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It’s a tight fuckin’ fit, no way around it.
Soap bites at his tongue as his hips press infinitesimally closer, and he thinks about Siberia and its tundras, the blinding white of the sun reflecting off the snow, the endless snowscape stretching on as far as the eye can see; of huddling with his fellow men for warmth, clenching their jaws so their teeth stop chattering, fingertips tucked between their thighs for fear of losing ‘em. He could never forget the misery of it all, the sensation of wind whipping against his skin, like a death by a thousand cuts— enduring it all for fear of showing weakness.
It feels crude to compare the two like this (and Soap just hates mixing business with pleasure), but in some ways, this is exactly like Siberia—
Shoulder to shoulder, skin to skin, shuddering with every inhale, and trembling with every exhale. The impossible closeness of two bodies, the almost feverish need to seek out heat, knowing it’ll keep you alive, for even just a moment longer.
The cold is a cruel teacher— what with the havoc it wreaks, and how it works in paradoxes. Hypothermia tricks the body into feeling deliriously hot, the freezing temperatures bubbling up on skin in the form of blisters. It’s easy to forget how brutal it can be; frozen stiff and purple, frostbite and gangrene and every nasty thing in between. It’d been a hard lesson to learn, he thinks, mouth falling open on a groan.
Siberia lacks the most in this area, though: it never felt quite this fucking good, nor was it this wet and hot.
This is heaven compared to all that ice-cold snow, and the pleasure makes Soap’s teeth ache, similar yet so dissimilar to how his jaw had hurt from gritting his teeth to endure the freezing temperatures. He had felt damn near mad from the blistering cold, then. In fact, this whole— exploit— makes him feel several degrees from sane right now, too.
What could he compare this to?
His captain on his back, their lieutenant sandwiched between them— both his and Price’s cocks fed into Riley’s tight little cunt. All this impossible closeness, the way Riley is sighing and moaning about being so full like a fucking slag, his sopping wet cunt squelching with every movement while Price lays there with his furred chest heaving on each breath, rumbling out the occasional rasp of praise.
Riley is taking them so well: pretty, puffy pussy stretched tight around the intrusion of two cocks, and Soap watches the muscles of his back all tense from pleasure, his shoulder blades shifting and trembling like the clipped wings of a dove. Though he supposes that Riley is far too fiesty to be compared to something as lovely as that—
(Maybe mourning doves, then, to do Ghost’s name some semblance of justice. Symbols of obsequies for the man who clambered out of the grave with a vengeance, dirt under his claws and the stench of death soaked into his remiges. Better yet, another bastardised funeral rite in the form of le petit mort.)
“Riley,” Price looks the closest thing to vulnerable he could ever possibly be, like this: on his back, a ferocious blush crawling up the furred bulk of his chest, his throat, staining high on his cheekbones. It’s dizzying— for the man Soap thinks of as Godlike to be so taken by pleasure like this, hard edges smoothed down by the weight of relentless pleasure; for someone so regimented and unshakable to let himself be seen on his back, vulnerable underbelly on display.
The position doesn’t do anything to undermine his unyielding air of authority, however, “fuckin’ slut.” Price’s voice is gritty, dark like black, viscous tar, as his hand traces up along the pale curve of Riley’s trembling thigh, before settling itself on the jut of his hip. “Exactly where you have always wanted to be, aren’t you?”
He punctuates his words with a harsh slap on Riley’s ass, and the result nearly bowls Soap over. Riley gasps wetly, his cunt tightening impossibly around their cocks at the strike— and Soap distinctly feels the wetness of that perfect pussy on the fronts of his thighs, making the smack of skin on skin sound even more obscene.
It’s more than obscene. It’s fucking filthy— the ridge of his cock rubbing up the stiff line of Price’s own, the friction nothing short of fucking divine, when surrounded by the grip of Riley’s cunt. The thought of it alone has Soap digging his fingers harder into Riley’s waist, watching the fat and muscle dimple beneath his fingertips with hungry abandon, spit pooling behind his tongue.
To think that— this, the impropriety of it all, is pleasure twofold; that this is the closest he could ever possibly get to both Price and their lieutenant, the best possible thing he could get for hero worship and obsession in turn.
“That’s it,” Soap murmurs, and he’s briefly surprised by the gravel in his voice, how apparent his hunger is. It’s pure animalistic need that makes his hips drive forward again and again, to feel the slide of Price’s cock against his and the grip of Riley’s gummy walls.
Riley whimpers, a sweet, hitching noise that feels incongruent to his ghoulish reputation on the battlefield, a sound that feels impossible coming out of someone of his size and stature. “Sir,” he grinds his hips back, like he’s trying to fit more of their cocks into him; like he isn’t already stuffed full and stretched tight on his superiors’ cocks.
It’s almost comforting, in a way. To know that Soap isn’t the only one greedy for this.
“Sirs,” Riley corrects himself, fingers finding purchase on Price’s shoulders as he leans forward, and Soap gets the perfect view of the pale stretch of Riley’s back in a sinuous arch, his scars glinting silvery and pink under the fluorescent lights. Soap’s thumbs settle themselves in the dimples on Riley’s lower back, and his teeth ache at how perfectly they fit, holding him there so that his hips can rut forward. “I can take it.”
“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Price laughs, and the sound makes the heat in his belly flare ever hotter, derisive and patronising. Soap almost wishes he had a cigar to offer him right now. He thrusts up, and the fit is so tight it does barely more than nudge his cock harder against Soap’s. Soap watches as Price gropes at the muscle of Riley’s chest, just to punctuate his words, “why else do we have a pretty boy like you as a lieutenant, huh?”
“Captain—”
God, that’s cute.
“Gotta be more specific about which one, doll,” Soap laughs, despite himself. He reaches a hand out to wrap around the front of Riley’s throat, coaxing him into an arch, the barrel of his gut slotting perfectly into that pretty curve. Just so Soap can press his lips to Riley’s temple with a smile, letting the lieutenant’s head loll back onto Soap’s shoulder— and the new angle must do something for Riley, with how he chokes on his next breath, cunt spasming around them.
The change in position lets Soap get a good look at Riley’s face and he’s beautiful, all debauched and fucked out. Blond lashes wet with unshed tears, blue eyes hazy and unfocused as his mouth hangs open— and it only makes Soap rut into him harder, to feel the smack of Riley’s ass back onto his own hips, to chase that pleasure with a dogged hunger.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Price groans, and he looks divine, too, as he forces his hips up in a sinful grind that only brings their hips closer, balls pressing against Soap’s with the movement. Riley’s slick only makes the glide more mind-numbing, sticky and wet and too good to be true.
Soap bites his tongue, eyes fluttering closed. What a beautiful, terrible thing, to hold himself over the two most important men in his life, watching the way pleasure undoes them. It's an admission so sacred that Soap can barely hear it above the rushing in his ears.
He must be going mad, isn’t he?
The heat of Riley’s blush is feverishly warm underneath his fingertips, as Soap tilts his head to mouth along the line of his jaw, before sinking his teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder. It does something to sate that gnashing in his chest, the urge to lay claim to the pretty thing in his grasp, but it only stokes hotter when he can see how Riley’s eyelids flutter at the pain-pleasure, moan breaking off into a truly pathetic noise.
“That’s it,” Price sounds distinctly pleased, and Soap catches the glint in his eyes as he observes them with keen attention. Almost like— he’s satisfied that his two most obedient dogs are getting along, playing well. He reaches up, thumb swiping over where drool has started to leak from the corner of Riley’s mouth, before pressing his fingers into Riley’s mouth.
Soap watches like a man starved. How could he not? Price’s index and middle fingers covered in spit, the flash of pink as Riley’s tongue flicks around the intrusion— Christ, Soap realises with awareness that tilts the world sideways. He’s spent too long staring at Price’s hands, memorising the feel of his touch, to know exactly where Riley’s tongue is laving over: the gun callouses on Price’s trigger finger.
It’s exactly like something straight out of his wildest dreams. Riley is making these pleased little noises as he sucks on Price’s fingers, his lips shiny with spit and a tempting shade of red, hips still working back on their cocks all the while.
Soap loosens his hand on Riley’s throat, instead sliding it down the line of Riley’s front, and relishing in the little shiver it earns him. He really is a pretty little thing, all pale, freckled skin that blushes the most darling shade of pink, the raised edges of scars and starbursts of gunshot wounds dotting his skin like constellations.
His hand rests on Riley’s tummy like he could feel the bulge of their cocks pressing against Riley’s navel, pressing ever so slightly to feel the nudge of each thrust against his palm. It must feel good; Riley chokes on Price’s fingers, his eyes rolling back as his cunt gets even wetter, legs shaking where they’re spread over the width of Price’s hips.
“Yeah?” Soap says, absentminded, hand trailing down to stroke at the nub of Riley’s cock, before tracing his fingers over where Riley is spread wide from both of them.
It’s almost hard to believe how he’s managed to take both their cocks, when his cunt seems so small.
(“Coin slot tight”, Price had remarked— almost with an air of wonder— when they’d had Riley bent over in front of them at the beginning of all this, fingers petting between Riley’s folds, where his pussy had started to get pink and puffy from arousal.
Riley scoffed, “fuckin’ perverts,” and shifted to glare at them over his shoulder, and Soap could sense the nervousness that hid beneath his glare, crystal blue eyes stark against his smudged eyeblack. Hell, Soap would have been at least a little intimidated if not for the fact that Riley’s thighs were slick with wetness, the pale blond hair on his legs matted down and shiny. “So are we doing this or not?”
The air was so thick with tension, Soap could hardly breathe.
“That’s cute,” Price rumbled, thumb flicking against Riley’s cock to make him yelp, to watch how his back bowed at the pleasure. He curled his fingers in Riley’s hair to tug his head back and ashed his cigar out with the other hand; Soap had never been happier to be part of a captive audience. “Since when did I teach my lieutenant to ask stupid questions?”)
“Shit,” Riley moans, the word muffled from Price’s fingers in his mouth. Soap can feel Riley’s rabbit-quick pulse against his fingers when he rubs at his cock just right, the nub hard and throbbing. He noses against the sweat beading against Riley’s hairline, breathing him in as the lieutenant trembles where he’s sandwiched between them. “Please.”
The smile that splits Price’s face reminds Soap so distinctly of a wolf. “Aren’t you perfect?” he purrs, sliding his fingers out from between Riley’s lips, the fluorescents catching on how positively soaked they are with spit.
The smell of sex and sweat in the air makes Soap feel positively alight, like he might tremble out of his skin with each thrust into Riley’s cunt, each rub of Price’s cock against him. He’s so fucking wet that Soap’s cock even slips out and rubs against the cleft of Riley’s ass, streaking the shared mess of precum and Riley’s slick against the flesh before he guides his cock back in again. The tightness of Riley’s cunt is almost too much resistance when he presses his cockhead in, but Riley’s pleased whimper is more than enough to have him rolling his hips again.
He could get drunk off on this feeling, the sheer indulgence muddling his head and leaving him feather-brained and cotton-mouthed, the knot in his belly tightening with each second that passes. Soap almost gets lost in the sensation of it all, the push and pull and the relentless pleasure that threatens to drag him undertow.
Price must feel it too, because he looks positively undone, chest heaving with each breath. It’s a— privilege— to see him like this, and Soap digs his teeth into his bottom lip. Perhaps this is exactly what his devotion has earned him; all those painstaking years of turning Price into a God, of mourning him and missing him in turn before he came back, and this is its sweet reward.
The honour of watching him unravel beneath pleasure. Beneath Soap.
(The answering glint of Price’s dogtags feel like divination.)
“C’mon honey,” Price rasps, a broad palm cupping Riley’s cheek and effortlessly maneuvering him to bring them face to face. The wry curve of his mouth beneath his beard has Riley’s hips jerking, and Soap can only imagine his dazed expression as he presses his forehead to Price’s. “Give me a kiss.”
The kiss is pornographic, to say the least. Price pulls Riley closer, groping at his waist and licking along the roof of Riley’s mouth, before sucking on his tongue. Filthy and wet, it’s open mouthed so Price can suck Riley’s tongue into his mouth, so that Riley can dig his teeth into the swell of Price’s bottom lip.
Can Price feel the way Riley’s heart is pounding, with his mouth alone? Riley tilts his head into it, and it’s long and deep and dirty, and Soap can’t stop fucking staring at how red Riley’s lips are, swollen and slick under all of Price’s loving regard. It must feel good, to be under Price’s unyielding attention— to feel the scrape of teeth, the sweep of his tongue along Riley’s own, the press of his mouth and the bristles of his beard. It must, with the pleased little noises Riley is making all while rocking his hips back, thighs shaking with the exertion.
“I’m close,” Price pulls apart to pant against Riley’s mouth, and need surges inside Soap like an all-consuming wave. Price’s eyes are half-lidded and dark, intense, as his nose bumps against Riley’s in the haste to kiss him again; his hips are working in double time now, balls smacking against Riley’s ass and pressing against Soap’s own, like the lewd mockery of a kiss. “Fuck.” Riley make a sharp sound, needy and breathy, fingers digging into the muscles of Price’s tense shoulder, “give it to me.” And that must do it for Price, because he gets this edge to his gaze, his lips pulling into a snarl before he’s clutching at Riley’s waist, hips pressed up as far as they could possibly go, and cums.
Soap feels Price’s orgasm just as keenly as the approach of his own. Riley’s cunt is flooded with Price’s cum, and Price makes a noise like a man wounded as he pulls out, cock resting against his hip and jerking through the aftershock of his climax. This is it, some great reckoning of sorts, and Soap feels— baptised.
The slide of his cock in Riley’s cunt is wetter than he could even imagine, than he could even bear, because it’s Price’s cum for fuck’s sake. The thought of it has Soap’s head spinning: it’s Price’s spend slicking every thrust into Riley’s cunt, some unholy union that’s binding the three of them.
Yes, baptism, that’s the word for it, because Soap has never felt this fucking close to God in his life.
Not in the moments where he’s half-dead or danger close or bleeding or concussed— but instead in this very moment when his cock is soaked in Riley’s slick and Price’s cum alike, reveling in the pleased look on his captain’s face, the afterglow doing nothing to soften the heat in those eyes.
“Your turn,” Soap simpers, and his tongue feels too big for his mouth as he wraps his hands around Riley’s hips so that he can fuck him proper. He feels like a new man, christened anew, and the relentless pleasure settles itself into his bones, sharp and fierce; each push and pull of his cock in all that wet, forcing Price’s cum out from the seam of where they meet, Soap’s cockhead battering against that spongy spot along Riley’s walls, until Riley is shuddering apart in his hands.
Riley cums with a keen, cunt gushing around Soap’s cock and making them impossibly messier. His pussy convulses, tightening against Soap, and it’s enough to have that blinding white-hot wave in him cresting and pulling him under, the waves crashing in his ears as he lets himself slip.
His fingertips are tingling where their grip has dimpled Riley’s waist, almost hard enough to bruise, as he slides his cock free of Riley’s cunt with a lewd pop. Both Soap and Price’s cum spill out of Riley's swollen and puffy cunt, pearls of white against pink, and Soap can only drag his fingers through the mess, entranced.
The weight of Price’s gaze doesn’t escape him. Soap doesn’t think he could ignore it even if he tried, even with his chest heaving and head spinning like this.
“Good man,” Price murmurs, and Soap pulls his fingers free to trace a cross on the small of Riley’s back with their combined spend, the distinct smear of milky white on his skin catching the light like something holy.
(It is.)