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The mission went about as bad as possible.
No one got hurt and the objective was accomplished exactly as planned. Except that it’s the full moon and Ghost almost got hurt, at the tail end of the op when unexpected hostile backup arrived and cornered him. With heightened emotions and hormones and also close to rut season, Soap went off. Is still going off. Tore out the throat of the guy who’s arm Ghost dislocated before he could do anything with the knife he was holding, and because there were no more guys, Soap is practically vibrating with pent-up energy. He’s only barely holding himself in check and that’s also only because he’s digging his growing sharp nails into Ghost. They’re going to leave puncture wounds in Ghost’s trousers and, based on the prickling feeling, are probably drawing blood on his thigh.
The moment their transport arrives back on base, Ghost hounds Soap out onto the tarmac before anyone else even has time to move. He doesn’t go for the armoury to drop of their gear, or the office block for mandatory debrief, or his room for a familiar private space. He walks directly away from all of those and heads straight to the facility at the corner of the grounds. A concrete block that doesn’t look pretty inside or out, but it’s not supposed to. Purely utilitarian to the extent it’s almost bleak, but no one is going there with a straight mind.
Soap’s claws are still hooked in the fabric of his trousers which makes walking awkward, but they’re in step with each other and Ghost has one palm scruffing the back of Soap’s neck to drag him along. Not that Soap would step any farther from Ghost than he is right now. Hand on his neck, fingers pressing in, Ghost can feel the subtle, near inaudible vibrations in his throat, the beginnings of a growl.
Ghost drags Soap into the building, throws them into the first room available, and slams the door shut behind them. It’s supposed to be able to hold a werewolf. Concrete walls, concrete floor, the air smelling of wet dog from probably one of the neighbouring occupied rooms. Soap is usually able to keep himself in control during full moons, except when something sets him off.
“It’s not a big deal, Johnny. I’m fine,” Ghost tries to pacify him. Soap twists himself free from his hold to bare his teeth at him in lieu of not having any more throats to rip out. Ghost raises both hands in a gesture of peace. Tilts his head back to show his throat to appease the wolf side of him too.
Soap lets out another growl, deep and rumbling, less and less human. He’s not angry at him, Ghost knows, yet it still sends a shiver up his spine, having a primal sound like that directed his way. It leaves a thrill behind, a thrumming in his blood, not quite the same anticipation as before a mission but awfully similar. The feeling of incoming danger, the exhilaration of facing it head-on.
Ghost backs away, head still tilted back, just in case, as Soap paces around the room. There are basic materials left for only the most basic comfort. Soap snarls at nothing in particular as he throws them around.
He shoves the threadbare mattress to the opposite side of the room – cheaper than letting them destroy a full bed – and yanks at the one blanket hard enough to threaten to rip it in half. He raises it up to his face half way before throwing it to the other end of the room again. Grows increasingly agitated as he kicks at the mattress. There are claw marks already in it, from someone else, and Ghost assumes that’s what the problem might be.
There’s a howl from one of the rooms over. Light and juvenile, probably a new shifter, giving in to the full moon early. It only serves to agitate Soap more. The room is filled with smells and noises that aren’t pack in a den that isn’t his. Ghost would offer himself, except he still has some self-preservation instinct left in him. And experience has taught him that it’s better to let it play out, to let Soap work himself up rather than have him hover in between. And, truthfully, it leaves him feeling a buzz, knowing that Soap has worked himself up and out of control because of him. He can handle himself and Soap knows that too, but there are instincts at play that are stronger than that, instincts that snarl at the world for daring to approach Ghost right now.
So Ghost stays right by the far wall, doing nothing but watch as Soap huffs and growls at the beaten mattress. He shoves it away again before he’s even scented it, stomping around it to the other corner of the room, radiating violent energy.
Ghost has seen it before and Soap has told him – maybe truthful, maybe not – that it’s only uncomfortable. He always watches with a mix of awe and sympathy as Soap’s bones crack and his limbs twist. His clothes rip straight from his back as his body grows large enough to make the room feel small and cramped. His legs lengthen to carry him nearly up to the height of the ceiling, snout elongating, sharp nails extending into full claws. His naturally thick body hair grows and expands into fur, canines extend into fangs, and he pulls his lips back to bare the rest of his teeth that are too sharp even in human form.
He extends himself out fully, head tilted at the ceiling and rolling his shoulders. The room rumbles with the vibrations that come from him, either a growl or a purr or something in between.
Ghost’s gaze roves over him indulgently. Over the – frankly massive – size of him. Tall enough to fill the entire room, claws inches long, maw wide enough to bite someone’s head off. He looks like the stuff of nightmares. Or like the pictures they stick on boxes for knotted dildos.
Soap kicks at the mattress again as he shakes his legs out. It’s left as far too small for him – but it’s meant for after anyway, for the soldiers to sleep off the following exhaustion after transforming during a full moon.
Standard procedure is to let them tire themselves out here, where they can howl at each other and scratch at the walls and rip at cheap, threadbare blankets. Truthfully, there really shouldn’t be anyone else in the room with them at all. It’ll be Ghost’s own fault that he’s on this side of the door if something happens.
He hopes something happens.
Soap stretches his transformed body out. Large, menacing, covered in dark fur the colour of the roots of his hair, sharp fangs gleaming, and the complete opposite of the shorter stature he has as a human.
It takes him a whole two steps to cross the room and bury his snout in Ghost’s neck. One large palm lands on his back roughly enough to have Ghost stumbling against Soap’s chest. He lays a palm flat over where he assumes Soap’s heart is, though his whole chest is beating with the force of it, hot enough Ghost feels it through his gloves. Feels it through all his clothes, the body heat emanating from Soap, when he pulls Ghost closer to himself, his nose digging into the crook of his neck.
“Johnny,” he says, though he’s not sure himself if it’s meant to be a warning or something else.
He gets one snort from Soap, hot air against his jaw, before claws rip his gear off. A rather expensive tendency Soap has.
They drag over Ghost’s back, sharp and merciless, leave red lines in a long arc from his shoulder blades to hip, not enough to draw blood but left tingling. Ghost shoves his gear off before Soap can irreparably destroy anything more. Tilts his head to the side to make room for Soap’s nose just under his jaw as he throws his plate carrier off, then the tattered remains of his shirt. His trousers and pants fall in a heap at his feet. Soap noses at his neck forcefully enough to ruck up the hem of his mask.
Ghost keeps his head tilted as he crouches to tug at the laces on his boots, when he’s suddenly shoved over instead. His knees scrape against the concrete floor but the sensation fades when there’s a cold snout pressed right against his perineum. Soap huffs like a proper fucking dog. He only presses forwards harder when Ghost shifts to recover his balance, getting his arms under him.
He looks over his shoulder at Soap, sees only a large, hulking body, before there’s a tongue licking up, over his hole, all the way up to the small of his back. Saliva drips all over his bottom half, dripping down to his balls, splattering to the ground. Ghost shivers, drops his head. Then balances himself better on just one arm so he can reach behind himself to shove his hand into the midst of Soap’s insistent mouth and his arse.
Soap’s tongue is flat and firm as it licks over him again, pulling back just enough to force his nose right against Ghost’s perineum. Ghost crams a finger into himself to stretch himself out. Doesn’t let Soap’s tongue or teeth against his hand discourage him. He needs to stretch himself out, sooner rather than later.
He goes up to two digits after just a couple moments. It’s a rough stretch, his wrist at an awkward angle and constantly nudged at. It’s too hurried and barely feels nice, Ghost grunting as he drives his fingers as deep as he can, but he knows he needs this.
Soap drools over his hole and scrapes his fangs over his arse, and Ghost pushes his saliva into himself. It’s copious enough that it’ll do the job, especially with how Soap is insistently licking over him like he needs the taste of Ghost on his tongue. He’s salivating and drooling where the smell of sweat and musk must be strongest, gathered over the course of the mission. He laps his tongue over his entrance like he wants to swallow it all up, opens his jaws wide like he wants to bite.
Soap’s tongue has grown too big to easily fit between his cheeks, but he presses it between there anyway, laving over Ghost’s hand where he goes up to three digits. It’s earlier than he should, but doesn’t mind the pain or the burn because it’s better than tearing. He shoves them as deep as he can with little easing into it, Soap’s saliva slicking the way but not enough to make the slide entirely smooth. He can never quite tell what Soap’s patience is like during these moments, when he’s shoving his nose into Ghost’s arse and digging his claws into concrete, seemingly always a moment away from literally pouncing on him.
Soap’s tongue laps at him, tries to push into the scant space beside Ghost’s hand. He presses it against him firmer until it’s ramming its way into Ghost’s hole alongside his fingers, where the smell must be strongest based on Soap’s insistence.
Ghost hooks his fingers behind his rim and pulls to gape himself. Opens himself up for Soap to thrust his tongue in and lets him take over some of the stretching. Drool drips straight into his hole as Soap pushes his tongue in. It’s longer than anything natural, wet and warm and flexible as it twists and laps at his insides. Wide enough that it’ll do the trick and feels much better than his own too-dry hand.
Soap pushes and prods at his hole like he’s trying to rapidly lick at his insides while his tongue is trapped in his arse. The motions pull at his rim, Soap unintentionally helping him stretch, and Ghost tugs harder with his fingers to make the most of this prep, even as his other arm is growing fatigued under him, his cock firming up from the enthusiastic attention to his arse.
Soap pulls away and suddenly Ghost is being lifted up instead.
If he were any smaller, Soap would be able to wrap one hand around the entirety of him. Instead he holds Ghost in two hands, encircling his torso, tips of his claws curved to prick against his skin, strong enough to lift Ghost without breaking a sweat.
This is the point, Ghost assumes, where Soap has run out of patience.
Soap raises him up and Ghost loses all leverage as he’s lifted entirely off the ground. Legs dangling freely in the air, no foothold, no handhold other than Soap’s arms around him. The only thing he can do is try to lean slightly forwards to set his palm against the wall in front of him, but that doesn’t help him any, a mocking facsimile of stability and balance when he’s held entirely in Soap’s grasp.
There’s nothing to ground him when the blunt head of Soap’s cock presses against his hole.
There’s a small taper at the tip, but it doesn’t make the insertion any easier, doesn’t make it seem any more manageable. The head forces him open and the pressure that follows feels three sizes too big for Ghost’s body, which is about exactly how big he likes to take it.
The only thing he can do is relax himself. Can only fight against the instinctive tightening when Soap presses forwards harder, breathe deep and hold onto Soap’s arms around him because there’s nothing else within reach.
Soap is holding him still in the air as he presses forwards, squeezing himself between Ghost’s muscles, making room for himself. The prep was hasty and there’s only spit to aid the way, so it burns, it hurts, something is straining and being forced to stretch that should be done slower and easier, but Ghost breathes through it. Focuses on the heat of Soap’s cock as another inch, and another, and another, is buried inside him. The ache flares brighter until it spreads into arousal, a shudder up his spine. His cock pulses, hard and heavy and drooping under its own weight, yet still pathetic in comparison to Soap’s wolf cock.
He’s always preferred it like this anyway. All those ridiculously sized knotted toys have just been preparation for Soap joining the team and worming his way into Ghost’s good graces. The toys are a tease at best when compared to the girth that’s stretching him open now, Soap bucking his hips up to shove another inch into his hole, and it feels like something might still tear from the sudden stretch.
Ghost doesn’t give a fuck if he bleeds. He tightens reflexively, holds himself too tense from being dangled in the air, and it makes the slide of Soap’s cock into him all the more intense. Like he can feel every vein that’s pumping his cock to full hardness, every little crease and bump of texture as it pushes past Ghost’s rim. Ghost forces himself to relax, for his body to open up, until Soap bucks forwards and sinks in to the hilt.
Ghost would let out a breath except it feels like all the air has been fucked from his lungs – from nothing more than Soap sheathing himself fully in his body. He sets a hand on his abdomen, the place where Soap is buried, and the last of the air that’s left in him leaves when he feels the bulge under his palm. A noticeable bump where Soap’s cock stretches him out. It’s hard when Ghost presses down firmer – as if it isn’t tight enough inside him already – and he feels Soap’s cock twitch in his arse at Ghost prodding at his cock through skin.
Ghost breathes in deep, sucks his stomach in as he does, and watches the outline of Soap’s cock turn clear and defined. He lets that breath out. Slow, steady, centring himself, tamping down the thrill and anticipation and thrumming arousal that makes precum bead on the tip of his cock, small even when compared to the bulge in his stomach.
Warm air fans over the back of his neck when Soap huffs. Then he’s lifting the entirety of Ghost up with just his hands around him until it’s only the head of his cock lodged in his hole. There’s only a brief moment of anticipation – because Soap’s patience doesn’t last any longer than a split second – before he snaps his hips up and buries himself in Ghost’s arse again.
Soap uses him like a cocksleeve, like a fleshlight, a hole for him to get off in. Holds Ghost in both hands and slides him over his cock like he weighs nothing more than a toy. Fucks into him with no gentleness, as if he isn’t actively rearranging Ghost’s insides, forcing his body open and organs aside to make room for his cock, carving a place for himself inside him.
Ghost has no leverage to fight against it, reliant on Soap to hold him up and move him. He’s slid up and down on his cock, legs dangling freely, cock bouncing with the near frantic motions.
Soap bucks his hips up harshly, jostles Ghost higher up into the air. His cock is fat enough it’s pressing against Ghost’s prostate relentlessly, on every slide in and out of him, and so firmly it’s almost more painful than pleasurable.
Ghost clutches onto Soap’s arm around him with one hand, and he’s lifted high enough he can slap his other palm against the ceiling for some parody of balance. Soap is hunched over, drooling onto Ghost’s shoulder from the tight clutch of his hole. Makes him wonder who the fuck made these ceilings so low that they can barely fit a werewolf. But they did afford a skylight to let the full moon shine in, light glinting off the way precum flies from the tip of Ghost’s cock as it bobs, Soap yanking him harshly down onto his cock.
Soap grunts roughly every time he bottoms out, a rumbling sound that echoes in the room, vibrates through Ghost’s body. Deep and animalistic and nearly feral, and the frantic way Soap is fucking into him is too. Like he doesn’t care at all that his claws are close to drawing blood and Ghost’s rim can barely stretch around his girth. Though it’s not like Ghost cares enough either, clenching around him like the fit isn’t tight enough already. He’s given up on trying to make his body relax and open up for him, since Soap is doing it all on his own, forcing space inside him.
The spit and saliva in his hole fades away at Soap’s deep, hurried thrusts. The slide of his cock turns from rough to burning. Far too dry to slide smoothly into Ghost, and it makes Ghost reflexively stiffen around him, a reflex he can’t tamp down before Soap is already forcing his way past his fluttering rim, carving a place for himself inside Ghost’s body and between his clenching walls.
Until something else smooths the next thrust, makes the sound of Soap’s hips bucking up against Ghost’s arse wet and lewd. It drips down his inner walls and from his hole, thick and hot. Soap buries himself in his arse and spurts out another gush of precum into him, his cock already twitching and pulsing from the tight clutch of his hole.
He pulls Ghost down hard onto his cock where Ghost can feel the beginning of his knot pressing against his hole. Feels how Soap’s cock pulses to fill it, still small and nowhere close to being fully inflated, yet it’s already thicker than the rest of his cock, far thicker than anything Ghost’s rim is prepared to take, and Ghost feels delirious with the knowledge that Soap is going to force all of it into his body.
Soap’s hands tighten around him as he pulls Ghost onto his cock, bucking his hips up to force his growing knot against his hole. A relentless pressure that Ghost feels only growing bigger, and Soap jostles and pulls and yanks at him to drive his cock harshly inside him.
His knot is pressing against Ghost’s entrance, his rim widening to let it in but it’s still not enough. Soap shifts him as if another angle might allow him to slip in, but the slight swell of his knot slaps against Ghost’s arse and his cock presses hard against his prostate instead. At an angle that feels like it’s jostling his insides, forcing something in his body aside that’s probably important but not important enough to make room for the fat girth of his cock. Soap could squeeze all his organs to the side for all he cares, as long as his hole is stretched wide and his guts are filled.
Ghost’s cock pulses as he comes, Soap’s cock brushing over his prostate. His cum shoots over the wall as his body goes tight, squeezing harder around Soap’s ridiculously sized cock. His back bows in Soap’s hands and the angle has Soap ramming directly into his prostate, his body jolting violently yet held tight, and Ghost can’t do anything more but hold onto Soap’s hands around him and uselessly kick with his feet.
His breath comes out shuddering, eyes half-lidded, throat hoarse where his groan cut off midway. His breath hitches and the tautness of his body makes the bulge in his stomach obscene as Soap sheathes himself fully, the tip of his cock stretching out the deepest parts of him, bulging him from the inside out.
Soap doesn’t care that he’s tighter than ever – it encourages him if anything, as he yanks Ghost down, bucking his hips up to shove his knot into Ghost’s clenching, convulsing hole. The precum he drips into him helps to ease the slide, but it doesn’t make it any easier to press a knot that size into him. Wouldn’t be much easier even if Ghost had all day to stretch himself out for it. The pressure is still nigh unbearable, hard and insistent, Soap’s hands firm around Ghost’s middle to pull him down onto his knot.
He grips Ghost tight enough it’s as if he’s squeezing at the scant space inside him, inadvertently making it more difficult to work his full length in. The animalistic growl he lets out is clear that he’s far too gone to care about such peculiarities, and Ghost is powerless to stop him, not when his fluttering hole is being forced impossibly wider. The tips of Soap’s claws dig into the skin of his stomach, prick and draw blood. Not even the prickling sensation of pain is enough to draw Ghost’s attention from the inexorable burn at his rim.
Ghost sets his palms instinctively on his stomach where the bulge is. Where the bulge is growing since Soap is shoving himself deeper into him. It’s a relentless pressure at his hole as Soap grinds against him, the knot at the base of his cock only filling up more as he tries to work it into Ghost with frustrated rumbles. His rim is struggling to stretch enough to fit it, aching enough it should be concerning, a burn that spreads through his entire bottom half, and they’re not even at the widest part yet. Soap growls loud enough to cover all of Ghost’s grunts and pained gasps as he tries to work it deeper despite the tightness of Ghost’s body.
In the end, it’s not a question at all. A werewolf is an invaluable asset because of their supernatural strength. So it’s only a matter of effort and determination, if one wants to stuff his knot somewhere far too tight for it. And Soap has a lot of stubbornness and no lack of motivation.
Ghost’s body gives and Soap’s knot pops in past the tight ring of muscle. His arse sucks it in fully, squeezing around it, still struggling to accommodate it even as it’s inside him, his body convulsing – trying to clench, not achieving much. Soap growls as he yanks Ghost bodily onto his cock, bucking his hips as if he still isn’t deep enough, and the full swell of his knot presses right against Ghost’s prostate.
It has his mind going foggy with pleasure, the pain and burn in his arse melding with pleasure in a way that’s delirious, intoxicating. Pleasure shoots through his veins like a heady drug, thick and copious, and his cock twitches weakly in response. He’s clenching involuntarily at the relentless press against his prostate, yet it feels like he’s barely doing anything, body too weak to even attempt to squeeze the fat knot in his arse any more than it’s naturally doing.
Soap’s claws dig into Ghost’s middle as he pulls him down onto his knot, hips against Ghost’s arse, locking them together. He throws his head back with a howl directed at the skylight, at the moon behind it. Answering howls come from the neighbouring rooms.
Soap’s cock pulses and twitches and Ghost feels the first spurt of hot cum shooting somewhere far too deep inside him. It nearly feels like his cock is lodged all the way between his ribs, making room for himself between Ghost’s lungs, because he can barely draw a breath in. Soap comes in him and Ghost is sure he can taste it on his tongue, thick and copious and virile.
He imagines he might feel it if he pressed down on his stomach hard enough, Soap’s cock pulsing with rope after rope of cum he releases in his arse, almost a continuous stream. He can certainly feel the way his hole is trying to clench and convulse and fruitlessly flutter around the knot, stretched to the limit and then some. But it has to be locked inside him so firmly to keep in all the cum that Soap pumps into him – a ludicrous amount, really. He empties his balls and fills him until Ghost feels fit to burst from both the size of his cock and the amount he comes.
He feels wrung out. Like his centre of gravity is shifting at the sheer weight of Soap’s cum, like his stomach is bloated beyond just the bulge of his cock. And it definitely is. He sets his palm on his middle where he guesses Soap is buried in him – so deep that it all melds into one, difficult to pick out where Soap ends and Ghost beings. When he presses down, the pressure inside him grows intense, too much, and the outline of Soap’s cock that he felt so clearly before has become vague behind the deluge of cum Soap floods him with.
Soap is holding him up and sitting on his knot, hands around his middle. Fortunately doesn’t move him too much, only trying to pull him down as if Ghost might otherwise slip off his fat knot. It gives him a moment to catch his breath, even as it isn’t quite enough, his body still overloaded and mind hazy with the thrilling satisfaction of being filled so completely, of still being filled. It doesn’t feel like the spurts of cum are any weaker. The first knot isn’t anywhere close to going down, meant to last long to lock the bitch in place. And despite the cocktail of sensations he’s barely managing to register, Ghost likes this – a too big cock in his arse and cum in his belly, strong arms holding him up and Soap’s huffs fanning over the back of his neck.
Soap drops Ghost entirely.
There’s a split second where his heart drops and he gets the hollow feeling of weightlessness in his chest. He feels Soap’s arms pulling away from him and his body listing forwards as his breath catches.
The next moment he’s sinking onto the knot, his face heading fast for the floor. He just throws his arms out to catch himself, scrapes his elbows on the bare concrete, and exhales heavily, his face only a few inches from the ground.
Except his arse is still in the air, stuck on Soap’s cock. It’s almost like he’s on his hands and knees presenting for Soap, except for the integral, vital part where his knees can reach the fucking ground.
Ghost lifts himself up onto his forearms and breathes through the sudden stretch of everything in his body that’s suddenly straining. His shoulders and arms bear the weight of his body, and Soap’s knot is tugging at his rim, pulling at it with a newfound burn. His cock holds up the bottom half of Ghost’s body, hard and big enough to bear his weight, knot swollen enough that Ghost can’t slip off his cock either.
Then Soap takes a step and Ghost can’t fucking get off his cock.
“Johnny, wait–!” Ghost turns to look at him over his shoulder, but doesn’t hear or doesn’t care, fully shifted and preoccupied with some other primal instinct. He starts to walk and inevitably drags Ghost with. His knot pulls at Ghost’s arse, makes him wince as it hauls Ghost bodily along.
He grunts as he tries to get his hands under himself, only to be dragged off-balance again as Soap paces to the other side of the room. Ghost is left scrambling, trying to steady himself on his arms, peeking over his shoulder to figure out where the fuck Soap is going, his arse suddenly yanked to the side as Soap pivots.
He’s gathering up the pieces of Ghost’s broken clothing, then the sheet he flung across the room. And just as Ghost draws in a sharp breath, he starts for the opposite side again. His knot pulls at Ghost’s hole and his cock pokes at something painful-pleasurable inside him as Ghost’s body is swivelled along to Soap’s whims.
“Johnny, you fucking– stop for a fucking second–”
He claws his fingers into the floor, but he can’t get a hold of anything, no leverage, no handhold, definitely no foothold. His rim hurts, the knot is far too fat to pull out at Ghost simply writhing on it, and it drags Ghost along as he pathetically, uselessly scratches at the floor.
Soap steps on the mattress he threw away before, except Ghost is left just outside of it, still on the hard concrete. Soap is still pumping him full as he fixes his den, little pulses of his cock that fill Ghost up further, like his insides aren’t sore and fucked up already. Every step Soap takes feels like it’s pulling at something in his guts that’s far too sore to be poked at. Like just his cock is more powerful than he realises, the same supernatural strength in it as in the rest of his body. An actual fucking weapon between his legs and it’s stuck in Ghost’s fucking arse.
Ghost tries to get himself into a better position as Soap is occupied with the den. He pushes himself up onto his hands, arms outstretched. It gives his hole a bit of a break, the pressure slightly less intense, the burn slightly alleviated, but nowhere near enough to let him draw in a full breath. His muscles are taut and straining, lethargic after being fucked out.
He arches himself closer to Soap, trying to sit himself up on his cock – because sitting on it with his full body weight has to be better than hanging off it. Makes a grab at Soap’s arms either side of him fussing with the clothing to heave himself up by.
Soap shifts forwards the barest amount and Ghost loses his balance. Falls face down on the mattress with a pitiful whimper. The knot shifts inside him and presses against his oversensitive prostate. The pressure at his stomach grows as Soap pulses another spurt of cum into him. Ghost’s own cock gives a weak twitch, his consciousness torn between pain and arousal.
Soap huffs at the placement of clothes, and then rises up fully again, lifting Ghost’s arse as he does. His feet just about don’t reach the ground, so futilely close to getting to stabilise himself. Soap turns, starts walking, dragging Ghost with, and Ghost realises with dawning horror that he’s going for the door.
“No, no– Johnny–!” Ghost’s arms drag over the concrete as he’s pulled along. He kicks out with his feet, trying to alert Soap that this is a bad fucking idea, watching with wide eyes as Soap hits the door with his foot – which jostles Ghost horribly, his rim flaring with pain like something might tear, if it hasn’t already. The door shakes but holds, a dent left in the middle.
“Johnny, fucking wait!”
But Soap doesn’t listen. Kicks at the door again and it goes flying open. Not nearly as werewolf-proof as the designers would promise, but then again, few things are.
Soap ducks through the doorway that’s only human-sized. The width of his shoulders barely fits, the heavy length of his cock even less, meaning he inadvertently propels Ghost against the wall as he stoops through it, dragging Ghost with into the hallway outside.
In a last-ditch attempt Ghost grabs onto the doorframe, fingers curled around the doorjamb, halfway out of the room. Soap starts down the hall and with him merely leaning to turn, the pressure at Ghost’s holes gets painful, burning, turns into a blooming ache that leaves his insides sore. Soap takes another step and yanks Ghost’s hold loose.
Ghost slides along the corridor as Soap carries him – drags him – around on his cock. Past the other rooms, down the hallway towards the back of the building. Ghost really fucking hopes there isn’t anyone here right now, that no one’s keeping watch and seeing him, still in his boots and wearing a very recognisable mask, hanging off a werewolf’s giant fucking knot as he drags him along to what seems to be the storage. Some coherent part of Soap must remember where the spare inventory is kept.
His cock keeps pulsing inside Ghost, continually filling him with rope after rope of cum. Here, outside of the room, it feels indecent how Ghost’s bulging stomach is nearly dragging over the ground, how Soap still hasn’t stopped coming in him even when he’s not trying to.
Soap yanks the door open, the doorhandle comically small next to his giant furred hand. Peeks inside only halfway, fortunately, so Ghost is left right there on display in the corridor. He gets a breather – if it can be called that, even holding still his arse is straining against the knot, positioned as if he should fall off his cock yet kept in place only by the tightness of his body.
Soap gathers a large handful of sheets into his arms, ducks out of the storeroom with a huff, and then Ghost realises they have to make the whole way back again.
He doesn’t try to claw onto the walls or door this time. Just lifts himself up on his arms, straining not to let his face hit the ground, and tries to move along to Soap’s much longer strides to make it a little easier on his hole. He wants to make it fast just in case someone might notice them out here. Even trying to be quick, he’s still pulled along by his arse, Soap crossing the distance in just a few paces.
Ghost is out of breath by the time they make it back to their room. Soap ducks in through the doorway and Ghost gratefully drops his head to catch his breath as Soap drops his pile of blankets.
He suddenly raises his eyes again. The door is open. Wide open, from where Soap kicked the latch loose hard enough it probably broke. And he didn’t even make an attempt to pull it shut after returning. Because apparently Soap doesn’t give a shit about privacy. And Ghost is in no fucking position to reach it, hopelessly stuck but fortunately not jostled about too much on the soft mattress. He’s left despondently staring at the open doorway, no more than three steps away, as Soap fixes the sheets and blankets and torn clothes into a mess he finds suitable.
Without any warning he wraps one large palm around Ghost’s waist and throws him down right in the middle of it. He twists and his cock yanks Ghost along even without Soap holding him. The movement is rough and sudden and Ghost yelps Soap’s knot presses against his walls, his cum sloshing inside him even though it feels like there’s no more room to fit it.
Then Soap leans down and Ghost finally gets a chance to just breathe, Soap close enough that his cock isn’t tugging painfully at his rim. On hands and knees on top of the pile of bedsheets, it’s almost comfortable. The fullness is the type he enjoys, satisfying, the ache of being stretched flaring out in a tingling sensation that melds with pleasure.
Until Soap tries to pull out. Before his knot has fully gone down.
“No, Johnny, don’t–”
Two hands grip Ghost’s hips, squeezing hard enough it’s sure to leave bruises. His rim is struggling, uselessly clenching as it’s being forced open again.
“Stop, just wait until–” Ghost grunts, squeezes his eyes shut at a firm jerk, his arse burning. “Bad dog!”
Soap keeps going like he doesn’t hear him. Huffs and growls as his knot stays stuck in Ghost’s tight hole.
“Please, Johnny,” Ghost begs through a whimper, “just a fucking minute.”
Soap’s growl is loud enough to rattle the walls. It rumbles through Ghost, through his fucking cock stuck in Ghost’s body. Every pull grinds his swollen knot against Ghost’s prostate and it makes it all the more confusing, one sensation layered over another, the pain of being forced too open and the pleasure of Soap grinding against his oversensitive prostate.
His rim clenches, convulsing and tightening despite himself. The muscles in his abdomen twitch. He grits his teeth, blindly batting at Soap’s arm.
Soap yanks his knot out with a loud wet noise.
Ghost’s voice breaks off on a sound that leaves his throat hoarse. A torrent of cum follows as Soap’s knot pops out. Ghost is half sure something in him tears. Pain is flaring in a bright bloom in his whole bottom half. His rim flutters as if trying to close, but gaped too much to actually tighten. His thighs are shuddering underneath him and he’s one second from collapsing right this second.
Claws dig into Ghost’s hips to pull him up onto his knees. And with another growl, Soap is shoving his cock back into him.
Ghost’s hole is wet with cum, copious enough it’s flooding out of him. It lubricates the slide of Soap’s cock back into him, his rim far too gaped to even resist. The first thrust is hard and fast into him, rocking Ghost forwards onto his forearms, and he drops his face onto the mattress, pressed firmly into the sheets with every thrust.
It’s a fast pace that doesn’t leave Ghost any time to catch his breath. Rocks him along but doesn’t give him a moment to shift back on his knees, so he’s only pressed firmer and firmer into the bedding. Soap’s knot slaps against his arse on every thrust, but he doesn’t try to fit it inside him again. Growls, feral and animalistic, as he searches for the hot friction around his cock, the clutch of Ghost’s hole that isn’t all that tight by ordinary standards.
Ghost doesn’t have to do anything – can’t do anything – but simply take it. He grunts breathlessly each time Soap buries himself in his body as far as he can, hurried thrusts that aren’t any shallower despite the speed.
It’s after forever and barely any time at all that Soap’s knot goes down until it’s swollen only half way. Deflated enough that as it slaps against Ghost’s arse Soap pushes deeper, forces it inside him again and again. It’s almost a balm after he forced his knot out, easier now that it’s only half of its full size. The stretch still burns but pleasurably, and the amount of cum dripping out of his hole eases the slide.
Soap doesn’t let go of his hips. Digs his claws in deeper if anything, and the little pinpricks make Ghost groan into the mattress. Soap mounts him properly now that they’re both in the den Soap fixed up for them, smelling of them both, covered in Soap’s cum and some of Ghost’s, precum dripping from the tip of his cock that’s growing hard again despite himself. He knows the door is still open, his palms are scraped raw, he can’t tell if the ache in his middle is something he should be worried about – but the worries are fucked from his mind as Soap buries his half-formed knot in his arse over and over again.
It makes a wet squelch every time Soap shoves the length of his cock in him. Soap is still dripping cum even as he’s fucking him, makes the slide continually messier. It drips out of Ghost’s hole, is fucked back into him, forced out again to make room for Soap’s cock. It drips down Ghost’s arse and thighs and over his balls, trickles into a puddle in the pile of sheets. The fabric can’t even absorb it anymore. The mattress is going to be beyond fucked up by the end of this. Soap’s cum pools on top of it and gathers in the divots Ghost’s knees create.
With each slap of Soap’s pelvis against his arse he feels the size of his knot grow again. Maybe it’s swelling slower now or maybe Ghost is just that gaped from before that he’s more prepared for it, but every pass of his growing knot pushing past his rim – loose and open and too fucking tired to even try to clench down – has sparks shooting through his system. It’s so fucking good, a fuck that no one else could give him. Supernatural and inhuman and probably not good for him medically, but so are all of his other vices.
Soap thrusts forwards with a hard, powerful snap of his hips and fucks his swollen knot into him again with a wet pop. It presses right against his prostate, so hard that Ghost shudders, back bowing as he’s coming before he even realises. His cock spurts out a rope of cum that lands in the same puddle that has dripped out of his hole, pathetic drops in comparison to the amount that Soap has come.
Soap keeps grinding into him as if he’s still trying to fuck him. His knot pulls at Ghost’s rim before jostling deeper again, a constant shifting pressure against the most sensitive parts in Ghost’s arse like Soap still doesn’t have enough, even though Ghost can feel the hard pulses of his cock as he’s coming properly again, hot cum filling him up once more.
He feels bloated. There’s a bulge in his belly from the sheer girth of Soap’s cock and knot buried inside him and the load he’s releasing in him. His eyes roll back at the overwhelming sensations, shivering through the overstimulation. His breath comes out shuddering as he accepts his role as a cumdump. A bitch for Soap’s hindbrain to mate and try to knock up, though he doesn’t have the anatomy for it and definitely isn’t the right species. But it’s not like Soap cares about little details like that. Ghost feels something suspiciously like drool dropping onto his nape. Soap’s growl vibrates through his entire body.
He gets a breather as Soap knots him again – though it’s not much of one when Soap is still trying to pseudofuck him, grinding like he hasn’t had enough, pressing his hips to Ghost’s sore arse like Ghost isn’t ready to collapse, held up entirely by Soap’s hands gripping his hips, the rest of him limp.
Soap’s knot tugs at his rim at every pass, testing the give of his body, inadvertently overstimulating him with every movement of his cock in Ghost’s hole, until his knot deflates enough that he can somewhat comfortably pull it out again. There isn’t a moment’s break before he’s going again, fucking into Ghost with unending stamina and supernatural strength.
The scent of sex hangs thick in the air. He keeps dripping cum. The sheets and mattress below them are unsalvageable, but must undoubtedly smell like Soap. It makes the slide of Soap’s cock into him easier, makes a wet squelch every time Soap pushes his half-formed knot into his hole. The sheets squish where Ghost’s knees press in. Cum drips over his legs, pushed out of his hole as Soap thrusts into him and trickles over his arse.
Somehow some of it is dripping down the arch of his back, over Ghost’s spine. It pools in the dip between his shoulder blades until that overflows too and it drips over his collarbone, trickling into the sheets under Ghost’s cheek. Soap pulses enough of it into his body – and all over it – that Ghost can taste it on his tongue, though he’s pretty sure none of it has reached that far yet. Soap is definitely trying to, marking what’s his in the most primal, carnal way. And it doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop any time soon.
Soap mounts him, fucks him hard into the mattress, pushes his face into the cum-soaked sheets. It’s impossible to tell when he’s coming, simply fucking Ghost with his half-knot until it inflates again. He shoves it into Ghost’s hole and grinds into him like he’s still trying to fuck Ghost with it, hindbrain putting in work. The first knot lasts longer to ensure the bitch stays in place, and now turn increasingly shorter to keep fucking into the womb that Ghost doesn’t have but Soap is still determinedly trying to fill. The bulge of Ghost’s stomach grows steadily, the cum in his body sloshed around with every thrust of Soap’s cock into him. His guts are definitely rearranged, hole overfull, gaped and loose, muscles too tired to do anything but shudder feebly in never-ending, continuous pleasure.
Ghost collapses onto the mattress. The sheets are wet under his cheek. He doesn’t even see the room past his hazy vision, reduced to the sensation of being fucked. He’s not even presenting anymore like a wolf should want, but Soap doesn’t seem to care as long as he has a place to stuff his knot. And Ghost’s hole is loose enough that it barely even needs to be stuffed anymore, simply opening up as Soap presses in.
His cock rubs against the mattress, though the external stimulation is meagre compared to the insistent press and grind against his prostate. He can’t tell when he’s coming, just that he floats somewhere on a constant high. Wrung dry and empty yet filled so completely, limp and spent and jostled around however Soap wants him. He doesn’t think he can even get hard anymore, he’s he can’t come again, yet a violent shiver runs up his spine that leaves him breathless.
Ghost’s eyes roll back into his head at another firm press against his prostate, body jerking feebly.
The moon has passed by the skylight but light is still shining into the room. The other blocks in the building have quieted down, which probably means that it’s closer to morning.
Ghost is only half-aware of his surroundings, barely has the energy to blink his eyes open. He’s sure he passed out at some point. He feels fatigued in a bone-deep way. Collapsed and limp on the sheets and laying in a pool of cum. Feels a trail of it dripping over his neck, right under his chin, but he has no energy to wipe it away. He feels wetness at the back of his head where cum or drool or both have imbued into his mask.
His hole is probably gaping insanely, but it’s filled by Soap’s last knot so he can’t tell for sure how bad it is, only that there’s a frankly absurd amount of cum in him that’s bloating his stomach and making it mildly uncomfortable to lay down on it. Soap is buried in his hole as deep as he can, large transformed body curled around Ghost on the ruined bedding. His chest vibrates with soft rumbles against Ghost’s back.
The last one, Ghost is sure, since Soap isn’t trying to fuck him anymore and because it’s not going down. The final knot to keep the cum inside him and have it take. Like it wouldn’t fucking take otherwise, with the amount there is. Ghost would scoff if he had the energy, but he doesn’t, and he doesn’t care for anything besides finally getting some time to rest.
The door is still open and the dawn is coming, but he’s warm and full and as fucked out as any person can – beyond reasonable measure – be, so he lets himself drift off again.