ShadowSpires
@SpiresShadow
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30+ Sometimes-writer. Presently in COD/ #ghoap. violently allergic to censorship. ship and let ship, etc: all the things that used to just be normal etiquette
United States
Joined September 2015
Simon still hummed quietly at the tug, pleased, and going if possible even more lax against Soap, suckling lightly at his cock as he set to drift again, safe and trusted and trusting.
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the diffuse pleasure of giving this to Simon, being what he needed in this moment. He reached down to tug lightly on Simon’s hair. “Cheeky,” he scolded, and while it was playful and they both knew it,
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first to know. Simon was more than capable, at this point, of playing him like a fiddle, knowing how to work him up fast and throw him bodily off the clif of pleasure, but then how to keep him just on the edge of that warm buzz without actually getting hard, just floating in
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“Doing so perfect for me. You just let me know when you’re done, yeah?” He could feel Simon’s lips twitch around him before the man swallowed pointedly around his still mostly soft cock, and yeah, fair. When Simon was ready for something more, Johnny would *certainly* be the
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he was ready to be done. Soap laughed softly, and massaged lightly at the back of Simon’s neck. “Alright love,” he laughed, riding the euphoric buzz of being able to give this to Simon into renewed determination to finish all his work while the warmth of this moment lasted.
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where they were pressed, soft and petal-pink around the base of him. Simon tilted his head into the hand Soap had on his cheek, the scruff of his evening stubble scraping lightly across Johnny’s skin as he squinted up at him, conveying his displeasure at Johnny’s shifting before
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golden curls, leaning a little bit further back in his chair so he could meet shadowed brown eyes peering up at him from the snug cave under his desk. “Did I disturb you, princess?” He teased, sliding a hand down to cup Simon’s cheek, brushing a thumb over the corner of his lips
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got in response was low and displeased and rumbled deliciously around the soft mouthful of his cock, sending a new wave of diffuse heat to join the slowly building pool in his belly. He huffed a quiet laugh and set his pen aside to reach down and run his fingers through short
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back for it often enough that they had established a routine for it, worked out the ways to make it best for both of them, to make it *last*, until every ounce of tight-wound tension was gone from Simon’s body. He shifted his hips just slightly in his chair and the grumble he
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Simon’s presence, but settling into the calm, warm pleasure of it all, of the hot mouth around him, the soft puff of even breaths, the certain and sure knowledge that Simon felt *safe* enough with him to have even asked for this in the first place, let alone continued to come
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settled into a warm buzz, all urgency already spent in the frantic rush of earlier. They settled in like that, sinking into the moment, before Soap tried to settle back into his paperwork, knowing he’d be here until Simon was finished. And so they were, Soap not ever dismissing
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thighs and fingers twitching a little before they stilled, head tilted enough to one side to rest against a firm thigh, mouth soft and lax except to swallow periodically as saliva accumulated in his mouth, sending jolting shocks through Soap as he continued to come down, until it
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swallowed to work him deeper, until he was pressed into the soft palette of Simon’s mouth just shy of cutting off his air again. Settled, Simon let out a deep sigh and went boneless against Soap’s lap, bracketed in snug under his desk, palms pressed into the underside of Soap’s
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softly through the remaining sparks of overstimulation as he held himself steady for Simon as the other lowered his head to meet him. A warm tongue lapped the remains of his release from his skin, and soft lips wrapped around sensitive skin, wet heat cradling Soap’s cock as he
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carefully at the places where eyeblack had run just a little with reflexive tears, and then obligingly helped fit the nearly soft length of his cock back into Simon’s mouth. On the cusp of getting what he wanted, the man was no longer inclined to be helpful, leaving Soap panting
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overwhelmed laugh. He carefully reached out and lifted the balaclava the rest of the way off Simon’s head, folding it carefully and placing it in the top right drawer of his desk, easily to hand, but out of immediate sight. Soap ran his fingers through messy hair and thumbed
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in on either side of him, tucking his bare hands, always a little cool, under Soap’s thighs, and shifting a few more times to settle, before giving him a patiently demanding look. He blinked his big, brown eyes up at Soap, somehow conveying ‘well?’, and the Sergeant huffed an
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