Chapter Text
Day 15: Sex Pollen
It burns.
Molten lava trickling through his veins, viscous and thick, gathering in a heavy pool in the throbbing area beneath his navel.
Red and so hard, he feels lightheaded. Like his body sent all of his blood downwards, propping up his heavy member until the head is slapping against his belly.
Simon is naked.
Uniform discarded in a trail across the wooden floor of the safehouse, each piece stripped with little regard for it. Shredded, torn fabric that had itched and scratched against his overheating skin, pesky, coarse, entirely too much. Rubbing against his throbbing cock like sandpaper.
Now, his hand’s wrapped around his dick, gripping so tight it should hurt, wrist flicking rapidly, palm pressing against the sputtering, messy head, but it’s still not enough.
His hips snap up, brutish strokes letting his cock run through his hand, the exertion leaving him sticky with sweat. And he still hasn’t cum yet.
His panacea-
You.
Locked in the bathroom.
Fighting the same need that has him drooling and panting.
You’d made your way back to the safehouse somehow, stumbling and half-blind, burning up.
It was supposed to be a quick mission. In and out, simply checking the abandoned lab for any notes left behind by the scientist that were on Makarov’s payroll.
They should’ve know it wouldn’t be that easy.
Makarov wouldn’t just leave sensitive information behind. Not without some sort of security measure.
When Simon had stepped through the lab door, he’d felt the cool, choking feeling of gas hitting his face. Not quite translucent, rather a nebulous white, that quickly penetrated the fabric of his mask and filled his lungs.
He got the brunt of it. But you, right behind him, weren’t spared.
Coughing, sputtering, you both ran out of the room, Simon ripping off his now contaminated mask.
“Fuck, fuck”, he muttered,. This wasn’t happening. You were both exposed to an unknown substance; you might only have mere minutes left-
He’s pacing, chucking the mask off to the side, while you dug in the small bag you carried for a bottle of water.
“Ghost”, your voice reached his ears, clear and calm. Focussed, sharp tranquillity. A steady swell against the waves thrashing against his ribcage. “Come here. I need to wash out your eyes.”
“But you-“, he began to protest, quickly cut off by a solemn shake of your head.
“You caught most of it. Get over here.”
Cool water splashed across his face, carefully washing out his eyes, before he returned the favour. There was nothing more you could do, except get back to the safe house and hope for the best.
“Price, this is Ghost speaking. We’ve arrived at the lab, but were sprayed with an unknown substance. Gas. No indication what it is. Do not attempt to enter the lab.”
“Goddamn it, Ghost. I can request MEDEVAC, but it’ll take a day”. The captain yelled into his comm, sound of heavy footsteps and panting reaching into Simon’s ears. “How’re you guys feeling? Any symptoms?”
“No, sir”, you answered. “We’ll keep it tightly monitored.”
“Copy that”, Price grunted out. “Gaz, on my left-“
The other line went dark for a few seconds.
When Price’s voice returned, it sounded more steady.
“We’ll regroup at the safe house. Abandon the mission for now and watch out. Do you copy?”
“Copy”, you both barked out.
Shortly after, all communication was cut off.
Halfway across the way to the safe house, the symptoms began.
At first, you didn’t really worry about the heat spreading across your bodies. You were walking fast, after all, in heavy military gear.
But soon after, the tell-tale signs of arousal made themselves known.
More than that. Not just arousal. Pure appetite. Want.
A boiling, pinching heat that gripped and didn’t let go.
You’d separated as soon as you entered the safe house, a silent understanding that it was for the best to control the situation alone.
But-
It's calling out to him. Every moan, every gasp you let out, just as desperate as him.
His mind howls at him to kick down the door and take you. To fuck his leaking cock into you until you're full with it, brimming with his spend. Pearly-white against magma-red. Until it trickles out in vicious, fat globs. Pink. Fucked raw. Pillaged until that nagging, flaming pain subsides.
He can almost taste your cunt, picture it in his mind.
Pretty peach. He knows you’re shaven, has seen your cunt on more than one occasion. The military leaves no space for propriety and skittishness, especially in a tight knit taskforce such as the 141. And sometimes, the choice was between sharing water or not showering at all.
The image of clean-shaven, spotless folds fills his mind. Has him gliding up into his hand, fucking harder, picking up speed as he imagines her dripping, juices pooling on the tiny hole he’d carve out for himself, mold into his shape, abuse it until you could taste his fucking cum in your throat from how hard he’d shoot it into you.
He’d leave you ravaged. Violated.
Make you take his cock, one way or another. Anything, to lift the unbearable, throbbing burning in his cock. Hanging heavy, near bursting, screaming with the need to be buried in a bitches tight slit. It hurts to fuck his hand. Hurts when he comes, when he splatters, wastes, his cum on his chest.
Should’ve been sputtered down your pussy.
The feverish pain is still there.
But now that he’s come, he can think a bit more clearly. Can wrangle with the beast inside his chest that urges him to take, to claim, to finally soften his still hardened member.
Price, Soap, and Gaz are still out there.
You should be looking for them, both of you.
Ever since the comm connection dropped, there’s been so sign of life from your team members.
But Ghost can't comprehend anything but the fire in his veins, the slick sloshing of your drenched pussy ringing from the bathroom.
He wants to snap you like a stick, crack your thighs open until there’s nothing you can hide from him anymore.
He calls out your name, half-delirious, hand already stroking over his pulsating member again.
To his surprise, the bathroom door clicks open and you stumble out.
Naked as the day you were born.
Thighs slick, glistening in the low light of the safe house. Cunt puffy and red.
You’re trembling, chest flushed a pretty pink.
Simon can’t let you get away again.
He seizes you with two big steps, grabbing you by the arms and twisting you down, in position. You barely resist, a weak attempt at shoving him off, but he can handle you. Manhandles your body until your down on all fours.
You’re half crawling away, half spurring him on with sharp grinds of your ass against his bare member.
He needs you to stay still-
His giant hand on the back of your neck has you whining when he presses you down with it. There’s no gentleness is in it either, just a heavy shove, until your head hits the hard floorboards and your hands are reaching up to claw at his wrists, scratching like a disobedient, feral cat, leaving behind dull, red marks. The military required trim of your nails leaves you declawed, unable to draw blood, and Simon doesn’t even feel the sting of the scratches.
Not when he’s finally draping himself over your back, flesh to flesh, sticking his skin to yours, pressing you down even further, leaving your ass arched up, wet fucking hole opening up so beautifully for him like this, winking and begging for his cock.
“Gonna fuck you”, he presses out, shoving past the foggy dizziness to access his language centre, to let you know he’s just as a much a slave to the libidinous fever as you are. “ ‘M sorry, I can’t… Can’t stop.”
“Hurts”, you whine, rocking back against him, now openly crying.
Simon groans.
There’s no tenderness when he rams himself into you, head knocking, catching against the unstretched rim of your pussy for a second, before barrelling in.
Doesn’t care if the animalish thrusts he subjects you to tear you apart. Doesn’t care who you are. Right now, you’re a hole. A warm, pliant body for him to feed his cock into, to fuck out the brutish beast that’s puppeteering his movements, to snuff out the forest fire blazing in the thick muscle on his body, burning his bones like pine wood, leaving his chest filled with ash and smoke. Filling his stuffy mouth with soot.
He doesn’t care if he leaves you torn and bloody; not when his bones are liquefying, molten plastic trickling through the layers of fatty skin. When his blood is boiling, proteins denaturising in an all-encompassing inferno.
Every plow of his mushroomed head against your spongy cervix has you gasping out air, stupid uh, uh uh’s tumbling from your lips.
His shoulders begin to ache from how he’s hunched over you, one hand still pressing against your neck, the other steadying you at the waist, gripping the flesh so tight it might bruise.
Each thrust has him closer to salvation.
Simon presses his nose down against your skin and opens his mouth, tonguing along the bare skin exposed to his sharp canines, licking a long stripe over your spine.
Earthy. Oak and saline sweat, woody, wild, unwashed, still clinging to your skin from battle, and beneath the taste lingers the faint charcoal-ammoniac smell of gunpowder. He thinks it might be gunpowder. Can’t even think straight, can’t remember if you fired your gun. Maybe you’d pissed yourself in fear or from pure overwhelm; maybe the wet sloshing he’d heard from the bathroom was your cunt dripping from another hole-
Fuck.
He ruts into you harder, tongue still striping over the expansive slope of your back, a mountain range of milky skin, burning against the muscle like a cup of tea drunken too soon.
He welcomes the burn, swallows it. Takes it in like it might quench the unending craving, the incessant greed that dared to swallow him whole.
Swallow both of you.
If the increasing clenching of your hole around his cock was anything to go by, you needed it just as bad. Wet fucking cunt, drooling down his rod. Despite his bulldozing of your lower body, you were still aroused. Whimpers increasing in volume, in pitch, as he fucked into you like a man possessed.
Each clench has him seeing stars.
Has his lower stomach clenching with excess energy waiting to be released.
Prickling euphoria spreading from his balls to the tip of his cock. Bubble getting ready to burst.
It’s over for him when he feels you come around his cock, pussy clenching tight, gripping him, keeping him inside, and he can’t pull out, won’t pull out-
Not when he’s this close to relief-
The beast roars in victory when the first spurt of cum paints your pink walls white. When he finally releases the sickening fever from his body, using your body as a vessel, as his remedy. Doesn’t stop thrusting until he gave you everything.
When you try to move, lucidity increased now that you orgasmed, he growls. He’s not done yet. Can’t have his pretty, soft girl running away.
When he looks down, he sees a ring of bubbly white cover the base of his cock, spilling from your well-fucked hole.
For the first time since the fever spread, he feels relief.
Your cunt’s soothing his ache; tight clench around his cock anodyne and pacifying. You’re running just as hot as him, burning to the bare touch, but now a welcomed coolness spreads from your body, a cold compress on his febrile body.
He allows you some wiggle room, but keeps you speared on his cock. The ugly, fat thing already raising its head again with newfound need. Less intense, but still unignorable.
Simon sighs.
A heavy paw strokes down your hair, finally leaving your neck, and you turn your head to him, eyes glassy and empty. Dried tear tracks running down your cheeks. Flushed red, with indents where he’d pushed your face on the floor.
“”Si”, you cry out, voice hoarse. “It still burns. Why won’t it stop-“
“Don’t know”, he moans out, slowly, steadily thrusting back into you with shallow strokes. “Gotta keep going-“
The heavy banging of a door being kicked open manages to make him snap his head back, teeth fletched, ready to defend his spoils-
But stumbling in, ashen and panting, are your team members.