Simon gives Johnny an impossible challenge, no orgasms until Ghost comes back from his mission.
1.6k - smut - ghoap
cw; dom!simon x sub!soap, orgasm denial, begging, anal
a/n: Speak of the devil, I've been doing this for six weeks, I've made six blurbs, and I have six chapters done in my longer series! (666, get it?) Anyway, enjoy and as always please send requests!
“Yer serious…” Johnny smug gleam turned to abject horror, “Nae orgasms? Yer gonnae be across tae globe and ah cannae wank? Nae even once?"
“You can wank anytime you want,” Simon corrects, “But if you come, you won’t have the homecoming you prefer.”
Johnny spluttered as Simon turned back to the mirror to adjust his eyeblack one last time.
“B-but ye donnae have an exfil date!” Johnny’s huffed, “It culd be months, LT!"
“Your concern for my safety is touching,” Simon’s raised brow disappeared under the mask, “Who knows… if you’re lucky I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Johnny threw his head back against the tile with a groan that started in his rib cage and filled the room with agony.
Because Ghost would know when he got back. He always knew when Johnny came without permission.
No amount of begging would change the man’s mind once he made a decision. Especially when it came to Johnny’s eventual pleasure. While Ghost was being shot at or stalking through darkened facilities, his Johnny would be home thinking of him every time his pants rubbed in the just wrong right way.
So without further ado, Johnny was given a pat on the ass and a kiss to the forehead. Ghost left Johnny behind to stew on eventual relief from torture versus a worse punishment upon his man’s return.
“Fuckin’ bastard.”
Johnny lost track of time after day eight. Everyone saw the change. Usually, he was tough on recruits, laser focused on missions, and on leave, he was the man who could bring a bright energy to any group. Maybe his mood dipped when Ghost was away, but not enough to disrupt his life.
Not so much this time around. He spent countless hours in the gym, ran trails until his lungs gave out, and snapped at anyone who looked at him for too long. Only partially to make sure no one saw the half-stiffy he had at all times.
Day 12? He was palming himself in the stalls every hour, a single bit of relaxation that ended in an aching loss.
Ghost wasn’t helping. His mission was low-stakes, comms stayed online the entire time they were scouting the area.
Johnny received three photos from unknown numbers, each one featured the girthy cock he was absolutely desperate to feel again. Pressed through the fabric of his tac pants, the second one was the tent in his boxers, and the third one, the one where Simon was fisting his cock lubed in precum, that one made Johnny throw his phone across the room.
Finally, Price reported that Ghost would be returning tomorrow and Johnny damn near creamed his trousers. He didn’t sleep in his bunk; he didn’t trust himself to be alone in a bed without giving in to desire. He could do this. He was so close.
Johnny met Ghost on the tarmac, gave him a bracing hug, and relaxed for the first time in weeks when Ghost guided him towards their shared quarters.
“Ah missed ye so much, Si…” Johnny muttered into Ghost’s arm; his fingers squeezed against the muscles, “Ahm so glad yer home.”
“I missed you too, Johnny,” Ghost rumbled, placing a quick kiss onto the mohawk, “I’ll always come back to you.”
Ghost led them to their door and placed a hand on Johnny’s chest.
“Price is tied up with Laswell, so you’ll be taking my initial debrief. I’m going to wash up and meet you in my office. Be there in twenty.”
The door closed in Johnny’s face, but the lock didn’t click— a deliberate temptation.
“Steamin’ Jesus…”
His chest burned and it rushed up to his face, a terrifying tomato bullying his way through the trek to his superior’s office. His cock twitched painfully as he reached the door and pulled it open. The scent of him was everywhere— the couch, the desk, all of it carried a sense of the man who was currently torturing him.
Ghost walked into the room, once again leaving the door unlocked as if he didn't intend on doing anything that would require privacy. He sat down across from Johnny with nothing but casual professionalism. The silence stretched with one-sided tension, but then Ghost nodded towards the papers in Johnny’s hands.
“Well? Are you going to start the debrief or not, sergeant?"
Johnny stifled a whine, eyes scanning that damned mask. Simon was under there and he wasn’t going to go another minute without those lips pressed to his.
“Ma heid’s mince, Si- please- I cannae take it.”
“Are you telling me you’re unfit to take my debrief?”
“Ye fuckin’ ken ahm nae!”
Ghost sat back, fingers laced behind his head.
“Christ alive, Si, ah need you. Fingers, tongue, ah’ll dae it myself if ye want,” Johnny begged with glossy blue eyes, “Ah didnae touch myself, ah swear, ah was good. Please–"
Ghost leaned forward, elbows on the desk and continued to wait.
“Ye want tae go first? Ah’ll be on my knees in a second. Please, ah was good. Ah need– please, Si- yer killing me. Please fuck me. Please, sir...”
Before Johnny could take a breath and continue his spiraling, Ghost stood, crossed the room, and clicked the lock shut. Johnny swallowed as Ghost towered above him now, itching to touch. Ghost drew his fingers up under his mask to toss it to the side, grabbing Johnny's chin with a smirk,
“That’s all you needed to say.”
Simon pulled Johnny to his mouth; the break of their heated tension flooded the room; teeth clashed and tongues tangled. Johnny’s hips pressed against Simon’s crotch, humping like a dog. Simon was rock hard, but Johnny was the one whose balls were so tight he felt like they might explode, only made worse by the gunpowder scent that didn't completely mask Simon's personal scent.
“Thank ye, fuck–” Johnny whispered between mouthing at his exposed neck, “Missed ye so much, need ye inside me. Please!”
“How can I deny such a good boy?”
Simon pushed him backward to maneuver him to the far side. He yanked open the bottom drawer, a bottle of lube appeared in his hand after a moment of fishing.
“Pants off.”
Johnny’s belt clinked and he made quick work of his pants and boxers. His cock gleamed with precum, leaving a wet smear across Simon’s abdomen. Simon rolled his boxers over Johnny’s erection, mouth parting when the smaller man moaned.
“You beg so pretty, Johnny,” Simon cooed as he lifted Johnny’s thighs onto the desk, pushed his knees back to give Simon more access, “Let me hear it again. Tell me how badly you want my cock in your ass.”
“Ah need it mor than air. Ah’ve been burnin’ up for ye this whole time. Ah could nae think of anythin’ else. Ah need yer cock—”
Johnny cut himself off when Simon slid a lubed finger into his hole, straight to the bottom knuckle. He knew the game now and picked up his panting pleads,
“Yes! More, please,” Johnny writhed against him, the desk under his ass warned with slick lube, but Simon kept a strong hold on his body. He grasped the back of Simon’s head with his nails, “Ah can take it. Ahm ready– please, Si, need ye to bury yer cock in me.”
Simon honest to god smirked, before he ripped down his boxers and lubed up his length. Johnny’s cock was left unattended and Simon could swear it was visibly throbbing to his own heartbeat.
“Touch yourself, be a good boy.”
Johnny complied before the final word was out and then choked on a whine. His hand squeezed the base, right above his aching balls. He only got one slow drag up and down before Simon’s tip is catching on his hole.
With a growl too primal to be a grunt, Simon bottomed out in two swings of his hips. His eyes shut, the way Johnny’s ass clenched around his cock edged him towards his own unraveling.
Then, when the stars cleared, he rocked in and out of Johnny. The Scot’s face contorted with pleasure, pants turning into groans and gratitude, and blue eyes locked onto Simon’s face. Simon leaned down to get deeper, rolling his pelvis close enough to graze Soap’s balls.
“Tight little ass. Hasn’t been touched in weeks, aye?”
“Nae- nae once,” Johnny moaned as he worked his fist over his cock, “Shite– Ahm close, please lemme come, Si.”
Simon picked up the pace to watch Johnny’s face beg for his release more than his words.
“Go on then,” Simon grunted as he lifted Johnny’s leg over his shoulder to fist his hand in Johnny’s hair, “Come for me.”
Pleasure stuttered through Johnny at the command and for a singular terrifying moment, he wondered if this level of denial was going to end in a ruined orgasm. The fear was forgotten when the pleasure crashed into him like a hurricane. It started in his head, blacking out his vision and wiping his mind clean. Then it moved down through his chest, heat forcing his muscles to clench over and over again, until it reached his groin and exploded. Hot ropes of come shot up against Simon’s pecs, other drops spilled over Johnny's frantic fist.
Simon fucked him through it, swallowed the cries with his mouth with enough hunger to suffocate. His own release barreled towards him, the thrusts turned into shallow grinds of his hips before tucking himself up into Johnny’s ass and flooding it with come.
“Fuck– Johnny…” Simon panted and pressed his forehead against Johnny’s. Once they caught their breath, Simon dipped his head down to kiss him. Soft and sweet. He took in the eye black smeared across Johnny’s fucked-out face. “You always feel better than I remember.”
Johnny hummed smugly and leaned up to kiss Simon’s throat. The larger man pulled out gently, settling Johnny on the edge of the desk. He wiped them both off with bath wipes and kissed Johnny’s temple, cheek, neck… then sat down on his chair and pulled him into his lap. He wrapped his arms tightly around his middle, tucking Johnny’s head under his chin.
“Did so well for me, pretty boy. Waited all that time for me?”
“Aye,” Johnny replied, melting into Simon’s hold for as long as he could, “Hell on earth.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Barely.”
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PLEASE PLEASE DR EASTERMAN LETTING PUPPYBOY FTM READER HUMP HIS THIGH OR BOOT
Dr. Eastermen x FTM Reader
Type: Smut Request
Author's Note: Hopefully you enjoy! First request and story in a long time so I apologize for being a little rusty lolol
Content: Boothumping, tshot injections, power dynamic. Reader genetilia terms of crotch, clit, dick, and cunt.
If there was one thing that you knew in this place. You were Easterman's how high. You were a product that fell into his delusional teachings and fed it right back out to him. You were his success. His personal "mutt" as he affectionately referred to you. Due to being held in such a position, he had an offer he knew you couldn't resist.
As if you'd ever reject any of his offers.
After a solo trial, the taste and smell of blood (though not your own) and sweat overwhelmed your senses, that fuzzy feeling of the adrenaline slowly fading away as you heard Dr. Easterman's examination of you.
"Look at you, a step closer to getting out," he says in his pleased tone. It wasn't that long ago that you were simply a failure in his eyes when you recieved any letter below a C. You revel in his voice. You wonder if it was odd that sometimes you wished you could hear it from him in person. His lips near your ears while telling you the same message, to feel his breath hit against your skin. If he was any closer, you would probably be able to feel his lips on the sensitive back of your neck-
"Are you even paying attention?"
Shit. You stopped walking through the completion tunnel, turning to look at the screen where the scientists normally work behind. Odd.
No one's there.
"Mutt." You perk up at that name.
"Go to your room. Someone will lead you to my office." he orders. You mentally wince as the thought that not listening might've just taken you back from your progress by even just a little bit.
"Yes, Dr. Easterman" you reply before steadily rushing off to your room.
----------
You walked through the facility halls, following the scientist that Dr. Easterman had sent out. These halls were so unfamiliar. You had grown so used to the repetition of every room, that even an extra hall felt like a drop closer to freedom.
The scientist stops in front of a door while ignoring you, reading some papers in his hand instead. There was a silver plate on the door that read "Dr. Easterman's Office."
You walk into the room that is completely enveloped in dark except for two lamps that keep the enviornment somewhat dimly lit enough to notice the decor in the room. Your hands instinctively try to turn on your nightvision goggles before reminding yourself you weren't in a trial. As your eyes adjust, you notice the man himself, Easterman, in his office chair. His eyes practically glow in this enviornment, and you know he's staring right at you.
"Dr. Easterman," You started to speak merely to break the silence but you were terrified, and he knows it, "I'm... You called me here?"
"You've been performing so well recently. Consistently. You've been doing so wonderfully."
Praise. Dr. Easterman was praising you. Your eyes widened at this, this feeling compared to his harsh tones from before where he had called you mediocre. A mutt that was incapable of being trained. Sloppy. Those words used to repeat in your head during your trials, only leading you to work harder. Maybe that was Dr. Easterman's whole plan. To break you down so you could get up yourself even stronger.
"I think you could be useful, boy." You hear the chair creek as Dr. Easterman stands up, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter from his pockets, the clicking sound of the lighter's flame settled.
"You could be very useful.. You could do something for me, while I give you something in return. How does that sound, mutt?"
Dr. Easterman was a man of temptation. He knew what made his patients click. You nodded. You were his how high, after all.
Dr. Easterman released a small hum of approval, sitting himself on his desk, and raising a singly pant leg up slightly, revealing a long leather strap boot he had been wearing. You look at him with slightly confusion, "Come here, mutt" he orders.
Fuck, that admittedly got you slightly wet, but this wasn't the time. You step closer, swallowing the excess drool that started to build in your mouth. You could feel your heart pace quicker.
Dr. Easterman reaches his hand down to the desk's cabinet, opening it and pulling out an injection.
"I'm sure there's something you desire. Something that will make you feel as whole as getting an A on trials does for the both of us." He speaks gently, "Testosterone would work wonders for you.. or at least that's what you expressed on your file before arriving here"
It was true that testosterone was being deprived in his facility, drugs and food that kept every reagent weaker. This. This was privilege. This was a test.
"For every trial that you get an A on, I expect you to find your way into my office. You will pull down your pants and underwear, and allow me to order one thing from you. After that, you may have your reward." He inserts the needle into a small vial, filling it with a clear liquid, "Is that something you can do, mutt?"
Pull down your pants?
That stuck out to you, but Dr. Easterman didn't let that question go unanswered for too long. You felt him press the tip of his boot against your crotch. It was almost a light tap against your clit which left you shocked and frozen at first.
He wanted you to hump his boot.
Get praised for getting an A on a trial, walk into his room to get questionable sexual relief from this man that stalks your dreams, and then get injected with the one thing that you've desired since your youth?
"Of course, Dr. Easterman" you smile, if you had a tail it would've been wagging ferociously by now.
"Get to it then" He grins.
You eagerly pull down your pants and underwear, already noticing the growing wet spot that had formed. Getting on all fours, you crawl over, hovering your cunt over the leather boot. You look up at Dr. Easterman in hopes that you're doing the right thing. He put the injection down and moves his hand to your hair, "Start, puppy."
You almost whimper at that name, settling your wet cunt on the boot. It's been far too long for this. You haven't had urges like these in so long, and now that you're divulging... you feel greedy. Your brain is practically mush. The slow grinding, enjoying every light moan that escapes you. You can hear your own wetness on his boot.
"That's a good mutt" he praises, tugging at your hair gently.
"Thank you Dr. Easterman"
You proceed, happily feeding into the growing feeling of giving your dick pleasure. The repeated humping, your desperate gaspy moans while the man above you just stares coldly and praises you in this silent room. It's humiliating.
If only he was inside you, if only you could fill that carnal pleasure-- but not right now. This was enough. This was what a mutt like you was meant for. To be used in such a compromising position like this.
That build of pleasure starts to bubble up, your whimpers become into louder moans,
"Look at you. So desperate for a dose. This is what good puppies do for a treat" He chuckles, placing his hand under your chin, "I want you to keep your eyes on me. I want you to see the only man who's allowed to make you feel this pleasure."
Fuck.
He lifts his shoe up slightly and harshly, pressing the part your were grinding on even harder onto your dick. You moan in surprise, but he begins to move his boot along with your movements. He was going to force you to cum like this.
"Such a wet puppy cunt" he mutters, "testosterone is only going to make you so much more desperate"
"Please, Dr. Easterman" You shiver, "I need this. I need to cum, I can't-"
Dr. Easterman keeps the same pace, driving you insane as your legs quiver. His silence in this moment is torturous, knowing he's just staring at you to study your reactions.
"Do it then. Cum on my boots, puppy" he ordered.
A loud whimper slips from you, your hands holding Dr. Easterman's leg closer to you while you grind your clit against the smooth surface of his boots, you can feel the build of your wetness all over the leather.
"Dr. Easterman! I-" Your eyes are stuck up on him, his hand still harshly holding your chin before feeling your clit throb, your whole body shivering as you cum on his boot. You could barely speak. You haven't cum in so long.
"There we go.. look at you" he hums, pulling his boot away, "Normally, I'd make you lick this clean.. but I've decided to be nice as it's your first time"
You sit weakly on the floor, your whole body still feeling the pleasure that overwhelms you. He gets off the table and kneels to reach your level, the injection back in his hand.
"Stay still"
You barely even register the poke of the needle, but it was welcome regardless.
"Thank you Dr. Easterman" You mumble, regaining at least some semblance of dignity.
"Of course Mutt. I'm excited to see your scores from now on."
Summary: The night was rough and didn’t seem like it would let up. Eventually stumbling upon a strange man. Both of you a bit on edge from the night.
Warnings: Dialogue Heavy, MLM, On The Table, Top Merchant, Merchant Is Flirty, Strangers To Lovers, Reader Referred As “Handsome/Prince”, Blowjob
Characters: Merchant
Category: One-shot
Series: Resident Evil 4 Remake
From constant running, shooting, fighting. You were exhausted. All you wanted was to slump over on some surface and sleep all your worries away. However, to your luck, you needed to fight a little longer.
Just a few minutes ago you had crowned mutant black wolves with a rain of bullets. Their massive teeth tore through their gums as they lay now dormant in the mud. You sighed heavily as you lifted to your feet. The corpses of the creatures littered around where you stood.
It was about to rain, you could smell it in the air and the dark clouds that loomed across the sky was a clear sign that it would storm. You need to find shelter… and soon.
Treading on further your feet led you to a staircase that dipped down within a cave. Wood surrounded the area with a skull of some creature above the double doors. This seemed promising.
Wood creaked beneath your weight as you tread down the stairs. Before your eyes was an open space with docks and wooden floors. A fishing outpost, you assumed. Vacant and empty with life… perfect place for a quick rest to wait out the storm.
You plopped down beside a wooden chest, fatigue ripped through your body the second you sat. Finally you could rest comfortably. And so you did.
…
Stirring awake it felt like an hour had passed. You lifted your head to look around, only something was different. A heavy blanket laid across your body, tucked around your frame.
You tugged it down to lay it in your lap. Confused as to who could’ve possibly put it there.
“Hello handsome…” a thick graveled voice caught your ear. Immediately you snapped your head in the direction of whoever owned such a voice.
“Whoa stranger… no need to get riled up. I ain’t no harm to you.” He let out a heavy chuckle.
“Who are you…? Were you the one who—“
“Tucked you in n’ kissed you goodnight? Suppose… but to answer who I am. I could be many things so to speak…”
“I… thanks? For uhm.” You began to stand to your feet, grabbing the blanket. “This…” you waltzed up to the table where he stood on the other side. Placing the blanket in front of him.
“What brings a sight like you in such a ruined place like this? Hmm…”
“Trying to get out of here with the skin on my back. I’m assuming you can relate?”
“You could say… although I quite like it here. Found home where home isn’t exactly four walls n’ a roof.”
“I can see that…” you let out a small laugh as you looked around the surrounding area.
“But tell me handsome… are you the type to take risks? I can tell by the way you look. Care to prove me roght?” He lent over the table with his thick voice repeating his words in your ear. Letting his bigger form rest into the wood. “Few lads n’ laddies came thru here, all of them not looking quite as dashing as you…”
“I’m surprised there’s a few others… I wasn’t expecting it. Besides you and me.” You gestured towards him and grinned. He smiled back with his eyes. “And uh… seems like you’re pretty set.” You aimed your finger towards the large array of weapons that were mounted for your view.
“You gunna ignore my compliments now?” He pushed himself off the table. Now letting his full height show.
“…sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. From ur looks it seems like a diamond such as urself ain’t used to bein’ shined.”
“No not really…” you gave him a light shrug. He gave a quick chuckle with his blueish grey gaze never leaving you.
“How ‘bout I show you exactly what you deserve. Free of charge.” He stepped back and began to make way through the small shop. Eventually slipping past a doorway and out into the open space you resided in.
“What does that intel exactly..?” You faced him. He stood a foot away from you in that cloak of his. Still masked but easily visible eyes that winked at yours.
“Such a thing like you should get the whole package deal. Besides… think you n’ I both need a bit of a “stress reliever” after this night. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Well we did just meet… plus I don’t exactly know you.”
“These are true. But by that glint in ur eyes and that look on ur face. Tells a story that I can quite easily see… think us bastards lookin’ for something or someone to ease our needs is just what we want.”
You hesitated for a mere moment. Biting your lip and debating on if you should be reasonable or throw morals out the window for this one.
“Christ… what could be the harm. What about this “package deal” you got?” You leaned back into the table. Still facing him.
The man clapped his hands together and gave a heavy chuckle. “Oh I got just what you need.” His gloved hands lifted to his mask, pulling it down to reveal his lopsided grin. It was actually pretty cute. “Shall we prince…?”
…
“God you’re so good at this—“ your head was rolled back with your hand tugging with a hiss every so often on the hood of this stranger.
With your legs resting in his grip he had your length down his throat. Small grunts and groans of pleasure rolled up causing a reverberating sensation making your legs shake just a bit every time.
A slick pop came from his mouth as he was grinning up at you. “How’s it feel handsome?”
“… feels like you’ve done this before-“ between pants and flushed cheeks you look down at him.
“Can’t lie to you and say I haven’t prince.” He chuckled, “Blonde agent that is runnin’ around here needed a little ‘pick me up’ so to speak.”
The large man rose from the floor. The planks creaking under his weight as he stood. His gaze was strong on you. Fixated.
“But you…? Ah, I’m givin’ you the deluxe.”
…
The whole table rocked with each thrust. Every time his length slammed into you hitting that sweet spot deep in your body was sending you over the edge. So much so you could barely talk without your words coming out in struggled moans or long breathy pants.
You swallows heavily, clinging onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. When reality he was sending you to the stars.
His mask was back on. Not that you asked for it to be. But somehow seeing less of his face was more appealing, like your mind had to guess what facial expression he was making. His eyes would either close shut as he sped up just for a few seconds. Then open and look straight into your soul as he slowed down. Even digging his hips in deep to simply bury himself in you. That’s when his eyes rolled back.
“Right there is that sweet spot ain’t it?” He groaned. Sliding his full cock out just enough where his head was still inside.
“You… you’re seriously too good at this… holy f-“
He began to fuck you again. One thrust that turned into three then five and then you lost count.
Your mouth hung open as the last word was fucked out of you. Ramming his hips as fast as he could into you. Whether it was to simply shut you up or what. You couldn’t speak again, your sounds of pleasure wouldn’t allow it.
Coming to an end he laid on top of you. His whole body caging you in as he rested himself onto the table you were laying on. He didn’t move, his hips not even an inch away from your skin.
With a few heavy pants and a small deep chuckle he raised himself just enough to look down at your teary face.
"oh, you're hurt and can't jerk off, let me help you out" vibes.
Inspired by this scenario created by @torakowalski.
Huge thanks to @miggleverse for beta reading & helping drive this fic forward!!
TW: Smut, lovey dovey shit & general pining (I know we're all weak for that)
Word count: 9k
Paddy was desperate. When Paddy got desperate, he got angry. Not just a ‘bad mood’ type of anger, no, this was an all consuming, all destructive type of anger. An anger that would force him to lash out even at those he held most dear.
It had been two agonising weeks. 14 long and painful days since one stupid, ill-fated raid cost him the use of his hands, and most of his mobility in his right arm. His skin, now blistering and raw, hindered most daily activities….he felt like an invalid, all due to a rogue Lewes bomb.
On a night that seemed to be going in their favour, one misfire cost them the lives of two men, and there was no telling how long-lasting Paddy’s injuries would be. All was going well until one Lewes bomb exploded prematurely, and being just inside the blast radius, Paddy caught a significant piece of burning shrapnel. His sleeve went up in flames, engulfing his body in searing heat. Luckily, the other men managed to extinguish it before the fire swallowed him whole, but his right arm took the brunt of its ferocity. The skin sizzled beyond recognition, his palms blistered and swollen. There was no doubt that Paddy’s injuries were grave, and in that moment, he would have preferred to have perished in the blast.
He was dragged back to camp over the shoulder of Reg Seekings, mumbling and moaning incoherently as the pain overwhelmed his system. The extent of his injuries wasn't known until he got back to camp, the doctors stripping him bare and peeling pieces of khaki uniform from patches of seared flesh. Undoubtedly, he would be left scarred, his mobility severely affected.
The first few days, the men mulled around him like hens with an egg. Everyone was certain he'd succumb to his injuries; they had seen many a man fall to severe burns, their bodies giving in to pain and fever, giving in to death's siren call and embracing the darkness willingly, but Paddy was not so quick to surrender. Be it to death or man.
Truthfully, he thought it was all a bit dramatic. He had danced with death all too frequently, most recently, of course, his wee bout of malaria, which had landed him in hospital and caused him to soak the sheets through every night. This was not that. This was admittedly more painful and a touch more inconvenient, but the pain paled in comparison to how weak he felt. How useless. The first days were the hardest; his body fought a fever, danced hand in hand with nausea, and his nerves danced under his flesh. But after a while, the pain became a constant companion, something he would have to live with. Even with medication, he felt the sharp sting of nerves dying, the tight discomfort of skin trying to repair itself.
The men eventually let him be, stopped hovering and lingering by his tent flaps like flies on shite. If his condition improving didn’t give them cause to leave, his deteriorating humour certainly would have. Paddy was an acquired taste at the best of times….but now, in pain and miserable, he was simply insufferable. He knew they meant well, but he truly couldn’t stand the constant hovering, the incessant check-ins, as if his body would heal faster with them mulling by his door.
Of course, the one man who never let him be alone was the one man he couldn’t stand to see him in this condition….burned, maimed, less than himself. He hardly knew himself these days, but he certainly didn’t need Eoin McGonigal feasting his eyes on the ugliness that graced his skin.
Even so, he couldn’t keep him away, as hard as he tried. “The dead arose and appeared to many…” Eoin mused as he pushed through the flaps of the tent and approached Paddy's cot with an easy stride. When Paddy got injured, Eoin had taken to sleeping on the floor of Cooper’s tent. He figured Paddy could do with the peace, and truthfully, his incessant moaning & groaning kept him from restful sleep.
Paddy had almost forgotten how bright those eyes were, how wide his smile stretched across his cheeks. Eoin was the one man who could lighten his dour countenance, the one person who could ease the pain of the sprawling burns with just one look. He brought light to any room, a sense of calm and joy to all those around him.
Now that Paddy had escaped the clutches of fever and his body had settled into a rhythm of healing, Eoin kept him company as often as he could. In between drills and manoeuvres, he would sit beside Paddy and read him poetry, trying his damndest to lift his spirits. Despite the soothing timbre of Eoin’s voice reciting all his favourite prose, Paddy’s mood seemed to grow worse by the day.
Eoin could see Paddy's disposition deteriorating the longer he was cooped up. The longer he had to depend on another to feed himself, to put on his pants in the morning…he could hardly take a piss without help. It wore him down and ate away at his usually high self-confidence, his witty repertoire of insults and flowery poetry all faded to angry quips and snide remarks. But he was there, Eoin, for all of it. Despite Paddy being incredibly stubborn, lashing out at anyone who had the misfortune to blow through the flaps of his humid tent.
It wasn’t until he tried to help him dress one morning, and Paddy lost it, swearing at him like he was just another man in the regiment, that Eoin finally gave up.
“Fuck it, Blair, I’m done. What else am I to do?” Eoin exclaimed, throwing his hands up to the air and chuckling bitterly with exasperation, before throwing Paddy a glare filled with hurt and disappointment as he turned and exited their shared space. He left Paddy alone once more, to stew in the mess he made, to sit in the stifling heat of that tent and think.
Paddy knew he wouldn’t stay away for long, but he did feel guilty for shouting at him, for finally pushing him so hard that he snapped.
Eoin was always the one man who’d put up with his shit, the mood swings and insults, the madness…but he’d never raised his voice at him. No, Eoin deserved every inch of kindness Paddy could muster, and usually, it wasn’t hard to reserve his soft side for that lanky Dublin boy. But pain and frustration had overcome his usual sensibilities. It had caused him to act like the beast most men assumed him to be, to lash out when Eoin was doing his best to help him.
As soft and kind as he was, there was a limit to Eoin’s patience, even with Paddy. It wasn’t the first time his anger had flared, he had once pointed a gun at Paddy’s temple as a last resort to quench the roaring flames of anger licking behind his eyes. Paddy knew his threats weren’t to be taken lightly, and anything he said, he took in earnest. But this time, it wasn’t anger, it was pure frustration, disappointment, even hurt, as Paddy berated him. He could scold any man without a care, but never Eoin…and he hoped against hope that Eoin would find his way back to the tent, that he would forgive him in his miserable state.
As the day pushed on and the tent remained unusually empty, Paddy felt the familiar pangs of hunger set in. Eoin had yet to grace the flaps of their shared tent with his bright smile, with his larger-than-life presence, his gentle eyes. The searing heat of the desert sun had long faded, and despite his stubborn nature, Paddy quickly realised he would have to at least attempt to find dinner.
Luckily, Reg had a pot of gazelle soup on the boil, bubbling over a roaring fire, so he was able to nab a bowl without too much trouble. The real task was drinking the soup without wearing half of it….
For a man like Paddy, stubborn and highly independent, finding himself incapacitated and incapable of looking after his most basic needs was the height of humiliation. Despite trying his level best to negotiate the slippery bowl, his bandaged hands didn't allow for much dexterity, and he ended up spilling it all down his chin, into his lap.
Besides the initial shock and the searing pain spreading through his groin, Paddy was generally very fucking fed up. He couldn’t even slurp some soup in peace, without boiling himself alive.
With both hands wrapped from fingertip to elbow, his palms bandaged and looking like mittens, he was next to useless. And the only man that gave a shit, he had driven away with his foul temperament.
His anger flared, causing him to rise from his place on his small cot and knock the dish, sending it scuttling into the tepid earth. Emasculated and thoroughly drenched in gazelle soup, Paddy could do nothing more than pace around his tent, dripping and swearing like a sailor under his breath. Had Eoin not walked in to see Paddy smothered in fragrant meat soup, and circling the perimeter of their shared living quarters like a madman, Paddy may have thrown something at the next man he saw, whether that was an errant object or his own bandaged fists. But Eoin arrived in the nick of time, just soon enough to see his friend in a bewildered state of rage, pacing back and forth in the hot sand.
“God almighty, Paddy…what happened?” Eoin exclaimed, releasing a breath slowly through his nose as he strode towards a forlorn-looking Paddy Mayne. “Sit down, let me help…” he spoke softly, brow creased into a furrow of wrinkled skin. Paddy couldn’t even look him in the eye, he felt so weak, so helpless…he just sat there and let Eoin clean him up without a word. He never thought he’d deserve to be treated so well, to have someone dote on him in his hour of need, but despite all of the strong emotions washing over him, Paddy couldn’t help but feel ashamed of how his body reacted to Eoin’s touch. Each swipe of his fingertips, each warm breath that tickled his skin, sent Paddy’s nerves into overdrive. His core burned brightly with want, and he was truly desperate for relief. It had been so long since he had any kind of time alone, any sort of release. Even through the thin cotton fabric, soaked and slimy, Paddy felt the burgeoning heat of his touch, so comforting and welcome.
Despite being incredibly grateful for Eoin's help, and more than a little guilty at his treatment of him in recent days, every brush of his hand sent jolts of electricity coursing through his body, and straight to his groin, where his cock simply ached for him. He was no better than an animal, yearning to rut and come undone. He'd thought about it many times, the feel of Eoin wrapped around him, or vice versa, his own body stretching to accommodate the younger man.
His mind often wandered to images of Eoin's svelte, taut body encompassing his own, his arms holding him tightly while he ploughed Paddy like a common whore..no, Eoin would be gentler, more romantic. He'd take his time with it, make it pleasurable for them both, Paddy was sure of it. All these shameful thoughts were fuel for his releases in months past, but to his dismay, Paddy hadn't been able to touch himself since the accident - and his body was truly hungry for it, for him.
Every time Eoin’s hands danced across the surface of his skin, every time his slender fingers grazed Paddy’s exposed skin, Paddy’s nerves fired on all cylinders. His body reacted so viscerally to something he knew he could not have. To a release denied him, satisfaction was delayed. To a man that would never hold him in that way, who could surely never love a man such as him…
Paddy had seen too much of himself in recent weeks to expect that from Eoin. He didn’t even need to try to know how that would end.
Each time Eoin’s treacle brown eyes met his, he simply melted under that heavy stare - he was sure he’d drown in it eventually. He would bite the head off any man who dared to even look in his direction these days, but Eoin could always quieten his rage with a single glance. Those eyes that permeated every cell in his body with a quiet warmth, gentle as a balm on a raw wound.
Paddy always dreamed he’d have someone look at him like this, someone to call his own, but he could never let himself hope, never let himself get too close for fear that Eoin would reject him, for fear that he would distance himself and Paddy would be left alone. It was almost a certainty in his mind that someone as kind-hearted and special as Eoin McGonigal would have had to be a fool to want him…
Eoin saw Paddy in pain, he saw his frustration build day by day, as his healing didn’t quite go to plan, when his marred flesh didn’t mend as quickly as he’d hoped. Paddy hated feeling useless, hated being a burden to anyone, but more than that, he hated depending on anyone. He’d seen too many people leave, too many friends die, too many walk out of his life.
Eoin was more than happy to help; in fact, it helped him see Paddy as just an ordinary man….not some deity to idolise, but a living, breathing man who could get hurt, just like everyone else. Who felt pain, who cried…just a man, fallible and flawed. Helping him through a tough situation just endeared Paddy to him that much more. Even proud men need help occasionally.
At first, Eoin assumed Paddy’s rapidly withering fuse had been due to embarrassment, or possibly the lingering pain from his scorched flesh. His foul humour had only worsened in recent days. As time pushed on, he noticed little signs, and then it hit him.
Paddy surely hadn’t been able to get himself off in weeks. He was pent up and angry at the best of times, but to be frustrated and worked up, to have someone touching his body and no way to vent it all…it must have been hell. More than that, Paddy would never have dared ask him to help with that particular issue.
He couldn’t decide whether to bring it up, would it ruin the precarious balance of their friendship, or would it serve to bring them closer? Eoin knew how he felt about Paddy, and despite being fairly sure that Paddy reciprocated those feelings, he was nervous, hesitant to approach such a sensitive topic. Paddy was an incredibly proud man, and to not even be able to relieve himself must’ve been indescribably frustrating.
His mind was made up when he stumbled across Paddy drenched in soup, pacing the rim of their tent.
Although Paddy rightly pissed him off earlier that day, his anger and frustration coming to a head, Eoin didn't hesitate to help him get cleaned up. He could have let him stew in that watery soup a little longer, let him feel the consequences of being a tetchy prick to everyone in his vicinity…but Eoin truly had a soft spot for Paddy, everyone knew it.
Every touch sent shockwaves through Paddy’s body. He was reactive, more jittery, his body utterly betraying him, clearly showing the extent of his sexual frustration.
Eoin helped him undress to change into a dry uniform. Paddy allowed him to strip him out of his soggy shorts and stained shirt, but shied away as Eoin began to clean him up. He couldn’t stand the feeling of his incredibly soft hands caressing his skin. He could feel his desire become uncontrollable, with even the most innocent of movements, and he was ashamed. He had never thought that maybe Eoin reciprocated these feelings, that maybe he had a chance with this beautiful younger man, and despite his kindness and true show of friendship, Paddy felt ashamed of how his body reacted to Eoin’s touch in this innocent, almost tender moment.
Eoin had seen Paddy naked more times than he cared to count, but never had Paddy shied away from him like this. He was usually so sure of himself, cocky to a fault. But now he seemed embarrassed, and Eoin knew that his hunch was correct. Now, he was a rubber band ready to snap, a trigger begging to be pulled, but with no way to relieve the tension. He was certainly not himself, not the quiet, but steady Paddy Mayne Eoin had grown so fond of.
“Christ almighty, Paddy, come here please, just let me help you.”
“You are.” he grumbled, slinking away from him slightly.
“That’s not what I mean,” Eoin emphasised, grasping Paddy lightly by the shoulder to keep him close. Paddy turned to look at him, confused by the sudden contact, and even more baffled by his very sudden offer. But as he stood bare before him, for the first time, he was painfully aware of his nakedness. They had showered together plenty of times before, and Eoin had helped him wash up since his accident, but things seemed different now, under his heavy gaze. Paddy was painfully aware of the evidence on show, the tumescent appendage hanging between his legs. He knew his cock was engorged, painfully swollen without even so much as stimulation. The tip was leaking onto his abdomen, leaving a sticky trail behind. It was humiliating, this desperate need with no way to relieve it. But more than that, having Eoin witness it, having his eyes consume his very form…knowing he was the sole cause of it.
Eoin's touch had always stoked the fires inside him, every tiny bit of contact through the years; the warmth of his hands as he grasped his arm through those prison bars, the feeling of his solid chest against his back as they played piano together, the squeeze of those strong fingers on his shoulder before that first jump, and every minor graze and brush of his hand, Paddy relished in it. But now his body betrayed him, showing just how helpless he was to the effects of Eoin's merciful hands on his skin.
Eoin's eyes drifted down his torso, landing firmly on his very obvious erection. Paddy saw a slight change in his eyes, but could've never anticipated what happened next.
Before Paddy could slink away and cower from his line of sight, Eoin gripped his shoulder more firmly and huffed, frustrated with him, "You can't just ask for help like a normal person?" He inched forward, resting one hand lightly at the top of Paddy’s bandages, the other hovering at the small of his back.
Paddy laughed in shock, his chuckles shaky and breathy, as if he didn’t quite believe what had just come out of Eoin’s mouth. "I could never ask that of you." His eyes darted between his hands and Eoin’s comforting stare.
“You’re not, I’m offering.”
Was he hallucinating, or had Eoin McGonigal really just offered to get him off? To touch him where no other had before. Was this real?
It wasn't until he saw the slow movement of Eoin’s hand towards him that it even felt like a possibility.
Eoin hovered a feather-light hand over Paddy's hip bone, anchoring him to the spot should he have had the notion to run away. Paddy could barely breathe; his lungs refused to expand in his chest at the sensation of Eoin's soft hand pressed to his bare skin.
But it didn't stop there. “Come here”, Eoin uttered, voice low and dripping with desire.
Paddy inched forward into his embrace, truly pushing the boundaries of their friendship to a place they may never return from.
“Eoin, you don't have to.”
“Shut up, will you? Just, come here.” he puffed, pulling him closer still - so close that his cock brushed against the seam of Eoin's rough uniform shorts.
Paddy could feel the heat emanating from his skin, could smell the faint scent of plain army soap, clean and familiar. He had never been so close before, inside Eoin’s personal space so intimately, with the promise of something new.
He didn't quite believe what was happening until the soft, slightly chapped skin of Eoin's lips met his own in a chaste peck. Every sensation became heightened, every minute movement caused goosebumps, every hair on his body stood on end, truly on edge and wanting.
It seemed to last a lifetime, until Eoin pulled back slightly to assess Paddy's reaction, his breath gentle and balmy against his chin.
This was it, this was the moment to back out, to run and hide - if his feet didn't feel like two lead bricks, anchoring him in place. But one glance into those rich brown eyes had him stuck. Every feeling Paddy had buried, every emotion he denied himself for the younger man all those years, everything came rushing back in one fell swoop, like a tidal wave engulfing him.
Eoin gave him the opportunity, a brief moment in time, a reprieve from their embrace to chicken out of his dream scenario, the content of his nightly dreams, the one thing he fantasised about but never truly believed he could have. He had the chance to salvage their friendship, to pretend this never happened, but he just couldn't go on like it was before. He had finally allowed himself to hope, to believe he could have everything, and Eoin would give it to him.
In a moment of absolute clarity, Paddy pulled Eoin in for another kiss with his bandaged hand, wincing slightly at his ill-conceived plan and the shooting pain radiating down his injured arm, but holding him tight to his chest anyway. He could feel every inch of him, feel every wisp of breath against his skin, each throb of his beating heart. Eoin moulded perfectly to him, fit just right against his body. Paddy never wanted to leave that spot, never wanted to break from the safety of his arms. He never wished to be parted from Eoin again, though he knew that time and circumstance were against them.
It even took a few moments to register the kiss, to begin moving his lips against Eoin's, to push bravely forwards and probe the edges of his mouth with his tongue, seeking entry.
Eoin, enthusiastic and eager to help ease Paddy's pain, but also secretly enjoying the attentions of a man he had crushed on since they were boys, held Paddy close to his clothed body. His hand moved to cradle Paddy's bearded face, finding purchase in his unruly and slightly matted facial hair. Luckily, the flames had left his face untouched, he could explore every recess and line of his handsome face without worrying about hurting him. Eoin felt entirely overdressed for the situation, but enjoyed feeling Paddy twitch and react to his every movement.
It was true, he wanted to help him relieve his tensions, but that didn't mean he couldn't also enjoy himself. He didn't expect Paddy to fold quite so easily, to melt into his arms quite so quickly…but he would have been lying to say he didn't like it. Eoin saw this as an opportunity, not just to help the man he adored, to help relieve his tensions and satisfy his needs, but also to scratch an itch of his own. A burgeoning desire that had been growing for a while, that lay dormant for a long time without any hope of growing fruit. Only now did Eoin let those tiny glimmers of hope flourish.
As Paddy bravely tested the waters, teasing and prying open the edges of Eoin's lips, exploring the warm caverns of his mouth, tongues dancing in rhythm with each other, he could feel the fire in his core burn even hotter. His cock twitched and ached, sandwiched between his body and Eoin's clothed torso, leaking a small wet patch onto his khaki shorts.
He knew he wouldn't last long, and the second Eoin touched him, that was more obvious than ever before.
His large hands roamed the plains of Paddy’s chest, exploring the dips and sharp corners. Paddy wasn't as lean as Eoin, but he was proud of his physique. He wouldn't think himself unattractive in any case.
Eoin's hands felt unnaturally soft, not calloused or torn up like Paddy's were, not scarred or shredded from the rough sands, not burned beyond recognition. They were pillowy soft against his skin, his fingertips leaving a tingle as they danced across the imperfect surface of his face.
Thankfully, Eoin didn't leave him in limbo for too long before reaching a long arm between them, and grasping Paddy's solid prick between his slender fingers. Gentle, yet firm.
Even the sensation of his cool skin wrapped around his cock sent shock waves through Paddy's body. As Eoin swirled his thumb around the head of his shaft, dipping softly into his slit and collecting his slick, Paddy couldn't help but throw his head backwards in overwhelming bliss, breaking from the kiss that connected them.
He never knew it could feel like this, but then again he never had another man's hand wrapped around his cock….let alone a man he adored.
Every minuscule movement sent bursts of euphoria through his weary body, and for the first time in weeks, pain was outweighed by pleasure.
Though his anxieties at having Eoin so intimately close did not abate, Paddy felt himself slowly relax into his touch, knowing he was safe, knowing Eoin would take care of him, as he always did.
Being able to surrender to the touch of another was a different type of ecstasy. It was safety, total security in the arms of the man he desperately loved but never had the balls to pursue. Eoin's large hands grounded him in the moment. In the delicious strokes of his nimble fingers, gliding smoothly across his delicate flesh, in the warmth of his breath as it fanned his cheeks, utterly lost in those lust-blowen eyes.
Paddy could hardly focus on the pain radiating from his scorched flesh, from the nerves dancing and firing across the surface of his arms and hands. He didn't even notice the throb, the deep ache in his muscles. All he could focus on in that moment was the pure bliss, the rush of endorphins flooding his system as the man he loved fondled him with such tender care.
“Fuck Eoin…so good…” Paddy panted, almost delirious from the intense sensations coursing through his broken body. He couldn't even string a coherent sentence together, just a collection of obscenities and Eoin’s name. His breath left his chest in heavy sighs, in between stolen kisses.
“Shhh, it's okay..just..enjoy it”, Eoin mumbled, his lips captured roughly by Paddy's mid-sentence. His hips bucked against Eoin's gentle hand, searching for something more.
He lost himself in a haze of ecstasy and saliva, and before he knew it, Paddy felt his end approaching. It was too soon, he wanted this to last forever. He wanted to stay in this tent, with the sand hot beneath his feet and Eoin pressed against his skin for as long as humanly possible.
“Eoin, I'm so close.. please…s-slow down..”
“Whatever you want, Paddy”, Eoin smirked, as he slowed his pace. Paddy drew a sharp breath in, trying his best to calm his racing heart.
“God I wish I could touch you…these fucking hands…” he sighed with frustration.
“Please, Eoin, take it off…” Paddy pleaded, staring at Eoin’s stained khaki shirt, his own juices seeping into the fabric. “I need to see you.”
Eoin teased open his shirt buttons, popping each one slowly and deliberately, all the while staring into Paddy’s lustful, heavy-lidded eyes.
The attention was nice; it had been a long time since Eoin was intimate with anyone, and in this moment, he couldn't imagine a more perfect partner than Paddy. He was practically drooling at the sight of a little skin, his own body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
The fabric parted to reveal alabaster skin dotted with kisses from the sun. Paddy never noticed the small details of his body, but now, as he stood before him, he couldn't help but study every freckle, every scar littering his buttery soft skin. Only his thin cotton vest shielded his body from Paddy's hungry stare, and Eoin seemed in no hurry to bare all, not before teasing Paddy with the very thought of it.
This reprieve from Eoin’s touch did little to quench his thirst, the insatiable need inside, but it certainly served a purpose. Paddy groaned, frustrated that he couldn't touch that perfect body, couldn't feel the sinew of his rippling muscle under his fingers. Would he ever be able to feel the sensation of Eoin's mesmerisingly soft skin underhand, or would his burns deprive him of that for good?
Damn Jock Lewes and his handmade bombs. He wasn’t even here to defend himself, Paddy thought.
His finger carved a path in flesh, dancing across the surface of his skin, as he shed that sweat stained shirt from his broad shoulders. Every fiber of Paddy's being stood on edge, every hair raised and every nerve prickled under the surface. The very sight of Eoin's mean body elicited such a visceral response, he could scarcely control his reactions. Paddy couldn't hide his desire, the overwhelming need running through his body, and Eoin knew it.
It wasn't often that Eoin asserted his dominance, he rarely found the need to toy with anyone, let alone with Paddy, but with his hands bound and bandaged, Eoin saw a rare opportunity.
He savoured Paddy's impatience, his silent displeasure at a job half finished. Relishing in the moment, Eoin briefly strode over to his cot and leaned over him. His tall stature meant Paddy was only inches away from his groin, from the one part of Eoin he ached to touch.
Looking at him with quiet amusement as the furrow of his brow deepened with each brush of his fingertips, Eoin extended a hand and cradled Paddy's jaw, almost reverently, as if he may break under his fingertips.
Eoin could feel the slight shake rattling Paddy's bones, and as it was impossibly hot in that stuffy canvas tent, he could only assume it was from the much sought-after physical contact.
He pulled him in for a chaste kiss, and briefly held Paddy against him, calming the tremor born of want, before pushing him down to sit on the cot once more.
The loss of contact coaxed a soft moan from Paddy and a low grunt as his body hit the rather uncomfortable cot. His head spun, and the air around him drew colder without Eoin’s body to warm him. His brow creased in confusion, he thought Eoin was here to help him, not to give him a taste of relief only to withdraw it at the last moment. He did ask him to slow down…but not to stop entirely. Now, dropping himself onto the creaking cot directly across from Paddy, Eoin began to remove more layers of clothing, starting with the sweat-stained white vest that covered his taut torso.
As he reached for the hem and pulled it upwards over his head, Paddy feasted his eyes on every square inch of his lean, muscular body. His arms flexed, framing his biceps and upper body, truly peacocking his well-honed physique for the pair of eyes focused solely on him.
Training had sculpted his lithe body into something lethal, strong and capable of anything. As fragile as he seemed to others, Paddy knew Eoin’s body could handle anything he threw at it…including his infamous temper. The filthiest thoughts imaginable filled Paddy’s head as his mind wandered to what else that body could handle.
Eoin didn’t seem to mind being openly ogled. It was his intention all along. He knew Paddy couldn’t resist looking when he stripped out of his uniform, he knew that Paddy wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away.
It was certainly a test of Paddy's restraint.
“Fucking hell, you're not going to make this easy for me eh?” Paddy huffed, trapping a breath in his chest as the sight of Eoin half-dressed, eyeing him up like prey from across their small, shared tent.
Eoin sat, perched at the edge of the rickety cot and unbuckled his trousers under Paddy's heavy stare. The same cheeky grin that Paddy always loved now teased and taunted him from his place on the adjoining cot. He was both in shock and incredibly needy. Paddy both wanted to ravage him and admire the view at the same time. He had wanted things to go slower…but this was downright torture.
Eoin lingered, savouring each little unconscious gasp and breath from Paddy, his fingers hovering just over the open buttons of his trousers, which hung open but still covering the lower half of his body, while holding Paddy's gaze the entire time. It was amusing seeing the carnal desire in his eyes, his surrender to his more base needs.
Eventually, he relented to those delicious sounds coming from Paddy's chest and shimmied out of his trousers, which pooled on the floor next to him, leaving him in only his underwear. Even through the fabric, Paddy could see evidence of Eoin's arousal. It was obvious he was enjoying this little rouse, this torturous display of flesh. Clearly, taunting Paddy with the promise of relief and utterly deserting him turned him on.
The outline of his cock made Paddy's mouth water on instinct, his eyes travelling from Eoin's to his lap of their own accord. He couldn't help but wonder what it looked like, what it felt like. Was it pretty and pink? Was it as beautiful as him? There was only so much he could see through the thin fabric, but his mind certainly filled in the rest.
Paddy craved what he couldn't have, what he couldn't touch. Pining for the cock of his best friend while his own leaked against his stomach, throbbing and left unattended, thoroughly unsatisfied.
Eoin began to palm himself through the thin fabric, a wry smile plastered across his face as if he could read Paddy's thoughts. His face creased with those familiar lines Paddy loved, the ones he often thought about tracing with his fingers as Eoin smiled at him. He never did, of course. Now he would give anything to be able to touch that face, to run his hands across his stubbled skin, and to feel the life under his fingertips. The little noises that left Eoin's lips had him speechless, shocked that one man could make such pretty sounds. Eoin knew exactly what he was doing, he knew exactly the effect that this would have on Paddy, especially in his current predicament.
“No touching Paddy, you need to heal.... doctors' orders…”
Again, another megawatt smile aimed right at Paddy. His face scrunched with each reveal of those pearly whites. When Eoin smiled, Paddy felt himself melt, just a little under his sunlight. As if he needed another reason to love this man, that smile would melt even the coldest of hearts.
Knowing the extent of Paddy's utter desperation, Eoin further teased him by sliding the thin cotton shorts down his creamy thighs, until they pooled on the floor beneath him. A smile plastered across his face the entire time, but now joined with a twinkle of mischief in those big chocolate brown eyes.
His cock was everything that Paddy had ever imagined and more. A perfect specimen.
Now fully erect, it sprang free of its cloth cage and sat against Eoin's abdomen. Precome dribbling from the pink fleshy tip, Paddy couldn't keep his eyes away from it.
It was so pretty…like nothing he'd seen before. The head, perfectly bulbous and flushed pink, glistening and appetising, just sitting, waiting to be worshipped.
“Please, Eoin, I'll do anything…” Paddy pleaded, reaching for his hair but not being able unable to find any purchase with his bandages.
Saliva practically oozed from the sides of his mouth as the sight before him utterly bewitched Paddy. His body ached to be touched, to be filled. He didn’t even realise he was whimpering, tiny little moans escaping from his chest, until finally Eoin relented to Paddy's desperate pleas. He ushered him forward with one nod, to which Paddy enthusiastically shuffled forward and knelt before him.
“No, here, sit.” Eoin gestured to his lap, and despite being slightly confused, Paddy did as he was told. Anything for the slightest chance at relief. Eoin pulled him into his lap, their cocks brushing up against one another, which sent a shiver through Paddy's body. He did not expect Eoin to wrap his slender fingers around them both, and begin stroking languidly. Paddy could only tuck his head into Eoin's chest and breathe, or at least try to, the sensation was utterly overwhelming - his body was on edge as it was, but this wrought a whole new level of pleasure. The feeling of his shaft pressed against Eoin’s, the velvety skin undulating with each stroke. It was more than he could have dreamed, and certainly more than he deserved - given his outburst earlier in the day. Eoin's nimble fingers moved across both shafts with ease, keeping a steady but lazy pace. He was in no rush to the finish line, he knew Paddy would cross that peak before he did, but he was thoroughly enjoying the little moans and profanities coming from the man in his lap.
He had never seen Paddy like this - so small, so meek, when he usually stood 10 feet tall. His intimidating persona loomed larger than life, but here, nestled against the thin skin of Eoin’s throat, Paddy made himself quite small. He nuzzled into the warm safety of Eoin's body, pressing his flesh to Eoin's as if he needed it to survive.
He quite enjoyed being in control, though rarely got the opportunity to express that desire. The power Eoin felt in that moment was intoxicating..but he knew it wasn’t something to abuse. He held a vulnerability so precious in his hands, both physically and metaphorically..and he fully intended to savour it. Paddy had surrendered to him, had trusted him to take care of his needs in a moment of helplessness. He had let go of all pretense, of all the bravado and anger he usually carried with him, and succumbed to pleasure - there was something fragile, something quite delicate about this moment, and Eoin fully intended to revel in it completely.
Although he truly loved Paddy, and couldn't stay mad at him for long, Paddy needed to learn that he couldn't lash out at him without consequence. Whether that was a delayed release, or being denied altogether…Eoin certainly enjoyed his payback.
He took his time with it, keeping a slow but steady rhythm with his fingers wrapped around both of their shafts.
Paddy wriggled in his lap as his peak approached, mumbling into the hollow of Eoin's throat, as if his very name was a prayer to recite and repeat, to revere and worship.
Eoin could feel the tension building in Paddy's body, every muscle as tight as an elastic band, wound up and ready to snap.
He held onto Eoin's shoulders like a lifeline, like he would drown without the sturdy support of his body beneath him. If he had use of his hands he'd have carved little crescent moons into the pale flesh, claiming it as his own.
“That's it..come for me Blair” Eoin encouraged, ever so slightly increasing the pace of his movements. His own arousal spurred on by the delicious sounds of slick skin and the vibrations of Paddy’s heavy moans against his chest. Paddy loved hearing Eoin call him Blair…nobody else did, nobody else saw the man under the beast.
The high came and went, and once the fog of orgasm lifted, Paddy had the urge to repay Eoin’s kindness, to show him but a fraction of the pleasure he just felt in his tender grasp.
“I want to make you feel good, Eoin, please...let me?”
One look into those glassy blue eyes, seeing the fucked out look on Paddy’s face had Eoin hooked. He couldn’t resist Paddy like this, he was intoxicating. He’d give him anything he wanted.
Paddy scooted himself off of Eoin’s lap, sinking to his knees and parting Eoin’s legs slightly with his bandaged hands. Although he couldn’t use them to touch Eoin, to work his cock like he always imagined he would, Paddy could use his mouth, his tongue, his lips to bring Eoin pleasure. To bring him to the precipice and drag him over the edge, even without the use of his digits. The sight of Eoin’s perfectly pink cock lolling between his legs still had Paddy in a trance. Although now softer and flaccid from the lack of contact, Paddy was determined to see it stand to attention once more, to see it grow tumescent right before his eyes.
As his lips met the base of Eoin’s velvety cock and his tongue made light work circling his soft tip, he tasted the remnants of his own release hanging on the skin. He lapped up their mixed juices, the slightly bitter and salty fluid danced on his tongue and tantalised his tastebuds. Even the taste of Eoin’s precome was inebriating. The warmth against his cheek, the heady scent of sweat and sand, everything about this moment would be etched in his memories long after this night drifted away into the ether, to be forgotten into the sands of time.
Paddy, keen to pleasure Eoin, wanted to show the depths of his appreciation. He couldn't touch him the way he wanted, couldn't grip and grasp onto his flesh, but he could do this.
He could lick, tease, and entirely consume Eoin's flesh with his tongue and lips. He had dreamed of this day, dreamed of holding his thick cock on his tongue, to feel the weight of him pressing down and find out what he tasted like. Would he be sweet, would his spend taste salty as it was pumped into the depths of his throat?
His crude fantasies had finally manifested, and now, as he took Eoin’s plump cock into his awaiting mouth, Paddy had to try his very best to restrain himself - to push Eoin over the same cliff that he had tipped over not minutes earlier.
With much enthusiasm, Paddy messily licked the flushed tip as a cat would lick up milk. He drank in every drop. Saliva dripped from his lips onto the pink, bulbous head, lubricating the skin and savouring the salty, metallic taste of his fluids as they dribbled from Eoin’s swollen tip. But Paddy wasn’t known for his patience or restraint, and having Eoin’s cock hanging on his tongue was not enough, he desperately needed more, needed to feel Eoin deep in his throat.
Eagerly swallowing him down, tears pricked the corners of his eyes as it nudged the back of his throat. Eoin rolled his hips unconsciously, his body reacting to the sensational stimulation from Paddy’s rough tongue; the very texture of it against his most sensitive spots had Eoin seeing stars.
Eoin was the only man Paddy could imagine doing this for, the only man deserving of such attentions. The only person he could fathom swallowing so deeply that he could scarcely breathe, the only man that could fill every orifice and still have him begging for more. The only man who could bring Paddy Mayne to his knees, quite enthusiastically.
Saliva and precome drenched his chin, beads of sweat hung heavy to his brow - he was truly a sight to behold, and as Eoin glanced down to see Paddy with his mouth full, messy and dishevelled, he truly couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d have rather been in that moment.
“Such a good boy for me Blair, so good..” Eoin panted between strained breaths. The sensation of Paddy's throat, tight and warm enveloping his shaft was almost too much to take.
Like Paddy did when he was finally touched, Eoin threw his head back in pleasure, his mind swimming in the floating void between realities.
He shut his eyes to the world, blocking out all external stimuli. Only the comforting heat of Paddy’s tongue, the soft flesh of his cheeks hollowing out around his cock grounded him in reality. Eoin breathed through the swell of pleasure, the overwhelming tide of ecstasy pulling him under, with only Paddy to keep him from drowning. One hand roamed his bare chest, desperate for a tether to hold him in this realm.
There was a certain vulnerability to it, he was completely at Paddy’s mercy, his most delicate appendage under his control, yet he felt completely at ease. Everything in his body tingled, screamed and rejoiced at the feeling of Paddy’s lips wrapped around him. Every part of him wanted this, despite his mind’s reluctance to ever act on it before tonight. And though Eoin yearned to feel Paddy’s hands caress his skin, to feel him grip and grab onto any body part he chose, this first foray into quite an unknown world felt better than anything he could have imagined. It felt better than all his previous experiences and sexual encounters; this was bliss, utter and total bliss.
Paddy suckled the head of Eoin’s cock in an effort to draw out even more juices, desperate to taste his essence. Each bead Paddy wrought from his shaft was slurped up eagerly, nothing wasted.
Paddy utterly lost himself in the sensations surrounding him. The taste of Eoin’s cock on his tongue, the smell wafting around him - sweat and hot sand, a slight musk that was unique to Eoin alone. The heat rising from his body as he got closer to his peak, Eoin's fingers threaded through his hair, gripping onto the base of each strand tightly as if he needed Paddy to centre himself. Although wildly inexperienced, Paddy listened to Eoin, to his moans and breathing for feedback, he felt his body squirming and the tension in his muscles building underneath him.
As the knot in his stomach tightened, and his peak loomed in the distance, Eoin had enough of the foreplay, knowing he wouldn't last much longer with Paddy looking up at him through those feathery eyelashes, tears staining his cheeks. He was doomed to come quickly with those plush, flushed lips nipping and suckling at his cock. He had to change things up, and the thought of Paddy wrapped around him in a different way had every cell in his body tingling.
“Enough…enough” Eoin grunted, before he pulled Paddy up by his hair, gently but firmly planting a sloppy kiss on his lips before whispering “I want to fuck you Blair…I bet you’d like that eh?” not directly into his ear, but along his jaw as he peppered his skin with soft, open mouthed kisses. With a nod of his head, Paddy gave his answer - his mouth hanging open at the prospect. Only once he felt Eoin’s large hands roaming down his body and settling on his hips, guiding him up and into his lap once again, did the prospect actually become a reality.
Eoin sincerely loved seeing him squirm and come undone in his lap earlier, feeling his muscles tense, feeling his breath rise and fall against his chest, and having his body cling to him like a lifeline had him aching to fuck him in that position, to feel the warmth of Paddy’s muscular body pressed against him like he was afraid Eoin would disappear.
Reaching sideways for a tub of Vaseline by the side of his cot, he placed one hand on Paddy's thigh to stabilise himself while he leaned over. Even that small motion made the breath in Paddy's chest stick and his lungs refused to expand for a few seconds; until Eoin pulled himself back up with that familiar wide grin plastered to his face. “Breathe Blair, I've got you.” Eoin chuckled, sweetly kissing the side of Paddy’s cheek before dipping his long graceful fingers into the gooey lubricant. Eoin slicked himself up first before lubing Paddy up thoroughly; reaching underneath his body to swipe the oily substance around his puckered entrance, fondling every inch of skin he could reach, each delicate patch of flesh, every touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. Even the soft brush of Eoin's fingertips had Paddy clenching around them, searching for friction and that delicious penetrating fullness that he knew would come quickly after.
As Paddy sank onto Eoin's lap, he held tight to the pale flesh of Paddy’s hips, lowering him down at a torturous pace. Controlling the speed, the depth, meticulously guiding him onto his cock, which was standing ready and waiting. Eoin watched with wide eyes and gasped audibly as he impaled Paddy on his cock, as his body engulfed him, pulled him in to the hilt.
Paddy felt so full, so complete and wanted, sitting there in Eoin’s embrace, he let his body acclimatise to Eoin’s girth; his chest rising and falling as his head slumped against Eoin’s torso. Paddy’s body was made for him, was designed to accommodate him in, like a key to a lock, he just fit. It felt right, and despite the stinging stretch, Paddy felt happy, serene almost, as he sat atop the man he desperately loved. “Are you alright, mo stór?” Eoin enquired, his voice barely carrying on the breeze as he tried to regain his composure. He couldn’t believe how incredibly good this felt, how much he was missing out on before. It was only his fragile ego standing in the way of this, they'd lost so much time because he was afraid of brooching the subject, afraid of getting rejected…..but now as they sat, chest to chest, sheathed inside Paddy’s body like a hand to a glove, Eoin felt right.
“You touch me like I am everything you asked God for. Underneath your hands I become poetry. This is the alchemy that you do” Paddy panted, his breath catching in his chest.
Eoin just wanted Paddy to feel good, to forget the pain running through his burn riddled flesh, and to feel pleasure. He wanted to be the man to make him forget about the pain, to be the one responsible for the endorphins rushing through his veins. He wanted desperately to be the man to make Paddy Mayne come undone atop him. But to hear those beautiful words, it was more than he ever dreamed.
His fingers traced loose little circles against Paddy’s skin, while he rocked his hips rhythmically against him, keeping perfect time with the beating of their hearts.
Paddy’s head buried once more against his chest, his ragged breaths fanning Eoin’s nipples. He tried with all his strength to hold onto him, to wrap his arms around Eoin, but any bit of pressure caused pain to shoot through his damaged muscle, so instead he rested them lightly around Eoin’s shoulders, trusting him to keep him in place through the force of their combined thrusts.
His hands seared into the flesh of Paddy’s bare back, holding him close to his chest, his fingertips engraving their pattern as they roamed the valleys and dips of his body.
Paddy had never felt so fulfilled, so connected to another. He felt every point their frames intertwined, each pulse of blood beneath the skin, each drop of sweat falling between their slick coated bodies.
With every rock of his hips, Eoin ploughed his cock deeper, rubbing against each and every sensitive spot in its path. Every soft bundle of nerves cried out in ecstasy, being stimulated by the bulbous tip. Every stroke drew low, euphoric moans from Paddy’s chest. Eoin had dragged him quite quickly towards his impending peak, though even through his haze, through the blinding fog of pleasure, Paddy yearned to pull Eoin over the edge with him. To show him even a fraction of how he made him feel, through the unbearable pain of flames licking at his skin, to reciting the words that were a constant comfort by his sick bed, to making his body feel indescribable pleasure. Paddy wanted him to feel all of it, but even a small piece would do.
As they climbed higher, both men grasping at any bit of skin they could reach, Paddy boldly latched onto Eoin's neck, suckling at his sensitive spots, leaving small red marks in his wake. The combination of pressure and new sensations finished the job, sending waves of pleasure crashing over Eoin's tired body. That wonderful fullness of Eoin’s release pulled Paddy over the edge along with him. A beautiful heat bloomed within him, true euphoria surrounding his delicate frame. His whole body spasmed, muscles clenching and milking Eoin's cock for all it had left. Every drop, every ounce of his spend drawn from the source into Paddy’s body, pulsating and contracting around his quickly softening member.
Paddy couldn't ever remember feeling so good, feeling nothing but pleasure, and almost forgetting the indescribable pain that wracked his battered limbs.
True elation swelled in his chest. A rather pleasant warmth radiated outwards, spreading through his blistered and burned arms.
This overwhelming warmth quickly pulled him into a restful slumber, with his lover by his side. As both men drifted into a pleasure induced sleep, only the sound of their shared breaths filled their humid tent, truly content and free from pain, if only for a short time, if only for the night.
Slightly based on my headcanons I posted a few weeks ago. Very very NSFW, so be warned.
Jaskier had been singing all night. Not an unusual turn of events for him, really - he’d been singing for his supper for years now. Usually he could scrape together enough for a bed and board, a decent meal and a drink or two. All in all, he would consider himself a decent performer.
However, even he would admit that he couldn’t compare to the sounds that the beauty beneath him was making.
It had all happened so quickly. A few flirtatious winks had turned into smiles, had turned into a hushed conversation over drinks, had turned into this; the son of a lord wrapped around him in a small, dark room lit only by a single oil lamp.
The table that the young lord was balanced on knocked rhythmically against the wall with each thrust of Jaskier’s hips. The air was filled with breathless panting, stifled moans, soft curses. And gods - he felt like luxury against Jaskier’s body. Soft pampered skin, warm lips that mouthed insistently at his throat, so- fuck, so tight…
Jaskier rocked forwards harder than he’d meant to, and the man below him let out a loud, beautiful keen. Jaskier quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, albeit with a tinge of regret.
“Shh,” he leaned down whispered, laughter dancing around the edge of his breathless voice, “as gorgeous as you sound, I don’t fancy getting caught and chased out of the province.”
The young lord’s eyes glimmered at him over the edge of his fingers before he jerked his head to the side, loosening the bard’s grip.
“I’d rather you silence me with your lips,” he replied indignantly, though his hoarseness ruined the effect of his glare; “Your hand smells of lute strings.”
“Oh, forgive me, my lord,” Jaskier drawled as he dug his fingers into his hips and tugged him forwards, drawing out a soft gasp; “I’m so terribly sorry that my profession causes you offence! I never-!”
“Shut up and fuck me,” the young lord growled, pawing at the laces of his shirt.
Warnings: SMUT, sex w a stranger, blood mention, reader is implied to be not entirely human but it's like blink and u miss it
WC: 336
AN: The smut starts immediately, please heed the warnings above <3, also the title pulls from Janelle Monae's song Waterslide go listen to it!!
The smell of sex mixes with the salt of the ocean to create a scent that's as intoxicating as the beat of his hips as they rut into you.
His cock stretches you open, leaving you hunched over his chest as your nails leave red crescents in his skin.
His red hair falls around him in a sort of bloody halo, and you briefly wonder if he'd look just as good covered in actual blood, but then he angles his hips a little differently and his dick rubs against that spot inside that makes your toes curl and you abandon that train of thought.
His breath's huffing. You'd kiss it all out of him but that wouldn't be half as fun as watching his futile struggle-- trying to fuck you and keep from cumming-- a task that would've left lesser men trembling.
You'd commend him for it if you didn't think it'd get to his head.
Still, this human is fun. Eager to please and didn't ask too many questions about why there was a man walking along what was supposed to be an uninhabited stretch of beach, you might have to keep him.
You lean down to do just that, finally deeming him worthy of a kiss-- one that would mark him as yours forever-- when his hand wraps firm around your cock.
You freeze, accidentally squeezing around his dick in your surprise. A mangled sound leaves his mouth at the sensation, but he doesn't pause his ministrations.
His thumb teases the sensitive and neglected head of your dick, rolling and twisting around its entirety when he finally draws a moan out of you.
He laughs, an equally triumphant and petty sound, "That feel good? I was starting to worry that I'd lost my touch."
His hand isn't wet, the raw, almost chafing sensation is pleasant when contrasted with the hot, slick pounding he's giving your ass.
"Shhhh-uuut up, mnn, just keep fucking me."
He looks way too damn cocky when he responds, "Sure thing."
A little shorter than my usual works but I hope yall still enjoyed reading!
info: Frank Iero is definitely not in love with Gerard Way. Frank Iero is definitely not writing vent poetry wishing Gerard wasn't such an enigma. Frank definitely doesn't publish his writing online under the pseudonym of F.T. Willz. Gerard becomes a fan of the poems he has no clue are all about him. Hell, Gerard never notices the way Frank is always manically, tearfully, and furiously writing in his notebook. Why would he ever notice Frank anyways? It's not like they'd ever agreed on a label for what they were so why would Frank care?
Spanning from approximately 2002-2007, this story is told in non-chronological order.
additional info: In this fic, Gerard is a transman several years into his medical transition and has undergone HRT and top-surgery long before the majority of the story takes place. [Author is a transman who has undergone the same medical transition as Gerard.]
AO3 Link
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Chapter One: Frank — October, 2005
Halfheartedly strumming my guitar as I sat on one of the couches inside MyChem's tour bus, I pretended to not be staring at Gerard as he was drawing. Mikey, Ray and Bob all pretended to not notice my eyes burning holes into the back of his skull. Burning with what exactly? Lust? Rage? Love? Resentment? Hatred? Perhaps the answer was all of the above... Or perhaps I just wished he would notice me the same way that I could never help but notice him. Just once.
"Hey, Frankie?" That voice could shake me out of a coma.
"Yeah?"
"I've got this character for my comic. He's kinda like you- well, actually, he's inspired by you."
"Is he a total dickhead?" Bob joked in that way only he could get away with in our unspoken bond of bitterly hating the world together.
"That's real sweet, Bob." Ray rolled his eyes.
"Well, okay so he doesn't have a name right now really just 'The Boy' or 'Number Five'. He can time travel and go to other timelines and shit. He's an old man trapped in the body of a teenage boy. He's basically the one that saves everyone from the end of the world over and over again."
"How's that like me?"
"Oh, time travel made him very world-weary and disillusioned. He knows the end of everything and the ending is always bleak and so he sorta is constantly tryna change how things turn out so that the world doesn't end."
"Damn, Gee! That's some seriously poetic shit!" I exclaimed in earnest.
I'd be lying through my nicotine-stained teeth if I were to say that I hadn't been hoping that he saw this character so heavily inspired by me largely in part due to the glaringly obvious parallels between Number Five saving the world from the apocalypse and all the years I had spent saving Gerard from himself time and time again. But he didn't elaborate.
Sure, in front of the people he deemed 'safe', Gerard would openly hold my hand, kiss me and at times would be all over me almost as if he forgot that we weren't alone in our own little world together. Everyone in the scene knew or sure as fuck had their suspicions for years that Gerard and I fucked.
Gerard and I would go out to shitty diners that felt like home. Sure, he often held doors open for me and showed chivalry towards me. We kissed. We held hands. We fucked. We went on outings that in any other context and dynamic would inarguably be considered dates with one another. We said we loved each other frequently enough (Gerard often moaned out a seemingly meaningful 'I love you' right before cumming hard around my cock.) We spent more nights sharing a cramped bunk on the bus, naked and panting as we came down from the high of our mutual orgasms. We fell asleep in each other's arms more often than not.
But that surface level was all it ever was, or at least that seemed to be the case for Gerard. We weren't boyfriends, partners, or dating. We were bandmates. Friends. Never anything more.
But it wasn't always like this.
It didn't start out this way and it, for better or for worse, most certainly did not end this way.
Absentmindedly tuning my guitar while lost in thought staring at the beauty, wonder and complete enigma of the lead vocalist, I didn't even flinch or look away from him when I felt the razor-sharp lashing sting of an over-tuned guitar string snapping apart and leaving my blood-soaked wrist in its wake, just barely shallow enough to not require stitches. I smiled and laughed despite myself.
"Fuck dude, be more careful with how enthusiastically you're tuning that shit, Frankie! What the fuck are you smiling about, man? — You could have accidentally killed yourself if that was any deeper!" His voice was frantic and worried sick as he finally decided to properly act like I existed in his world in the slightest.
"Pain is just a reminder that I'm still alive and real; that any of this is real at all."
"Are you okay? You're starting to make me worry, Frankie."
"I'm fine," I lied effortlessly as I had for all the years we'd known each other.
He pretended to believe me.
I swear to fucking God, it wasn't always this way.
