Chapter Text
Kissing Ghost had been a near-religious experience. His lips on John’s, his tongue in John’s mouth and the occasional clicking of the ball piercing on Ghost's tongue against John’s teeth. It was as close as John thinks he’ll ever come to seeing God. But this , this is pure sin. It’s a walk through hellfire.
They’d stumbled their way to the bed in a flurry of kisses and greedy touches, and somewhere along the way Simon had stripped John of his borrowed clothes, laying John out totally bare for him in the blankets. Simon had lost the vest and his jacket, but he’s still got his jeans and shirt on, and the imbalance is unfairly appealing. He’s laying between John’s legs, mouthing at the line of his hip, the dip of his navel, pausing here or there to sink his teeth in. John’s going to be covered in marks when they’re done. Good.
Slick fingers tease his rim but go no further, and no amount of whining or murmured ‘pleases' seem to hurry Ghost in his pace. It’s awful. It’s perfect. It’s not at all how he’d expected Ghost to be. When he’d dared to imagine it, safe in his bed with his cock in hand, the Ghost in his imagination had been rough, impatient. But the real Ghost had laid Johnny down so carefully, tender kisses pressed along John’s cheek and jaw before trailing lower, and lower still. And this is so much better than his imaginings.
The way Ghost is touching him, so reverent and gentle, speaks of a desire for more than just sex. A desire to match John’s own. If this is just a one time thing, John isn’t sure he will recover, but Ghost’s fingers dig in like he never wants to let go. John never wants him to. He chances a look down, and shudders when he sees Simon looking back. His chin is resting on John’s hip, and his face is lax as he blinks up at John, searchingly. A lazy smile spreads across his face at whatever he sees in John’s face, and he drops his head to press more kisses into John’s skin.
“Jesus, fuck, Simon!” John can’t help the pitch of his voice when Simon finally puts his mouth where he wants it most. He drags his tongue up the length of John’s cock, intentionally using his piercing to trace the veins there. Apparently he can tell that John is very quickly becoming obsessed with his jewelry.
Simon chuckles at the whiny, broken, tenor of John’s voice. The feel of it against John’s skin is mind numbing. He’s seconds away from snarling his impatience at Simon, but the words die in his chest when Simon finally sucks the head of his cock into his mouth. At the same time the first finger finally pushes in, and suddenly John can’t remember why he was being so impatient. His mind is pleasantly blank now, his head dropping back into the blankets as he gives himself over to Simon completely.
“Yeah, Si, yeah .” He encourages as Simon sucks him deeper, “Just like that.”
He’s not sure which is better, Simon’s mouth or his fingers. But when a second pushes in, he thinks he’s made his choice. He’s had nothing but his own fingers for a while now, but Simon’s are so much better. They’re thick and rough from years of work, and Simon clearly knows how to use them as he stretches John out meticulously, pausing to crook his fingers just right and then starting the process all over again. It’s maddening, the rhythm Simon builds with just his fingers, and John’s not sure if any of the sounds he’s making are actual words or just cries of pleasure at this point. Does it matter? Simon hums approvingly around the cock in his mouth. No, no it does not matter.
John’s not sure when two fingers became three, or when three became four. All he knows is that Simon now has four fingers in him, rubbing his walls, tapping his prostate, stretching him out deliciously. Familiar heat licks up his spine and coils in his gut, and he pants as Ghost drags him closer and closer to the edge.
“Simon, Simon, fuck, ‘m gonna cum.” He whines, “Don’ stop. Jus’ like that, please don’ stop.”
Simon’s fingers keep up their maddening rhythm but his mouth pulls away. John nearly whines in protest until he hears the rough growl of Simon’s voice.
“Johnny.” He says, one word in that tone enough to have John’s cock twitching, “Eyes on me.”
He can’t fight the command, pushes himself up just enough so that he can look down at Simon between his legs, chest heaving with the effort. Simon smiles at him, absolutely wicked as John’s eyes take in his flushed face and spit slick lips.
“Good boy.” Simon praises, opening his mouth to let the head of John’s cock rest on his tongue. The words, the sight and one more firm press to his prostate are all it takes. His orgasm is earth-shattering as it races through his body like a thunder-clap.
His arms are shaking where they’re holding him up, fingers dug into the blankets underneath him. They’re threatening to give, but he can’t stand to lose the sight in front of him. Cum splatters over Simon’s tongue, his lips, his cheeks. His pretty blond lashes flutter as he makes a show of licking his lips and swallowing, still rubbing persistently against John’s prostate, dragging out the waves of pleasure that wash over him. He keeps it up until it's too much, and John’s whimpering desperately from the overstimulation.
Finally he withdraws his fingers, crawling back up over John’s body so he can kiss him, deep and filthy. The taste of him is still strong on Simon’s tongue. John digs his fingers into Simon’s shoulder as Simon eases him back into the blankets, taking the pressure off his shaking arms. He drags Simon down with him, so he can keep kissing him. He’s bringing himself back down to earth using Simon as an anchor.
“Strip, goddamnit.” Is the first thing John says when he manages to get control of his voice back. Simon, the bastard, just laughs.
“Givin’ orders now, Johnny?” He asks, still making no moves to do as he’s been told.
“Aye. And seein’ as yer a soldier,” John tugs impatiently at the hem of Simon’s shirt, “I had expected ye to know how to follow them. Now, strip.”
Simon stands, and John mourns the loss of his heat only a little as he watches the shirt come up over Simon’s head. The rest of his clothes follow until he’s finally as bare as John, and John eats up the sight of every inch of pale, scarred skin that is bared to him.
“God, yer something.” He says, and when he sees the slight flush in response to the praise he does it again, “Yeah, bonnie lad you are. Now c’mere, I wanna get my hands on ye.”
Simon snorts, but lays back down over John, sighing a little as John’s hands explore his skin. He traces a few scars, noting which ones make Simon avert his eyes and sitting up abruptly to press kisses along those, clearly those ones still hurt. Simon makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and the look on his face is unbearably soft when John meets his eyes. John flops back down, eyes trailing down Simon’s body until he can take in the sight of his cock. He’s big, hard and flushed bright red at the top. John wants to taste him, to touch him and feel him twitch in his hands but more pressing than anything else he wants Simon inside of him.
“Think ye should fuck me now.” He says, going for authoritative again but missing the mark and ending up pleading. But that’s alright, because clearly he doesn’t have to ask Simon twice.
Simon kneels between John’s legs, dragging his lower body up off the ground so that his hips are in Simon’s lap. He presses his fingers back in, testing the stretch and John finally does snarl in impatience. Simon just chuckles at him, a fond look in his eyes.
“Sure you’re ready?” He asks, and John nods eagerly.
“Yeah, ‘m ready, please.” He’s still sensitive, it’ll probably be just about too much, but fuck it, he wants this. And he wants it now.
Simon drags John into the cradle of his hips, pressing himself forward at the same time, and John feels all the air get pushed from his lungs as he gets his wish. Simon’s not even halfway in and John already feels so full. As prepped as he is, the stretch doesn’t burn at all, there’s just the pleasant ache of being filled as Simon gently rocks his hips forward, inching in a bit more. He is so careful, rocking ever so gently into John until finally he’s in to the hilt. He pauses then, chest heaving, to let the both of them adjust and John is grateful. God Simon is not small. He relaxes slowly back into the bed, eventually squirming with impatience as Simon stays perfectly still above him.
“Move.” John gasps out, when he realizes what Simon is waiting for. "Goddamnit, Si, move, please."
Permission granted, Simon tosses one of John’s legs over his shoulder, opening him up even further as he gives a first, experimental thrust. When all John does is moan encouragingly, Simon starts up a steady, measured pace. He adjusts John’s hips in his lap until the angle is just right and John shouts.
“There! Right there.” John whines, “Just like that, Si, yeah.”
Simon listens, dragging his cock relentlessly against John’s prostate now that he’s found it. John’s head is swimming, mind hazy as he realizes he’s hard and aching again already. He shouldn’t be close again so so soon, but fuck it feels amazing. He wishes he could rock back to meet Simon’s thrusts, but he’s held fast. And John is learning things about himself, because who would have thought that would be such a turn on. All he can do is arch his back and take what Simon gives him.
“Harder, Si.” He’s nearly begging.
Simon obliges. On his next thrust he drags John’s hips in to meet him half way, fucking into him deep and hard, pausing to grind in even deeper still.
“Fuck yeah.” John breathes out.
Finally a guy who understands that harder and faster are not the same thing. Simon keeps the same even rhythm but his thrusts are brutal now and John can feel himself starting to shake. He’s so close.
“Gonna cum again?” Ghost asks, and John nods eagerly. Ghost leans over and presses a kiss to the ankle on his shoulder, an act far too tender in contrast to the rough thrusting of his hips.
“Go on then, Johnny, cum for me.” Ghost orders, and that’s an order John is happy to follow.
He’s yelling, Simon’s name, expletives, pleas and just wordless noise as he thrashes in Simon’s hold. It’s intense, even more than the first one. His mind is blank and the world around him is fuzzy. He’s loosely aware of the fact that Simon has stopped moving, hips pressed together as John rides it out. He can feel Simon’s hand wandering, stroking soothingly up and down his thigh as he murmurs quietly.
He only comes back to himself when he feels Simon lower his leg from his shoulder. At first it’s a relief, the muscles were starting to grow tight and achy, but then he realizes Simon is pulling away and oh. No. That is not happening. He wraps his legs around Simon and drags him back flush against himself.
“Uh-uh.” He mumbles in protest, looking up at Simon, “Keep goin’.”
“You sure?” Simon asks, cocking his head in a manner that is far too adorable for a hardened military man. John just nods. He’s sensitive, yeah, way overstimulated, but he’ll be damned if Simon cums anywhere but inside of him.
Instead of picking the rough pace back up, Simon lowers himself down over top of John, just gently grinding their hips together. And John can't help but be grateful, while the earlier pace would have been overwhelming to the point of tears, this is nice. Each slow roll of Simon's hips washes gentle waves of pleasure over him. John tugs insistently until all of Simon’s weight is on him. Simon hides his face in John’s throat and close like this John can finally hear the small sounds falling from his lips.
He’s quiet, years in the military will do that to a man, John is sure. But with his lips pressed to the skin of John’s throat he can hear the little gasps that leave him as he rocks shallowly into John’s body, chasing release. John curls a hand into Simon’s hair and tugs gently at the strands.
“Yeah, Si, that’s it.” He sighs, babbling encouragement against Simon’s forehead, lips pressing gentle kisses there, “That’s it mo luaidh.”
“Johnny.” Simon sighs his name against John's collarbone as he cums. Simon fumbles for John’s free hand and grips it tight as he trembles through his orgasm, panting wetly against John’s skin until he finally goes boneless on top of John, still clutching his hand tightly. John just nuzzles at his temple, thoroughly enjoying this more vulnerable side of Simon. That is, until Simon makes to get up again. John makes a wordless sound of protest and Simon chuckles, placating him with a gentle kiss.
“Hush, love, just getting something to clean us up.” He soothes, voice hushed. And well, that’s fine, then. John relinquishes his hold on him and just admires the view as Simon disappears into the dark cabin. He comes back with a cloth, and John hisses against the cold as Simon wipes him down. That’s right, no hot water. He wrinkles his nose at Ghost’s amused hum.
Cleaned up, Simon gets them both dressed and eases John back into the blankets, covering them up until the chill is forgotten. He lets John lay down on top of him, propped up on Simon’s chest so he can admire him. He flushes with slight discomfort, but doesn’t do anything to discourage John as he looks his fill. Simon really is handsome.
“M’eudail.” He coos, tracing curious fingers over the scars on Simon’s face.
“Should get some sleep.” Simon mumbles, when the gentle attention is finally too much.
John curls into his side, already halfway asleep, and thrills quietly when he feels Simon’s arms tight around him, his nose buried in John’s hair and his breathing already evening out as he drifts off. He’d thought he’d never have this, as much as he wanted it.
It had taken the actual end of the world to get them here, and though John does wish it had happened under better circumstances he’s happy they’ve made it. Any hesitancy that John had felt about his place on the base with Simon is gone. He’s not at all sure what to expect, but whatever they've just started, John's not willing to let go of just yet. Life on a military base will be strange, and probably frustrating in more ways than one, but John is determined to see this through to whatever end. And when Nessie finally comes down from her perch on top of the cupboard, only to curl up directly on top of Simon's face, John knows she agrees with him.