Chapter Text
Soap lies in bed and stares at the ceiling as his own sense of reality crumbles around him.
He shifts in discomfort, wincing at the slick slide of wetness sluicing between his cheeks, and rubs a hand down his sweat-soaked face.
He’s not completely delusional; he has a good idea about the origins of the strange mess in his clothes, but he doesn’t want to face the truth.
Because if it’s true…
If I’m an omega. A treacherous thought floats to the surface, Mum will never let me sign up.
As if summoned by his thoughts, mum appears by his bedside with a tall glass of water and kind, sympathetic eyes. She takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, resting a hand on Soap’s limp wrist as he stares sightlessly beyond her.
A still, tense sort of understanding flows between them, and Soap almost refrains from asking, but he knows -
I have to try.
“You’re not going to let me sign up, are you?” He asks dully.
Rather than deny him outright, she just sighs. “We can talk about this when you’re well.” She fusses with his pillows, drawing the duvet up to his chin and offering him an encouraging smile.
He only stares back with a hollow twitch of his lips that doesn’t touch his eyes, and she sighs as she rises to her feet, offering him one last look before she leaves, shutting the door behind her with a gentle click.
Soap curls up in a ball beneath the covers, pressing his red, sweating face to his hands, just barely resisting the urge to cry.
All of his dreams, snatched from him in a single instant, and he stewes like that for an age, shivering with maudlin outrage in his bed.
This is all Simon’s fault.
Something about that strange alpha had sparked the change in him that he’d been impatiently waiting for, and even despite his anger, Soap can’t help the frisson of electricity that dances up his spine at the memory of those huge arms swallowing him whole.
I want to see him again.
But he knows that’s even less likely to happen than his mother miraculously changing her mind.
-x-x-x-
It’s on the fifth day of Soap’s feverish, bed ridden sulking that he has his world turned upside-down once again.
Mum bursts in with a bright smile, ignoring Soap’s beady glare as she pulls the curtains open with a flourish, ignoring his immediate groan of protest as light sizzles his eyes.
“For fuck’s sake, mum - “
“Language, lad,” she huffs, her sharp words at odds with the smile threatening her lips. She rests her hands on her hips and stares at him, eyes sparkling with a mischievous gleam that dad once claimed she’d passed on to Soap.
What are you smiling about? He grumbles inwardly, peering at her with tired, sore eyes.
He can’t find much to smile about, not with this godforsaken omega slick ruining every pair of pants he’s ever owned. The indignity of it all only serves as a cruel reminder of all he’s lost.
Mum stops just short of ripping the covers from him, but only just. “Sit up, John,” she orders. “Need a word with you.”
“Bleedin’ Christ,“ he mutters under his breath, reluctantly dragging his leaden body upright until it rests against the headboard.
She examines him quietly for a beat, her expression growing pensive and serious as she lets out a slow, steadying breath.
Soap only stares back impatiently, brow quirked.
Her eyes soften. “You really want to do this, don’t you?” She whispers, and Soap jolts to full alertness, nodding his head cautiously.
“Aye,” he croaks, clearing his throat hard. “I want to.” After almost a week of not speaking, the words fall out of his mouth without any effort at all. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, really,” he admits, rubbing his nape sheepishly.
She smiles, eyes a little pinched at the corners, and he barrels on, “I’ve always wanted to do it, but now...” He sniffs, rubbing his forehead in embarrassment. “Want to feel closer to dad,” he admits. At her tense expression, he adds with an impish, watery voice, “And you too, I ‘spose.”
She laughs, just as he’d hoped. “Been a long time since I’ve been in that world.”
The conversation stalls for a beat, and Soap clutches the sheets beneath him, biting his tongue to stop himself from spoiling the fragile moment.
It’s a far cry from any of their prior conversations on the subject.
Not saying no, he thinks, unable to stamp down his rising hope.
“Simon called,” she says, so out of the blue that Soap thinks he’d misheard her. “Wanted to know how you were.”
He did? He gawks at her. What does this have to do with anything?
Soap blinks, voice hoarse. “Yeah?”
He tries to leash his impatience, but only just. As taken as he had been by Simon, his curiosity about the other alpha is no match for his desire to chase his dreams.
She hums and works her jaw pensively as she looks at Soap, and he stares right back, heart throbbing hard in his throat.
“Signing that permission slip feels a lot like signing your life away,” she says suddenly, eyes dropping to the floor. Her voice wobbles as she adds, “I don’t want to make a rash decision and end up losing you, too.”
She holds a hand up before Soap can protest. “I spoke to Simon, and he agreed to take you in for the rest of his leave and assess you for himself.”
“What,” Soap gasps, mind turning . “And - what,” he stutters. “He’ll decide if I can go or not?”
“I admit, I’m too close to you to make a fair judgement,” she says with a rueful smile “He’s more than qualified to give a fair assessment.” She let out a weary breath. “And it’ll put my mind at ease.”
Soap slumps into the headboard in disbelief. She just wants to be sure.
Soap’s dreams hadn’t been completely ripped away as he’d feared, but instead put into a veritable stranger’s hands instead.
“And you trust this guy not to just count me out?” Soap says, voice tight. “He saw me, mum -”
Saw me blithering and delirious like any old witless omega.
“I trust him to be fair to you,” she says archly. “He won’t go easy on you, but he wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t think you could handle it.”
Wait, what?
“He offered?” Soap stressed, a disbelieving laugh bubbling out of his throat.
“Yes.” She gave a sharp nod. “It’s very generous of him.”
He thinks of Simon’s secret, knowing smirks and intent, fathomless eyes, and wonders if they’re really referring to the same man at all.
“How long?” He asks numbly, lightheaded and frazzled.
“He’s got a few weeks before he’s back on base,” she says, already drifting towards the door. “If you’re interested, he’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
Tomorrow?
“Pick me up - “ Soap flounders, tongue leaden in his mouth. “Where is he taking me?”
She offers him an impatient look over her shoulder. “He has property in the highlands,” she says. “Beautiful but dangerous terrain - the fresh air will do you good.”
Soap can’t help the suspicious trajectory of his thoughts, even as a thrum of anticipation twists his core; a strange old alpha, so eager to whisk a newly turned omega into the woods seems highly suspect in Soap’s mind.
And he can’t help but wonder at his mother’s very selective paranoia - the lengths she’d go to assuage her own fear about him signing up, she seemed happy to perform great feats of mental gymnastics to justify denying his permission slip, yet she had no compunctions shipping him off with a stranger?
“You really trust this guy, don’t you?” He suppresses a laugh behind his hand. “Keen to send off your omega son to some strange old alpha in his shack in the woods.”
He rolls out of bed as he speaks, shambling towards the door with a smirk in the face of her glowering look.
She screws her nose up at him. “He’s not going to be interested in a smelly young boy like you, my love.” She tries to pinch his cheek, but he dodges it neatly.
A strange, stubborn streak of challenge ignites at her words, because she didn’t see the way Simon had looked at him, or the way he’d pressed his face to Soap’s gland and drank in his scent like a man dying of thirst.
“Aye, silly me,” he mutters, curling his hands into fists by his sides.
He follows her lead as she ventures downstairs, mind swirling with newfound purpose.
She rests her hand on the corded home phone, a questioning look on her face, before Soap finally nods. “I want to do it.”
“I’ll let him know,” she says, before she waves a hand in front of her nose. “Take a wash before he arrives, lad, you’ve been stewing in your juices all week-”
“Mum,” he protests by rote, hiding a secret smirk as he turns tail.
He doesn’t know Simon, not really, but he has a strange inkling that an alpha like him wouldn’t mind terribly if he did show up caked in a layer of his of own sweat.
Dirty old man, he thinks giddily, stomach alight with butterflies as he races towards the second floor once more.
Soap had little experience in the ways of sex, but he wasn’t blind, and he doubted Simon was inviting him over for purely magnanimous reasons, but that realisation did little to dampen his eagerness.
If he could learn a thing or two about his body, and get a foot in the door in the military at the same time…
Two birds, one fucking stone.
If Simon thought he’d be the one using him, he’d be in for the rude surprise.
-x-x-x-
The next day sees Soap dozing on the couch in waiting, head resting on his backpack as the morning sun lifts over the horizon.
Simon had given vague instructions to pack a bag and await his arrival by sun-up, and Soap had eagerly complied, watching the window outside of the sitting room eagerly for any signs of him, before his eyelids began to droop.
It’s not until he hears the muffled thud of a door shutting and hushed whispers before Soap startles awake, almost falling to the carpet in his haste to stand. He stumbles out the front door, squinting against the cool grey morning, and finds mum standing on the front step in her dressing gown, exchanging polite conversation with Simon.
Oh.
The sight of him is like ice water sent crashing over his tired mind, and Soap straightens to attention, uttering a clumsy greeting when the other man’s eyes flick to inspect him from tip to toe.
“Uh, good morning,” Soap says, oddly tongue tied.
The man nods at him, expression unreadable. “Johnny.”
An awkward silence falls, and Soap forces his gaze to the nondescript, grey four wheel drive parked in their driveway, the bottom half caked in several layers of mud and grass.
“I’ll have him back by the end of the month,” Simon murmurs, keys jingling in hand as he waves him towards the truck.
“Bye, mum,” Soap says, cheeks stinging as she plants a kiss atop them.
“Good luck.” She lowers her voice to a stage whisper and pats his backpack lightly. “I put your suppressants in your zip pocket, in case you need spares.”
He stiffens in mortification. For fuck’s sake, mum.
From the barest smirk dancing about Simon’s lips, he’d definitely heard every word she said, too.
Soap keeps his scarlet face down as he circles the car, studiously avoiding Simon’s gaze as he rounds towards the passenger door.
“Bring him back in one piece,” she calls with a tremulous smile, and Soap gives her a cheery wave as he slings himself into the passenger seat.
Simon soon follows, and it’s not long before they’re peeling away from the driveway and turning onto an old, winding a-road, seemingly bereft of all other traffic.
It’s utterly silent as Simon drives, and Soap steals a few nervous glances his way before the man catches him with a blank, sideways glance that has him darting his face away.
With nothing better to do, Soap glances at his phone out of habit, and Simon finally pipes up. “Not much reception where we’re going,” he says blandly, and Christ if that’s not a bit ominous.
The car doors lock automatically as Simon picks up speed, and Soap startles at the sound.
“This isn’t going to be like Misery, is it?” Soap asks, surprised when he elicits a little chuckle from the alpha by his side.
“Surprised you even know it,” Simon says, eyes creased. “Well before your time.”
The words are out without conscious thought, “Calling yourself old?”
Soap thinks he should probably refrain from antagonising him before they even arrive, but he can’t seem to stop himself.
He’s emboldened as Simon’s small, barely there smile widens to something dangerous but no less beautiful on his face. “Yes.” He laughs under his breath, “Old enough to be your dad.”
The mention of his father, incidental or not, should send him spiralling into a pit of grief, but Soap finds himself grinning for the first time in an age.
“Not really,” Soap says casually. “Although, you’re pale enough to mistake for a corpse, I guess.”
“Grim, Johnny.” Simon’s voice is low with something that sounds close to admiration. His eyes glitter as he glances at him. “You’ll fit right in.”
Soap ducks his chin, gnawing on his lip to stop himself from smiling.
-x-x-x-
Soap finds himself drifting off before long, and it’s not until the car engine clicks off that he slowly awakens, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he blinks them open.
He starts as Simon unceremoniously lets the driver’s side door slam behind him, smirking at Soap through the windshield as he beckons him with a slow finger.
Soap looks beyond him with wide eyes and parted lips as he takes in the scene.
He’d half expected Simon’s place to be some ramshackle, dingy old shack full of damp and mould, the outside strewn with rubbish and bullet-ridden, broken furniture.
But the wooden cabin perched on the lip of a tranquil lake is like something out of a movie; a charming structure blending seamlessly with the lush landscape, all dark wood walls and a sloping slate roof that was slick with a mist of morning dew.
Soap practically stumbles out of the car, lugging his bag over his shoulder as he rushed to follow Simon, head swivelling every which way to take in every last detail. They crunch up the loamy ground onto a winding stone path, and Soap did a double take as they pass a wooden, circular tub.
“Is that…”
“A hot tub,” Simon says mildly. “It’s wood-burning.”
Soap shook his head in faint disbelief. This is not what I expected at all.
They trudge up the deck that overlooked the lake, and Simon silently nods at his feet as he toes his own shoes off and lines them neatly by the veranda railing.
The inside is small and neat, and downright cozy to boot. It feels more like a tiny house plucked straight from one of those house shows mum watches, and less like a dwelling for an alpha in the SAS.
A tiny, cast-iron stove sits on the far wall, acting as both hob and heater, and a squishy armchair sits opposite, a rattan throw draped neatly over the armrests. A u-shaped set of rustic kitchen counters wraps around the other walls, housing the smallest fridge and sink that Soap’s ever seen.
“This is.” Soap does a slow turn on his feet, taking in all of the details. “Nice.”
Simon’s words are dry, “High praise.” And Soap flushes sheepishly.
A dark wooden door leads into what Soap assumes is an equally small bathroom, and he looks up the long length of Simon’s body and wonders how he manages to fit into a space so compact.
“Used to have a battery shower.” Simon notices his stare and leans against the counter with folded arms. “Got plumbed in last Christmas.” He levels him with a smirk. “Lucky you.”
Through a half opened sliding door down the narrow hallway, Soap spots a raised platform and what looks like a bed encased on all sides by walls, and he looks at Simon in askance. Between the deck, the kitchen, and the minuscule bathroom, there’s no room for a couch or spare bedroom in sight.
“You’ll have to get used to living on top of each other in the barracks.” Simon explains, examining Soap’s stiff face with a smirk.
He means…
“Is that even big enough for the both of us?” Soap feels a warm buzz settle in his stomach at the thought.
He’d entertained vague fantasies of turning this on Simon and somehow seducing him, but now, facing down the barrel of their cozy, intimate sleep quarters, Soap feels his bravado fizzle out in an instant.
Simon laughs softly under his breath and gestures towards the ceiling. “Got a tent somewhere in the roof space, if you'd prefer that.”
Soap holds his hands up. “No, no, I won’t make you do that- “
“For you,” Simon interrupts, mouth twitching, and Soap scrunches his nose reflexively.
Soap wars with himself. He knows he needs to appear willing and able to adapt to less than ideal sleeping conditions, but his burgeoning omega instincts howl and rail wildly against the idea.
Omegas like soft beds and warm, safe nests, and sleeping rough in the wet, wintry conditions outside were the exact opposite of that.
And as much as Soap still struggles to come to terms with the truth of his own secondary gender, even he can admit that this sweet little cabin is practically an omega’s paradise.
Simon’s voice pulls him from his panicked ruminations. ”Well?“
“I can do it.” Soap steels himself, chin lifting high. “I’ll take the tent.”
If Simon’s disappointed by his answer, he doesn’t show it. He nods in easy agreement, taking the wind from his sails. “I’m sure you can.”
-x-x-x-
Simon pulls the sliding ladder from the attic and directs Soap to clamber on up, and it’s not long before he’s back on the cabin floor again, arms laden with a borrowed tent and sleeping bag.
They pass by a wooden stump with sharp lines scraped across the top outside, and Soap wonders if Simon chops his own wood. From the size of his arms through his long-sleeved shirt, he suspects that he definitely does.
“Have you been camping before?” Simon asks, directing him to a small clearing out of view from the cabin’s deck, away from the still waters of the small lake.
“Few times,” Soap admits, watching the other man drop the tent bag to the grass. “When I was younger.”
“With George?” There’s something curious about Simon’s tone that Soap can’t quite place, but he dismisses it out of hand.
“Aye.”
Simon hums, then nods him over. “Watch closely then, I’ll only do it for you once.”
“Aye-aye, Simon,” he says, just stopping short of giving him a cheeky salute.
The alpha stops in his tracks to send him an eerily blank look. “Sir,” he says, voice growling low. “Not Simon.”
Christ.
Soap’s knees wobble a little at the dark, foreboding look in Simon’s eyes, and he nods mutely.
Sir.
Simon turns away with a hint of a smile on his lips, and Soap feels the tension unfurl from his chest as he watches him work, trying to commit his easy motions to memory and not be distracted by the way his huge hands look on the poles.
Focus, Soap.
When Simon’s done, he’s left with a small, domed tent just big enough for one pegged into the ground, complete with sleeping bag and a little light that hangs from the centre pole inside.
It’s not as cosy as Simon’s cabin, but Soap will just have to make do.
“Keep it sealed at all times, unless you want to have a sleepover with bugs,” Simon says blandly. “You’re welcome to use the facilities inside at any time.”
“Thank you, sir,” he whispers hoarsely, and he’s rewarded with a slow, silky smile, the golden light of dusk twinkling in the depths of Simon’s deep brown eyes.
Simon unfolds his legs out from beneath him and rises to his full height, staring down his nose at Soap’s dazed face with an intent, piercing stare.
Soap stomach chooses that moment to gurgle loudly, and Simon takes a heavy step back.
“Hungry?” He murmurs, and Soap nods.
He half expects Simon to procure a bow and arrow then and there, and he can’t quite muffle his own noise of confusion as the alpha beelines for the cabin.
“Are you, uh.” Christ, he feels stupid the moment the words are spoken, “Going on a hunt, then?”
“Was thinking pizza, actually.” Simon throws over his shoulders, shoulders shaking with near-silent laughter at his expense. His eyes crinkle wickedly at Soap. “You’re welcome to try your luck, if you like? Sure we can find a knife you can use -”
Soap scrambles after him with a pout. “Pizza sounds good, sir.”
x-x-x-
Soap stands by Simon’s side as he rolls out the pizza dough, watching his easy manoeuvring with open admiration.
“Bit stupid of me,” Soap mumbles. “Thought someone like you would live off of MREs or something, even at home.”
Simon’s expression pinches into one of distaste. “Not a bloody prepper,” he grumbles. “And I prefer to spend my leave eating real food while I can.”
“Making up for lost time?”
Simon nods as he ladles on a dollop of pizza source onto the dough. “Something like that.”
He sits in the squishy chair while Simon whips up two little pizzas in a cast-iron pan on the stove, and Soap feels so toasty and content like that he almost falls asleep.
His eyes are falling when Simon presents him with a plate topped with the most perfect, rustic little margarita pizza he’s ever seen, and Soap beams up at him, hand reaching out to grasp it, until he registers his wry, pointed look at the chair.
It takes him a moment to understand.
It’s the only chair in the room, Soap, he realises, face igniting in contrition.
“Oh!” Soap rushes to his feet. “Thanks.” He waves sheepishly towards the empty chair. “You can have your chair back now.”
Soap stands awkwardly in the centre of the room, plate held aloft in his hand as he considers his options. “You need a second chair,” he mutters absently.
“Don’t usually have guests.” Simon reclines in his seat with a bitten off groan.
Something about that noise or the warm cocoon of heat blasting from the nearby furnace has a certain sort of madness stealing over his tongue, and he offers huskily, “Could always sit in your lap.”
Too soon, too fast, Soap, he thinks, immediately biting down hard on his tongue in regret, but the damage is already done
Simon’s expression freezes into a blank, unreadable mask, and for one horrible moment Soap thinks he’s gone too far, before a flare of pure, black hunger steals over the alpha’s features, swirling his already dark eyes into two fathomless voids.
And instead of the harshly spoke rebuke he expects, Simon widens his legs, giving the trunk of his left thigh an affable pat. “Come sit, then, Johnny,” he murmurs, and Soap feels all the air rush from his lungs in an astonished wheeze.
Oh dear God.
Soap sways on his legs, and it’s only then that he recognises the faint waft of alpha musk he’d sensed the night they’d first met, swirling around in a warm cloud around his cabin. The scent goes straight to his head, and Soap stifles a whine as a warm, wet trail trickles from his backside.
“Food’s getting cold,” Simon says, far softer this time, and Soap nods stupidly, his courage fleeing him just as soon as it had arrived.
Simon huffs a laugh at his gormless, startled face and waves an indolent hand towards the kitchen space. “Can sit on the counter?” He adds innocuously, and Soap swivels his head to and fro, before he settles on the floor, back to the fire as he slowly lowers himself to his knees.
Fuck, in this small a room, Soap can’t help but register just how suggestive the motion feels as he slowly sinks to the floor between Simon’s spread knees.
He doesn’t look at the juncture of Simon’s widened legs, and just barely forces himself to look down at his food instead.
“Alright?” Simon’s voice pierces his reverie, and he offers up a tiny little smile.
“Aye.” He ducks his head, eyes sightless on the food perched on his lap. “Thank you, sir.”
Simon says nothing for a beat, before he rumbles, soft and velvety over the roaring crackle of the fire. “Anytime, Johnny.”
x-x-x-
Before long the sun is dipping below the horizon, and Soap bids Simon goodnight, leaving the alpha to toil the rest of the night away by the fire as he ventures outside in search of his tent.
A brisk wind stings his face as he strides away from the cabin, and Soap rubs his arms absently, silently cursing himself for his thin layers as he circles the small campfire crackling away to unzip the outer flap to his tent.
Couldn’t even make my owncampfire, he thinks mulishly, staring at the dancing flame, with only a thin netting separating him from its meagre warmth.
Soap’s mission to prove himself capable enough to sign up had fallen completely flat so far, and his play at seduction hadn’t fared much better either.
Hopeless.
But despite his frustration, listening to the quiet crackle of the flame amongst the soft chirping of insects, Soap can’t help but feel totally content, tucked up tight in the wilderness underneath a dazzling blanket of treetops and silvery stars overhead.
Hypnotised by the dwindling flame, his lashes droop, and he’s clicking off his little lamp and clumsily folding himself into his sleeping bag, dead asleep before his head even touches the ground.
x-x-x-
Soap’s sense of contentment is depressingly short-lived.
He’s not sure how much time has passed before he’s blinking awake to the sound of raindrops, hunched in the foetal position within his sleeping bag with his teeth chattering violently, and a bitter cold seeping into the very marrow of his bones.
Fuck.
Head flopping on the pillow, he swears as he takes in the entrance of his tent. He’d forgotten to zip up the outer layer, and through the mesh he can see the cooling embers of his campfire, totally doused by the steady drizzle of rain pouring down.
“Fuck,” he whispers with feeling, more out of his depth and lost than he’s ever been in his entire life thus far.
Soap groans, blearily squinting at his trembling fingers. They weren’t blue thankfully, but they were bloodless and far whiter than usual.
Can barely feel them.
He debates just staying put and suffering through the cold night; it’s not as if it’s snowing, after all, but it’s only five more miserable minutes before he’s abandoning his tent, hands tucked into his armpits as he makes the shameful, short walk back to Simon’s cabin.
He rounds the structure towards the deck, surprised to see the dark silhouette of Simon still reclining lazily in his chair and haloed by gold firelight, his head tilted towards a book resting atop his crossed legs.
Simon’s head lifts as he shambles towards the sliding door, and he slowly closes the book as his eyes assess him in one quick sweep.
Soap knocks on the glass, feeling pathetic and ridiculous as he sends Simon an apologetic, forlorn look. The alpha slides the door open, sending a blissful blast of warmth into his shivering body.
“Couldn’t keep the fire up?” He says, voice surprisingly void of judgement as he glances past him towards the darkness.
“No, sorry, and I’m freezing.” His teeth chatter, as if to emphasise his point. “Can I stay in here for a while-”
His foot clips on the door frame as he makes to step inside, and he goes teetering towards Simon with a surprised yelp.
Falling face first into the solid wall of Simon’s chest.
His first thought is, Why does this keep happening to me?
His second thought is, Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?
“Simon,” he says, lips moving against the pale, scarred skin of his pectorals.
Simon’s voice is steeped in mirth. “Yes, Johnny?”
“Where’s your shirt,” he asks flatly.
Simon’s chuckle reverberates against his cheek, arm curving around his side to pull the sliding door closed. “Bit warm in here,” he explains mildly, smirking as he blinks up at him in soft astonishment, before Soap’s eyes drop down without conscious thought.
Simon is somehow far more intimidating without clothes; the bulge of his arms look as though they’ve been dipped in ink, with tattoos covering his skin from wrist to bicep. Soap drinks in the rounded curve of his pectorals, capped with pretty pink nipples that seem at odds with his menacing image.
Soap follows the ragged, haphazard lines of scar tissue down to his stomach, swallowing thickly at the sight of his curved flanks, and the layer of fat sitting over his slightly pronounced abs.
Soap mindlessly grasps his soft sides with a pleased little smile, and Simon examines his face with surprising indulgence. “You’re staring.”
“Sorry,” he lies, sending him an impish smirk. “Didn’t expect someone in the SAS to have a dad bod.”
Simon opens his mouth, but his reply is lost as Soap’s overcome by a sudden, violent shiver, and the alpha frowns in concern.
“Your clothes are wet.” He sighs, sliding an arm around his shivering back and coaxing him towards the bedroom. “Come on, let’s get your kit off.”
They’d only taken the five short steps to the bedroom door before the words finally penetrate Soap’s brain.
“What?” He gasps, scandalised, and Simon sends him an exasperated glance. “Do I have to?”
“You’re trying to join the army,” Simon says slowly. “Being naked amongst your fellow soldier comes with the territory.”
“Aye, of course I know that,” he snaps, then falls silent with an involuntary shudder, because he’s being ridiculous, isn’t he?
He’s seen far worse than this, he tells himself, lips twisting nervously.
“So we’re…” he mumbles, casting an apprehensive look towards the bedroom.
Huddling for warmth?
“Gotta warm you up,” Simon says shortly, tugging him insistently through the door.
Couldn’t I just sit by the fire, he wonders, but the thoughts are lost as he finally sets his eyes on the lavish bed tucked beyond the sliding door.
There’s only the smallest amount of floorspace before the raised bed begins, the mattress flushed with all three walls and surrounded by an impressive swath of windows, casting shards of soft white moonlight onto the sumptuous mound of pillows and blankets.
Christ, you’d think he’s an omega, with the amount of pillows he has.
He sucks in a deep breath, and almost falls over from the thick cloud of alpha scent buzzing in his nose.
If he’d thought the kitchen was overwhelming, it was nothing compared to this tiny little bedroom.
Bloody fucking Christ.
Simon sends him an expectant glance, and Soap looks away as he grips the hem of his shirt.
“I’m keeping my pants on,” he grumbles, ignoring Simon’s eye roll as he steps into the tiny bedroom and lifts his shirt over his head. He can practically feel the weight of Simon’s stare as he shucks his pyjamas down his legs, turning to face the alpha with his head held high.
Simon’s eyes rove lazily over his body, and Soap’s not sure if the gooseflesh pricking his skin is from the cold or his eviscerating stare.
Soap’s not skinny, exactly - years of football have given him a lean layer of muscle that he’d once been quite proud of, but standing in only his pants before Simon, he feels unbearably small and vulnerable.
Presenting as an omega doesn’t fucking help.
He knows this hyperawareness of himself was likely an instinctual response borne of Simon’s presence as an alpha, but knowing that did nothing to quell the molten curl of heat pooling in his insides.
Simon’s voice is a soft, gravelly rasp as he crowds towards him, and Soap jolts as the back of his knees brush the raised edge of the bed. “Lie down,” he orders gently, and Soap sinks into the plush mattress without a second thought.
Flat on his back in a bed of warm blankets, Soap’s not sure if it’s his innate authority as an alpha or a soldier that’s spurring this strange obedience in him, but he barely has time to question his own docility before Simon is bearing down upon him.
Oh.
The mattress sags a little as Simon’s knees press into the bed, and Soap’s lips fall open in a surprised ring as the alpha crawls atop him with a shameless smirk. Soft fabric brushes his bare legs, and it’s only then that Soap registers the grey cotton jogger’s hanging off Simon’s hips, and the sizeable outline of his cock hanging between his legs.
Sweet merciful Christ, he thinks, eyes snapping up to Simon’s. Is he hard?
It’s difficult to tell in the dim gloom, but he couldn’t imagine anyone being that big if they were only soft.
Simon lets out a breath and slowly lowers himself, until their naked torsos are flush, and his hips are seated in the cradle of Soap’s bare thighs.
“Jesus,” Soap whimpers, gripping his huge biceps in surprise.
He’s never been held like this before - especially not with someone so much larger than he was.
And Christ, why does he smells so good.
Warm hands sweep along his spine as an even warmer breath ghosts his cheek. “We’ll get you warmed up in no time,” Simon murmurs, lips pulling up into a knowing smile. He shifts his hips in discomfort, and Soap lets out an embarrassing gasp as the hot weight of his cock grinds against his own.
“This isn’t.” Soap blinks hard, shuddering as a gush of slick escapes his fluttering, soaked entrance. “How you usually warm up people, is it?”
Simon’s eyebrows lift. “Well spotted,” he says, rolling his hips down in a sinuous circle against his cock that has Soap’s back arching in surprise. “Got a few questions for you, actually.” He slides a bare hand over the quivering skin of Soap’s stomach, smiling lightly. “Call it a lesson in advanced interrogation tactics, Johnny.”
What?
Something softens in his gaze as he takes in Soap’s bemused, fracturing expression. “We can stop at any time.”
“No,” Soap whispers, nails digging into his arms. “Simon.”
Simon’s smile darkens to something hungry. “Call me sir,” he breathes, and Soap whines, curling his face instinctively into the warmth of his chest as those huge arms slide around his back.
“Let me take care of you,” Simon coos, eyes creasing at his surprised little moan.
“You do this for all your subordinates?” Soap pants.
“Only stubborn little omegas like you,” he purrs, eyes gleaming. “Who don’t know better.”
Fuck, fuck.
Soap’s neck snaps back as he whines, and Simon takes advantage to cup his throat loosely in his grip, palming the meat of his left leg with the other hand and pulling it wide, thumbing distracting patterns into the join of his thigh as he slots his clothed cock along Soap’s and grinds against him in a slow, rolling thrust.
Christ, Soap’s never been this hard in his life, and he can only stare between the bulge of Simon’s cock dwarfing his own, to the alpha’s intent face in total rapture.
“Why are you here?“ Simon breathes, voice ragged and deep, and Soap squints at him in confusion.
”What do you mean.” He moans brokenly, “Didn’t you invite me?”
“Yes,” Simon grunts, squeezing his thigh firmly as he licks a line along the smooth line of Soap’s jaw. “But why did you say yes?”
The Polaroid and his quiet little obsession with the stranger within it immediately springs to mind, but instead he mumbles, “To prove.” His mouth drops open as sweat beads down his forehead, his previous state of cold long forgotten. “That I could join…”
The delicious friction on his cock abruptly ceases as Simon sighs in disappointment, letting go of his thigh to fish something out of his back pocket.
When a white square housing an image of three familiar figures was presented before his eyes, Soap freezes.
The Polaroid.
“Why do you have that?” Soap whispers weakly.
I knew it. He examins the curve of Simon’s victorious smile with a clench in his gut. You did steal it.
“Why did you?” Simon needles, leaning over his body to rest the stolen photograph face down on one of the window sills.
Soap’s brow furrows, a defensive retort hot on his lips, but the sudden warm hand closing over the sodden outline of his wet cock has him squirming with a choked whine.
“It’s just a photo of my parents,” he stammers. “D-doesn’t mean anything.”
“No,” Simon says softly. “Try again.” He rubs his thumb against the sensitive edge of Soap’s crown, chuckling when he cries out. “Tell me the truth, Johnny.” When Soap screws his lips up, he pauses his teasing strokes, something dangerous lurking in the depths of his voice. “Do as your told.”
The command sends sparks flying behind his eyes, and with the thumb stroking expertly over his tip, Soap feels all of his reservations melt away as pleasure arcs up his spine.
“I -” He shudders, toes curling hard into the sheets. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
There.
He’s admitted it now, and Simon can deal with the revelation as he sees fit.
“That right?” Simon’s asks breathlessly as he wraps his whole hand around Soap’s cock, giving him teasing strokes through the thin fabric of his underside as if in reward for his candour. “Did you touch yourself when you looked at me?” He growls hotly, head falling back on his shoulders in amazement, “Fuck, you don’t even know who I am.“
Soap sends him a helpless stare, pleasure coiling hot and tight as a surge of pre-come pools against the sodden scrap of his underwear.
Any delusions of power he’d imagined having as an omega, and his own image of Simon as a lonely, easily manipulated alpha who’d easily bend to his every whim, were quickly being dashed with every passing minute.
He’d been so, so wrong about Simon, and he knew now that he’d never been the one in control, but the realisation comes far too late.
“That was a question.” Simon’s eyes narrow on him as he says, voice rumbling low with warning, “Did you think of me when you touched yourself?”
He nods dumbly, rolling his glassy eyes up at him in silent plea. “Aye.”
The words sit heavily between them for a moment, Simon staring down at him with a look of such terrible longing that he almost wonders if he imagined it, before he hooks his fingers around Soap’s waistband and rips -
Oh!
His underwear is torn off his body like tissue paper and flung lazily to the floor without a care, leaving Soap exposed and totally naked before Simon.
There’s a long, quiet moment where Simon just rests on his knees, inspecting Soap’s quivering, naked body with lidded, blackened eyes.
“Jesus, Johnny,” Simon finally whispers, dragging his eyes from Soap’s fattened cock to his scarlet, sweaty face. “You’re sopping wet.”
He’s not sure if he’s referring to his cock, drooling a steady mess of gooey pre-come down his shaft, or the torrent of slick pouring between his thighs.
Likely both.
“Bloody hell,” Simon mutters, gripping his legs and spreading them wide. “You little slag - you didn’t come here to learn a thing at all, did you?” He doesn’t sound overly disappointed by the realisation, and Soap shakes as hot fingers suddenly circle his wet, clenching rim.
Oh dear God.
“I want to learn,” Soap almost wails as two fingers breach the tight muscle of his hole, sawing in and out in short, shallow thrusts as he sends another rope of pre-come twining down his cock.
Soap stares at his flushed, swollen tip with bleary eyes, biting down hard on his lip as Simon takes him in his hot palm and strokes him with a slow, sliding fist.
Between the fingers sinking into his sloppy heat, and the clever hand gliding up and down his cock, Soap can only lie there and take it as his desperate noises only intensify into reedy, breathy moans.
Simon watches him begin to crumble with a wild, black gaze, the sclera of his eyes white and stark in the soft gloom.
“I know why you really came here, sweet Johnny,” he groans, his own voice strained with pleasured agony. “You didn’t come here to learn about the military,” he croons, laughing cruelly at Soap’s hitching, gasping moans. He bends his body low to breathe against Soap’s panting mouth, “You just came here to learn how to bounce on my cock.”
The words hit Soap bodily, and he sinks further onto Simon’s fingers with a cry, back arching as his cock ripples in his hand, and ecstasy shoots up his spine.
“Oh God,” Soap stammers, voice thin as he watches come shoot over Simon’s slow moving fingers. “Oh God, oh God -”
“He’s not here, sweetheart,” Simon murmurs, stroking along the walls of his clenching insides in time with every pulse of his cock. “It’s just me.”
Soap slurs something incomprehensible, stomach quivering as Simon milks him for all he’s worth, until he’s slumping bonelessly to the mattress, mind swimming with a cocktail of endorphins as his orgasm wanes.
He doesn’t realise his eyes have slipped closed until he feels the heat of Simon’s legs brushing his thighs, and he opens them slowly, before they widen into saucers.
The grey sweatpants have disappeared, leaving only the thick, muscled trunks of Simon’s pale thighs, and the fat length of his cock hanging heavy between them. Soap goggles at the sight of him, eyes trailing the rounded curve of his balls up to the thick, glossy crown of his tip.
Jesus wept, he’s huge.
He eyes the spongy skin at the root of his cock where his knot would eventually form, and can’t fathom how anyone would be able to fit any inch of him inside, let alone with his knot inflated at the same time.
Simon taps his legs, and Soap lazily bends them, moaning in gentle protest as his knees are pinned hard to the bed, leaving his hole gaping and exposed under his intent gaze.
“Greedy boy, coming so quickly.” Simon sighs, wrapping his come-soaked hand around his own cock and coating himself from root to tip. He slaps the fat knob of his crown against Soap’s wet hole with a loud squelch, chuckling at his little jolt of surprise. “Selfish thing.”
A violent frisson of sensation sends a full body shiver down his spine, and Simon notes the movement with gentle click of his tongue. “Are you still cold?” He murmurs with feigned sympathy.
He doesn’t give Soap a chance to respond.
Soon enough he’s crowding closer, blocking out any hint of light overhead with the looming shadow of his body.
Soap works his jaw, the words coming out slow and slurred with open trepidation. “I don’t think that’ll fit, sir.”
Soap feels him twitch against his hole at the honorific, Simon’s hands tightening on his legs as he shudders out a groan.
“It’s alright, Johnny, won’t fuck you yet,” he grunts, slotting the thick meat of his cock between his soaked cheeks, coating his prick from root to tip in Soap’s slick as he passes over his fluttering hole. “We’ll work you up to it,” he says, tone low with soft promise. “I just know.” His words hitch as his cockhead catches on Soap’s slackened rim. “You’ll take me perfectly.”
Soap clamps down instinctively on his cock at the words, both letting out twin moans of surprise as Simon teases his tip against his hole, before he pulls away to fuck between the sloppy, wet squeeze of his asscheeks.
Every wet slide of his length between his cheeks, the way his heavy balls drag against his sopping hole has Soap clutching at Simon, overwhelmed by the foreign, intoxicating sensation. The way Simon’s body moves, the way the muscles on his arms and stomach slide and contract, sends his mind into a spiral.
I wonder if this is what he’ll look like, he thinks wildly. When he fucks me.
Soap clutches desperately at his shoulders and tugs, emboldened when Simon allows himself to be pulled downward, until his plush, panting mouth is slanting clumsily with his, their lips sliding with every desperate, hard thrust of his cock between his cheeks.
It’s his first kiss, and it’s filthy, wet, and more perfect than anything Soap had ever imagined for himself.
“You’ve got such a pretty hole, Johnny,” Simon mutters against his mouth, pulling away to take his own cock in hand, his frenzied eyes wild on Soap as he fists himself with a fast, sloppy pace. His teeth bite into the plush pillow of his bottom lip as his breath hitches tellingly, eyes dropping to the vulnerable spread of his legs. “Practically made for me.”
Soap whines softly at the declaration, and something in his own response has Simon groaning, before he abruptly tips forward, fist slowing as he presses his cockhead to the wet furl of his entrance and begins to come.
Soap startles at the sensation as his hot load ripples up his cock and surges directly onto his swollen hole, Simon’s balls pulsing as he drenches him in a seemingly endless deluge of come, until he’s left a spiderweb of milky white across the rounded globes of his ass.
When he’s done, Simon sinks forward with a deep rumble of satisfaction, resting his body weight on Soap as he takes him into his arms, uncaring of the mess slicking their skin as he draws him into a warm embrace.
Soap sighs as lips trail his cheek, and he burrows eagerly into Simon’s hold, the fading embers of his release pulling heavily on his eyes as soft blankets are pulled up their bodies.
“So clueless, sweet boy,” Simon’s words are softly spoken poison breathed right against his cheek, and he plants a slow, lingering kiss there, shushing Soap’s whimpering sigh as he leans back to smile at his sweaty, dazed face. “Gonna have to teach you everything, aren’t I?”
Soap only slurs something incomprehensible, blinking dazedly as Simon brushes his thumb over his bottom lip.
Simon’s eyes crinkle down at him, the light of the moon glinting in his dark iris. “Was that your first kiss before?” He asks, voice hushed.
Soap’s lips curl in a pout, and he mutters, “That obvious, was it?”
“Not a bad thing.” Simon cradles his face in his huge palms, breath fanning over Soap’s spit-shined lips. “Can practise on me.” He swoops in to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “As much as you want.”
Soap spares a moment to wonder how he ended up here, newly presented and rolling around in some strange alpha’s sheets, but he can’t bring himself to care.
Soap breathes in the shared tang of their scents and sighs, overcome by the sensation of total satisfaction that steals over his heart, and feels all of his doubts fade away with the tide of his encroaching slumber.
Warm breath tickles his hair, just as soft lips press against his brow.
“Sweet dreams, Johnny.”