(There was one time when Soap had asked him if he kept the mask on during sex. Ghost had merely tipped his head and stared the man down until he had squirmed and changed the subject. In truth, Ghost always did. Even though men weren't exactly known for their astonishing compassion, he still never felt like dealing with stares and questions. Too many scars for all that and some nights, he just wanted to be anything, anyone, but himself. Ironically that meant keeping everything on that made him him in the first place.
In any case? A boy like Leif deserved to be worshipped. No point in putting any real emphasis on himself, right? When Leif hops off the seat, he feels a rush in his own stomach. It has been far too long. Longer so that he's found a bed partner so much smaller than him. Something warm and simmering enters his eyes and a hand slides comfortably up along Leif's side, helping ground the boy.)
You can call me Simon.
(Unusual for Ghost too who so often went by his callsign even outside of missions. Maybe they are both turning a bit stupid out of want. But his real name felt like a fake name most of these days anyway.)
Come along then, Leif. (He moves that hand behind Leif, guiding him away from the bar and away from the club.)
Do you need anything on our way back? (Food, condoms, toys...)
Simon. [Leif repeats it, the "s" a little clumsy on his pierced tongue, the "n" drawn out thoughtfully. At this point the name is just so he knows what to moan later, but there's a faint spark of curiosity -- is this his real name? It's straightforward and common enough that it could be. Or just something chosen at random to satisfy pretty, tipsy guys at bars.
With a concentrated effort, Leif pushes the thoughts away. It's not important, he's not here for the guy's life story. He's here for that big hand, sliding up to rest on his back, guiding and possessive all at once. He's here for the hotel room or back of the cab -- or, fuck it, the alley behind the club, Leif isn't picky at this point. He'd let Simon do anything he wants, anywhere he wants.
The question gets a headshake, and an exaggerated shiver as they step out into the chilly night.] I came prepared. [It's said with confidence, Leif patting at the small satchel-style bag resting at his side.
Then he looks up, eyes bright and unflinching as they meet Simon's.] I'm not very patient. Are you going to make me wait?
(Simon could be plenty patient, but he appreciated the kid's eagerness, grinning still under his mask. It might be fun to make Leif squirm and beg for it. Who didn't like a little torment in the bedroom? He notices the shiver too and for a split second, debates not giving his jacket over just to see what Leif might do about that.
But then the desire to see Leif drowning in his jacket wins out and Simon shucks his worn black jacket off before sliding it easily over Leif's shoulders. It smells like smoke and some underlying musk that was all Simon. He tips his head back to look Leif over and he decides that he definitely made the best choice.
Without his jacket, he's in a tightly-fit black shirt. Mostly tight because shirts just weren't meant for muscle like this and his arms are just as thick as the rest of him, his right covered in an intricate skulls-and-smoke type sleeve. He leaves his gloves on, of course.)
Let's go then, love. (Annnd he's taking Leif's hand, swallowing it up in his own before walking him along the sidewalk. Thankfully his hotel was nearby. As much as he didn't mind an alleyway fuck, they could do far more in a proper room. It takes no time at all to get in and up to his room.)
Anything to drink? (Yeah, he's toeing off his boots and acting casual, flippant, like there was nothing to rush for. He just wanted to see how bratty the guy could get.)
[Leif is gearing up to get bratty about the insinuation that he might not get exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants it, when the jacket is draped over his shoulders. For an instant -- so quick, blink and you'll miss it -- he's caught off-guard, disarmed by the gesture. It's thoughtful. He doesn't know what to do with thoughtful. He looks up at Simon, expression open for that fleeting moment, surprised and confused and looking very, very young.
But then it's gone. And Leif's back to being in control, sliding his arms into the jackets sleeves and wrapping it around himself, making a show of breathing in the scent.] Good luck getting this back. Covering up all that [insert a gesture at Simon's everything, arms and shoulders and sheer, imposing presence] ought to be illegal.
[The hotel is close by, and Leif doesn't bother to hide his impatience, crossing his arms in the too-long sleeves and leaving his shoes by the door. He moves forward, intent and determined, right into Simon's space, rising up onto his tiptoes again.] We were just in a bar. Of course I don't want another drink.
[A mildly embarrassing moment to push up those sleeves, then Leif’s hands are reaching out, tracing along the tattos on Simon's arms, up to the cuff of his shirt, over his broad shoulders. All the while, he doesn't break eye contact, just keeps his chin lifted and his gaze intent.] I didn't come here to drink. Did you?
(It's a look that was going to haunt Simon for months to come. No one has ever looked at him like that before. Not even in his own youth, nor his more innocent years. He doesn't know what to do with it, so he does nothing at all, carefully stitching it into the deepest part of his mind. He shifts his gaze away before he does or says anything stupid, swallowing around the feeling instead.
He was picking this guy up for a proper fucking. There was no need to get sentimental.)
I like to blend into the background, most days. (Which, surprisingly, was easy even despite the mask. But there's a smirk in his voice.)
If you're not squeamish, I'll let you see more.
(Which...isn't something most people say to entice someone to see their nudity. But there were plenty of scars on his bare arm already. Skin ravaged by torture, though he knew a civie likely wouldn't understand the exact damage for what it was, but it wasn't a pretty sight regardless. It was worse everywhere else. Maybe the worst on his chest.
He gazes down at the boy, amused and attracted by the way he has to stand up on his toes just to get close to him.)
Mmm. (He's grinning under the mask now, his eyes glittering.)
Depends on how we want to define 'drink.'
(His hands seize Leif by the hips abruptly and without so much as losing a single breath, he's picking Leif right on up, hands sliding under his ass and pulling his legs around his waist. Leif weighed absolutely nothing to him.)
I can't imagine you blending in anywhere. [But that's mostly because Leif can't imagine anyone seeing Simon for more than five seconds and not wanting to stare at him. At the scars, the muscles, the intensity of his face, mask and all. How can anyone catch a glimpse of this man and not want to risk everything they are to keep his attention? Maybe that's Leif's dizzying attraction to the man talking. Maybe it's a cocktail of hormones and lust and horniness. Maybe it's the still-warm jacket that the young man slides off, folds gently on a chair with a careful sort of reverence.
And just in time, too, because Simon scoops him up -- so easily, so effortlessly -- and Leif half-gasps, half-laughs, legs hooking over the man's hips, much stronger than he looks. He's all muscle, lean and toned and effortless, not even needing to hold onto Simon for stability -- though of course, he does anyways, hands coming up to either side of the man's neck, grinning bright and delighted.]
How poetic. Just a sip? [In a smooth, sinuous motion, Leif pulls his shirt off, lets it drop to the ground, ankles hooking behind Simon's back, stomach tightening to keep himself upright. He's pale, freckled, muscled, with tiny silver piercings in his nipples that match the one in his tongue. After a pause to let Simon fully admire the sight, Leif leans back forward, slides his hands back over those broad shoulders, and almost purrs:] I'd rather you be greedy. I want you to devour me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
comes back 2 this late with starfucks
In any case? A boy like Leif deserved to be worshipped. No point in putting any real emphasis on himself, right? When Leif hops off the seat, he feels a rush in his own stomach. It has been far too long. Longer so that he's found a bed partner so much smaller than him. Something warm and simmering enters his eyes and a hand slides comfortably up along Leif's side, helping ground the boy.)
You can call me Simon.
(Unusual for Ghost too who so often went by his callsign even outside of missions. Maybe they are both turning a bit stupid out of want. But his real name felt like a fake name most of these days anyway.)
Come along then, Leif. (He moves that hand behind Leif, guiding him away from the bar and away from the club.)
Do you need anything on our way back? (Food, condoms, toys...)
blessssssss 1 million/ten
With a concentrated effort, Leif pushes the thoughts away. It's not important, he's not here for the guy's life story. He's here for that big hand, sliding up to rest on his back, guiding and possessive all at once. He's here for the hotel room or back of the cab -- or, fuck it, the alley behind the club, Leif isn't picky at this point. He'd let Simon do anything he wants, anywhere he wants.
The question gets a headshake, and an exaggerated shiver as they step out into the chilly night.] I came prepared. [It's said with confidence, Leif patting at the small satchel-style bag resting at his side.
Then he looks up, eyes bright and unflinching as they meet Simon's.] I'm not very patient. Are you going to make me wait?
no subject
(Simon could be plenty patient, but he appreciated the kid's eagerness, grinning still under his mask. It might be fun to make Leif squirm and beg for it. Who didn't like a little torment in the bedroom? He notices the shiver too and for a split second, debates not giving his jacket over just to see what Leif might do about that.
But then the desire to see Leif drowning in his jacket wins out and Simon shucks his worn black jacket off before sliding it easily over Leif's shoulders. It smells like smoke and some underlying musk that was all Simon. He tips his head back to look Leif over and he decides that he definitely made the best choice.
Without his jacket, he's in a tightly-fit black shirt. Mostly tight because shirts just weren't meant for muscle like this and his arms are just as thick as the rest of him, his right covered in an intricate skulls-and-smoke type sleeve. He leaves his gloves on, of course.)
Let's go then, love. (Annnd he's taking Leif's hand, swallowing it up in his own before walking him along the sidewalk. Thankfully his hotel was nearby. As much as he didn't mind an alleyway fuck, they could do far more in a proper room. It takes no time at all to get in and up to his room.)
Anything to drink? (Yeah, he's toeing off his boots and acting casual, flippant, like there was nothing to rush for. He just wanted to see how bratty the guy could get.)
no subject
But then it's gone. And Leif's back to being in control, sliding his arms into the jackets sleeves and wrapping it around himself, making a show of breathing in the scent.] Good luck getting this back. Covering up all that [insert a gesture at Simon's everything, arms and shoulders and sheer, imposing presence] ought to be illegal.
[The hotel is close by, and Leif doesn't bother to hide his impatience, crossing his arms in the too-long sleeves and leaving his shoes by the door. He moves forward, intent and determined, right into Simon's space, rising up onto his tiptoes again.] We were just in a bar. Of course I don't want another drink.
[A mildly embarrassing moment to push up those sleeves, then Leif’s hands are reaching out, tracing along the tattos on Simon's arms, up to the cuff of his shirt, over his broad shoulders. All the while, he doesn't break eye contact, just keeps his chin lifted and his gaze intent.] I didn't come here to drink. Did you?
no subject
He was picking this guy up for a proper fucking. There was no need to get sentimental.)
I like to blend into the background, most days. (Which, surprisingly, was easy even despite the mask. But there's a smirk in his voice.)
If you're not squeamish, I'll let you see more.
(Which...isn't something most people say to entice someone to see their nudity. But there were plenty of scars on his bare arm already. Skin ravaged by torture, though he knew a civie likely wouldn't understand the exact damage for what it was, but it wasn't a pretty sight regardless. It was worse everywhere else. Maybe the worst on his chest.
He gazes down at the boy, amused and attracted by the way he has to stand up on his toes just to get close to him.)
Mmm. (He's grinning under the mask now, his eyes glittering.)
Depends on how we want to define 'drink.'
(His hands seize Leif by the hips abruptly and without so much as losing a single breath, he's picking Leif right on up, hands sliding under his ass and pulling his legs around his waist. Leif weighed absolutely nothing to him.)
I'd take a sip or two of you.
no subject
And just in time, too, because Simon scoops him up -- so easily, so effortlessly -- and Leif half-gasps, half-laughs, legs hooking over the man's hips, much stronger than he looks. He's all muscle, lean and toned and effortless, not even needing to hold onto Simon for stability -- though of course, he does anyways, hands coming up to either side of the man's neck, grinning bright and delighted.]
How poetic. Just a sip? [In a smooth, sinuous motion, Leif pulls his shirt off, lets it drop to the ground, ankles hooking behind Simon's back, stomach tightening to keep himself upright. He's pale, freckled, muscled, with tiny silver piercings in his nipples that match the one in his tongue. After a pause to let Simon fully admire the sight, Leif leans back forward, slides his hands back over those broad shoulders, and almost purrs:] I'd rather you be greedy. I want you to devour me.