Chapter Text
Soap’s mind keeps wandering to what Riley might do to him. Staying good gets really frustrating after a few days, but Soap had wanted mean. This was mean. This was likely just a small taste of how mean it was going to get.
There’s only one job he’s got lined up that week. A sniper shot from the fifth floor of an empty office building. It’s a lot of waiting. Then the target walks down the street. Clear shot. Incredibly mundane. Does nothing to take Soap’s mind off his fantasies.
The week crawls forward like a glacier. Soap has to take equally icy showers more than once.
On Saturday Soap cleans up the sides of his haircut, doesn’t cut the longer strands though. He wants Riley to have plenty to grab. The outfit he picks on Sunday is casual, he doesn’t want to come across as too needy and desperate (and he doesn’t think he’ll be wearing it long anyways).
The address turns out to be a beautiful townhouse in one of the richest neighbourhoods, of course. There is no doorbell or anything, so Soap just stands in front of the iron gates. He’s probably showing up on some fancy security system. Moments later the gate pushes open and Soap can walk the steps up to the house. His watch tells him he’s exactly on time.
The door opens and familiar eyes take in Soap’s form as if judging him anew, he really can’t be blushing already. Riley towers in the frame, then steps aside to let Soap duck into the house.
“Thank you for the invitation, sir.” Soap says, taking in the dark wood of the floor first before discreetly studying the beautiful man next to him.
Black slacks, a charcoal sweater (made from a fabric that looks soft and decadent enough to be worth an entire month of Soap’s rent) and leather loafers, that Soap would absolutely kiss (if asked).
Riley looks like he could have the top spot of the ‘best dressed rich men being comfortable in their own home’ section of a fashion magazine. Soap doesn’t know if that category is a thing, he doesn’t read those magazines, but it should be.
Riley’s voice interrupts Soap’s infatuated spiral of thoughts. “Did you behave?”
“Didn’t touch myself.” Soap can’t look at Riley as he says it, almost embarrassed by how little it took for the man to control him.
“Good, I don’t waste my time on boys that can’t listen.”
Soap can listen. Absolutely. But he can also be a little shit about it. “I was allowed to piss without your permission though, right, sir?”
Riley doesn’t laugh and places a broad palm at the small of Soap’s back and pushes him down a hallway. “Watch it. Most dogs don’t like how short the leash can get.”
The walls of the hall are lined with doors and paintings that look valuable enough to hang in museums. Soap’s still in a teasing mood—maybe because of the week-long denial. “Do you actually live in this house, or is it just for fucking people?”
“Think I’ll fuck you?” is Riley’s only answer, tone neutral. Soap grins. “I’ll get really annoying if you don’t.” Riley just keeps pushing Soap along.
The room he’s led to has the kind of minimalist furniture you can tell is fucking expensive. A large bed, armchair, side table, a dresser and wardrobe; all in tasteful wood tones and dark fabrics. Looks like a guest room, or at least one with a similar purpose—the bed doesn’t have blankets and he can see rope hook attachments (because he’s looking for them).
“Strip,” Riley tells him as he closes the door behind them.
“Not even buying me dinner first, Jesus,” Soap complains jokingly, already taking his shirt off.
“Don’t need to, do I?” Riley answers indulgently.
Soap steps out of his pants. “Just not feeling very appreciated, sir, that’s all.”
“Oh, I’ll appreciate you, don’t worry.” The look Riley gives Soap as he watches him undress would probably worry someone else.
The amount of backtalk Soap is getting away with should probably concern him though, maybe Riley is keeping tally and he’ll pay for it later. Not that he’d need reasons to hurt Soap, there’s no due process here. Soap actually hopes he’ll get hurt.
After Soap’s clothes have once again all landed in a pile on the floor, Riley instructs him to kneel in the middle of the woven grey rug. Then Riley adjusts Soap’s position to his liking. His shoe kicking Soap’s knees a little further apart, telling him to put his palms down on his thighs, to straighten his back more. Then Riley steps behind Soap, pulling his head back by his hair until he’s mainly looking at the ceiling. A hand strokes from Soap’s collarbone up his throat. Riley let’s go of him. “Keep your head back like that.”
“Would’ve thought you’d want me grovelling with my face on the floor.”
Riley walks in front of Soap, taking up most of Soap’s field of vision, haloed by soft lamplight.
“I want you looking up at your god. You know your place.”
Soap swallows hard, Riley can probably see the exact movement of his Adam’s apple because of the position. Then Riley starts a slow prowl around Soap’s kneeling form, eyes intently drinking every detail of him in. Soap follows his movement with his eyes for as long as he can without moving his head. He still feels that gaze even—or especially, once the man is standing behind him. A warm large hand finds Soap’s throat again, his breathing gets shallow and careful, but no pressure comes. The back of Soap’s head rests against Riley’s thigh. Soap can’t see it right now, but he knows how gorgeous those muscles are, he smiles a little.
“Did you have a hard time not touching yourself, sweetheart?” Riley sounds a little mocking. They are both aware of how hard Soap is, his neglected cock sticking up between his spread legs.
“Thought it would be worth it.” Soap speaks carefully because of the hand still on his throat. Riley releases him with an amused hum. “Let’s make it worth it, then.” He steps over to the dresser and retrieves some items. Soap is very curious but tries not to stare, keeping his head up like he’s supposed to.
When Riley returns, he empties the contents of a silk bag onto the little side table besides where Soap is kneeling. Soap turns his head, he’s too curious not to now. On the table there is an entire pile of what looks like clothes pegs. They are black, a little shiny, made from material a little sturdier than the regular plastic ones, resin maybe. They look a lot meaner than regular plastic ones too. Considering what Riley is likely to do with them, the amount of them is concerning.
Soap lets his head fall back again, looking up at the ceiling. “Of course you have fancy ones,” he exhales a little huff, “Mr Riley isn’t using the wood ones they have at the store. Could get a splinter.”
“I know they look mean, baby, you scared of the bite?” Riley coos at him, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you can take them all.”
Riley instructs Soap to lift his arms and put his hands behind his head. His own hand lightly brushes down the soft skin on the now exposed inside of Soap’s right arm, the touch feels threatening. Riley smiles at him, equally threatening. “Now behave, so I can enjoy this.”
“Yes, sir,” Soap responds as Riley turns to pick up the first hand of pegs. He has the first one snap down on Soap’s upper arm, close to his elbow. Soap inhales sharply; his initial assessment had been correct, these bite much worse than regular ones. That doesn’t deter Riley from quickly placing clamps in a neat line right down to Soap’s armpit.
“Don’t they feel good?” Riley lightly moves his hand over the ends of the pegs, jolting all of them without dislodging any. “Only the best for my little brat.”
“Aye, thank you, sir.” Soap’s response is a little rough already, he hates stinging pain like this. After picking up more pegs, Riley gets down on one knee in front of Soap. But Soap can’t appreciate that, because immediately the line of clamps gets continued down the side of his torso. Once Riley reaches the side of his stomach, Soap can’t stop a frustrated, “Fuck.” From escaping him. Riley tuts at him, but just goes on placing pegs uninterrupted until the line down Soap’s right side is finished. He lightly jostles all pegs in a sweeping motion again, causing a squirming distressed noise from Soap. “Beautiful,” Riley comments.
Then he takes Soap’s right nipple and rolls it between his fingers. Soap makes an apprehensive noise that gets ignored—of course this was going to be next. Even though it’s already pierced, a clamp bites into the sensitive flesh; Soap breathes quick and shallow and blinks rapidly to stop tears from collecting in his eyes.
Riley’s finger gently brushes over the squeezed bit of skin he can access. “Deep breaths, baby.”
Soap takes a deliberate deep breath and immediately the pain flares up worse; Riley smiles like he expected that. Bastard.
His other nipple gets the same treatment. Soap groans, “This is my least favourite kind of pain.”
“And yet you’re still hard,” Riley sounds utterly unimpressed, “Tongue out.” Soap immediately understands what’s about to happen and a little whine escapes him as he sticks his tongue out, not daring to make Riley wait regardless of his apprehension. The man was bound to make him shut up at some point.
The peg bites down on the front of Soap’s tongue. The immediate pain isn’t the worst part of it. Soap has to let his tongue stick out a little, can’t close his mouth, he swallows a little awkwardly. It’s embarrassing—and still, Riley is right, Soap is so hard.
Riley’s hand strokes down the skin on Soap’s other side, down his arm, his side, over his ribs. Letting Soap enjoy the feeling of it without dozens of radiating points of pain, knowing it won’t last long.
Riley reaches for more clamps, starting on Soap’s arm again. Slowly mirroring the placement on the other side. Soap tries to breathe as deeply and calmly as he can with his clamped tongue sticking out of his mouth. Pain snakes its way down his side with every peg placed until Riley lets the last one in line close its hinges, almost at Soap’s hip.
A sharp noise bites its way through the haze that had started clouding Soap’s mind while he was sitting pretty for Riley. It’s a ringtone.
Riley’s phone is ringing. The man takes it out of his pocket. “What is it?” he answers in his usual no-nonsense tone, like he wasn’t doing anything important right now.
Soap slumps forward in resignation to resist shooting Riley an annoyed look he’d regret later, he’s still keeping his hands behind his head to not disturb the clamps on his arms. While whoever called gives his boss an answer Soap can’t hear, Riley kicks his knees even further apart, it leads to the pegs jostling uncomfortably. Then he addresses Soap, “Sit back straight.” Soap resumes a proper upright kneeling form.
“Stay like that until I’m back.” Soap can’t respond, his tongue hanging slightly out of his mouth, clothes peg attached.
“No, just my dog.” Riley says to the other person on the phone. Humiliation burns its way through Soap, igniting every peg on its way. Riley doesn’t acknowledge him again, just steps around him and leaves the room, the door shutting behind him. His voice, talking to whoever interrupted them, gets more distant until Soap is left sitting in complete silence.
Soap hasn’t believed in any god since being gay cut his career as a good catholic boy short, but he’s still cursing several gods in this moment. Would take all their names in vain, if his tongue could articulate sentences right now.
But anger and irritation fade as quickly as they had come. The pain has settled in, reached its plateau. Soap’s breathing gets slower, deeper. He has to keep his muscles a little tense to maintain position, but finds it easy to lock them in. Well trained body adjusting to a new, different purpose. Soap closes his eyes, thinks longingly about what Riley might do to him once he returns and then doesn’t think anything at all.
He genuinely has no idea how much time passes like this. Then, distantly, Soap notices Riley returning, hears the door open and close, the quiet footsteps. He’s too lost in the way every clamped bit of skin thrums along with his heartbeat to react. Soap is still kneeling perfectly straight, hasn’t moved an inch since Riley left.
There’s a warm presence behind his back, then fingers card through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. He keeps his eyes closed, a droopy smile tugging at his lips. Riley seems willing to indulge him for a few peaceful moments.
Then his hand leaves Soap’s hair. “Now, where were we…”
Soap gets pushed forwards, he lets himself be moved pliantly, offering no resistance. “Put your forearms on the ground, yes, just like that.” Riley moves Soap until he’s bent over on the carpet, ass up in the air, back arched and forehead resting on his arms. The movement’s orchestrated carefully enough that no clamps are dislodged.
“Ah, yes, I was about to put on the most important ones.” Riley picks up the last handful of pegs. He pinches a little bit of the skin on Soap’s balls between his fingers and quickly lets a peg bite down on it. Whatever calm place Soap had found is shattered by this most intimate pain. A tortured noise escapes Soap’s lips, mangled by the clamp still on his tongue. It would have probably been a string of insults if not for that one making articulation impossible.
Riley hums contently and immediately attaches the next peg on the other side to match. Soap’s noises somehow get even more pained and pathetic. “Only three more, baby.”
It turns out those three go up the underside of Soap’s—still very hard—cock. He startles violently as each one snaps down. There are a couple moments where he’s left shivering on the floor, Riley moving away and then returning. With lube, as the slick finger circling Soap’s entrance suggests. The sigh from Soap, as that thick finger enters him, is disrupted as Riley has also bent over him to release one of the clamps on his arm at the same time. The resulting noise from Soap is somewhere closer to a swallowed hiccup.
That one finger gets pushed in all the way and then drawn out almost all the way again, before repeating the movement. Achingly slow. There’s enough lube that it isn’t a stretch at all. Still bent over Soap, Riley keeps pulling off the occasional clamp from his arms and sides.
It’s incredibly frustrating. (Especially since the clamps actually bothering him on his most sensitive parts are left alone to irritate Soap on any minute movement.)
Riley chuckles, “You’re awfully quiet, I was expecting a little more backtalk.” Soap makes an inelegant noise around the clothes peg on his tongue, he could probably get some poorly articulated words out around it, but he isn’t humiliating himself like that. “Well, let’s take that off, then.” Riley reaches forward and removes the peg. Lightning shoots through Soap’s tongue after it’s taken off. “Anything to say?”
Soap swallows properly and wipes the drool off his chin with the back of his wrist.
“A lot actually, but I don’t think any of it’s a good idea right now.”
“Smart boy.”
Riley continues plucking off pegs, but thankfully also adds more fingers now. The delicious stretch to Soap’s hole helps distract from the stinging bursts of pain.
Riley pulls a peg off Soap’s balls without opening it while pressing hard against his prostate, three fingers in by now, and Soap has to bite into his own fist to stifle a truly embarrassing noise.
“None of that,” Riley pulls Soap’s head back by his hair, “no muffling your sounds.” Insistent fingers keep tormenting Soap’s sensitive prostate.
“But what will the neighbours think?” Soap grits out through his teeth.
“There are no neighbours. I own the buildings next door.” Riley leans down right next to Soap’s ear. “Noone else can hear you scream for me.”
The second peg gets pulled off Soap’s balls and he does scream for Riley. By now there’s four fingers in him as well and they move mercilessly.
Riley stretches Soap to his limit, spreading his fingers apart, before pulling them all out. Soap doesn’t get a chance to complain about their loss. Riley slaps his ass and tells him to turn over. Quickly complying, Soap ends up with his back on the carpet; his hands cushioned under his head, so the last couple of clamps down his arms, sides and nipples aren’t disturbed. His knees are pushed up and out, Riley settling between them. Immediately both hands go to the clamps on his nipples, opening them. The blood rushing into the tight buds feels like it hurts more than when Soap had them pierced, or maybe everything is just more intense when Simon Riley does it.
The man smiles down at Soap. “They hurt more taken off than going on, don’t they, baby?”
“If you don’t really open them proper, definitely.” Soap squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.
Riley’s smile widens. “Beg me.”
Despite his little bratty routine there is no hesitation in Soap. “Please, sir. Please take them off—Pull them off. Make it hurt, sir. Please.”
Soap had already tumbled over the edge where more pain became more pleasure and he was unapologetically abusing this to satisfy Riley’s sadism. He would probably regret it later, but he’ll just spend a couple days licking his wounds. It’s worth it to see Riley’s eyes light up with the realisation of how much Soap is willing to take, how much he can give him.
Riley takes his time, brutally plucking off the last remaining pegs from Soap’s arms and torso, not properly opening any of them. The marks developing will last for days. Soap blinks and suddenly only the three on his cock remain. “Look at me.” Riley instructs. Then, mockingly, he strokes the unclamped skin on Soap’s dick with two fingers. Soap is so achingly hard he nearly forgets about how badly the pegs hurt—until the first one is pulled off. He keens. Riley places his hands on the next peg, looking expectantly down at Soap. “Please—” he gets out, then Riley rips that one off.
The final clamp gets harshly grasped by Riley and twisted.
Soap tries to keep up eye contact with Riley even as dancing spots take over his already swimming vision. Then the last peg is off and Soap is left alone on the floor to catch his breath as Riley disappears from between his knees.
A couple moments later Riley is back, rearranging Soap’s limbs and then pulling him up by his neck and shoulders until the smaller man is once again kneeling at his feet. A broad hand captures Soap’s chin and makes him look up.
"You've been a surprisingly good boy so far. I think that deserves a reward. What would you like, sweetheart?"
Soap's mind tumbles over itself. There are a million things he wants, doubts he'll get. "A kiss... and take your shirt off," Soap puts on his most convincing good-boy smile, "please, sir." Soap’s a smart boy, he doesn’t waste this opportunity on asking to be fucked, there’s no way Riley won’t fuck him. Not even an ascetic monk could resist after this build-up. And asking to come at this point in the evening seems futile, since controlling that seems to be Riley’s favourite thing. So, a kiss seems fairly diplomatic. Also, Soap just really wants one, but he also really wants to see more of that incredible body in front of him—can you blame him?
"That's two rewards, darling."
"And I've been awfully good so far." Soap’s baby-blues are filled with innocence.
An almost fond edge slips into the 'I'll ruin you'-expression Riley wears. "All right, you can have both." Soap knows there's hell waiting for him, but right now he just wants to know how the devil tastes.
"I won't be any nicer afterwards," Riley warns.
"Wouldn't be here if I wanted nice, sir."
"I'd still have you here. You would just enjoy yourself less," Riley says casually, as he pulls off his sweater. Soap stares in awe at every inch of skin revealed. The scars, the muscle, then that tattooed sleeve. Soap knows Riley said it to sound threatening, but he's right, even if Soap wasn't the uninhibited masochist he is, he'd still be here. On his knees, paying every price for a touch from this man. Soap wants to press his tongue onto all those muscles. He stays obediently in place though, doesn't want to risk losing Riley's good will—before he's gotten his kiss. For a man who likes to get slapped around ‘til his brain goes quiet, he's also a bit of a hopeless romantic. He hopes Riley can't tell, doubts the man would be willing to indulge that further. A single finger under Soap’s chin is enough to push him up to standing, Riley smiles as if regarding a dog that did a little trick.
Then he buries his hand in Soap’s hair again, tilting his head back, stepping closer and bending over Soap to fit their mouths together. Soap can’t help but moan as he opens up for Riley, the man just tastes like everything he wants.
Soap’s tongue still feels a little clumsy because of the clamp earlier, but even if it didn’t, he would be unable to keep up with Riley’s intensity. Soap isn’t kissing, he is being kissed, dominated, consumed. Riley controls the angle of Soap’s head, the kisses intensity, and when he breaks to bite at Soap’s lip before crashing their mouths together again.
Their torsos are almost close enough to touch, Soap can feel the heat radiating off Riley. He would kill to put his hands on Riley’s chest, feel those muscles, those scars, the scattered course hairs, but he isn’t stupid. There’s no way permission to touch the Ghost is freely given. And he’s not going to deal with the consequences of doing it anyway, he isn’t suicidal.
So he clasps his hands behind his back to not give in to temptation. He’ll just have to earn more rewards in the future.
When Riley breaks the kiss, pulling Soap back by his hair, Soap is left panting. Looking up into the other man’s eyes as if seeing the stars.
Then Riley tells him to lay down on the bed, on his stomach. And Soap complies so quickly he almost trips over his own feet. He’s just that excited for what comes next.
Well, he hasn’t come in a week, has been hard for what feels like hours now, has been tormented for just as long and has just been opened up excruciatingly thorough. He deserves this.
“Hands forward, grab the edge of the mattress. Good. Don’t you dare move those.”
Self-control, okay, Soap can do that, just keep his hands where they are, easy. He positions his head on its side, so he can see Riley step away for a moment. When the man returns, he’s holding a folded leather belt. It isn’t even the one from Riley’s outfit, he’s still wearing that one, it seems Riley has a belt just for thrashing. Great.
Apparently, Soap doesn’t deserve to be fucked just yet. He is still excited to keep riding the high waves of pain though. Riley’s fingers brush over the smooth leather. “I’m not giving you a set number,” he explains, “You'll tell me, when you've had enough, boy. When you think you can't take any more. But if I'm not satisfied with how many strikes you took, I won't fuck you.” Riley leans forward, speaking close enough for his breath to graze Soap’s ear, “And I won’t allow you to come until the next time I play with you, puppy.”
Soap's honestly not sure how much more he can take, but he knows he'll die if Riley doesn't fuck him—if he doesn't get any release again.
A hand roughly grabs Soap’s hair, pulling his head up uncomfortably. “What do you say?” Riley almost snarls at him. Soap honestly hadn’t thought there was a question he needed to answer or something he’s supposed to say, but a quick, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!” seems to be sufficient, as his head gets pushed back down.
The tense silent moment seems to stretch forever, before being broken by the sound of leather snapping down. Then the impact registers. Soap howls unashamedly—wasn’t supposed to muffle his noises anyways. Also, Riley is just so fucking strong and knows how to handle this implement too well.
The belt whistles down again. And again. Riley setting a solid rhythm, hitting hard, spreading out over Soap’s ass and the back of his thighs. In his head Soap tries to keep count, to have an estimate for what is enough, what’ll satisfy Riley.
Soon all of Soap’s skin feels like it’s on fire, but the even distribution makes it quite bearable. Maybe Riley realises that, because suddenly all his efforts are concentrated on one point. Soap reaches back on reflex, trying to cover himself, when the spot where his thighs and ass meet gets the third or fourth hit in a row. Even though he's been told to keep his hands front.
Riley catches his hand by the wrist, before he can touch anything. "Oh sweetheart, had enough already?"
Shit—Soap could've probably taken some more. Why did he move? He’s an idiot. Riley sounds like Soap needs to take some more. Soap desperately wants the man to fuck him.
So, he shakes his head—words elude him right now. And slowly moves his hand towards his ass again. Riley lets go of his wrist. Soap brings his other hand down as well and uses them to pull his cheeks apart. Putting his hole on display, still a little shiny with lube. Offering his boss a new target, to distract from Soap's brush with disobedience. "I can take some more, sir, please."
"Good boy, quick thinking." Riley’s voice is warming, but Soap already feels scorching hot, both from fiery pain and forbidden anticipation. How would the belt feel on his hole? Would he be able to bear it at all?
Riley positions himself kneeling on the bed behind Soap, halfway between his legs. Probably making sure he has the right angle. Soap hopes his hands aren’t trembling as he continues to hold himself open. He doesn’t even think about how humiliating this position is. And then Riley brings the belt down right over his hole—and Soap doesn’t think anything anymore
Riley can’t be hitting as hard as he did earlier, Soap still sings and sobs for him. The hits are more infrequent as well, letting both of them soak up Soap’s suffering before the next one. Riley also targets the delicate skin to the sides frequently.
He couldn’t count anymore, unsure how many lashes he took like this. But now Soap feels a hair's breadth from shattering irreversibly, his face is wet with tears he partially wiped into the sheets and there seems to be this raw mass of pain that used to be his hole.
“Please, no more, sir,” he gets out quietly. Soap’s almost scared Riley didn’t hear him, or would just go on regardless.
But the lashes stop immediately, instead a finger brushes lightly over his hole. It feels inflamed, almost pulsating and painfully tight again. Riley moves Soap’s hands away from where they are still holding him open, then takes his time tracing the beautiful marks he created.
“You took that quite well, boy,” Riley says finally, “I think you deserve to be fucked.” He places a kiss over a cherry red welt on Soap’s ass.
“Thank you, sir.” Soap could cry all over again, just from relief this time. Riley gives his hip an encouraging pat. “Turn over.”
Soap forces his body to cooperate, grunting in pain as his abused backside makes contact with the mattress. He didn’t expect Riley to fuck him in missionary.
He understands why, when the tip of Riley’s cock presses against his hole—it’s wet with cold lube; he can feel the piercing—and Soap tries to close his eyes. “No,” Riley says sternly, “keep your eyes open, look at me.”
Soap is helpless not to comply. He opens his eyes and meets Riley’s. The man has one hand holding down both of Soap’s wrists above his head, the other down guiding his dick. Riley’s eyes are burning into his. He starts pressing in and Soap has to force his eyes open. He had felt prepped to the point of frustration earlier and still the stretch now is intense. Meanwhile Riley seems to stare into his soul as he fully penetrates Soap with as little mercy as he had done everything else. Soap lets out a desperate moan as Riley bottoms out impossibly deep. He stays there for a couple of moments, either letting Soap adjust to the stretch or enjoying the tight heat himself. Then Riley grinds his hips down hard, relighting all of Soap’s aching welts and sore rim. Soap’s legs clamp around Riley’s massive form between them.
Placing his second hand down onto the bed for leverage, still holding Soap’s hands down, Riley starts fucking him properly. The pace is rough and impossibly deep on every thrust but slow, Riley wants to draw this out. Soap feels that metal barbell inside him. Riley is still perfectly composed, not even out of breath, as Soap is reduced to an absolute mess beneath him, controlled only by his dick and how badly he needs to come.
“I’ll get you little rings for these to wear next time,” Riley says, weight now fully resting on the hand holding Soap down, the other one tugging on Soap’s right nipple piercing, the area still red and sensitive from the clamps, “thread some thin rope through them, tie them to your cock, or tie them to the table, then fuck you so hard you’ll think they’ll rip off.”
“Sounds lovely,” Soap replies breathlessly; he would wear anything, would do anything for Riley. Thoughts of the Ghost adorning him with jewellery, marking him as his, awaken desires Soap shouldn’t have. (All this talk of ‘next time’ —maybe the desires aren’t that unattainable.)
Soap is being kept firmly in the present though by Riley’s cock still fucking into him excruciatingly slow. Pulling almost all the way out every time.
Riley rakes blunt nails down Soap’s side, over all the marks left behind by the clamps, making Soap sob. Right now, the marks are that pale-red colour, promising beautiful bruising the next morning. Soap’s cock remains ignored, hard and red, leaking precome onto his own stomach.
After a few more almost agonizingly slow strokes Riley pulls out completely. Before Soap can complain about that he gets manhandled onto his front again. He gets up on all fours, only for Riley to immediately shove his shoulders down onto the mattress. Then he grips Soap’s hips hard enough to bruise and sinks into him again. The feeling of metal pressing against his rim and his inner walls hasn’t lost its novelty yet.
Riley fucks him harder now, but still not as fast as Soap craves. He isn’t complaining though. Riley’s clearly planning on drawing this out and—as long as at the end Soap gets to have the glorious orgasm he’s been waiting over a week for—he’s gladly along for the ride.
Soap fights to stay present, wants to experience and remember every moment of this, focuses on the feeling of every single stroke, strains his head to the side so he can catch a glimpse of Riley in all his glory. A man so dangerous, having all his attention centred on Soap, on fucking Soap through the mattress. Soap can feel that little barbell torturing his prostate, it’s better than anything he’s had before and the enthusiasm of his moans must express that.
Without stopping his deep hard rhythm, Riley mocks him, “God, listen to yourself, what a slut you are.”
“Says the one who got his dick pierced,” Soap pants petulantly into the sheets.
“Say it, Johnny. You’re a slut.” Riley pulls Soap’s head up by his hair.
“’m not a slut.”
Riley lets out a short laugh, as if in disbelief that Soap would deny that at this point.
“Are you really disagreeing with me?”
“Sluts fuck a lot of people; I’m only interested in you.”
“Aw, you’re my slut then.” Riley mockingly fawns over Soap.
“Aye, ‘m your slut, sir.”
Soap wears his most beautiful well-fucked smile.
Riley says more words, but none of the substance makes it through to Soap, because he also picks up his pace aggressively. Still hitting so deep. The stretch burns. His hole hurts. The pain from the other belt marks seems to thrum along to his heartbeat, worst on his ass, where Riley’s hips slam against them. The soreness from where the clamps sat barely matters anymore. Soap is swimming in sensation. No, not swimming, just being dragged along and under by strong currents, helpless against all the stimulation.
Soap has to pull himself out of the depths though. Riley hasn’t given him permission and he’s so close to his orgasm. It feels monumental and almost unstoppable. If Riley doesn’t allow him to come, he might implode.
“Ghost, sir, please, can I—" Riley slams so hard into him, Soap almost loses coherence again before catching himself and continuing, “Please, can I come? Please…”
Riley leans over, covering Soap’s entire body, and bites down on the side of his neck—really hard. Soap grits his teeth. His flesh is released and Riley licks over the claiming bitemark. Then he moves his lips up, right next to Soap’s ear.
“Come for me, baby. Just let go.”
Soap has never come without a hand or something on his dick before, but over a week of waiting and the best reaming of your life will do that to you, easily. Release hits him like a freight train. How much he comes and the almost non-human noises he makes would probably have embarrassed him if his brain wasn’t completely wiped out. Riley fucks him through his orgasm, whispering in his ear, “You are so good for me, so sweet.”
Once Soap’s impossible orgasm has subsided, he melts into the mattress. Riley grabs his hips hard, probably adding even more bruises, and slams into Soap a handful more times. Soap is so overstimulated that it hurts—he’s never felt more fulfilled. Riley stills deep inside him and comes with a deep grunt. The feeling of someone coming inside him isn’t new, but knowing it’s Simon Riley makes it special and absolutely perfect. Soap smiles at himself for how ridiculously sentimental that thought is, but he doesn’t care right now.
Riley’s piercing brushes Soap’s already ruined rim as he pulls out and Soap just sighs.
“I love your cock,” Soap says, still fully out of it, voice thin and a little rough.
Riley chuckles and kisses his way up the side of Soap’s neck. “If you continue being such a good boy for me, you can have it again.”
Soap hums a little satisfied noise.
A couple weeks later Soap is lounging on one of the plush white couches in Simon’s townhouse. He’s wearing nothing but boxers, feeling luxuriously out of place. His bruised skin clashing beautifully with the pristine fabrics. Earlier Soap had completed another job for Simon, afterwards Simon had spent hours in the bedroom taking him apart. The cleaners should be paid handsomely. Then Simon had cleaned him up almost reverently. The careful attention from him had made Soap more flustered than all the filth they’d been up to before.
Simon joins him in the living room, placing a glass of water on the side table. He reaches down, taking Soap’s chin in hand and making him meet his eyes, suddenly looking very serious.
“You’re mine,” Simon says, his grip tightening. “No one else gets to touch you ever again.”
Soap rises from the couch, dislodging Simon’s fingers. Even standing, Soap has to tilt his head up to keep looking at him. “Of course, sir” he says, then pushes Simon down to sit on the couch. The man goes willingly, so Soap can straddle his thighs, sitting up so his face is directly above Simon’s, one hand resting loosely in the blond strands, the other on Simon’s shoulder.
“But you’re mine too.” Soap smiles. “You’re not touching anyone else.”
“Of course.”
Their mouths crash together in a bruising kiss.