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“So, what d’ya say, you? Keen to give us a go?”
Soap looks at you, beaming, his arms rested on his knees as he sits on the edge of the bed. From his demeanour, you might guess that he was proposing a friendly game of darts and not a threesome.
“Promise I’ll be gentle, warm ye up proper - can’t say the same for LT, though…” He elbows Ghost, standing next to him. Ghost says nothing, his eyes studying you from behind the mask.
They - well, Soap - had invited you to his quarters for a ‘casual drink’. In truth, the Scotsman had been dwelling on this particular fantasy for a while now. Convincing Ghost’d been the hard part - he was hoping you were an easier sell.
He stands up, grabbing your hips and pulling you close until your chests are flush. “C’mon, don’t tell me ye’ve never thought about it. And if ye don't think you can take us both in the same hole, we can just fit you nice and cozy between us.” He murmurs, tilting your chin with a wolfish grin. “You’re the perfect wee filling for a SAS sandwich.”
Ghost rolls his eyes, even as he moves to stand behind you, an arm around you waist pulling you back against his broad chest . “Fucking hell, Johnny. Just stop talking.” His gloved hand dips lower, below the waistband of your pants. “And you...you just spread your legs and let us handle it.” Ghost mutters in your ear. As much as the masked soldier’d like to pretend he's unaffected by your presence, he can’t hide how fucking hard the idea of double stuffing your sweet body makes him...as evidenced by the bulge pressing against your ass.
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