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Snake wakes up disgruntled.
He’s always been prone to weird dreams, especially if he’s been talking or thinking about something hard recently. It’s rarer for him to remember the details, so he only remembers snatches, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t remember talking or thinking about… this.
(Johnny, and that’s normal enough. What isn’t normal is the faceless men. Recruits, strangers, enemies, he doesn’t know – the important part is that they’re men that aren’t him, with their hands and mouths all over Johnny, inside him and around him, making him moan and beg and plead—)
He rips his blankets off, suddenly too hot. He moves to stand; stops, when he feels an uncomfortable wetness on the front of his sweatpants.
He refuses to dwell on it. He discards his pants, goes to wash his face, slips his eye patch on, does his best to forget all about it. He doesn’t have time to waste on impossible dreams.
It’s just a stupid dream. He’s had plenty of them before.
But he can’t shake this one.
Maybe it’s just that Johnny is getting too friendly with the new recruits – or that the new recruits are getting too friendly with him.
Things finally seem to be settling in the wake of the Patriots’ destruction. With the new plans and systems in place to rehabilitate and train the remaining soldiers, and with Snake being deemed unlikely to be starting another Outer Heaven, more and more people have been streaming in by the day. Mercenaries, soldiers that didn’t desert; all sorts of men of different ages and levels of experience, and for some reason they all want something to do with Johnny.
One of them – a young man from the Marines, hair grown past regulation – is coming up now to grab Johnny by the shoulder, pulling him close and saying something into his ear with a broad smile. Johnny smiles back, wiping sweat from his face, not seeming to mind the closeness.
They’ve just wrapped up sparring, soldiers milling about as they’re dismissed. Johnny is steadily improving under Snake’s tutelage (he hasn’t knocked himself out once this past week, a feat almost too incredible to believe), but it’s difficult to focus on over how handsy his sparring partners have been.
He knows it’s just the memory of the dream messing with him. He of all people knows how close ‘close quarters combat’ can really get. But Snake swears he’s seen hands palming over Johnny’s groin, dangerously close to slipping in under his belt – faces too close, a knee in-between his legs when it wouldn’t offer any tactical advantage, a full-body pin where a different hold would be more efficient.
Even now, another new recruit – former mercenary, previous wetwork for the government – is pulling Johnny and the former Marine into a loose hug, pulling them in close, too close. His other hand goes in low – too low – settling on the small of Johnny’s back.
Johnny pulls back, laughing at something one of them said.
Snake grips his arm; grits his teeth, and exhales.
Johnny looks over, almost as if on reflex. When he catches Snake’s eye, he breaks out into an eager grin, and Snake feels his shoulders relax despite himself. He jerks his head to the side in a short familiar motion: come to my house after training.
Johnny turns red, at that, nodding quickly, and Snake dutifully ignores the suspicious glance Meryl sends his way from beside him. He tells himself that the way Johnny scampers away from the others in a rush is satisfaction enough.
Snake is walking past the locker rooms when from within he hears Johnny yelp, and that stops him in his tracks.
“I’m serious,” another man’s voice says, loud as anything, and the words are followed by a chorus of agreement. Snake stays very still, alert.
“Johnny, you’re hot as hell!”
Raucous laughter, followed by the faint sounds of Johnny protesting in embarrassment. A smattering of voices with words he can’t pick out, but Snake commits them to memory, ready to be identified at a later time. There’s what sounds like slapping, skin on skin. Snake doesn’t move from his spot.
“Have you seen this guy’s cock? He’s packing. No homo, but Johnny could get it.”
“Stop it,” Johnny says, in that flustered whine of his. Snake can almost see it; his face turning pink, hands going to his neck in that bad habit of his as he averts his eyes and kicks his feet.
(Johnny, and faceless men given voices. Calling him sweetheart, baby boy, talking about how tight and wet his mouth and ass is and how he takes them so good and surely he has a man he goes back to…)
“Aw, look. Ain’t he cute?”
There’s wolf-whistling, the sounds of roughhousing. The conversation moves on, but Snake stays rooted in place.
By the time Snake had been wrapping up paperwork and getting ready to leave, he’d almost been calm. Had accepted, finally, that it had just been a dream that was fucking with his head, and that any unwarranted intimacy between Johnny and his peers were imagined. All of that vanishes in a second.
For one horrible, uncontrollable moment, Snake has the thought of going in there, showing them what’s what. Of taking Johnny in front of them, of making them watch as he turns him into a moaning mess, of showing them who he belongs to and filling him up until there’s no space for anyone else.
Something about the thought unsettles him.
The cacophony dies down into something quieter, and Snake leaves without a sound.
He’s still thinking of it when he fucks Johnny hard against the wall, making the furniture shake as Johnny moans and whines and thrashes.
Johnny’s hair is still damp – he’d rushed right over like a good dog, not even bothering to dry his hair properly. He’d eagerly accepted Snake’s harsh hands, opened up easily and willingly for him. If he thinks Snake is rougher than usual, he says nothing – seems to enjoy it, even, by the way he was leaking even before he got his pants all the way off.
His bare back stretches out in front of Snake, slick and warm with sweat, and Snake can see the start of bruising in the shape of hands that aren’t his. He thinks of hands that aren’t his, real and imagined, of sweet words in stranger’s voices, and of Johnny, panting and pleading, getting fucked by someone else.
Something in him snaps.
Snake squeezes Johnny’s ass roughly enough to make him groan, then yelp as he brings his palm down in a slap, hand laying heavy.
“Heard you an’ the boys talking in the showers today,” Snake says. Johnny tightens around him in surprise.
“Wonder what they’d say if they saw you now, wrapped around my cock,” Snake says.
“Boss,” Johnny tries, breathless. His voice breaks on a gasp as Snake slips a thumb in past his stretched rim.
“Or maybe you’d like that,” Snake muses, like he’s discussing the weather. His other hand squeezes a cheek, pulling Johnny’s hole open, and Johnny whines. “Maybe you want them to see how much of a cockslut you are. Or maybe you want their hands all over you.
“Maybe you want them to fuck your mouth,” Snake continues, deliberately calm, moving a hand to slip into Johnny’s panting mouth. He presses down into his tongue hard enough to make him choke. “Maybe you want them to fuck you in the ass, two at a time…”
He pushes his thumb in further, in his mouth, in his hole. Johnny is drooling around him, bucking against him.
“Maybe you’d like five guys fucking you open, filling you with cum,” Snake growls into his ear, fucking into him. The slide of his cock against his thumb is tight; Johnny’s eyes roll back, body jerking. “You’d be their little cumdump, their toy…”
“Boss…”
Snake pulls his thumb out of his mouth to pull him back by his damp hair, revealing a stretch of neck that Snake doesn’t hesitate to mouth against, teeth scraping hot skin. Johnny has started jerking his hips back in a way that tells Snake he’s close, but he can’t have that, not yet. Snake pulls his thumb from his hole, pulls himself almost all the way out, and he can’t help but smirk at the way Johnny immediately chases him, desperate.
“Should have gone in and shown them who you belong to,” Snake says into his neck, revelling in the way Johnny trembles beneath him. He squeezes Johnny’s waist, right over a hand-shaped bruise, and can’t help the sick satisfaction he feels at how Johnny shudders. “Should have fucked you right there, made you fall apart right in front of them, filled you up until you couldn’t remember anyone’s name but mine.”
Johnny goes completely still, whole body taut.
It takes Snake a moment to realise that he’s just come.
Snake thrusts into him hard and Johnny screams. Snake sets a relentless pace and doesn’t let up for a second. He hasn’t finished yet, after all. Johnny is whimpering beneath him, lip bit till bleeding and legs and arms shaking. Snake slips his hands down to hold him securely at his hips, pulling him to meet his thrusts.
“You like that?” Snake says, ignoring the sweat dripping from his brow and down Johnny’s neck. “You like whoring yourself out in front of them? Showing them that fat dick of yours is useless and you’re nothing but my hole?”
Snake grabs said dick, and Johnny full-body flinches against him, still leaking cum half-hard onto his hand. The sound he makes is garbled and almost inhuman, incoherent.
“Or is it that you wanna be used by them? Which is it? You’re a greedy slut, maybe you want both. Maybe I’ll be generous and leave them my sloppy seconds.”
Snake is fucking into him so hard that he almost misses the trembling hand that comes up to paw weakly at his arm, and he stops, surprised.
“I’m yours,” Johnny says, face half-turned into his shoulder. His voice is ruined, hoarse, and his expression is wet and hazy. He’s slurring, and it takes Snake a moment to really hear what he’s saying. “I’m yours, I’m yours…”
Something about the words makes his stomach explode with heat, possessiveness curling in his chest. Snake slows down, pushes in close, grinds into him, pulling a low, strangled cry from Johnny. He works his cock slowly, making him sob.
“Yeah?” Snake says now in a murmur, hot breath against Johnny’s cheek. “Your hole is just made for me, isn’t it? Look how perfectly it fits my cock. No one else could make you feel this good. They couldn’t fill you up as good as I do.”
“Yes, yes,” Johnny is chanting, driving Snake on.
“You’re mine. You belong to me.”
“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Johnny agrees deliriously, pushing insistently back onto him, anything to try and get Snake to move faster, harder. “I only want your cock, I’m yours, thank you, thank you, thank you, please, Boss…”
“That’s right,” Snake says, working Johnny’s dick faster as a reward. Johnny’s muscles spasm around his cock as he continues to grind slowly into him, kneading his prostate. “I really ought to mark you, make sure everyone knows you’re mine. Would you like that, sweetheart?”
Johnny starts nodding so frantically that he almost headbutts Snake with the force of it, breathing coming fast and shallow.
“Please, please, please, please—”
Snake bites down hard.
Johnny squeezes down around him and Snake can’t help but come, biting down harder. Johnny shudders once, twice – he makes no sound save for a choked inhale, whole body tightening up as he comes for the second time. He trembles – then Snake is catching him as he goes boneless, gasping with a harsh exhale.
“Good boy,” Snake croons, lapping at his bleeding bite just to hear Johnny’s broken moan. He pulls back to survey his handiwork, pleased. It’s already starting to bruise. “You did so good, Johnny.”
He walks backward to the couch, pulling Johnny with him to flop against him, still catching his breath.
He’s content to lay there for a long moment, coming down. Calmer now, Snake is beginning to feel a little foolish over how he acted, letting imagined scenarios get the better of him. Sat here with Johnny in his arms, body solid and warm, the dream is just that: a dream. But his mark on Johnny is real, physical, and he doesn’t refuse himself the pleasure of seeing it there, at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, red and angry and undeniable.
After a while, Johnny moves, shuffling to turn around and face Snake.
He just— looks at him. Searching for something, asking for something, Snake doesn’t know. So he leans down and kisses him, tasting blood, and Johnny squirms in his lap, pleased. When they part, breaths hot between them, Johnny is still looking at him.
“About the showers,” Johnny starts, hesitating. When Snake tilts his head at him, silently urging him to go on, Johnny only goes pink, burying his face into Snake’s chest. “They wouldn’t… well, even if they tried, you know you’re the only one for me, Boss.”
Snake doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t have to. From the way Johnny’s body gets heavier and his breathing deepens, he’s well on his way to passing out.
So Snake says nothing. He presses his face into Johnny’s drying hair as his breath evens out, and he closes his eyes.