Kinktober Day 9
Prompt: Exhibitionism (kind of) Characters: Gaz/Soap
look at me, posting two consecutive days that are correct. I'm on fire, don't expect it again.
@anonmousegosqueak @writer-fennec @ihaventgotaclue-really @sheissopink
“’Nother round on me!”
Gaz’s voice rings out across the table, his mates giving varied reactions— a raised glass from Price, an eye roll from Ghost, and a cheer from a very drunk Soap. The scotsman is easily the most effected of them all, but that happens after nearly three glasses of scotch and a beer, already working on his second beer. Gaz and Soap are pressed hip to hip, crammed into the small booth because Soap has no sense of personal space, deciding that Gaz’s lap is his end goal. And really, Gaz should stop him, but he’s also a few beers deep, words slurring together and mind coated in a thick fog.
The jokes float easily between the four of them, drinks getting set on the table by a cute waiter that Gaz eyes up for too long to be normal. Too long in Soap’s opinion it seems, because the man is grabbing his chin, thick fingers digging into Gaz’s cheeks a little too hard, their faces too close together. He’s saying something, probably complaining about the lack of tail they’ve both been getting from the birds around the bar, but it all fades into the background as Gaz sees that mouth.
A scar cutting across his chin, almost a mirrored version on the other side, lips chapped from the mission they got back from in the early hours of the morning, eyes red from a lack of sleep and alcohol. Gaz really can’t be blamed for the way he leans in, especially not when Soap shuts up for once and closes the gap.
They move together like they do on the field when paired together, chaotic and in sync, predicting each other’s next move with pinpoint accuracy. Gaz is already pushing his drink away as Soap climbs onto his lap, the drunk scotsman struggling to fit between the table and Gaz’s torso. On the other side of the table, Ghost and Price watch them with annoyance and pushed down desire, both muttering about their sergeants’ behaviour in public.
They’re both ignored, the two younger men already grinding against each other in rushed movements that leave no time to do anything else. Their kiss is hardly a kiss, panting into each other’s mouths and trying to muffle their moans, hands grabbing and pulling and pushing in a flurry of movements. Soap is the one to unbutton Gaz’s jeans, not caring about the very crowded pub around them, slipping a hand into his boxers, feeling that wet fucking cunt welcome his fingers. It’s dirty and will probably end with them getting banned from their favourite pub, but Gaz doesn’t care. He’s already moaning from the way Soap doesn’t wait, awkwardly shoves two fingers into him and curls, not quite reaching as deep as needed, but it’s good enough and Soap’s palm is rubbing at his t-dick and-
“Fucking muppets, the both of you. Can’t even handle your alcohol well enough not to start fucking in the pub?”
Price’s words snap them both out of their haze, and Soap pulls his hand out of Gaz’s jeans, licking his fingers clean as the man whines from the loss. It takes a single look between them for Gaz to fumble with his wallet, throwing down too many bills as Soap climbs off of him, already dragging him towards the door.
“They're goin' to the car, sir.”
“I know, Simon.”
"I'm not cleanin' that bloody car, sir."
"I know, Simon."