered with knocks when he entered a room—it was part of his brand, his boyish charm. It was also the reason most of his friends had begun to lock their doors, so a pleasantly surprised smile tugged up the corners of his lips as he turned the doorknob to Azriel’s bedroom and the door gave way easily. His brother must have been awaiting him.
“Az,” Cassian barked as he entered the dimly lit room, spotting his brother’s bare back at once with his wings spread wide, and his bed a mess of cushy white comforters.
Cassian snorted. “I can’t believe you’re still asleep. There was a time when you were the first one in the training ring.”
Azriel gave a grunt without opening his eyes, and Cassian grinned as he leaned sideways against the doorframe.
“You should really open a window. It smells like a brothel in here.”
When Azriel remained quiet, Cassian grew impatient. “Do I really have to drag your ass out of that bed?”
The blankets moved, and for a second, Cassian thought that it was Azriel moving his legs.
It was only when nimble fingers appeared at the top of Azriel’s right wing to push it away gently for a pair of eyes to peek over the rim that Cassian’s brows shot high.
At the touch of his wing, Azriel gave a low groan Cassian could have gone very well without.
As a familiar face emerged and Azriel’s wing was lowered to rest just beneath a pair of delicate collarbones, Cassian blinked.
Y/N gave him an innocent smile. “Good morning, Cassian,” she said. “I think Azriel’s gonna need a minute if you don’t mind waiting outside.”
Much love to @wormwoodartemisia , @whostarlockeda03 and @jayofolympus for help with both name and ideas for the reveal! And for simply letting me shove this AU in your faces XD
A nice nap in the cool shade with a lovely breeze, wouldnt that be nice?
A gift for the lovely @whostarlockeda03 , I do so wish you'll get that nice cool breeze or shade soon. or even better some frickin clouds blocking that sun! <3
"why can't they just be friends?" not in the homophobic sense, but in the "in your need to center romance in everything you are missing the whole point of the media in question" sense
Rating: Explicit
Wordcount: 4k
Summary: They get home, they fuck, finally, properly, idk. This is just porn. Bon appetit.
CW: rimming, marking. choking, light dom/sub ig, dirty talk, somno mention, anal fingering, anal sex, possessive bastards the both of them, top ghost/bottom soap
♦ My Masterlist • If you prefer AO3 ♦
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Chapter 10: Dying Is Absolutely Safe
Soap presses into Simon's back, hips flush to his arse, teeth in his shoulder, hands roaming over the planes of his stomach, his tits, sliding down to press a palm against Simon's half-hard cock.
"Come oooon," Johnny is whining, sweetly, nearly begging by tone of voice alone.
"You're not— not making this— ah, fuck— any easier."
Simon hisses when Soap cups him through his trousers. His fingers shake trying to push the key into the godforsaken keyhole. The light's out in the whole damn stairwell, some fuse or the other apparently giving up the ghost. The corridor is black as the night they just escaped, lips already aching with kisses, Soap clawing at Simon's back when Ghost pushed him up against the wall before they even made it into the house.
He almost let Johnny talk him into it, too, to get him off again right there, pressed against the side of his building. The only thing that kept him from giving in was the thought of how beautiful Johnny might look when Simon denies him, again and again, like he can only do if he takes him to bed properly. Makes him cry and plead for it before he gives his boy what he needs. It'll be a thing of beauty, Johnny's eyes red-rimmed, and his face blotchy and pink when he begs to finally cum.
That thought had Simon rock-hard, but strengthened his resolve to make it the fuck inside where they can take their time. A luxury, in their line of… of life, really, and as much as he has been enjoying showing Johnny off for anyone who cares to look, he wants this to be just theirs. Wants this time to themselves, and nobody else. Wants to be the only one to hear Johnny fall apart, to watch him and know that it was him who did all that. Wants to feel like Johnny is only his.
Insistent lips press kisses along the nape of Simon's neck now — it's a wonder Johnny can reach, and Ghost grins to himself, then groans when Johnny's fingers dip beneath his waistband, slide along his length. Soap is pressing up against him urgently, his own cock firmly nestled between Simon's cheeks, panting, moaning, whining for it already.
"Like a dog in heat, you are," Simon mumbles, enjoys feeling the shiver that sends through his boy.
His.
Finally, the key slots in, and they stumble inside as soon as Simon turns it, sent forward by the force of Johnny's body against his. Soap kicks the door shut, is on Simon not a second later, all tongue and hands, and Simon is just as bad, even if he loves to pretend he's not. Grabs at Johnny's arse through the thick fabric of his kilt, moans when their cocks slide together, despite the layers of fabric. Opens his mouth to let Johnny in, who still tastes like greasy fries and old cigarettes and cock, and it's so fucking good anyways.
Simon pushes him away from the door into the living space, the room only lit by the street lights outside shining in through the window. It reflects on Johnny's glowing skin, sweaty and dewey as he steals another kiss from Simon's lips.
"Bend over," Ghost pants into his mouth, can't help himself, needs to see him, needs to know Johnny will let him. "Come on, Johnny, please. Let me see."
He can feel Soap smile into his mouth, and goes easily when Soap's hands tug him along, his mouth only leaving him when Johnny follows his order: Drapes himself across the armrest of the couch, skirt riding up so high it almost exposes the soft place where his arse connects to his thighs, covered in dark hair, the tape on his knee invisible from the back. Johnny's all skin and curls like this, could almost be mistaken for tame if Simon didn't know him like the back of his hand. If he didn't know the sly smile that must be pulling at Johnny's lips, because of course he is getting exactly what he wants. Just so happens that it's what Simon wants as well.
Johnny's thigh twitches, the meat of it trembling, and Simon's mouth waters at the sight. He is on his knees nearly as fast as Johnny was, back in that alley, cum still drying in his hair now. Filthy little pup, and so fucking good for Simon.
He runs his palms up and down the backs of Johnny's thighs, lets himself revel in the shivers his touch elicits, licks along the cords of muscle, bites at the meat and soft fat of his inner thigh. Tastes sweat and Johnny's skin, and can't remember a moment he was ever happier than he is right now. His hands slip up and up and up, below Johnny's kilt, kneading his round cheeks until Ghost is sure he must have left more bruises, kissing and licking and sucking marks into Johnny's soft flesh all the while, until the man is moaning, hand reaching back to pull at Simon's hair.
"Ge' on with it," Soap hisses, but he's smiling to soften the complaint, Simon can hear it in his voice. Not that he'll listen anyways. He can be selfish, just this once. He wants to be, and Johnny is letting him. Simon bites into the skin beneath his teeth, sinks his fangs into his willing prey until he can almost taste the blood.
"Always good to take big things slow, isn't that what you said earlier, Sergeant?"
God, it really was earlier. Not even a whole day, and so much has happened. Soap snorts.
"Fuck, since when d'ye listen tae me, LT? Fuck tha', fuck me instead."
He's twisted around to stare at Ghost with big, blue eyes, cheeks deliciously flushed just like the rest of his skin, and it's hard to resist. Even harder when Simon has to ignore his own cock, aching and straining again like it shouldn't be fucking possible. But Johnny makes him insane, doesn't just drive Simon off the edge but explodes the whole fucking cliff instead.
"No," Simon says, and stops there, because if he said any more, Soap might try to convince him otherwise again, and if he keeps begging so sweetly, Simon won't be able to resist for long. He flips up Johnny's skirt instead, thick wool draping along his narrow waist, exposing the straps of his jock and baring his ass.
Ghost loses his mind a little at the sight, can't look away, can't move, can't fucking breathe. Everything he has ever wanted, presented to him as if he deserves it. As if he could ever fucking do right by him. It doesn't matter now. Johnny wants this — wants him, even if Simon doesn't understand why.
This angelic man, his beautiful Johnny, laid out for him, waiting, panting for breath and impatient already. Simon takes his time, though, admires the view. It's what he has denied himself for so long, after all, coward that he is:
The thick, muscular trunks of Johnny's thighs, spread a little to accomodate Simon kneeling between them. The soft hair that covers them, dark and curly and fucking mouth-watering, sticky with sweat and dried cum. The globes of Johnny's ass, round and plump and already starting to show the traces of Simon's fingers, red and purple outlines of his hands where he grabbed him hard. And Simon's prize, the perfect, pink furl of his hole, covered in dark hair just like the rest of him.
He has never wanted to taste anything more in his fucking life, thinks might die if he doesn't.
Simon takes a breath, as if that might help to steady him, but all it does is make his head swim more. Johnny. Right here, in front of him. Begging for Simon to take him. Letting himself be defiled like this, wanting it, begging for it. Wanting Simon.
Soap's hand is still buried in his hair, his arm too twisted to have much force, but he tugs at him anyways, and Simon goes more than willingly, bites Johnny's inner thigh again just to hear him moan, kisses and kisses whatever he can reach. Worships his skin, and the man beneath it.
He makes Johnny wait just a little before he spits on his hole, tries to tell himself he's still in control. He is, but it's slipping, getting worse by the second, and the really bad thing is that Ghost doesn't even fucking mind. Not if it gets him this: Johnny trembling beneath him as Ghost lets more saliva drip onto his waiting hole, foamy white on puckered pink, sticking in the dark hair, clumping it together like Johnny's tears did his lashes.
Simon's cock twitches at the memory. He ignores it.
"Good lad," he mumbles into Johnny's hot skin, to feel him shiver again, to reward him, to see if it works. And it does, Johnny's hips jerk forward, and Ghost chuckles. "Love that you're so easy for me, sweetheart. Relax now, yeah? Let me take care of ya."
He spits again, then presses his face between Johnny's cheeks without warning, tongue flicking at his hole. He loves the taste of it, always has, musk and sweat and bitterness. It's even better when it's Johnny, writhing beneath him, fucking whimpering and moaning for it.
Simon slips his hands up Johnny's thighs, digs his fingers into the meat of his arse, spreads his cheeks for easier access. Slowly licks his way inside, lapping at his hole with gentle strokes until he feels Johnny's muscles unclench beneath him, feels him go lax and pliant beneath his own blood-stained hands. He pushes his tongue inside, pulls back for a split second to breathe, right hand inching towards Johnny's hole. Spits on it again, looser now, loose enough to press in the tip of his thumb alongside his tongue.
Johnny hisses, and Ghost feels his knees buckle.
"Fuuuck," Soap grinds out, voice muffled by the pillow his face is resting on. "Jesus, baby, if I'd known ye were so good at this— oh bleedin' hell, Simon, fuck, that's— that's good, oh god, please… please…"
Ghost hums, presses his thumb deeper. He's not trying to reach Johnny's prostate, thinks the lad might shoot off on him if he does, but he'll need the stretch. Needs to get him nice and loose before Ghost loses his fucking patience, and he will, much as he enjoys this, but it's only a matter of time. His balls feel full like they haven't been emptied in weeks, and his dick is throbbing in time with his pulse, every taste he gets.
"Taste fucking good, Johnny," he murmurs, keeps his thumb hooked inside but pulls back to lick at Johnny's rim, pink and puffy from Ghost's efforts. "Gotta get you nice an' open for me though, yeah? Make sure you're ready to take me."
"'m fuckin' ready, Sir, fuck."
And God, Simon is a terrible man for the way that makes his insides curl.
"You're not even close." Simon is a little mean with it, wets his pointer and middle finger quickly, effectively, and replaces his thumb with them. Johnny shakes a little.
"Simon— oh fuck, Si—"
"There ya go," Ghost whispers. "Takin' it so well for me, sweetheart. Gonna be so fucking good when I finally get my cock in you, yeah? Make sure you can take it, then fill you up so good you won't be able to move tomorrow without thinking of me."
Soap is panting heaving breaths, the muscles in his thighs twitching as Simon flicks his tongue along his rim, steadily thrusting with his fingers, scissoring them open slowly, his other hand greedily grabbing at the meat of Johnny's arse.
"Thought— oh fuck—" Johnny buries his head in the pillows for a moment when Simon pushes his tongue inside him again, between his own fingers. Might go easier if he had lube, but fuck knows he won't give this up for anything. Goosebumps rise on Johnny's flesh.
"… thought I was the fuckin' talker," Soap sounds like he's grinning, and Simon can't help but smile as well. "If I'da known all I needed tae do tae get ye tae talk was tae seduce ye-"
"Ya seduced fuckall, Johnny," Ghost grunts, spits and slowly, carefully, pushes a third finger in. Johnny's knuckles go white where he grabs the pillows beneath him, but if the way his hips are thrusting into nothingness are any indication, he's fucking enjoying himself. "Wha', chattin' up other men counts as seducing now, does it? Fuckin' hell. Ya licked me, is what ya did. Filthy little pup."
Johnny moans, high like he didn't mean to, just couldn't hold it in. Blinks back at him, mischievous, happy, slow like a cat.
"Ye like me like this, dinnae pretend, Si." His mouth drops open a little, a hushed groan when Simon curls his fingers just right, but Simon doesn't grant him the pleasure again. Soap bites his lip. "Still on about Oscar, are ye?"
"Had already forgotten his name again," Simon mumbles. "Not a good sign you still remember it, Sergeant. Time I'm done with ya, ya shouldn't even remember your own fucking name."
Johnny's eyes are so fucking bright. How is that allowed?
"Ye promise, Sir?"
"Mh." Simon pulls his fingers out of Johnny's perfect, tight warmth, slowly, ignoring his boy's pleas. Stares at his work… and sees perfection. Never was gonna turn out any different, not when it's Johnny: his thighs covered in bites and bruises, his hole gaping just a little, swollen from Simon's attention and shining in his spit. Simon needs to see his cum drip from it, pearly white, needs to see Soap filled up and fucked out.
"Look good like this, sweetheart." His voice is barely audible even in the quiet of the room, but Soap perks up. If he had a tail it would be fucking wagging.
"Could have me like this every day, baby," he says, and it's teasing, but also so fucking soft that Simon forgets how to breathe for a moment. Has to remember, has to force his lungs to contract like they should.
"Keep you open," he muses, quietly, mostly to himself even if he sees the shiver it sends down Johnny's spine. He pats his flank as if to calm him down, can't keep his hands to himself and needs an excuse, still. "Be a dream, sweetheart. Have ya waiting and ready for me every day? Christ, I'd go soft."
"Was rather hopin' ye'd go hard," Johnny grins. Cheeky bastard. Simon smiles.
"That too, love."
He grunts when he pushes himself up from the ground, drapes himself across Soap's prone body, hard cock pressing up against Johnny's sensitive hole, slotting right between his cheeks where he belongs. Johnny moans softly, pushes his hips back to meet him.
"Feel what you do to me?" Simon whispers into his ear. "All that, just for you, Johnny. Gonna take me so well."
Johnny whines, arches his back harder, begs for more with that beautiful, willing body of his that makes Simon give in like nothing else ever has.
"Please," Johnny whimpers. "Please, want ye inside, Sir. Need tae feel it, need tae be so full."
"Gonna be," Simon promises, already pushing down his own trousers even though he has no intention of fucking Johnny here, like this. But he just needs to feel it, just for a moment. Wants to know what it's like, skin on skin, needs to stare and take without being watched. Needs to press Johnny's face into the pillows so he won't see the look in Simon's eyes. So he won't know he loves him.
His trousers drop, no elegant fucking way about it, boots still on. Doesn't matter, though, not when Simon gets to spread his precum along his length, slot his cock between Johnny's cheeks.
His piercings drag along warm skin and soft hair, the glide eased by the drying saliva already there, but Simon spits again for good measure. Christ, at this rate he'll dehydrate before he even gets to blow his load again. Inside, this time, there's no fucking question about that, Johnny's pink hole gaping, filled up and leaking. Claimed.
"Fuck, Johnny," he breathes, feels his cock weeping more pre, smears it between Johnny's cheeks. "Wet like a woman, you are. All that for me?"
"Jesus," Johnny sounds like he's biting the pillow, twisting to close his hand around Simon's wrist, squeezing until the pain is so much Simon feels on the edge from just that.
"You like that, sweetheart?" It's barely a whisper, right in Johnny's ear, his hair tickling Simon's face when he presses closer.
"Shouldnae," Johnny whines, pushes back more urgently when Simon cups his tits where he can reach, flicks his thumb over a pebbled nipple and tugs at the piercing running through it. "Christ, yer dirty. No' playin' fair, Sir."
Simon shivers at the title, thrusts harder against no resistance, leaks more, loves it more.
"Oh, but you are?" He's smiling, can't help it, wants to give Johnny everything he wants but also wants to wreck him a little. Ruin him for anyone else.
"Mh." Johnny stretches his back, grinds his hips back until the slick head of Simon's cock catches on his loose rim, wiggles and whines when Simon won't push in, pulls back instead.
"Patience, love," Simon scolds, though he can't hold on much longer either. He needs to be inside Johnny, and preferably right fucking now. "Gotta get you to the bed, yeah?"
It takes everything in him to pull back, and he fucking hates it, immediately hates the lack of skin to skin, misses Johnny's warmth and wants it back. Wants so much after years of not letting himself want anything.
He rights himself, pulls Johnny with him, not that he needs to do much, Johnny jumping and wrapping his legs around him. He knows Ghost can carry him, makes it slower to get to the bedroom but it's worth it to be kissing Johnny.
Ghost toes his boots off while he does, steps out of his pants so he doesn't trip and split their skulls open on the way to the bedroom, because wouldn't that be fucking awkward. Johnny is panting into his mouth, rubbing his wet cock against the soft hair on Ghost's belly, kissing him all wide-eyed like he's not in control, like Ghost isn't giving him everything he needs.
Simon drops him on the bed unceremoniously, flips Johnny's skirt up, presses his knees to his chest.
"Think ya can take me, Sergeant?" He asks mostly to use Johnny's title, to see his pupils blow out, to watch him struggle to think of the right words. Johnny's eyes flutter shut when Simon rubs the wet tip of his cock against his hole, but Simon doesn't press in. Pushes his thumbs in instead, both of them this time, to pull Johnny's hole apart and fuck, isn't that a sight to see. Perfect.
"Please, Si- fuck, put it in, please, please." Soap is whining, so far gone.
"Patience," Ghost grits out, so close to giving in, just because Johnny is begging and he looks so beautiful with tears in his eyes.
"L- lube," Johnny moans, shaking and shivering, and Ghost thinks that yeah, might be a good idea, even though he hates to leave Johnny like this even just for a second.
"Stay," he says, same tone as he would to a dog, and Johnny grins. But he stays, doesn't even need to be told off for touching his flushed dick, keeps his hands behind his head. Good puppy.
It takes Ghost all of two seconds to pull the lube from the drawer of his night stand, slick himself up, but it's too fucking long anyways. Slowly, he pushes his hips forward, lining himself up, pressing in, just the tip, goes a little weak-kneed at how tight Johnny is, how warm and wet.
"F-fuuuuck, LT," Johnny pants, claws at Simon's shoulders, his sides, his arse, pulls at him. "More, more, c'mon baby, gimme more, I can take it."
And Simon obeys, would be too hard to resist now, and he doesn't want to anyways. All this effort to get Johnny here, in his bed, but he can't fucking hold on. Doesn't matter. He pushes in, more careful than he wants to be, but he has to take his time so he doesn't fucking explode before he's ever been inside Johnny.
It's still a close fucking call.
His breaths are quiet, but Johnny is loud, moaning and writhing as Simon fills him up, inch by inch.
"Feel so good, Sir, fucking good, god, I woulda— fuck, oh fuck, I need— move, baby, please, please, need it, wannae feel it— make me— oh god, fucking make me—"
Johnny is slipping, falling apart beneath Simon's broken hands, babbling and whining, rocking his hips down to meet Simon's, knees bent even though his bad one must hurt, and his eyes are so desperate and full of tears. Simon could look at him forever, wants to fuck him hard and fast and soft and slow at the same time. Anything, so long as Johnny keeps staring at him like this, eyes wide open and lips plush and red amd raw from Simon's barely-there five o'clock shadow.
Simon slides his hand across Soap's flat belly, pretends he can feel himself there, pushes deeper with quiet breaths and inaudible curses until he finally bottoms out. He pauses, sweat dripping from his brow, waits for Johnny to say something.
Waits a little longer.
"Jesus, Simon," Johnny is half moaning, half laughing, like it's absurd that they are here, and it is. That they get this, get to be here, together, hold each other, kiss each other. They deserve none of it, Simon least of all.
He kisses Johnny, hungry and wet, mouth open, rolls his hips when Johnny moans, does it again and again. He's skirting the edge already, palm of his hand grazing Johnny's leaking cock.
"Fuck, baby, I'm gonnae— don't— please, wannae come with ye, don' make me—"
"'s alright, Johnny, fuck—"
"Fuck me—"
Simon slides his hands up Johnny's sides, cups his tits, squeezes them together like a woman's, all muscle and fat, thumbs over Johnny's pierced nipples until his eyes roll back in his head and his mouth drops open.
His balls draw up, and he wants to come so bad, but he wants to feel Johnny first, needs to feel him squeeze and lose control and whine and cry and beg, but maybe he doesn't have the patience to wait for it, not tonight.
"Gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he mumbles, voice only shaking a little, rolls his hips faster, deeper, can tell that he hit Johnny's prostate spot on when his back arches off the bed. Does it again. And again. Presses his fingers into Johnny's hairy pectorals until he knows he'll leave bruises. "Come on, Johnny, wanna feel how tight your perfect little hole can get, yeah? Let me feel it, sweetheart, let me—"
"Fuck!" Johnny bites at Simon's lip, hard, and Ghost tastes iron but he doesn't mind, wraps his right hand loosely around Johnny's throat and licks his blood from Johnny's open mouth.
"Come for me," he whispers again, and it's a plea more than anything but Johnny obeys like it's an order anyways, back arching, fingers digging into Simon's arse, pulling him in closer, mouth open and willing and wide as he moans.
His hole spasms, goes so tight it almost hurts, but hurts so fucking good though.
"Come inside me," Johnny whines, desperate and low, and Simon can't hold on any longer, has to fill his boy like he deserves. His legs shake as he spills his load, hips moving slowly as he pumps Johnny deep and full, watches a tear slip from the corner of Johnny's eye before he bends down to kiss it off his cheek, then slots his lips to Johnny's again, blood smearing between them, vanishing between hungry mouths.
"Fuck," he says, out of breath and out of words. Doesn't mind that he collapsed into the puddle of cum on Soap's stomach.
"Fuck," Johnny agrees, smiling and sated.
Simon closes his eyes and breathes in Johnny's sweat-slicked skin. Lets himself lay there and just… be. Just for a little while. Maybe that can be alright.
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Chapter 9 ⮜ ♦ ⮞ Chapter 11 [coming]
have another! if u wanna be on the taglist just lmk in comments or reblogs. next chapter will be the last one of this series so far, i think.
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