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When Simon had woken up with a younger, twisted version of himself in his bed, he knew it was his awful luck showing up in an utterly impossible way.
Even with dark hair and light eyes, contrasting his own light hair and dark eyes, there was something about the set of his jaw and the identical scar above the eyebrow that told him that they were one and the same. The exact same instinctual move to grab a knife from under the pillow and the collision of their blades and hands as they mirrored each other confirmed it.
A tense exchange – “Who the hell are you?” “You’re in my room, I ought to be asking you that.” – was cut short by the pounding of footsteps racing down the hallway. Ghost blinked and his door was flying open, Johnny racing through the open doorway immediately.
“Lt.,” Soap exhaled, crossing the room in a few short strides to stop in front of him. Before he could say anything to Johnny, Simon saw the moment realization dawned on his sergeant, saw a spark of interest pop into his eyes that replaced the relief that was there. He turned slowly, looking at the other version of Ghost.
“Simon?” Soap asked the other version of Ghost. The other version of him shuddered, eyes narrowing at the sergeant. Still, Johnny looked interested and it made Simon’s stomach twist.
“Riley!” A stern voice called from just outside the room. Ghost felt a chill go down his spine – it had been years since someone had referred to him by his last name, years since someone had dared to talk to him in such a way. The other version of himself, however, clearly didn’t have the same reaction if the pure relief that seemed to wash over him was any clue.
The owner of the voice walked through the door and Christ, Ghost felt a bit dizzy.
It was Soap standing in the doorway, but a solid fifteen years older with a sharp scar through his eye. He stood tall, significantly taller than Riley and even a few centimetres taller than Ghost himself. The man exuded lethality in a way that Johnny never did; his sergeant was the kind of deadly that you never saw coming – this version of him, however, was impossible to miss.
“Captain,” Riley said through an exhale, dropping his knife and rushing to the other version of Soap.
“Captain?” Johnny and Simon both asked aloud in unison. Ghost felt his jaw snap closed in a clench that made his very bones ache as the captain settled a large hand around Riley’s throat, dragging him up into a biting kiss. Simon’s mouth went painfully dry as the other version of him melted against the other version of Johnny, collapsing against him as the captain held him upright.
It wasn’t until the other version of Soap released his hold on Riley’s throat that both versions of Ghost could breathe again, Riley literally finally getting some air into his lungs and Simon suddenly remembering he needed to breathe.
“Alright, Riley?” The captain asked, voice barely audible with how quiet he was. Riley nodded and retracted his hands from where they’d grabbed onto the sides of the man’s shirt, crossing his arms in front of himself. The captain turned, tilting his head to the side and huffing as he made eye contact with Johnny.
“Close yer mouth a’fore ye catch flies,” the captain scolded. Simon watched Johnny’s mouth click shut from where it had been parted in either awe or confusion. “No’ a captain ‘ere, then?”
“My sergeant,” Ghost answered, a flicker of heat running through his gut as the captain’s strong gaze flicked to him. He stepped closer to Johnny, knocking their arms together even when all he wanted was to loop an arm around the man’s waist and pull him closer; they weren’t there yet, though, and the fact that the other versions of them most definitely were stung that much more.
As if he was driving the point home, the captain wrapped his arms around Riley’s waist, pulling the man backwards against his chest and enclosing him there. Riley looked smug, raising an eyebrow in a taunt as he stared down Simon. “You’re in charge of him here?” Riley asked, switching from talking to Simon to looking at Johnny with a hint of a downturned smile that pulled at the scars on either side of his lips.
“Aye,” Soap answered, putting his hands on his hips in a show of petulance. “Jus’ how it should be.”
Riley looked unamused. “Captain MacTavish has a better ring to it, yeah?”
“Sergeant Soap has a charm o’ its own,” MacTavish countered.
“He certainly does.” Riley added, eyes roving over Johnny in clear approval. Simon’s mouth tasted like ash when he saw the blush ripple across Soap’s face and the cocky grin set in on his features. Johnny shifted in place, puffing out his chest and cocking his hips forward just a bit.
Simon’s heart sank – Johnny liked the other version of him. He was showing off the exact same way he did when they went out for a night, the type of behaviour that earned him a nightcap from whoever it was he’d set his gaze on. Even with Simon at his side, so very willing and eager to indulge his sergeant, he’d found someone else.
Ghost stared at Riley for a long while, weighing their differences. Their color palettes were a bit different – that dark hair and light eyes and tanner skin that contrasted his entirely too fair features other than his eyes. Their builds were markedly different, Riley’s toned muscle made him slighter than the captain and even Johnny, whereas Simon hulked over the sergeant. Riley looked visibly younger as well – it was like he’d swapped ages with Johnny, putting MacTavish a bit ahead of Simon in age. More than anything, though, Riley looked content in his own skin, confident and almost arrogant where Simon was constantly curling into himself to try to hide away unless he was actively in a position of command.
“Alright, lieutenant?” MacTavish asked, the words breaking through Simon getting lost in his head. He blinked when he realized the captain was talking to him and not Riley as he’d assumed.
“Grand,” he answered quickly, if a bit confused. No one ever seemed to care enough to ask how he was doing, and a stranger – albeit a stranger wearing Johnny’s face and name – had asked after him.
Any further questioning was abruptly halted by Gaz walking past the open door and freezing in his tracks, his gaze jumping between all four of them before taking in a staggering breath and shouting for Price with a desperation Simon had never heard from him.
The solution, as it always was when things got a bit too confusing, was to call Laswell. Her solution, however, was to have the team make masks for MacTavish and Riley to hide their faces until she could get there in person. The two were to hide their identities and go by pseudonyms, pretending they were a visiting captain and lieutenant from another base.
It was how Simon ended up like this, standing and watching over the recruits with his arms folded across his chest and Riley standing next to him in the exact same position with his own balaclava and sunglasses on.
“So,” Riley began after a few moments of tense silence. There was another prolonged moment of quiet – a familiar situation when the two of them were put together alone – before he continued. “Found a good silicone gel for the scars you might recommend?”
Simon couldn’t find it in him to hold back the small chuckle that escaped his lips; there was nothing like a shared trauma to break the ice. “Yeah, I’ll give you one later to take back – can’t remember the brand.”
“Ta. Tired of them pulling all the damn time.”
“Compression sleeves and – another lap, Pullman! – socks keep the pain down.” Simon added.
“Yeah?” Riley asked, tilting his head inquisitively. “Noted. Usually just goad the captain into bending me over the nearest surface to distract from it, but that’s helpful if he ever were to let me go away from him for long.”
Simon’s chest twinged in jealousy. The two days of MacTavish and Riley being there had resulted only in Johnny following Riley around everywhere while MacTavish held him close, both Soaps fawning over him. It often had Ghost turning and walking out of the room, tongue in cheek and an ache in his chest as he busied himself with anything and everything Price and Gaz could bring up for him to do.
“Lucky you,” Simon grumbled before he could stop himself.
“Sorry,” Riley countered, though he didn’t sound apologetic in the least. Fuckin’ brat, Simon thought in annoyance before another voice interrupted them.
“Lieutenant.” MacTavish called behind them.
Riley continued to stare forward and Ghost nudged him with his shoulder. “Not gonna answer your captain?” He asked. One of the differences between them that Simon had discovered almost immediately was that, somehow, Riley was able to ignore his Soap. Simon had never managed to learn how to do that, had always found himself waiting for Johnny’s every call.
Riley scoffed. “I’m not ‘Lieutenant’ – I’m ‘sweetheart’ or ‘doll’ or ‘Riley’ or ‘pain in my arse’ or ‘bane of my existence’. You’re ‘Lieutenant’.”
“That’s enough!” Ghost called out to the recruits running laps. “Go shower and report to the shooting range.”
A chorus of Yes, sir!s erupted from them as they ran for the locker room. Simon turned on his heel and walked towards MacTavish, Riley trailing close behind. He stood in front of the captain, toe-to-toe, and straightened his posture with his hands folded behind his back, a perfect parade rest. Price was the first captain who ever treated him like more than just the weapon he was trained into, and he couldn’t help but default to the need to be a good soldier around MacTavish.
“Sir?” He prompted.
MacTavish’s eyes flashed with something Ghost couldn’t quite place before the captain was humming appreciatively. “Thought it’d be a good idea fer ye and I t’talk some. Riley and I ‘ave talked t’Soap plenty, but I havenae gotten t’hear from ye much. Fancy a drink?”
Simon raised an eyebrow behind his mask. “It’s not even time for an afternoon tea, sir.”
“Good thing I wasnae talkin’ about tea, then, aye? Got summat dark an’ strong hidden away in my room.”
“I could be persuaded.”
“I’ll throw in three answers to questions about Riley ‘ere.”
“Sir!”
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Ghost finished, watching as Riley practically pouted at the captain. Simon couldn’t see through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, but whatever MacTavish whispered in his ear, masks rubbing together, was enough for the other lieutenant to relax and nod before stalking out of the room.
The captain cleared his throat and offered Simon the barest hints of a smile. “On me, Ghost.”
Simon fell into step behind him quickly, striding alongside MacTavish easily. In a way only he was good at, he immediately started to overthink the upcoming conversation. MacTavish had spent lots of time with Johnny, and Johnny had spent time with both MacTavish and Riley, but Simon hadn’t really talked with either of them much outside of their initial reaction. Riley and he were too similar – when they were left alone, 90% of the time together was just silence while waiting for the other to speak up first. He simply hadn’t spent time with MacTavish, though; the captain seemed very attached to Price and spent just as much time with him as he did Riley and Johnny.
“Simon.”
Ghost froze in place, gaze locking onto the captain’s. It was the first time MacTavish had called him by anything other than ‘lieutenant’, and it was the first time someone other than Johnny or Price had said his given name in almost a decade. Those two syllables and MacTavish’s piercing gaze was enough to have him shifting in place and swallowing tightly behind his mask.
“Ye’re different from mine,” MacTavish continued, finally breaking eye contact to push open the door to his room. “In a lot o’ ways.”
“Yeah?” Ghost asked, blinking harshly as he followed and closed the door behind him. “How so, sir?”
MacTavish took in a sharp breath, stepping far too close and invading Ghost’s space. He reached up slowly, taking off his own mask before letting his fingers settle on the edge of Simon’s. “Ye call me ‘sir’ an’ it means summat t’ye – ye’re no’ mocking or teasing me like Riley does.”
“You’re a captain,” Ghost answered, furrowing his eyebrows a bit in confusion. He was outranked – it was only logical that he’d address the other properly.
When MacTavish raised the edge of his balaclava in a question, Simon pinched his eyes closed tightly. Part of him was convinced that the moment the mask was off, MacTavish would send him away; even if he was used to some of the scars on Riley, he wasn’t used to them on Simon. Or, worse: there was every chance MacTavish would see what was different about them and would go back to the better version.
The rejection never came. Instead, MacTavish unmasked him and rested a large hand on Simon’s cheek; when a warm thumb ran across his cheekbone, he leaned into it. Another hand settled on the back of his neck, squeezing. Ghost opened his eyes to one of the most intense stares reflected back at him. “Sir?” He prompted.
“Ye’re so…docile.”
Ghost stepped back, a bit offended. “Docile?”
“Aye.” MacTavish continued, stroking his thumb back and forth. The motion was oddly soothing, calming in a way nothing else really was. It was also enough to have Simon’s gut twisting in arousal, his trousers tightening across his lap. “Riley’s a bit o’ an hellion, fer lack o’ a better word. Ye’re just good.”
Simon felt the word zip down his spine.
Good.
He hadn’t ever been good, not really. When he was a kid, his parents often told him how he misbehaved, or was bad, or a burden. Even once he escaped into the military, he was called good, but only in terms of his skill – he was a good sniper, and a good soldier, but never inherently good himself.
“Always on yer best behaviour,” MacTavish continued, squeezing the back of Ghost’s neck rhythmically. “Bet ye’d listen t’me well, aye? Wouldnae cause me any problems jus’ fer a bit o’ attention, like Riley does, would ye?”
“No,” Simon rushed to agree, feeling a bit breathless from the dichotomy between the harsh pressure on the back of his neck and the soft fingers on his cheek. MacTavish hummed, pleased, and completely stepped away to walk to the bottle of whiskey sitting on his nightstand. Ghost blinked harshly, trying to right his brain.
“Grab a seat, lieutenant.” The captain ordered, and Simon’s feet clicked together as he tripped over himself to join the man on the edge of his bed. MacTavish chuckled and patted Ghost’s thigh in warning before giving him a glass of liquor.
“Got a question on yer mind yet? Willnae let ye ask anythin’ too personal or confidential.”
Simon blanked for a moment before remembering the exchange from earlier, when MacTavish sweetened the deal with promises to questions. He looked down at the glass in his hand as he thought of a question and sighed as he lifted the bottom of his mask so he could take a sip.
“Is he scared of any animals?”
“That’s what yer first question is?” MacTavish asked, snorting in laughter. “Aye, but just snakes. Nothin’ else fazes him. What’s next?”
“Did Riley enlist right out of school?”
MacTavish tilted his head in thought, like he couldn’t quite remember. “Nae, worked at a grocery first. Did ye?”
Simon nodded and swirled the ice in his glass before downing the rest of it. “Needed out. Didn’t think I’d survive long if I stayed.” He admitted quietly. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Last question?”
“Aye, when ye’ve got it.”
“How many piercings does your Riley have?”
MacTavish went still. His eyes turned hungry in an instant, roving over Ghost’s body like he was trying to see through his clothing. The lieutenant sat patiently, waiting for the captain’s move.
“Three.”
Ghost raised his hand to cover his mouth, fake coughing into it to cover his smile. Got you beat, he thought smugly, finally having found something that he could be better at than Riley. The captain watched him carefully for a long few moments.
“Wanna give me a number o’ what I’m workin’ wi’?” MacTavish asked, his voice far more gravelly and grumbly than it had been the past two days.
Ghost felt his heart stutter in his chest. His tongue darted out to wet his tongue as he answered, “Last I counted? Ten.”
MacTavish took in a sharp breath as his hand clenched around the glass so tightly Simon was half-convinced it’d shatter in his grasp. “Cannae see any o’ ‘em.” He pointed out, scanning Ghost’s bare face.
Simon huffed and let a small smirk curl his lips. “Can’t be out of regs, now, can I?”
MacTavish stood, taking Ghost’s glass from his hand and dropped both of them back on the nightstand. “Riley disnae give a shite about regs or laws or authority. He likes t’be broken down, likes t’fight fer it ‘til he cannae move at all.” MacTavish walked back over, strong fingers settling on Simon’s jaw and jerking his head upwards. “Ye’d jus’ do what’er I told ye t’do wi’out a second thought, jus’ because it was me askin’.”
“Yes, sir,” Simon exhaled sharply, trying to swallow the saliva that instantly gathered in his mouth; it took a solid three attempts before it went down, gravity working against him in the strong angle that was being demanded of his neck.
MacTavish’s eyes darkened, a cruel smile making its way onto his face. “Yes, sir,” he repeated, copying Simon’s voice the best he could. “Sound so fuckin’ good like that. Bet ye’d get on yer knees if I asked ye to.”
The arousal that slammed into him was so strong that he was unable to resist it as he slowly slipped off the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees. Pure muscle memory, activated after years of nothing, had Simon lifting his hands to the captain’s thighs and grabbing onto the outsides of his trousers, fingers twisting in the rough material of his jeans. MacTavish’s jaw clenched as he looked down at Ghost, at the lieutenant who was only a breath away from his rapidly hardening dick and who was practically drooling at the mouth.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Simon protested weakly, even as he only stared at the bugle in front of him.
“Aye? How so?”
“You have Riley.”
“Trust me, darlin’: Riley’s well aware o’ my plans fer the evening. He’d never let me outta his sight near ye otherwise.” MacTavish countered.
He clicked his tongue as he set a hand on Simon’s head; he soothed Ghost for just a moment, scratching his scalp lightly, before strong fingers were fisting in his hair and yanking his head forward brutally so his nose was smashing into that patch of full cloth that the lieutenant couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Simon instinctively took in a sharp breath, barely concealing a desperate moan at the heat against his face and the rough treatment. He felt dizzy – both from the pinpricks of pain on his head and the pleasure caused by the musky scent pressed against him – and grabbed onto MacTavish’s thighs tighter.
“Fuck, sir,” he groaned out even as it was muffled against the fabric. It also effectively opened Simon’s mouth to the point the captain’s jeans caught on his open lips. Ghost took to licking and mouthing at the denim the moment he was able, leaving a dark, wet patch on the outside of his jeans. MacTavish grinded forward harshly to the point Simon’s head was pressed against the edge of the bed, unable to move any further. It stole a bit of the air out of his lungs, the wet jeans limiting his air intake and the bed keeping him from pulling back for more oxygen.
The captain stepped back just as the deprivation of air was enough to have Simon’s heart pounding in his ears; he took in a gasping breath, pink tongue darting out to try to take back in some of the saliva that had caught on his bottom lip when mouthing against MacTavish’s bulge. MacTavish cursed under his breath and released Simon’s hair – for a moment, Ghost felt true fear that the captain was about to walk away, that he’d messed up or he wasn’t good enough.
MacTavish’s hands flying to undo his belt knocked those doubts straight out of his head and he sat up on his knees to better assist the captain in unbuckling that leather. Simon’s deft fingers made quick work of the belt and immediately targeted the button of the captain’s jeans, unclipping it and sliding down that zipper as quickly as he could.
“Eager, aye?” MacTavish taunted, even though he let Ghost do what he wanted.
“Please,” Simon panted the moment the fly was down. He didn’t know what it was he was begging for, but the desperation running through him was nothing like anything he’d ever known. He needed MacTavish, needed the captain to pull his hair or deprive him of air or anything whatsoever that would keep John MacTavish’s hands on him. All the captain needed to do was push or pull, ask or, preferably, demand, and Ghost would lay himself bare for MacTavish’s approval.
“Head against the bed.”
The command had Simon shifting on his knees, spreading them open wide so he could straighten his posture to the point it was almost painful, the back of his skull all the way to the bottom of his trapezius pressing against the mattress and frame. His hands settled on his thighs, fingernails digging into the soft cotton of his joggers as he held himself still, waiting for the captain’s next command.
MacTavish took in a sharp breath before he was suddenly bullying two fingers past Ghost’s lips, index and middle fingers pressing against the lieutenant’s tongue and dragging his mouth open. Simon’s head followed the motion, but a sound of disapproval from the captain had him remembering the order to keep his head against the bed and jerking his head back, even as a sharp ache in his jaw set in.
MacTavish shoved his fingers in further, practically gagging the lieutenant on them and forcing the man’s tongue to spill out from beneath them to avoid it. Simon hadn’t been told what to do with the fingers, so he focused on keeping his head against the frame and ignoring the steady trail of spit falling from around the fingers onto his chest.
“Got a plan fer ye, darlin’,” MacTavish said after a moment, eyes roving over Simon’s face. “First, answer me: what’s yer safeword?”
The captain retracted his fingers and Ghost swallowed desperately, chasing the slight taste of bourbon they’d left on his tongue. The removal felt like punishment, like torture, like the air was stolen out of his lungs after coming up for air in the first place. He moved forward like he could pull the fingers back into his mouth if he managed to get in contact with them. “Don’t need one, anything-”
“Head against the bed,” MacTavish reminded, “no’ gunna tell ye again.”
Simon slammed his head back so quickly that the metal frame collided with the base of his skull and sent a dull ache through his head. He’d already felt a bit lightheaded and floaty, but the pain added to the sensation even more.
“Safeword, baby, or this willnae be goin’ anywhere.”
Ghost felt that same sense of lightheadedness pound at his temples, threatening to take over his mind. Baby, it teased, playing those two syllables over and over again. He looked up at MacTavish, ready to beg to hear that name again, only to see the captain still waiting for an answer. Fuck, what was the questi- safeword. Simon racked his mind, trying to think a single coherent thought, and eventually settled on one of the people who killed his arousal faster than a bullet left his own rifle.
“Graves.” He said quickly, looking up at the captain for approval.
The captain hummed and nodded, sliding those fingers back into Simon’s mouth alongside his ring fingers, those three digits pushing on his bottom teeth to stretch his jaw wide. “Alright – that’ll be mine too, then. Here’s what’s gunna happen, ye followin’ ?”
Ghost nodded quickly, sure to keep himself in place and his hands on his thighs.
“I’m gunna choke ye on my cock until ye’re cryin’ fer it. Then, I’m gunna split ye open an’ take ye apart until ye’re so full o’ me ye’re leakin’ and beggin’ fer more.”
He made a sound around the fingers in his mouth — a mix of pain from the pressure and arousal from the promise of what was to come — and tried not to become irritated with himself when a tear pooled at the corner of his eye. It was just so overwhelming; it’d been years since anyone had handled him like this, years since anything other than a quick shag in an alleyway with someone who wanted him to toss them around. Being on his knees and at the mercy of a man like this was everything he’d been simultaneously craving and denying himself since the moment he’d set eyes on Johnny; he’d convinced himself from that first moment that the sergeant would never want him like this, that he’d have to continue to be that person for Johnny that he was for everyone else.
Captain MacTavish wasn’t him, though, and clearly had zero problems with bending Simon to his will.
The captain used his free hand to fumble with his belt, unclicking the leather from the prong and letting it fall open so he could undo the button and zipper keeping Ghost from what he wanted so desperately. Simon lifted his hands to help and was met with MacTavish’s fingers pressing deeper into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue harshly. The action had that tear falling from his eye, carving a hot and wet path down his cheek.
“Already cryin’ fer me, darlin’?” MacTavish taunted cruelly. “Look so pretty like this, aye. Gunna have ye sobbing by the end.”
The praise and promise had Simon’s head spinning, more and more of his walls dropping as the desire to hand himself fully to the captain crept in even more.
The moment his fly was down, MacTavish was shuffling his jeans just a bit down his thighs and shoving his briefs down with it. Ghost barely had any time to appreciate the captain’s dick before the fingers were retreating from his mouth and were replaced by that heavy appendage settling on his tongue. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth as far as he could, moaning at the salty taste while trying to stay in the position the captain had ordered him into in the first place.
For a few moments, MacTavish just stood there, cooing down at Simon as saliva pooled around his tongue and threatened to spill out from around the captain’s cock from where the lieutenant’s mouth was still open.
“Breathe fer me,” MacTavish commanded. Ghost complied, taking in a quick breath and exhaling just as quickly, repeating this a few times. Then, all at once, MacTavish was shoving in as far as he could possibly go, pressing Simon into the bed frame and brutalizing the lieutenant’s throat with his dick. Ghost’s head swam with the pressure in his throat and swallowed around the intrusion a few times in an effort to keep from gagging on it. MacTavish held him in place, held the lieutenant against him as Simon’s throat constricted around him.
The lieutenant felt more tears prickle in his eyes at the cruel demands of his jaw and throat, blinking quickly and looking up at the captain for his next orders as he held the man’s cock in his throat, his lips pulled as tightly as possible to accommodate for the pure size of the man.
MacTavish groaned and tilted his head back for just a few seconds before looking back down at Simon, something dark and almost feral in his eyes. “Fuck, baby, look at ye. So good, Simon, that’s it. Hold me ‘ere, dinnae move.”
Even as he grew more lightheaded, even as his breaths came in through his nose short and fast and lacing with the scent of the captain’s skin, he held himself still. He didn’t move and instead let his throat hold MacTavish’s cock the way a mag held bullets — ready and waiting until the bullet moved out first.
His vision started to prickle around the edges, a black tint curling around the outside of it but still, he didn’t move. If he didn’t move, maybe MacTavish would call him good again. He could be that for him — Simon could be anything the captain wanted as long as it meant MacTavish’s attention stayed on him.
MacTavish pushed forward sharply, somehow managing to push just a few millimetres further in, before pulling back and out all at once. A thick string of saliva connected Simon’s mouth to the captain’s dick and didn’t disappear even as Ghost panted, gasping open-mouthed. The lieutenant took in shaky breaths for air and blinked quickly, his vision coming back to him even as the lightheadedness stayed.
He stared up at MacTavish through teary eyes and had only closed his mouth for a few seconds before he was opening it again and the same process began again.
A brutal press in, choking him on the captain’s dick, and then almost a minute of oxygen deprivation and tears and growing desperation.
It was perfect.
It had Simon tantalizingly close to a sort of mindlessness that he’d never experienced before; the fact that all he had to do was stay still and be good and take it was rewriting his brain chemistry and made his limbs feel almost floaty and weightless.
When MacTavish pulled out again, a familiar drag followed by gasps for air, Ghost felt the sob bubble past his lips before he knew he was about to make that sound.
“Please,” he begged through a cracking voice and burning throat. It was the first time he’d spoken in however long and the singular word tore out from him like a whip, desperation leaving lashes behind.
“Aww, baby,” MacTavish countered, taking his cock in hand and smacking it against Simon’s cheek lightly. Saliva ran down Ghost’s chin and he wanted to turn and take the appendage back into his mouth, wanted to show MacTavish that he could be good and please the man, but knew that any motion would remove his head and back from where he’d been subtracted to keep himself.
“Gunna give ye a choice, darlin’.” MacTavish began. Simon heard a whining sound in response and it took him far too long to realize it had come from him.
“Nae?” MacTavish asked with a cocked eyebrow. “Don’t wanna choose?”
For a moment, the options ran through Simon’s head. He could make whatever choice MacTavish wanted to ask of him, and worry about whether it was the right one, or he could just…not. He could completely give himself up, let himself be used and moved and whatever it was the captain wanted.
Simon shook his head. “Please,” he repeated, desperate to get his mouth back on the captain more than anything.
A wicked grin split the captain’s lips and he was burying himself to the hilt again, this time setting a brutal pace as he fucked in and out of Ghost’s mouth, hitting the lieutenant’s throat with every thrust in a way that was sure to bruise and ache within a few hours. It should have felt punishing or painful. Instead, even as he gagged and choked, Simon had never felt more free and weightless. The captain spilling down his throat felt like absolution rather than damnation and Simon clung to the man’s leg, holding on tightly as he swallowed down everything he could.
When MacTavish pulled back, a light flush was spread across his cheeks and a fire was still in his eyes. “Open,” he ordered. Simon let his tongue loll back out, even as he took in steadying breaths. It wasn’t until the wetness hit his tongue did he realize the captain had leant down and let a glob of spit fall from his own mouth and into Ghost’s. The lieutenant felt his eyes roll into the back of his eyes at just how disgusting it was, how claiming it was. He swallowed the saliva before the captain had to tell him to, just as desperate to have it inside of him as the captain was to offer it up.
“Stand up.”
Pinpricks raced down Simon’s legs as the blood rushed back through them after having been bent for so long; his knees threatened to buckle beneath him and a wave of dizziness ran through him from the sudden shift in position. He blinked and his shirt was being pulled over his head. MacTavish’s hands landed on his hips and shoved him backwards, the lieutenant falling onto his back on the bed. He had no time to breathe or adjust to the change before the captain was on him, pining him down by his throat and licking into his mouth without any sense of caution.
He arched into it, clenching the sheets beneath him in his grip as he pressed his body against the captain. His cock pressing against MacTavish’s thigh had him realizing, suddenly, just how much he was aching in his trousers, leaking and desperate after going completely untouched for so long.
“Sir,” Simon exhaled against MacTavish’s lips, the singular syllable breaking into a whimper. “Please."
In a matter of seconds, the captain had leaned back and tugged Ghost’s joggers down, shoving them towards the man’s ankles and pulling Simon’s dick from his briefs, immediately wrapping his hand around it and rubbing his other thumb across the wet slit at the tip. It took only a few halted movements before Simon’s release was staining the captain’s hands and his own briefs, the lieutenant whimpering against him and shaking as pure pleasure ran through him.
“Good boy, baby,” MacTavish hummed, flipping Simon onto his front effortlessly. If Ghost hadn’t just came, those three words would have been enough to send him over the edge; instead, they sent a chill down his spine and warmed his core simultaneously.
The captain tugged him up onto his knees, his chest and face still buried in the mattress, and tugged down Simon’s pants. All the fabrics pooled at his ankles before the captain was shoving all of it off, throwing it onto the ground at the end of the bed. The moment the clothes were gone, the captain was spreading Ghost open and pressing the flat of his thumb to the lieutenant’s hole. It was dry and rough but the barely-there pressure had Simon trying to curl in on himself, to arch away from the digit.
A harsh smack against his arse had his knees slipping further apart, shoving himself backwards. “Don’t hide away, darlin’.” He said with a timbery tone. The next thing Simon heard was the pop of a cap opening and wet sounds behind him before the pressure at his rear was replaced by an aching sting as the captain pressed inside.
Never before had his strength failed him, but he couldn’t find it in him to push himself up onto his elbows enough to look behind him, or to be more of an active participant in helping prep himself. All he could do was lay there and let MacTavish manhandle him as he saw fit, another finger stretching him further every minute. His knees ached beneath him but it just added to the sensations, jolts of pleasure rushing through him each time the captain thrust his fingers in just right.
“Hands.” MacTavish demanded as he retracted his own, a faint jingling sound behind Simon accompanying the words. Ghost’s head spun, trying to figure out the request. “Yer hands, baby – give ‘em t’me.”
Oh, Simon thought with glee when he realized what was happening, crossing his arms at the wrists behind him and settling them against his back. Sure enough, the captain’s belt made its way around his wrists in a matter of seconds, loose enough to keep him from feeling truly trapped but tight enough to remind him of his bonds with each movement.
The moment his wrists were pulled together, one hand pulled them back and forced his chest up from the mattress as another settled on his hip as MacTavish slid inside, splitting Ghost open on his cock. From the first moment, MacTavish pushed into him hard and deep, hitting his prostate with a marksman’s precision every time. Gasps and pleas echoed around the room as every thrust rocked him to his core.
“So fuckin’ good, Christ. Too long since someone broke ye open like this, aye?”
“Yes, sir,” Simon agreed immediately, “fuck.”
“That’s the plan.” MacTavish added, releasing Ghost’s wrists and letting him drop forward again to settle his other hand on Simon’s other hip, spreading him open further as he continued to fuck inside with a demanding pace. The unrelenting pace coupled with the sounds around the room drowned out the knocks on the door until it was pushing open.
“Joinin’ us, Johnny?” MacTavish asked, tone teasing. Johnny? Simon thought, his coherence slamming back into his body for just a moment. He went to put his hands beneath him, to try to shove himself up and be strong like his sergeant would want from him, before remembering the belt around his wrists and the man pinning him down.
Simon shifted his head on the bed, forcing his chin up to look at his sergeant, standing in the doorway with a red face and steely eyes. The lieutenant wanted to say something – anything – but was interrupted with a harsh thrust to his prostate that had him crying out in pleasure, practically moaning at Soap. The pleasure rocking his body continued to bring him closer and closer, even with Johnny standing just a few paces away.
“C’mon, baby, beg fer it,” the captain commanded.
Like a good soldier, even with the man he was pining for more than anything watching, he did.
“Please, sir, give it to me.” Simon panted, dropping back into the sheets. “Need it, need you, fuck, please.”
The door slammed shut, the sergeant disappearing out into the hallway, and the captain continued without abandon. Every movement had the lieutenant whimpering into the sheets, pulling at his restraints like he could easily get himself out of it to touch himself where he needed it most.
“Such a strong man, reduced t’this. The brave lieutenant, sobbing and shaking under me. All ye needed was someone else t’take the control, aye?” MacTavish taunted cruelly.
Ghost nodded against the sheets, shaking tears off his cheeks and wetting the fabric as he did so. The captain could ask anything and he’d agree to it as long as it kept the man where he was: buried inside of Simon like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, no one else he’d rather be with. MacTavish collapsed against his back, his full body weight pinning the lieutenant to the bed as he pistoned in and out, the change in angle forcing Simon’s dick against his abdomen and rutting against the sheets with each movement.
A stinging bite to the back of Ghost’s neck had him keening and tilting away from it to offer more room, more submission. “So good fer me,” the captain growled in his ear. “Gunna leave a little reminder fer ye.”
Another bite to his neck left an accompanying mark by the other one, both likely to leave bruises that anyone would recognize if they saw it. Pleasure coursed through him at the idea of someone putting two and two together, at realizing the great Captain MacTavish had chosen him to bite into, embed himself in. The pure possession was enough to have him clenching down on the man as his orgasm rushed through him, his entire body shaking as MacTavish continued to take and take long after he had nothing left to give. He felt boneless and limp as the captain continued to sue his body to chase his own release, shoving himself deep inside and groaning as he did.
The air was thick as the MacTavish lavished his neck in open-mouthed kisses, quickly undoing the belt around his wrists. Simon’s arms fell to either side of him, dropping against the mattress for just a beat before the captain was pulling out and turning him onto his back, bringing the lieutenant’s chin up into a kiss. It was almost better than everything else; the way he brought his shaky arms up to hold onto MacTavish like a lifeline alongside the gentle kiss and caresses had him carefully easing out of the fuzziness his brain had supplied him with for so long,
“How are ye, baby?” MacTavish asked, pulling back carefully and brushing some of Simon’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “Good?”
Ghost nodded, still a bit breathless from everything, his words failing him. His fingertips dug into the captain’s shoulders, silently pleading; MacTavish huffed a laugh and pressed a fleeting kiss to the lieutenant’s mouth before stepping away, rushing to gather a towel before returning to Simon.
“Didnae give me a chance t’count ‘em,” MacTavish said after a moment, eyes roving over Simon’s body. “Can I?”
Ghost nodded again, pushing himself up onto his elbows to watch.
“One and two,” MacTavish said, flicking each of the lieutenant’s pierced nipples. Upon seeing the dangling charm at Simon’s bellybutton, he took a shaky breath. “Three – ye want t’send me t’an early grave, aye?”
“That was the first,” Simon pointed out, suddenly remembering the shitty piercing shop he’d walked into the same day he’d left home.
The captain hummed before, adjusting the towel in his hands to wipe the spend off Ghost’s abs. He shifted lower on the bed, carefully wiping down Simon’s cock. “Och, found four through ten.”
The Prince Albert was the first to be cleaned, quickly followed by each rung of the Jacob’s ladder, closely followed by the additional ring at the base of him, nestled against his balls. “Got any, sir?” Ghost asked, blinking up at the ceiling to try to distract himself from the overstimulating pleasure of MacTavish cleaning his hole. The captain made quick work of it before wiping himself down quickly, abandoning the soiled towel to the other end of the bed.
“Absolutely not,” MacTavish answered after a few moments. “No’ lettin’ anyone create a hole in ma body jus’ t’stab some metal through it, nae.”
He slumped down next to Simon, pulling the lieutenant to his chest. “Looks real fuckin’ good on ye, though, darlin’.”
“Ta.” Simon replied, curling around the captain and throwing a naked leg across his hip. A sudden reminder of something that occurred had anxiety racing down his spine. “Did Johnny see?”
MacTavish laughed in response, no sense of shame present whatsoever. “Aye. Looked like he wanted t’kill me and t’eat ye alive.”
Hope blossomed in Simon’s core, a hope he’d long dismissed as impossibly naive. “Really?”
“Aye. Pretty sure he’s plannin’ my murder right now. Riley’ll help him, cheeky bastard he is.”
“He won’t kill you,” Ghost promised, though he was amused by the idea. Of all the men he’d ever met, Johnny would be the only one jealous enough to plan the death of another version of himself.
“Holdin’ ye t’that, baby,” MacTavish countered.
Simon groaned at the nickname, hiding his face in the captain’s shoulder. “Can’t call me that out there. It’s not fair, sir. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”
“Aye? Pretty sure Johnny’d steal ye away t’bend ye o’er the nearest surface if he heard me call ye that in public.”
“Yeah?”
“Aye.”
“Just once, then.”