Sybaritism
Series Metadata
Listing Series
-
Tags
Summary
“You tell anyone about this and I’m gutting you.” Ghost grumbled into his ear, as if completely unaffected from what they just did. All Soap could do was weakly nod, catch his breath and eventually come down from this high.
How could he tell anyone about this, anyway? No, he’ll cradle it in his palms and keep it safe and hidden from the world. It’ll be their secret.
Spring time; The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, and half the population on the base is begging their CO's for time off so they could go out and fuck.
Soap never had these problems. Being part of an elite task force meant not always being able to conform to his natural instincts. But there weren’t any active missions, and most days were filled with mindless chores. What difference would it make if he went off his suppressants?
Everyone else who had to stay on base had the same idea, and the halls were quickly filled with sweaty alphas that pricked Soap’s nose. He wished for the sweetness of an omega’s pheromones. And he found it; straight from his lieutenant's bedroom. Soap was a good soldier, and was more than willing to be an even better soldier for his CO.
Series
- Part 1 of Sybaritism
-
Tags
Summary
Ghost's hips stuttered upwards, and he closed his eyes. He didn't watch porn, never liked it, but his imagination never coordinated with him when he wanted it too. There was a sticky jealousy aimed at those who could watch porn without bile rising in their throat.
It started with imagining someone on their knees by his legs. The face was just a blur of features. He never was good at remembering faces, always needing to focus on a singular feature as the others never rendered. The mouth was what stood out. Bright lips, that Ghost focused on imagining as wet, surrounded by a dark brown stubble.
Bright blue eyes suddenly barged into his mind. Ghost's own eyes shot open and he exhaled loudly, hand pulling away. He leaned away from the shirt. Guilt was thick over his conscience and hazy like a migraine.
It's been weeks since Ghost let Johnny fuck him. And it's all he can think about; late at night when his hand shyly slips under the waistband of his boxers. But he can't. It's not the same. Johnny's smell is fading from the shirt Ghost is still inhaling every night. It doesn't numb his senses like it did the first time. And that hurts.
Series
- Part 2 of Sybaritism