Virgin ghost who gets easily excited and finishes in his pants from js kissing Johnny/Johnny praising him
mdni below
"Fook, Johnny--" Simon was panting, rolling his hips against Johnny's torso, chasing friction over the rough, thick fabric of their fatigues. They'd just gotten back from a two-week mission, still covered in the grime and sweat of their work. They were all aching muscles and battered gear and exhaustion. And, more importantly, arousal.
"Aye, feck, Si, s' a good boy." Johnny was whispering filth in Simon's ear, urging him on. "Ye feckin' mongrel, humpin' me lich a puppy. Ye that desperate?" He reached down, groping the front of Simon's trousers nastily. Simon keened, crashing their lips together. He'd pulled his balaclava up, exposing his chapped, busted lips peeled back into a Glasgow smile. Johnny was quick to take back control of the situation, slamming Simon into the wall to grind their fronts together. They had yet to do anything serious beyond frotting, but neither of them cared. Simon had long ago admitted to his sergeant that he had never been with anyone, so they were saving their first time together until the lieutenant was ready. Johnny could wait.
Johnny forced Simon's hips down, not allowing the lieutenant to continue seeking pleasure. Their kiss deepened, both of them panting raggedly for air, Johnny's tongue invading Simon's mouth and forcing his own spit to mix with the lieutenant's. Simon's hands found his own nipples, desperate for any kind of stimulation. Johnny pulled Simon's hands aside to continue the job himself, two merciless twists having Simon crying out. It was a dirty trick, barely even sexual.
Simon was gasping for breath, but Johnny was kissing him again, the struggle between them beastly, animalistic. Slowly, Simon was being buffeted into submission.
"Ye gantin' f' it," Johnny teased, licking into the wet heat of Simon's mouth. "Bloody slut. No shame, eh?"
"Johnny--" Simon's hips jerked forward, a low moan escaping him.
"'At's it, moan fer me, let th' whole barracks know what a perv ye are, lettin' yer sergeant stuff his tongue into yer mouth. Gonna bend ye over mah bunk, Simon Riley, an' shove mah cock into ye until ye can feel it in yer belly. Or maybe ye'd rather hae it down yer throat, aye? Like feckin' silk, Ah bet. Look at ye, popped a hard-on jus' from a wee bit o' kissin'. Ye gonnae cum, Si? Gonnae jizz in yer pants lich t'a virgin ye are?"
Simon was already tensing up, rubbing one out since he'd freed one of his hands from Johnny's grip. He fucked up into his fist, moaning unashamedly. Both the lieutenant and the sergeant knew that Price and Gaz would be listening from the next room over. Neither of them cared.
"Cum fer me, Si," Johnny encouraged the lieutenant. "Aye, jus' lich that, good lad, come on--" "Johnny!" Simon seized, his head thrown back and eyes closing. His legs shook with the intensity of his climax, a stain spreading over the front of his trousers. He shuddered as he began to come down from his high, Johnny right there, kissing him gently through it, deft, clever hands massaging his shoulders. The lieutenant relaxed, sagging against the sergeant as he softened, his briefs now sticky and uncomfortable. Johnny chuckled, ignoring his own untouched hardness. "Come on, Si. Let's get ye tae t'a showers."