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Roach is in the officers’ barracks for a completely legitimate and non-cowardly reason, he swears.
He may have said some things he shouldn’t have and then done some things he definitely shouldn’t have, and he knows he shouldn’t have. He’s going to blame it on Ghost rubbing off on him because no one else breaks the rules as much as he does and the main reason Roach doesn’t respect captain Adams is because Ghost practically gloats about disobeying the man.
Ghost is a bad influence. He also knows that. But he doesn’t want to face the consequences of his actions. Simple as.
He knows captain Adams is looking for him and is probably still mad at him and will definitely chew him out in front of whoever happens to be nearby when he next sees him. It’s just self-preservation that Roach is tactically avoiding him, taking the long way to his room. He’ll hide out there until this all blows over and he’ll only hear the abridged version of his chewing out through gossip.
Roach, stupidly, doesn’t expect captain Adams to be where the captains’ rooms are.
His voice carries from around the corner ahead and Roach spins on his heel, rushing back the other way he just came. He’s practically holding his breath, definitely not stumbling over his feet as he hears the voice getting closer and closer. He acts based on base survival instinct – which may be faulty, but that’s not the point. So, not at all panicked, he rapidly tries the handle of the first door he comes across – locked – the second door – locked – the third door – swings open and he falls inside.
He slams it shut behind him. Presses his back against it to hold it shut. A pair of footsteps walk past and that voice Roach already knows he’s going to dread for the rest of his career goes with it. He still doesn’t move. Barely dares to breathe as he waits there in silence. A minute, two minutes, and then a little bit more, just to make sure he’s really gone.
Someone bumps into the door. The handle turns.
Roach jumps back as if burned. He panics, steps back from the door, breath hitching so hard his something in his chest hurts. He takes one hurried sweep around the room and then, in an extremely logical and smart move, throws himself onto the floor and rolls under the bed.
The door bursts open just as Roach hides himself. A person – two persons – stumble in. They spin and slam the door shut again. Roach holds his breath as he spies two pairs of boots by the door, knocking into each other before they find their balance, legs pressed together. It quickly dawns on him that this might not have been the best place to hide.
“C’mere,” one of them says, a low voice that instinctively makes Roach’s back straighten. Raspier than usual, but still the same tone worn down with cigars and shouted orders. MacTavish. The one closest to him, Roach assumes, the one pinning the other to the door.
Their legs knock into each other, tangled together, pressed close. He thinks it’s MacTavish’s foot that presses forwards between the other’s, and they rock together as if grinding against each other. Then a wet sound like mouths connecting, a muffled groan, a grunt that belongs to MacTavish followed by a sigh that doesn’t. A sound like a strap coming undone, then metal reminiscent of a belt buckle.
Roach gulps heavily. He doesn’t look away either, assessing the situation.
The other pair of boots steps impossibly closer. One leg lifts up to curl around MacTavish, the other rocking forwards onto their toes. Roach isn’t sure who ties their boots like that, dirty at the bottom and trousers meticulously tucked in, but MacTavish drags them closer and kisses them loud enough Roach can hear the movement of their mouths. He pulls towards the bed who might be–
“Fuck, Riley.”
Roach stifles a surprised gasp. He watches the boots stumble closer, and then abruptly looks away when they bump into the side of the bed. He stares wide-eyed at the bottom of it, excruciatingly aware of how close they are, that he could reach out and make himself known.
He stays stock-still and digs his hands into his thighs instead. Shock and adrenaline have him nearly trembling in his skin.
“Take it off,” MacTavish orders. There’s a shuffle of fabric, another slick slide of someone’s mouth, and then the mask falls onto the floor. Roach turns his head away and squeezes his eyes shut, even though there’d be no chance of seeing Ghost’s face in this position.
The bed creaks as they fall onto it. Roach’s ears are perked for it despite himself – despite himself? He doesn’t know if that’s truthful – and he barely dares to slowly open his eyes and glance at the bottom of the bed, as if he might be noticed here. They’re preoccupied, Roach tells himself, though it doesn’t do much to calm his nerves. There’s shuffling and groaning and the wet sound of a mouth on skin as more clothes join the pile on the floor.
Though it shouldn’t be that surprising. Captain MacTavish and Ghost have always had something going on. The jokes about them have to have some kind of a foundation. Ghost talks back to MacTavish too easily and MacTavish laughs at Ghost’s inappropriate jokes no matter how much he hides it. Roach has stared at them enough to notice who they stare at in turn.
A lot of things suddenly make so much more sense. Except Roach isn’t sure whether he should be finding out about it like this – hidden under his captain’s bed and holding his breath as he hears a drawer opening, closing, and then something wet that is not a mouth.
The mattress shifts above him, the slats of the bed bent under the weight of two people.
“Lie down,” MacTavish orders and the bed creaks as he presumably presses Ghost down, a grunt and a creak following the action. That leaves MacTavish towards the foot of the bed, the dip in the mattress where most of his weight is – and the captain is big. Big enough to pin Ghost down, more than big enough to pin Roach, strong enough to hold them both down as he wants them as he fucks his fingers into Ghost’s ass, a steady wet sound.
Since when has he been staring at the bottom of the mattress?
He was supposed to keep his eyes shut. He was supposed to stay still and quiet. He was supposed to hide here for only a moment.
He definitely wasn’t supposed to be thinking about what it would look like, his captain’s fingers and his lieutenant’s ass.
“’M ready, fuck me.” Ghost’s voice is breathy, pitched higher, a desperate edge to it that Roach hasn’t ever heard before. Roach’s breath hitches at the same time as he hears Ghost choke on an inhale.
A slap against skin. Hard. MacTavish’s hand on Ghost’s ass? Follow by a gruff, “Turn over.”
The weight on the bed shifts, moves around as they settle, and Roach swallows thickly. He almost feels like he’s been hit himself, struck still and left breathless. Nearly trembling in the following silence, mind racing and struggling to catch up, picturing what’s happening just an arm’s length from him when he shouldn’t be picturing it at all–
He turns his head, looks towards the door, and realises he’s not going to be able to make an escape. He’ll have to lay here and wait for an opportunity. Listen for the moment when neither of them is paying attention, listen as MacTavish strokes his cock with lube, listen as Ghost groans and MacTavish’s weight leans forwards.
Roach stays deathly still as he listens for the slightest sound. Obscured under Ghost’s gasping noises he picks out the wet slide of MacTavish pushing into Ghost. Then a hard slap of skin against skin, followed by a low groan, and the mattress dips right in the middle where MacTavish must be kneeling.
Roach stares at the spot with wide eyes, afraid to blink like simply that will give him away, and watches the slats of the bed shift as MacTavish pulls Ghost closer to himself. The bed rocks as MacTavish fucks into him hard a moment later.
The sound is loud and obscene – skin against skin, the wet squelch of lube. Roach can hear so clearly each time MacTavish fucks in to the hilt that he can practically imagine it. Ghost’s thighs either side of the captain, ankles locked behind him, MacTavish gripping Ghost’s hips to pull him onto his cock, thick and heavy as it–
Roach digs his fingers into his legs to keep himself still, except his hands have shifted closer to the insides of his thighs without his noticing. His heels have lifted wider apart as if for better leverage. His trousers are too tight. His cock is straining against the zipper. When did that happen–?
“Look at you,” MacTavish growls, “spreadin’ your legs for me like a slag.”
Roach slaps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from squeaking. The bed is knocking against the wall with the force MacTavish is fucking into Ghost with. Based on the dip in the mattress, Roach thinks he’s lying directly beneath Ghost. It’s just a foot of length between them, barely anything from Roach being in his position–
He jumps when his foot knocks into the leg of the bed. His knees fall wider apart and his hand is on his crotch before he realises.
“Should keep you plugged for me. Don’t have to waste time openin’ you up.”
“Yeah–” Ghost gasps, hoarse and panting. Roach’s hips buck up into his hand at the thought of how big MacTavish must be to get Ghost near speechless. He imagines a plug won’t be enough to fully prepare for it, that it must still hurt – must still feel amazing, being ready for the captain at all hours of the day.
Roach grinds his palm down into his cock, presses his lips tightly together to fight against the sound building in his throat.
The bed rocks against the wall loud enough to rattle the wall. It must be audible outside, or in the room over at least. MacTavish grunts each time he bottoms out, accentuating the power behind each thrust, and Roach can’t help but wonder how Ghost can sit after this. He certainly can’t stay quiet, gasping and mewling in a steady stream.
“Shut up.” Another slap. Roach can’t tell if it’s to Ghost’s face or ass, but he flinches at the sound nonetheless. Nearly bites the inside of his cheek bloody at how violently his breath hitches. He shudders as he presses the heel of his palm down almost painfully, grinding against the growing bulge in his trousers. “We don’t want anyone to hear you whinin’ for it, do we.”
Roach slaps his palm over his mouth. He’s afraid to breathe in case he accidentally lets out a squeak.
Something muffles Ghost’s whorish moans – a hand or a pillow or a piece of clothing – which just makes the slap of MacTavish’s hips hitting his ass all the louder. Sharp, cutting, and so obscenely lewd that Roach can feel a burning flush spread over his face. His cock twitches despite it. He shouldn’t, but his body tenses, and he can’t help but imagine what Ghost is feeling, being spread open on their captain’s cock.
“Making a mess,” MacTavish says. Ghost keens and Roach tips his head back with an apology on his tongue, as if he might be speaking to him too. “Goin’ to come for me?”
“Uh-huh,” Ghost hums. Roach nods. MacTavish fucks forwards hard enough the bed creaks.
“Do it then. Come for me.”
Ghost lets out a choked moan. It gets cut off as that something is shoved in front of – into? – his mouth again. His weight shifts – pushing his ass out to meet MacTavish’s thrusts and pressing his face into the pillow, Roach’s imagination fills in the gaps before he can tamp the image down. Roach bites down on his hand hard enough to draw blood as his eyes roll back.
He presses his palm down hard enough it’s painful, grinding down with his heel as he comes in his pants, back lifting off the floor and eyes squeezed tightly shut. He holds his breath. Over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, he can hear MacTavish pounding into Ghost.
Ghost is noisy despite the gag, making choked sounds like he’s overwhelmed. Has to be, with the way the captain is still fucking him. The wet slick sound of him thrusting into his hole is steady, continuous, obscene. Roach’s hips jerk. He kicks out too hard with his foot and nearly gives himself away.
He doesn’t think he’s ever come this hard before. Still feels it, tremors through his body, breathing uneven, still pressing down on his spent cock because he can’t help it, listening to the sounds. He’s trying to tone down his panting, overcome as he is. But it must be so much more for Ghost. Fuck, what would it be like if–
MacTavish groans. A loud, rumbling sound. The slap of skin on skin stops and Roach shudders all over again as he realises that he knows now what the captain sounds like when he comes.
His cock gives a desperate twitch and Roach bites into his hand again to stop himself from moaning. The sound plays over in his head, again and again, and simply the memory of it is enough to have a shiver racing down Roach’s spine again, sparks of overstimulation left in its wake that he can hardly bear. His hand isn’t making it better, so he carefully lifts his palm up, trying not to make it worse for himself–
“Don’t move,” MacTavish orders.
Roach freezes in place. He stares up at the bottom of the mattress. Doesn’t dare breathe, even as his heart is pounding rapidly.
“My leg’s fuckin’ asleep,” Ghost gripes. “Don’t have to, fuck,” the dips in the mattress shift as they move, Ghost flopping down with a sigh, “don’t have to fucking tie me down. I’ll stay. Promise I won’t tell anyone you’re a cuddler.”
“Aye, shut up too, while you’re at it.”
Roach gawks wide-eyed above him. Hears more shuffling, the bed creaking, and then they settle.
And Roach stares at the size of the mattress. It’s not big. But Roach isn’t that big either. He’s good at fitting into tight spaces. His cum is drying in his pants and MacTavish’s must be dripping out of Ghost – unless he’s still inside him, Ghost still stretched around his cock and–
Roach tastes blood on his tongue as he bites down on his hand or his lip or both, physically fighting against the groan building up in his chest.
If MacTavish and Ghost are staying here, with apparently no intention of getting up, then he just has to wait until they fall asleep. Shouldn’t take that long. It’s late enough. The activities prior seemed more strenuous for them than for Roach. And if he weren’t hiding under the bed, Roach would be lazing in the afterglow just like them. Snuggled under a blanket, fit in the small space on the bed too small for three–
He carefully lifts his hand from his crotch, holds the other firmly over his mouth just in case, and checks his watch. He’ll wait it out. Gives time for his nerves to settle, even though they don’t feel anywhere close to calm. His heartbeat has time to slow. He listens to the quiet breaths above him and tries to imitate them as he waits until they turn steady, and then steadier.
Carefully, quietly, warily, Roach rolls out from under the bed. He slowly stands, stares down at his feet and at nothing else. Walks towards the door, stealthily, just like Ghost has taught him.
“Roach.”
He freezes in place. His heart is in his throat. He feels like he’s going to faint or throw up. It takes an eternity for him to turn and face the bed.
MacTavish is looking straight at him. He’s fully on display. The sheets are kicked to the foot of the bed and he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest, comfortably laid out.
Roach can’t help himself. His eyes dip. Even soft, he’s big.
Ghost is sleeping right next to him, crammed between MacTavish and the wall. He’s on his stomach and facing away, seemingly asleep. There’s a definite handprint on his ass.
“Sir?” Roach croaks, voice barely above a whisper. He isn’t sure what he’s looking at, but it’s not MacTavish’s eyes and it’s not something he feels like he’s allowed.
“Next time, you can come out.”
Roach opens his mouth to say – something. He’s frozen in place, a lump in his throat, adrenaline thrumming in his veins because MacTavish is smirking at him and not kicking him out.
He’s inviting him back.
Roach nods jerkily. His voice is both too loud and not loud enough as he stutters, “Yes, sir.”
He spins on his heel and throws himself out of the room. Flinches when the door nearly bangs shut behind him. He stays with his back pressed against it, as if he can somehow stifle the sound retroactively. He realises only now – too late – that he didn’t wait to be dismissed. His brain isn’t working. He can still feel his captain’s leering eyes on him. Can hear the way Ghost groans. Pictures clearer than before how gaped he must be to fit MacTavish.
Roach stumbles back to his room, once again hard in his pants.
***
Roach has been acting weird and he knows it. He can’t stop it either.
He stares, unsubtle and obvious, at his superiors doing completely normal, ordinary, everyday activities. Things he’s seen them do before, things that shouldn’t make him think of anything, that shouldn’t rouse an ounce of attention more than explicitly required. But he stares, transfixed, suddenly blushing underneath his gaiter, and finds himself fidgeting nonsensically.
He straightens and freezes under MacTavish’s eyes as he turns to Roach. When he gives orders, all Roach can hear is his voice when it’s gruff and raspy. He knows he’s been caught stumbling over both his words and his feet when MacTavish quirks a brow at him, but he doesn’t bring it up, simply follows Roach with that burning stare that leaves him flushed.
Then he’ll be paired with Ghost in a training exercise and Roach watches him drop to the ground and peer through the scope. He’s supposed to be spotting for him, but instead he’s suddenly and unreasonably caught off guard by Ghost’s form – the set of his shoulders and the stability of his hands and the swell of his ass that’s suddenly so – prominent.
Between what Roach glimpsed that night and what he’s seeing now, he can’t help but wonder how it would bounce as the captain fucks him; can’t help but wonder, too, whether the size of his cargos isn’t a size or so too small. Roach himself has had to adjust his trousers enough times throughout the day, so Ghost either isn’t as affected – which doesn’t line up with what he heard – or Roach somehow hasn’t noticed before how–
Roach only realises to snap his eyes away when the lieutenant has called his name twice.
“Daydreaming, sergeant?” Ghost asks, and Roach can’t tell if it’s teasing for the sake of humour or teasing for the sake of intimidating. Sometimes it’s both, with Ghost.
“No, sir,” Roach says, though he very much was – that night haunts him in a too-good way, sticky and stubborn so he can’t shove it out of his brain.
Roach completely fades out of conversations with the team when MacTavish walks into the rec room for coffee at an unreasonable hour in the evening. It’s as if he can’t even hear anyone else anymore, pretending that he’s just vaguely looking in the captain’s direction when he’s very directly looking at his crotch – can’t really make out much through the trousers, but he knows, he fucking knows, and he shifts in his seat at the memory.
He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he has a spare bottle of lube by his bed and the showers will be empty late at night, and staring at the slight bulge that he probably isn’t imagining in MacTavish’s trousers, the temptation is too strong.
That’s exactly where he finds himself, hours later.
The shower is turned on for background noise and as an easy excuse for why he’s here. His heart is beating loudly despite checking several times that the locker room is empty, and he’s flushed at the vivid image playing in his mind’s eye. This will help get all his feelings out, he tells himself, though so far every second imagining it has only strengthened the hunger and desperate wishing chafing in his ribs.
The warm water soothes his nerves as he slowly presses one finger into himself, eyes closed and holding back sighs as he imagines it’s his captain.
He hasn’t done this before, not really, nothing more than experimenting. The water washes away some of the lube and he probably doesn’t have a great angle on his wrist, but it feels good and his cock jumps when he presses the digit fully into his hole. His imagination fills in the gaps – the captain behind him, guiding him to lean his arm against the wall, a slight curve to his back as he slowly fucks into him, hushing the noises Roach would make, caressing a palm over his spine as he pushes in deeper…
Except he’s bigger, so Roach carefully goes up to two. Nudges the tip of his ring finger in as well. Breathes steadily as he feels himself stretch around it, his rim letting up and loosening as his body slowly grows used to the feeling–
“You’re gonna need a bit more than that.”
Roach spins around. Rips his hand away and nearly trips over himself.
Ghost is leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed and leg casually bent at the knee, and looking at him like he’s been there for a while.
Soldiers have any sense of privacy trained out of them, but Roach has the sudden urge to cover himself up. He steps half under the shower spray, the water hitting him and making his hair stick to his forehead. His hands drift downwards to preserve some modesty, though just one glance at his flushed cock has obviously given him away.
“What?”
Ghost tilts his head. The silence hangs for a moment, and Roach feels like he’s the one out of place, even though Ghost is fully dressed and harshly contrasted against the white tiles. “I’ve seen how you look at him.”
Roach doesn’t think he’s been exactly subtle, but he still stupidly asks, “You have?”
“Mm. He also told me.”
And another wave of embarrassment shivers down Roach’s spine. The shock of the moment of being caught in his captain’s room comes back to him. Compounds when he realises he talked to Ghost about him and what he did. But MacTavish wasn’t angry then and Ghost doesn’t seem angry now, so…
“You want to take him, right? I’ll show you.”
And Ghost is suddenly stepping right up to him, ignorant of the shower spray, boots splashing against the water swirling on the tiles. He grabs Roach by the shoulder, spins him around, and shoves two fingers into his hole. Curls them and pulls to gape him. Leans closer to speak directly into Roach’s ear.
“You need to go like this.”
Roach falls against the wall for balance, palms against cold tile and water sluicing down his back, left gasping at the roughness of Ghost’s touch. It feels like so much though he knows it’s nowhere near to his goal. Two fingers must not be enough prep, though nothing feels like quite enough when comparing to the image Roach recalls.
Ghost isn’t being gentle, but he isn’t being too harsh either, slowing the pace of the fingers he abruptly shoved into his ass when Roach lets out a pitiful whimper. The stretch burns, even as Roach consciously breathes through it. He’s dealt with pain before, and he wants this one, but it's odd and he can already feel an ache building up. He makes himself lean into Ghost’s hand anyway, tries to get them deeper in hopes of getting the stretch over with, though it just makes the feeling sharper.
“How do you do it?”
“Practice,” Ghost answers easily. “And I like the pain. Also, there’s this little trick.”
He pulls his fingers out to grab Roach’s hand and he guides it behind himself. It takes a moment for Roach to get over his shock and confusion, for his brain to catch up, as he lets Ghost manoeuvre his fingers to press against him and feel the outline of a plug through Ghost’s trousers.
Roach doesn’t know how he’s supposed to answer. He’s left gaping at Ghost, gawking at him, brain screeched to a halt as the image in his mind rapidly transforms.
Ghost doesn’t let go of his hand.
His grip only tightens, if anything. He uses Roach’s fingers to shift the plug inside himself, grinding his hips against it and humming appreciatively. Roach is helpless but to follow his lead – to let Ghost move him how he wants.
It’s almost like Ghost is riding his fingers, as he presses on Roach’s hand hard enough it nearly hurts. But he can feel the plug that much better, then, even through the thick material of his trousers. Can feel how it shifts and moves inside Ghost, inside the hole the captain has also fucked open.
“I’d suck you off if you kept going.”
“W-What? You would?”
“Mm. But John would kill me.” He says it in a tone that implies he’d enjoy it.
He doesn’t let Roach drag his hand away, and Roach can’t pull his wide-eyed stare from Ghost’s face. Ghost tips his head back as he lets – makes – Roach practically grope him, guiding him to jostle to plug inside him. His breath catches as it must press against something in him, his hips shifting back to feel it again, his ass pressed right against Roach’s hand.
“Fuck it,” he says then. Suddenly drops to his knees and yanks Roach close to himself. He pushes his mask up and Roach is still stumbling to regain his balance when Ghost takes his cock wholly into his mouth. Lips wrap around him as Roach is still trying to catch up to what he’s doing.
Roach lets out a sound like a choked sob. His entire cock is suddenly surrounded by a wet heat and Roach is left stunned and speechless as Ghost laves his tongue over him. Something tight coils in his gut that feels almost painful. His cock pulses on Ghost’s tongue, but Ghost merely dips his head to take him deeper, his throat opening for the tip of his cock.
One of Ghost’s hands holds Roach still by the hip, the other reaching behind him for his hole. Two gloved fingers push into him again, and it’s rough, weird with his gloves wet from lube and water.
The way Ghost stretches him out is straight to the point. Efficient and pragmatic. Not careless but not exactly easy either. He spreads his fingers inside Roach’s hole and tugs at his rim and it’s the sensation of his lips wrapped tight around Roach’s cock that makes the burn far more bearable.
Then Ghost is pressing a third digit in too, nudging right into the tight space between the other two. Roach doubles over, catches himself on the wall, but the motion makes him press farther into Ghost’s mouth, into the tight fit of his throat. He goes to pull back not to choke him, except Ghost won’t let him, hand firm on his hip and the fingers in his ass pressing deep enough to force Roach forwards.
“Ghost, sir–” he manages to gasp out, because Ghost’s mouth is inexorable, hot and wet and possibly the best thing Roach has ever felt. He’s leaking precum onto his tongue and Ghost laps it up, tongue so ineffably flexible and his lips a tight seal around him.
Until he suddenly pulls off.
“Are you close?”
“Yeah,” Roach whimpers, more pathetic than he means to be.
“Don’t.”
Roach sucks a breath in and holds it. Tamps his pleasure down even as he asks, “Why?”
“MacTavish hasn’t given you permission,” Ghost says, as if it’s obvious. Like Roach has already been claimed without his knowing. It sends a stroke of heat up his spine, that they’ve been thinking of him, talking about him, as more than just a sergeant; that they want him, that he might belong. And the revelation is immediately followed by a flush of shame that he’s this close to breaking a rule.
“Don’t come,” Ghost warns before taking him to the root again, humming like he gets more out of this than Roach himself.
Roach squeezes his eyes tightly shut, his body tense, because Ghost is sinfully fucking good at this and he’s insane if he thinks Roach won’t come from this.
He can’t. He can’t come. He’s just been presented with all of this, he can’t go ruining it already–
Ghost thrusts three fingers into his ass, all the way, and Roach gasps loudly at the stretch. His hole tightens instinctively, then opens up as Roach forces himself to relax. Tries to loosen his muscles to let Ghost in, even as it’s increasingly difficult with the coil of pleasure in his gut. He doesn’t dare to fully breathe, not with Ghost’s lips tight around him and his fingers prodding at his insides.
Ghost pulls his hand away the next moment. He drags his tongue along Roach’s cock, sucks hard at the head before he pops off and leans back. He wipes his mouth and stands.
“We’re going.”
Roach’s knees are wobbly and his brain is barely working. “What?”
“Get dressed.” Ghost waves him along, already half way out of the room.
Roach rushes after him out of the showers, trembling on his legs and frowning at Ghost’s back. He’s panting, flushed so crimson he can feel how warm his cheeks are, and his cock is still embarrassingly hard for the locker room. But Ghost is jerking his head at him in a silent order to get a move on.
A minute later Roach is wearing clothes on still wet skin, following Ghost into the barracks. He swallows heavily as he realises where they’re headed.
He didn’t think the invitation back would look like this.
***
Ghost pushes Roach down the corridor until he’s standing directly in front of captain MacTavish’s door. He reaches around Roach to knock. A strong one-two against the door that can’t be missed. Even if Roach wanted to, there’d be no avenue of escape with Ghost at his back.
He swallows thickly. He feels like fidgeting, and mentally tells himself off for it. He has to stay professional, though this is arguably the least professional thing he’s done in his whole career.
The door opens. Roach comes face to face with MacTavish, standing close enough he feels a whole new wave of nervousness wash over him. He gulps. Straightens despite himself.
MacTavish simply looks him up and down, something dark in his eyes that doesn’t ease Roach’s anxiety one bit. He feels dishevelled from the showers, a confusing mix of turned on and freaking out. He’s certain it’s obvious what he got up to alone, and that MacTavish can read it all in his wide eyes that Roach can’t pull away from his captain’s face.
Ghost shoves him forwards with a hand on Roach’s back and MacTavish smoothly steps to the side to let him fall in through the door. Roach stumbles, ends up in the middle of the room. Behind him, the door clicks shut, then the lock too, and Roach is suddenly trapped all over again with no way out.
Except he’s not hiding under the bed this time. And he has both of his superiors staring straight at him. He can still feel the afterimage of Ghost’s touch – his hole is still open and wet, and his cock is still very much interested. MacTavish’s stare feels just as tangible.
He swallows heavily enough it’s audible. He’s flushed at the sudden embarrassment of coming here hard, subconsciously moving his hands in front of himself as if to cover it up.
The movement doesn’t go unnoticed.
It takes only a step for MacTavish to be in front of him, entirely in his space. He grabs Roach’s jaw to tilt his head up and make him meet his eyes. His grip is firm enough to bruise.
“Did Ghost get to you first?”
Roach holds himself completely still. Looks up with wide eyes, feels like a cat being scruffed. He considers it. Doesn’t want to lie but doesn’t want to get Ghost in trouble either. He licks his lips and exhales shakily, but doesn’t look away despite how dizzy he feels.
“He was helping me out.”
“Was he?”
“Yes, sir.”
MacTavish drags him closer just by his face. Roach barely manages to catch himself before crashing into him. He’s leaned forwards still, jaw in MacTavish’s palm, risen up slightly on his toes. He diligently holds eye contact even as MacTavish suddenly shoves his free hand down his trousers to feel his hole, open enough that the tip of MacTavish’s finger slips right in. Still wet with water and lube, and so sensitive that a violent shiver runs down Roach’s spine. The feeling of Ghost’s hand is brushed away by his captain, pressing the digit deeper to tug at his rim. Roach’s eyes flutter, but he doesn’t let them close.
“He was practising,” Ghost chimes in. It’s obvious in his tone how he’s grinning. “I was thinking it’s better to practise with the real thing.”
MacTavish’s eyes flick over Roach’s shoulder to him, narrowed into a glare. Roach gets the distinct impression that as much as they talked about him, the conversation didn’t include this.
MacTavish lets go of Roach – who barely keeps himself from falling over onto his face – and steps around him to get to Ghost.
“Presumptuous fuckin’ brat.” MacTavish knocks him to his knees in an awfully practiced move. Roach flinches at the sound of Ghost hitting the floor hard, even though Ghost barely grunts at the impact. He immediately straightens again under MacTavish’s look. “Did he suck you off too?”
“Yes, sir.”
He slaps Ghost. Hard. Ghost’s head flies to the side. The sound of it is loud and Ghost’s following groan even more so. He blinks slowly, the look in his eyes dazed, and the way he’s leaning towards MacTavish despite the strike says more about how much he liked that than he obvious bulge in his trousers does. He’s practically presenting his face again, even before he’s fully recovered. Instead of hitting him again, MacTavish pulls his mask up to sit over the bridge of his nose.
“Well, if you already decided for us, why don’t we practise that properly too.”
He yanks Roach close, pulls him in front of himself, Roach’s back to MacTavish’s strong chest. Roach is struggling to catch up as he has MacTavish undoing his trousers for him and getting his cock out, Ghost’s mouth already falling open. MacTavish brackets his body, arms either side of him as he guides Roach to slide into it.
Ghost eagerly closes his lips around the head of Roach’s cock the first moment he can despite the blooming bruise on his cheek. Maybe because of it. It seems to only have encouraged him more, tongue eagerly lapping at the underside of Roach’s cock.
It’s the same tight wet heat, and Roach feels only marginally more prepared for it. He’s never had anyone do this for him before, and looking at Ghost on his knees, opening his mouth to let him in deeper, lips wet with saliva to make the slide easier, has Roach burning up again. Ghost’s face is tilted up, at an angle where it’s so easy to push deeper into his mouth. He’s looking not at Roach but past him at MacTavish.
The captain is making it slow, holding Roach firmly by his hips as he guides him to sink into Ghost’s mouth at a glacial pace. It makes it both easier and harder. He doesn’t have to think, leaves himself entirely in his captain’s strong, capable hands, even as some latent base instinct is telling him to thrust forwards. The slide is inexorable, feels like forever, like an endless tease where both Roach and Ghost try to get to something that MacTavish is holding just out of reach.
Roach isn’t sure where he should look, but watching Ghost’s lips stretching around him isn’t the best option for his self-control. Waning as it is, he can’t let his grasp on it go. He knows that now. He can’t be breaking rules before this has even started. This is so much more than he ever could have hoped for.
MacTavish speaks directly into his hear, voice low, rumbling against Roach’s back where he’s pressed against him. “Did you fuck his face?”
“No, sir.” And because he feels like it’s important to add, “I didn’t come.”
“Good boy.”
A shudder runs down Roach’s spine at that, but he can’t really shudder with MacTavish holding him so tightly.
“At least Riley hasn’t corrupted you yet.”
And he shoves Roach’s cock into Ghost’s mouth by pushing his hips forwards with his own, so Roach can feel MacTavish’s cock against his own ass in addition to the tight seal of Ghost’s mouth around the base of his cock. He’s delirious and overwhelmed in a second, held up almost entirely by his captain.
Roach knows, and he’s been imagining far more than is proper, yet it still feels big against his ass, MacTavish pressed right over his hole. He feels it flutter in anticipation, in sudden apprehension. He wants so badly–
“Hands behind your back.”
MacTavish’s order brooks no arguments, yet still Roach is amazed by how quickly and easily Ghost cooperates. He’s somehow more enthusiastic than in the showers, dragging his tongue along the underside and groaning as he swallows down his gag reflex to choke himself on Roach’s cock.
Then MacTavish is shoving Roach’s trousers down to his thighs and Roach’s breath hitches as he feels MacTavish’s cock at his entrance.
He’s not sure what he’s allowed to grab. Not sure what he’s allowed to even look at. He digs his hands into his own thighs for stability, staring down at Ghost though his attention is focused behind him. Firmly bracketed between both Ghost and MacTavish, he probably won’t fall over as his breath leaves him.
The head of MacTavish’s cock presses in, testing Ghost’s prep. Then he pushes farther with slow rolls of his hips, easing Roach open inch by inch, making room for the girth of his cock that feels far bigger now than it did back then in the night.
Roach makes himself breathe even as it feels like there isn’t enough room in his body. Forces himself to relax and open up despite the way pleasure is coiling in his gut and Ghost’s mouth is still so unbearably hot. He’s starting to think it might not be possible to take MacTavish without stretch and pain. He struggles to catch a breath at how insanely wide open he already feels.
But the feeling of Ghost’s mouth around him and MacTavish behind him, of being spread open on his cock, drowns out the burn of the stretch. Makes it bearable, into something thrilling that has his cock twitching on Ghost’s tongue.
He breathes deeply to make himself relax, but it just comes out in a choked gasp, unable to really untense his muscles to let MacTavish in, to let him make room for himself in his hole. It’s far hotter than Ghost’s fingers were, the texture gentler than the gloves, yet somehow so much more demanding and insistent as he presses forwards.
Roach feels fucking delirious when MacTavish finally fully sheathes himself in his ass. Splits him in two, far enough Roach can feel it in his ribs. The girth of his cock spreads him so wide that it’s painful and so fucking hot that he can barely breathe. His legs are trembling beneath him, and he’s leaving indents in his thighs where his nails are digging into his skin.
MacTavish slides out of him and Roach is sure he’ll stay gaped forever, his eyes crossed and knees wobbling, but MacTavish holds him up as he fucks into his open hole again, and Roach is certain that he’s the only one that can really fill him now.
That’s the only coherent thought he has, everything else pushed aside. His mind is reduced to overwhelmed static, sandwiched between his two superiors – MacTavish fucking into his ass and by proxy fucking into Ghost’s mouth, because Roach certainly isn’t doing it himself.
Roach feels more like an extension of him, a way for MacTavish to fuck both of them simultaneously, because they’re both doing what the captain wants, in the end. He slams his hips forwards to bury his cock in Roach’s ass and pushes Roach deep into Ghost’s mouth where his throat convulses and tightens around the head of his cock. Then he pulls Roach back from the wet suction of Ghost’s throat, leaves him gasping at the tight seal of his lips and at the feeling of MacTavish sliding from his ass.
It’s only a couple thrusts that ease Roach into the rhythm, before MacTavish fucks into him hard enough he’d topple over if it weren’t for MacTavish holding him up. It feels like he’s still stretching him on his cock, like Roach still isn’t open wide enough for it, even with the fast pace of MacTavish sawing in and out of him.
Roach can barely catch his breath. He feels dizzy, disorientated, like his heart is beating out of his chest. Every touch to his body is overwhelming and sends sparks through his system.
He doesn’t understand how Ghost is doing it, deepthroating Roach’s cock at the same pace that MacTavish sets. He doesn’t choke despite how full his mouth is, yet Roach’s lungs burn, his hole burns, there should probably be more lube involved but he wouldn’t dare stop this for a moment.
Pleasure is coiling at the base of his spine, inexorable and nigh unbearable. He’s leaking precum into Ghost’s mouth. This has to be what ecstasy feels like. He can’t come because MacTavish hasn’t ordered it yet.
MacTavish knocks Roach’s leg forwards to have him hold it out, keeps it in place with his own.
“He’s a slag,” he explains to Roach. “He’ll get off on anything.”
Ghost doesn’t miss a beat as he repositions himself to grind against it, his mouth still open for MacTavish to push Roach’s cock into, even as he straddles Roach’s boot. MacTavish’s leg is behind Roach’s to keep it in place and stable under the force that Ghost ruts against his shin with, hard jerks of his hips that look borderline painful, dragging his cock against the rough material of his trousers. Ghost leans his weight against Roach with his hands clasped behind his back, and the only reason Roach hasn’t collapsed already is MacTavish holding him up.
Roach’s whines and squeaks and keens are the only clear sound above the wet slide of MacTavish fucking into him, with Ghost’s mouth filled and MacTavish only grunting lowly. It leaves Roach blushing on top of everything else, that he can hear himself so clearly. Has him unintentionally clenching down, which makes the feeling of MacTavish’s cock intense and heady and overwhelming.
“Captain, sir,” he whimpers, scared suddenly because he’s not going to last much longer no matter how much he tries and he doesn’t want to disappoint him, wants to hear that rumbling praise from him again, he can’t disappoint him, he can’t–
“Go on, Roach.”
Just as MacTavish gives him permission, the pleasure peaks, makes him go tense and taut, mouth opening on a cry that breaks midway. He comes in Ghost’s mouth, feels him swallowing everything, throat working around him. He can’t bury himself in his throat like reflex tells him because MacTavish is still guiding the pace. Ghost’s mouth is hot around him as he’s made to slide into it, then back out, the friction of his bruised lips too much and so good.
MacTavish keeps fucking him hard, the feeling so much more acute with Roach’s body going tight, and he can barely gasp a breath in from how overstimulated he suddenly is. His pace doesn’t falter for a moment, hands firm on Roach’s hips to move him how he’s supposed to, working him through his peak and then quickly veering over into too much.
Roach’s vision turns hazy, eyes half-lidded. He’s only vaguely aware of the slide against his prostate and Ghost’s mouth around his sensitive cock, MacTavish making him thrust over his tongue. Ghost is rutting against his shin, shoving himself against Roach’s leg hard enough that he can practically feel the twitch of his cock as he comes.
But Roach doesn’t make a single move to free himself despite how weak his legs feel and how sore his ass is, and neither does Ghost. Both of them stay exactly as they are until MacTavish finishes, even as Roach is wincing in overstimulation and there’s saliva leaking form the corners of Ghost’s mouth. His crotch stays pressed against Roach’s leg and his lips firm around him, tongue flat at the bottom of his mouth so MacTavish can make Roach rut over it, even as he’s going soft.
Roach feels it against his back as MacTavish makes that gruff, rumbling sound that’s been playing in his head since that night. Except it’s pressed right against him, grunted directly into his ear, and it’s his ass this time that MacTavish shoves into, pressed in to the hilt and buried deep enough that he must be in his guts, deep enough that Roach can barely make out the wetness inside him, the load the captain is releasing in him.
MacTavish’s hands on Roach’s hips are firm enough to bruise as he guides him to pull out of Ghost’s mouth. He grinds deeper into Roach’s ass in the same motion. “Knew you’d be a good boy for me.”
Roach whimpers at the praise that feels like too much pleasure all on its own. Then he shudders at the motion of MacTavish pulling out of him. He quickly slaps a hand over his mouth to hold back a moan at the feeling of his captain’s cum dripping out of his hole. Gasps past his fingers to regain his breath and maybe some of his composure, when MacTavish glares over his shoulder at Ghost.
“You, however. I don’t remember giving you permission.”
Ghost grins, blatantly disrespectful, like the red handprint on his cheek isn’t enough already.
“He’s being a brat to show off for you,” MacTavish muses into Roach’s ear, though his narrowed eyes stay on Ghost.
Roach glances at him over his shoulder, then shifts slightly backwards into his hold, and even that tiny motion has an ache flaring up in his bottom half, sore already. He doesn’t dare drop his palm from his mouth in case he lets out another embarrassing noise. He’s sure he won’t be able to sit tomorrow. His hole feels stretched so insanely open, dripping with MacTavish’s cum. His heartbeat is echoing in his ears and he knows he’s flushed in the face, dizzy with all this attention.
“He needs to be fucked a few more times to show him his place.” MacTavish’s eyes flick from Ghost to Roach. “Think you’re up for the task, sergeant?”
Roach looks between his captain – his cum trickling from his sore ass, hips still pressed against Roach’s, hands firm on his hips – and his lieutenant – kneeling before him, lips red and bruised from sucking him off, a wet spot at the front of his trousers – and nods.
“Yes, sir.”