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Admittedly, Ghost has been on edge for the past handful of weeks.
It started with a particularly salacious dream that clawed its way into Ghost’s thoughts unwittingly after a long, grueling mission. He spent the majority of his time watching the back of König, the Austrian sniper that joined their task force, and apparently, the quality time had certain effects on Ghost that he was largely unaware of until their first night back at base.
He remembers it vividly. Images of König’s elegantly arched back have been crudely seared into his memory, along with trembling thighs and desperate German phrases that Ghost doesn't even know the translation of. It was far from any libidinous dream he's had before. He woke up drenched in sweat, his briefs completely soaked, and a hitch in his breathing. The phantom sensation of König’s nails on his back burned when he showered that morning.
Suffice it to say, it had been a difficult day.
Ghost incorrectly assumed it was a single-time occurrence, a product of pent up tension from a high-stakes mission that his subconscious unleashed upon his partner for the task. Except, each night following, he saw König, panting and exposed while he whined for Ghost to fill him entirely. He felt fantasy hickeys dotting his neck whenever he caught a glimpse of König out and about during the daytime.
It was progressively growing more troublesome to exist normally around König. On the downside, if there was another one, it only took a week or so for Soap to catch on to Ghost’s issue. He made the embarrassment even worse for his Lieutenant when the chance presented itself. Every time.
Today is no different. When Ghost’s alarm sounds, he’s yanked from a dream echoing with König’s blasphemous moans. He rubs his eyes in a vain effort to erase his nightly adventures, groaning softly and pulling himself out of bed. A phantasmagoria plays in his head while he showers that hardly assists in ridding his thoughts of bruised skin in the shape of his fingerprints. He can still see König thrusting back on him like his life depended on it, pleading for Ghost to never stop.
“Christ.”
Ghost exhales harshly, wrapping a hand around his fully erect cock and tugging quickly. It's become an unfortunate aspect of his morning routine some days. Unable to drag himself away from the depths of make-believe ecstasy granted to him by a teammate, no less, he caves into his conscious’ needs. He allows his mind to wander back to König laying on his stomach, ass in the air while he begs for Ghost to fuck him brainless. He scrapes at the ground in his fantasy, sobbing into the concrete flooring as Ghost teases his ass with feather-light licks.
“Scheiße, Ghost!” König wails, pushing his ass back, “Bitte, bitte!”
“English, darling.”
Ghost kneads his hands into König’s ass, growling lowly at how well his lover fills his grip. He has an impressively massive build that drives Ghost wild. The thought of dominating, owning, such a giant makes his cock jump. He gives König a curt smack that earns him a vocal plea.
“Please, please!”
He hums, tracing his thumb thoughtfully around König’s hole, “Please what?”
König cries out and slams his forehead into the ground, “Just put your tongue in me, God, please!”
Ghost almost cums from the sheer desperate lust coating König’s words. He wastes no more time, eagerly dragging his ass the rest of the way to his face, guiding König to place his legs on each of Ghost’s shoulders.
“Scheiße, yes, yes, don't stop!”
He curls his tongue around a sensitive nub of nerves and sucks in lightly. König’s arms give out, unabashed moans reaching rooms far outside their own. Ghost’s cock twitches at the thought of everyone knowing who König belongs to. His König.
His fantasy ends abruptly when violent paroxysms overtake his body at the force of his orgasm. He catches himself on the wall before he hits the floor, face flushed and breathing erratic.
“Fuck.”
It's less humiliating now than it was when this ordeal began. He cleans himself up, finishes washing, then tries to go about his day as though he didn't have the best orgasm known to man by thinking about drilling his friend in the ass. He's not unconvinced that no one else has mulled over the idea once or twice. Being in close quarters with others can distort previously held convictions, and König is nothing if not a prime specimen of toned muscle and puppy-dog eyes.
He shuts down the stream of consciousness when he feels a wave of possessive anger grip him at his core.
Soap takes one look at him in the mess hall then cracks a smug smile. It wouldn't matter what lengths Ghost could go to, Soap always knows. He briefly considers the complex process of hiding his body and getting away with murder. It wouldn't be impossible for him.
They both sit down at a table planted a comfortable distance from the mass of soldiers excited to eat and start their days. He wishes he could relate. Ghost nudges his mask up to his nose so he can take a small drink of his tea, a small but vital part of his stable mood.
“Oh, hey, König!” Soap waves an arm, “Come join us, yeah?”
Ghost is convinced he can cover up a first-degree murder. In fact, he could bury Soap in ten different countries no one can pronounce the name of. He wouldn't even get an open-casket funeral.
“Good morning, Soap, Lieutenant.”
Soap smiles widely, “Sleep okay, mate?”
He shifts uncomfortably when his dick jumps at fresh memories. Soap’s amusement is tangible, but König remains blissfully unaware of Ghost’s current predicament. His legs instinctively shift apart to release the building tension between them. It was foolish to think today would end up stress-free, not when Soap is around to exacerbate sensitive issues. He can feel the growing throb in his cock that shamelessly begs for König’s assistance.
“I guess so,” König lifts his mask only enough to take a bite of a stale waffle, “was cold last night.”
Ghost glues his eyes to what little he can see of König’s face. Vaguely blemished skin with trimmed facial hair, black. It shouldn't excite Ghost as dramatically as it does.
“I hear ya,” Soap innocently, deviously, nods his head in agreement, “I wish I had someone to warm me up.”
König tilts his head a little, “A blanket would work, but someone is nice too.”
Ghost’s pants fit more comfortably five minutes ago.
Soap nudges his arm, “What about you?”
He grinds his teeth together, digging his heel into Soap’s foot, “I’m good.”
Something changes minutely in König’s demeanor. His shoulders sag slightly lower and he drops his head for a flash of a second. It surprises Ghost long enough for Soap to steal his foot back. They throw irritated glares at one another, but Ghost is sure he's the only justified party.
“I was thinking ‘bout hitting the gym after I eat, care to join, König?”
“Sure,” he finishes the pathetic excuse for a waffle with a tad more life in him.
Ghost suppresses a growl. Something inside him, grotesquely fierce, lashes out at the idea of König seeking out Soap’s company, taking pleasure in surrounding himself with anyone other than Ghost. It's the same emotion he closes the door on every morning. A primal need for König to only belong as his, to only desire to be his. He invites himself along wordlessly and without taking his eyes off König. Soap, for the scraps of due credit, says nothing about the sudden rage tightening Ghost’s muscles.
When they arrive at the gym, not many other soldiers are present. Most go through their daily regimes later in the afternoon after a long run or jog outside. Soap and Ghost have routinely visited the gym when barely anyone else is present, so they have space to chat or spar. Now, though, König is standing in a sleeveless compression shirt that leaves nothing to interpretation. He has a well-toned eight-pack that curves into the hard muscles of his back, connecting to arms bigger than the width of Soap. His waist tapers in with such a gracefulness Ghost must actively try not to lose his hard-earned tranquility. He follows his eyes down as it smooths to the gentle dip of his lower back, leading to sculpted thighs and a sinfully full ass. Ghost stares a few moments too long for a quick glance.
“Lookin’ good, König,” Soap punches his shoulder jokingly, walking to the weight rack.
Ghost clenches his fists when König chuckles quietly and follows after Soap. He grabs his own set of dumbbells, finds a bench to place his knee on, and intently watches Soap interact with König. Soap is standing behind him but slightly off to the side while he directs König in an arm workout, a hand placed calmly on his forearm. Instead of brushing him off or appearing awkward, König flashes him bright eyes that Ghost knows are paired with a smile under his hood.
He drops his weight suddenly with a heavy slam.
“Lieutenant?”
König’s head snaps over to Ghost, worry evident even behind the cover of his sniper’s hood. Since it was painstakingly intentional, Soap doesn't even bat an eye.
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt?” König sets his weight down hurriedly, walking over in a few short strides to check Ghost for injuries.
Ghost resists the urge to pin him to the floor as they are and breed him in front of Soap. Not that it wouldn't be arousing, but Soap doesn't deserve the show. Cheeky bastard.
“I’m fine.”
König looks unconvinced. He carefully squeezes up and down Ghost’s arms to reassure himself that there's no muscle soreness or knots. Ghost, for his own credit, doesn't moan like a dried up whore.
“Maybe it's his leg,” Soap offhandedly provides while he picks up a weight, “L.T.’s always had bad knees.”
It's comically untrue. Ghost is in top condition with zero presiding health defects. He's positive König knows such, but he maneuvers Ghost easily into a sitting position to drag his hands around his thighs, knees, and calves. He tries not to focus on how effortless it is for König to manhandle him. Or why he's currently so obsessed with getting his hands on Ghost’s body.
Meanwhile, Ghost locks eyes with Soap and glares death.
He’s so preoccupied with silently promising violent payback that his legs jerk instinctually when König graces his hand over Ghost’s humiliatingly obvious erection. His gaze flies down to König, who looks up at him with deceptively innocuous eyes.
“Just making sure you're good, sir .”
Soap snorts, covering it quickly with a cough. Ghost wants to eyeball him but it's impossible to wrench his gaze away from König. Soap turns around to pay more attention to his workout than his floundering friend, who is completely on his own now.
He grips König’s hand against his thigh, grasping his chin with his fingers and forcing König closer to his face. The whimper that escapes the sniper doesn't go unheard. He's beginning to question whether the dreams will remain as such. There had been no previously held ideas about asking König to participate in wildly inappropriate activities with a superior officer, but perhaps the fantasies had merit after all.
“Do I feel good to you, König?”
König swallows hard, “Perfect, sir.”
Ghost focuses his eyes ahead of him as he leans down to König’s ear, “You know what you feel like?”
He feels König shake his head. Taking a leap of faith, Ghost slowly presses his boot down onto König’s cock, his head going fuzzy when he feels the sizable tent. König lurches forwards and whines softly. It's infinitely better than hearing it only in his head like a crazed, perverted madman.
“So good, König, God you feel good.”
König’s breathing is off pace when Ghost unleashes his hold from around König’s chin and hand. He stands up without another word to continue with his routine, glaring back at the smug smirk Soap sends his way. Not that he's an expert on wingmen, but it certainly isn't Soap, who Ghost thinks is attempting to live vicariously through him. It takes a couple of minutes for König to collect himself, but he's jogging on a treadmill not long after Ghost heads to the pull-up bar. A small, heated smirk finds its way onto Ghost’s lips at the sight of König struggling about the gym for the remainder of their time.
At dinner, Soap tests the limits of Ghost’s immediately responsive possessiveness.
As he sits down, he brushes past König, letting his bicep ghost over the space between his shoulder blades. Ghost’s vision blurs at the edges but he says nothing at the moment. Soap is simply sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. As usual. He takes a seat directly beside König to eat, but König keeps quiet when Soap presses their legs together and smiles prettily at him. The homicidal considerations from earlier are worming their way back into Ghost’s psyche.
“Say, König,” Soap leans casually on the table, “your room still cold tonight, you think?”
Surprise leaks into König’s eyes. Perhaps he wasn't aware nor bothered by Soap’s obvious advances. For a second, Ghost lets his anger settle. His muse doesn’t appear to have a response for the traitorous man sitting with them. Wrongly, he assumes König isn’t even slightly attracted to Soap and his boyish antics.
König observes Soap for a long minute, then nods.
“Probably.”
Ghost sees red.
Without warning, he disregards his tray of food to grab König’s arm and lead him out of the mess hall. König looks confused, a little perplexed, but he gives no resistance. A good head for self-preservation, that one has.
Soap, now laughing to himself, steals the biscuit forgotten on Ghost’s plate. Hard work deserves a little payoff.
—————
Ghost shoves König into his room, slamming the door behind him. Shock widens König’s eyes and he stands staring at a seething, practically hyperventilating, Ghost. Any rationale is quickly fleeing his feeble grasp, so much so that he hardly considers his actions before yanking off his mask, pinning König to the wall, and finding his lips by slightly lifting his hood. He grinds their hips together harshly, gripping König at his throat. A lovely groan passes between their mouths as Ghost kisses him breathless. His senses are overwhelmed by the smell of gunpowder and cologne, the taste of liquor and hints of mint. Now that he has heaven in his hands, there's no plan of giving it up.
“Sir?”
König pulls away for air, gasping for breath and staring down at Ghost flummoxed.
“Simon.”
“...You want this?”
Ghost cups what he can see of König’s jaw, “More than you know.”
He searches Ghost’s face quietly.
Seemingly arriving at an agreeable conclusion, König holds Ghost’s hand to his face and pulls off his hood. Soft black hair settles back into place after being ruffled by the movement, reaching down to the base of his neck and framing his face in calm waves. Ghost’s brain short circuits as he takes in the soft beauty of König. He has strangely hued eyes, the upper proportion of his left iris being a grayish-blue that morphs into a warm brown at the bottom half. He hadn't noticed it before, but now he's staring down the barrel with nowhere else to look.
“Simon?”
“God, you're beautiful.”
They don't say anything for a few beats, not until König combs a careful hand through Ghost’s exposed hair.
“You're more so than I ever imagined.”
Ghost chokes on his spit when König slides against the wall to his knees, sitting on his legs with his thighs spread apart. He looks at Ghost with pleading eyes, dragging them down his torso to beg silently for his cock. Ghost grips his hair and forces his head back so their eyes meet inescapably. There's a glossiness there that wasn't present only a matter of seconds ago.
“Jesus fuck,” Ghost pulls on his hair, reveling in the wanton moan König lets slip, “are you fucking crying for my cock?”
König nods as best he can, eyes rolling back when Ghost doesn't let up on his hold, “ Ja .”
Ever the most impressive. König is everything Ghost was oblivious to needing.
He pushes his knee into König’s throat to pin him to the wall, “What a fucking whore. You want to suck it?”
His lover tries to nod. He claws at Ghost’s thigh with a whine, stray tears falling from the corners of his eyes. Ghost growls low in his throat at the sight.
“Use your words.”
“ Yes.”
Ghost drops his leg but keeps his hand entangled with König’s hair, “Open your mouth. Stay still.”
He does as he's told, obedient and eager for Ghost’s next command. It sends blood rushing to his erection with a powerful wave of arousal that knocks the wind out of Ghost’s lungs. König is sitting at his feet, mouth hanging open and tears glistening on his cheeks. His dreams seem inconsequential juxtaposed to the real thing. It's enough to make Ghost cum then and there.
Without further delay, Ghost undoes his belt and pants, discarding them haphazardly somewhere behind him. König’s eyes are immediately locked onto the bulge stretching his boxers out. His face flushes red and his hands pull at his cargo pants impatiently but remain restrained as his lieutenant ordered. Ghost tugs down the waistband enough for his cock to slip out, red and already dripping with pre-cum. He gives it a few pumps, groaning softly at the pleasure and laughing when he hears König whine louder.
“What? Speak.”
“Please, sir , I want it,” König does his best to keep his mouth open while he talks, spit running down his chin and neck. Perhaps in another setting it would be a pathetic display, but witnessing such a force of nature bend to his will out of a pure desire for his cock is making him lightheaded.
He keeps a slow pace, jerking himself off while König practically salivates, “I bet you do. Under that mask, you’re just a slut that can't fuck enough cock. You probably peep in the showers, huh? Drool on your pillow while you fist your cock raw and think about getting banged by all those men.”
König moans, breaking into a small cry at the end. His hands are gripping Ghost’s thighs now, mouth still wide open for him.
“I’m gonna fuck that whore mouth of yours. Be a good boy and keep it open for me.”
He moans quietly when König all but vibrates in anticipation, nodding frantically. Sliding into his mouth sends Ghost to cloud nine. His throat is relaxed and ready for the thickness of his cock, copious amounts of spit coating him instantly from all his drooling. It drips off König’s lips and rolls down his shaft. Ghost bucks his hips sharp and fast into the wet heat with a long groan. König reaches up to push his hips forward again, letting Ghost know he's unwilling to wait any longer.
“Such a good boy, König,” he starts thrusting rhythmically, “such a good whore for me.”
König moans around his cock with his eyes completely rolled back into his head. It urges Ghost to snap his hips faster, completely lost in the sensation König’s tongue and throat are giving him. His cock slides as far down as it can, the sound of slight gagging and squelching echoing in the room.
“You like that, huh? Fucking dirty bitch,” Ghost’s pace quickens again, though increasingly sloppy, “bet you love being a toy and having this useless mouth fucked.”
He’s panting, gagging on Ghost’s cock with a euphoric look that illuminates his countenance. Ghost tightens his slack hold on König’s hair, yanking him forwards and keeping him in place. König lets out a noise of surprise before moaning around the intrusion.
“God, fuck yeah.”
He drags König away to allow him a gasp of air, spit falling from his mouth and onto the floor in tandem with small coughs. Without warning, Ghost tilts König’s head up again and pries his mouth open. His hips set a brutal pace that has König sobbing and moaning wildly. König’s hands come to hold Ghost at his waist, but he smacks them away and shoves König off his cock.
“No fucking touching unless I say.”
A whimper, but no argument. Ghost pins his hands against the wall and pushes himself back in. He snaps his hips in and out, moaning with a gasp as König hollows his cheeks, his eyes closed and lips a little swollen. His orgasm is a tight coil in his stomach that keeps building, a promise more than a threat. It's difficult to restrain himself when König is held down like a lowly fleshlight and seems to enjoy it more than he should.
“God I’m gonna fucking cum, König, good boy.”
He forces König’s head still as his hips sputter erratically, coming down König’s thoroughly fucked throat.
“Swallow it.”
He waits, eyes locked with König’s.
König leans back on his heels to catch his breath again, swallowing then leaning forwards to clean up Ghost’s cock. Ghost observes him quietly with a look breaching fondness. König runs a hand through his hair and tries to calm his racing heart for a peaceful moment, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It's short-lived, however, because Ghost stomps his foot down on his throbbing cock. He shouts in painful pleasure, hands holding Ghost at his knee.
“You fucking came? Didn't even touch you, damn slut,” he rubs his foot around, watching König squirm and cry, “you came just from getting your face fucked.”
A drop of König’s spit lands on Ghost’s boot while he tortures his still-throbbing erection. He stops moving, forcing König to look down at his shoe.
“Fucking disgusting. Clean it up.”
König requires no clarification. He waits for Ghost to remove his foot and step back expectantly, shifting to his hands and knees to lean down and lick up the glop on his boot. He lifts his gaze to stare at Ghost while he does so. Ghost raises his foot partially, propping up König’s chin on the toe cap.
“So pretty for me, darling,” he allows a slight smile, “what do you want me to do?”
For a moment, König looks unsure, embarrassed. He knits his eyebrows together and avoids eye contact with Ghost.
“Why be shy all of a sudden? Didn't seem so reserved when you were begging for my cock down your throat.”
He watches with intrigue as König straightens back onto his heels, using the wall to help him stand. No words are shared between them but Ghost is nonetheless stupidly entranced by the easy, confident way König rids himself of his pants and boxers. He lays down on his bed, face pressed into his pillow, and his ass propped up in the air.
Soft, lustful: “ Bitte .”
Ghost borderline snarls, shedding his briefs without a second thought. A heady, intense surge of lust ushers every other thought from his system. All that matters is König. He positions himself between König’s spread-out legs and kneads his hands into the exposed flesh. He fills Ghost’s grip better than in his dreams. Red marks flare up at the force, drawing a long groan of appreciation from König.
“You know what you're askin’ for?”
König nods.
The slap rings throughout the room, intertwining with König’s cry and fumble of moans. Ghost digs his nails into the cherried skin.
“Words, baby.”
“Yes! Bitte, bitte , please, sir.”
“What's the word?”
König ponders for a moment, taken aback by the care Ghost is showing him. It's unusual for him. Most times people have their way with him then slip out of his life wordlessly. He's known his whole life that, despite his struggles, he's blessed with conventionally attractive attributes. Whenever he enters a room, eyes are on him, feeling him up without touching his body. He's accepted it, used it to feel something when he so requires. Ghost, however, is a mark he doesn't want to lose. He wants to be loved and cherished by him regardless of the costs.
“Syria.”
Ghost stills, quietly looking down at König. Their first mission took place in Al Mazrah, Syria. It pangs something bittersweet and loving in his chest. He reaches down to cup König’s jaw, pressing his chest to König’s back and guiding their lips together. Sweet, slow.
“Good.”
His nails scrape along König’s back while he sits back, shivers spreading across his body at the touch. Ghost leans down to press light kisses onto the reddened skin. He follows along the curve, massaging the bulk of König’s thighs with languid, tender movements. By the time he reaches König's lower back, his lover is fidgeting and breathing harshly through his nose. Ghost treasures the desperate whine drawn into the air by his teasing. His lips ravish every inch of skin exposed to him, reaching close to König’s hole, then moving away. König lets out a frustrated noise and squirms more intentionally. Still, his lover continues down the expanse of his thighs, leaving love bites every so often that have König near insanity. His hands trail from his ankles up to his waist, where they tighten to hold König in place.
König presses his forehead harder into his pillow and his hands fist the sheets, “God just fuck me, Simon, please .”
His voice is coarse, pulled from the depths of his chest and forced into the air. It's dropped a few noticeable octaves that are dripping with need. Ghost groans, feeling cold sweep down his back and his cock twitch in interest. He rests his forehead on König’s tailbone.
“Say that again.”
“I need you,” it's the same voice, but broken up by small sobs, “Christ I need you to just fuck me .”
Ghost’s head goes blank, his nails draw blood on König’s waist. He dips his head down and pushes his tongue inside. König jolts, gasping, then dissolves into a mess of slurred moans. He thrusts back on Ghost’s tongue and earns a groan of approval, a hand tapping his side. König takes it for the encouragement that it is and repeats the motion, slowly fucking himself on Ghost’s tongue. He bites the pillow in an effort to keep some level of privacy but receives a sharp slap on his ass, Ghost’s tongue curling then unfurling as if König is the key to ending his starvation. A hand reaches up to grasp König by his hair and tear his head away from the pillow. Ghost drags his tongue out, leaning down to talk into König’s ear.
“Moan. Let everyone know how much a whore you really are,” his thumb rubs the excess spit into König, “a filthy fucking slut who gets off on a tongue shoved up his ass.”
König whimpers, trying to push back on Ghost’s thumb, but he pulls away each time.
“Like a damn bitch in heat, begging to get fucked dumb,” he brings his hand up and shoves his fingers in König’s mouth, “work for it.”
The command electrifies König entirely. He sucks far too eagerly on Ghost’s fingers, letting them thrust in and out of his mouth, drool running down Ghost’s palm and wrist. As soon as Ghost is convinced it won't hurt as much, he steals his hand back and pushes his thumb in first. König immediately moans, thrusting back on his finger desperately.
Ghost grunts, laughing, “Fucking serious? Look at you, humping like a pathetic cockslut.”
Two more fingers stretch König open and work themselves deeper than Ghost’s tongue could reach. König’s mouth hangs wide, a line of drool falling from the corner, unabashed moans ruining his vocal cords. He wails loudly as another finger is added. It burns in a painful pleasure that has König sweating and fumbling with scattered words.
“You're unbelievable,” Ghost bites down on the back of König’s neck, panting, “fuckin’ amazin’.”
Gradually, Ghost pushes his knuckles past the tight resistance, sliding his hand in until he’s wrist deep. He moans into König’s ear, breathing heavily. König cries out, tears instantly falling and mixing with his saliva. His body shudders and he clenches down on Ghost’s hand instinctively.
“ Fuck , König,” he starts to thrust his hand in and out, slow to allow for adjustment, “think you can take another?”
The thought makes König moan, long and low. He nods feverishly and pushes back on Ghost’s hand.
“Damn whore.”
Ghost draws his body back again to position his fingers alongside his wrist. At the next thrust, he works a second hand in. König arches his back upwards and screams, rough and succeeded by loud sobs.
“ Ich fühle mich so voll, scheiße !” König’s elbows fail him and he falls onto the mattress, face pressed into his pillow once more.
Ghost’s cock is torturously hard, dripping pre-cum at the sight of his hands both buried inside König. He kisses around the stretched skin and up his lover’s spine while his hands begin to move simultaneously.
“English, love, let me hear you.”
König cries, his thighs trembling, “So full, Simon, fuck I can feel you so deep.”
The words give Ghost a head rush. He reels at how much König is, how beautiful, how breathtaking. His head drops to König’s back and he pushes his hands in deeper.
“ Simon! Fuck,” König can feel the pillow growing wet with his spit and tears, “need to cum, please, bitte .”
“Cum for me, gorgeous, come on.”
König’s body spasms violently, shouting his pleasure for all to hear as he comes on Ghost’s hands alone. He’s panting and shaking when the high finally starts to fade. Ghost carefully removes his hands, biting back a moan when König whines and twitches. He slides his hands along his lover’s sides to help ease the intensity.
“You're a damn wonder, König.”
He huffs out breathy laughter, “ Du machst mich verrückt .”
Ghost kisses between his shoulder blades, “You’re as bad as Soap.”
“I’m not bad at all, Lieutenant,” König presses himself back on Ghost’s erection, “far from it.”
He curses, hissing at the sudden sting of mind-numbing pleasure. His hips buck forward to chase the sensation of König’s body but he flips himself onto his back. Ghost stares down at him, hands holding himself up at either side of König’s head.
“Fuckin’ tease.”
“ Du liebst es, mein Schatz."
“Speak En-”
His eyes fly open when the world is flipped over. König’s thighs are holding him at his waist now, hands pressing down on his chest. His hips hover just above the tip of Ghost’s cock.
“Holy shit.”
König smiles. It’s sultry in a way Ghost flounders to comprehend. He takes König’s waist in his hands gently, still staring at König in amazement.
“You sure?”
He drops himself lower.
Ghost shouts, swearing in slurred sentences, “A yes would've worked, fuck.”
König only shrugs and guides Ghost’s cock inside, sighing quietly at the pleasurable sting. It's not an easy fit even after his previous stretch. König groans at the idea of Ghost’s size, now bottomed out. Ghost has tears building at the edges of his eyes and his breath is rapid, choppy.
“Jesus fuck, König, Christ .”
He uses his hands on Ghost’s chest to lift and lower himself. There's not much of a lag before König is moving hurriedly, head rolled back as he moans with abandon.
“God, you're bouncing on my cock like a fucking whore, shit .”
“Love it, bitte , faster.”
Ghost snaps his hips up, goosebumps forming at the wild cries König produces. He meets his rhythm thrust for thrust, watching the skin ripple at his speed and harshness. His muscles burn at the overuse, protesting the constant unusual stress. With a low growl, he holds König against him and flips them, slamming in without missing a beat. König claws at Ghost’s back in an attempt to ground himself through the haze of incomprehensible ecstasy. He's pounding in with thundering force, punching a wail from König nearly every time, kissing away the tears freefalling from his eyes.
He mutters sweet nothings into König’s ear as his thrusts grow sporadic and desperate. König draws him in close, moaning low when Ghost buries his head in his shoulder and comes deep inside him. König’s body responds in kind, his back arching into Ghost’s chest as he comes all over both their torsos.
His thrusts don't stop.
Rather, he bites into the soft flesh of König’s neck, still thrusting rough and fast. König screams at the overwhelming pleasure that's now being felt by raw nerves.
“No, no,” he digs his nails into Ghost’s chest, “too much, bitte, bitte .”
“You can take it.”
König can't control his moans and cries, his hands never landing on a single object to hold on to. Ghost pistons his hips at a steady pace that drives König to lunacy, each thrust hitting him deep and directly on his prostate. His body is torn between hating the overstimulation and loving it wholly.
“Be a good whore, darling, scream while my cock breeds your fucked out hole. You like it, huh? Being a fuckin’ cum dump, begging for my cock. It's all you want.”
“Yes, yes !”
“ Fucking hell .”
König’s vision blurs from his tears, his body is aflame with a pleasure high he didn't know existed.
“Gonna fuck you ‘til your drawin’ up blanks, bitch.”
He shakes his head but his body thrusts back eagerly, his cock twitching at the thought. Ghost chuckles and gives a particularly hard thrust.
“See that? You were fuckin’ made for this, made to be a damn whore for my cock.”
König comes again, a desperate scream tearing through his throat, but Ghost keeps pounding. It's less than his last time and he sobs at the realization of Ghost’s words. His body is too sensitive, burning at every touch and kiss Ghost gives him.
“Jesus it's just sliding right in, you're so fuckin’ wet.”
By the time König is nearing his next orgasm, Ghost presses his thumb down on his slit, grinning wickedly. König loses his mind, wailing, moaning, and begging hysterically for Ghost to let him cum. His head goes utterly empty and he can focus on nothing but the feeling of Ghost slamming in and out of him.
“Taking it so well, beautiful, so good.”
König’s body starts thrashing around, unsure of chasing the pleasure or trying to escape. He’s openly crying and moaning but can't get a coherent word out.
Ghost buries his cock in deep with a rough grunt, moaning as he comes inside again. König sobs at the burning sensation of releasing nothing, his brain high off the pleasure it's received.
Slowly, Ghost recovers and pulls out. His cum leaks out of König’s gaping hole, dribbling onto his covers. It makes the back of his neck tingle with pinpricks of arousal. Ghost ignores it, for now, laying down beside König to bring him into his side. He runs a calming hand through his hair and presses a chaste kiss to his forehead.
“You're astounding, love, you did so well for me.”
König manages a whimper, curling into the provided comfort. Ghost maneuvers them under the covers before König succumbs to his exhaustion. It's abnormal for Ghost to stay the night, much less ease König to sleep, but the notion of leaving makes his stomach twist unhappily. He looks down at König’s cut jawline, skin that's dotted with faint freckles and beauty marks. It's a shame he veils it under a hood on the daily but Ghost would be nothing short of a hypocrite for not understanding. He cups König’s cheek in his hand, smiling when he leans closer in his sleep.
“I think I love you, König,” Ghost whispers, hesitant, “I really do.”
He obviously has no response to the confession, but somehow, by the way König holds him close even in his sleep, Ghost doesn't require a verbal confirmation.
What he does need is revenge. Swift, painful revenge on an idiot named after a shower utensil.