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König showed up at base and immediately wanted to disappear.
Not metaphorically—literally. If he could've phased through the floor tiles into the earth below, become one with the concrete and rebar, he would've done it in a heartbeat. He was built like a siege tower, all 6'10" of him, and somehow still moved through the world like he was trying to take up negative space. Shoulders hunched. Head down. Hands shoved into his pockets like if he made himself smaller, people might forget he existed.
They never forgot.
They stared. Always stared. And König felt every single look like a physical weight pressing down on his spine.
Soap clocked him immediately.
He always noticed the broken ones—the ones who didn't quite fit, who moved through spaces like they were trespassing. Recognized them the way you recognized your own face in a funhouse mirror: distorted but undeniably you.
It started in the mess hall.
König stood at the end of the food line with a tray clutched in both hands, eyes darting from table to table like he was trying to crack some ancient code. Looking for an invitation that wasn't coming. Looking like he'd rather eat standing up in the kitchen behind the industrial fridge where no one would see him fold himself into a corner.
Soap's chest did that stupid thing—that ache-squeeze that happened when he saw someone hurting and his brain immediately went mine to fix.
"Oi," he muttered, elbowing Ghost without looking away from König. "Look at that poor bastard."
Ghost didn't look up from his food. "Mm."
"He's like a lost cat. A really fuckin' big lost cat."
"With a rifle," Ghost added dryly.
"Exactly." Soap grinned because Ghost got it—always got it without needing twelve explanations. Then louder, cutting through the ambient noise: "Big man! You eatin' or just surveyin' the real estate? There's a seat here."
The effect was immediate and devastating.
König froze mid-step. Just—stopped. Soap watched him process the invitation, watched his shoulders hunch even further inward like he was bracing for a sniper round. The man was tall enough to block out the overhead lights, casting half the mess hall in shadow, and he looked terrified.
"Ah—thank you," König said, voice muffled behind his hood, every word careful like he was defusing a bomb. "But I do not wish to intrude."
And Christ, wasn't that just the saddest fucking thing Soap had heard all week.
Soap patted the bench beside him, made the invitation physical. Undeniable. "Intrude away, lad. You'll hurt my feelings if you don't."
Ghost sighed—barely audible but dripping with long-suffering patience. "You don't have feelings."
"I do when I'm hungry and lonely," Soap shot back, still watching König, willing him to just sit the fuck down before this moment shattered. "Sit, big man. Before the lieutenant scares you off with his winning personality."
König hesitated.
In that pause, Soap could read an entire novel. The internal calculation: Is this genuine? Is this mockery? Is sitting down going to make it worse?
Then he moved.
Lowered himself onto the bench like he was testing thin ice, and the wood creaked—loud enough to make König flinch, absolutely terrified of people noticing him more than they already did.
He ate like a man on guard duty. Eyes down. Mechanical. Every bite precise and controlled, like the mashed potatoes held state secrets.
Soap's fingers twitched with the need to fill the silence. To say something. Anything.
"So," he tried, "KorTac, aye? Colonel, wasn't it?"
König nearly inhaled his coffee. The cup sloshed, liquid threatening to spill, and Soap watched his hand shake as he set it down. "Ah—ja. Colonel. But here, I think... it is not so formal, yes?"
Ghost made a sound that might've been approval. Might've been indigestion. "You think right."
Soap smirked. "Don't worry, we won't salute ye."
"You wouldn't anyway," Ghost murmured, and there was something almost fond in his voice.
"True."
König looked between them, clearly trying to figure out if he was being mocked. He wasn't. Well—not really. There was affection in it, the kind that only showed up when you actually gave a shit about someone.
König didn't know that yet.
It became a thing.
Soap made a point of dragging König into conversations, card games, sparring sessions—anything to keep the man from disappearing into corners like he was trying to quantum tunnel through the walls. He was too interesting to leave alone. Too fascinating in the way broken things were fascinating: all sharp edges and careful movements, like he'd been shattered once and glued himself back together wrong.
Soap wanted to know why. Wanted to know what had made a man that size, that skilled, move through the world like he was afraid of taking up space.
Wanted to know everything—the selfish, greedy kind of wanting that Soap had never been good at controlling.
Ghost, meanwhile, pretended he didn't care. But he adjusted. Stood aside to give König room when they walked through doorways. Blocked line of sight when König's hands went to his face, checking his hood. Small things. Protective things.
He told himself it was professionalism.
It was a lie. They both knew it.
König couldn't sleep.
This wasn't unusual—sleep had been a reluctant companion for most of his adult life, showing up when it felt like it and leaving without warning. Tonight it had fucked off entirely, leaving him staring at the ceiling for three hours, watching shadows shift.
He needed tea.
(It wouldn't help. But the ritual of making it gave him something to do with his hands, and sometimes that was enough.)
The base was quiet at 3 AM—the kind of quiet that felt sacred. His footsteps echoed too loud despite his best efforts. Years of training, and he still sounded like a one-man parade.
The kitchen was dark when he reached it.
Relief flooded through him—no one to navigate around, no one to apologize to.
He flipped on the light.
Ghost was sitting at the corner table, mug in hand, wearing skull-print pajama pants and a black t-shirt. No mask. Just the black medical covering he sometimes wore in private. His blond hair stuck up in several directions like he'd been running his hands through it.
They stared at each other.
König's brain went through rapid-fire calculations: abort mission, retreat, apologize, flee, fake a medical emergency—
"I am so sorry," he blurted, already backing toward the door. "I did not mean to intrude on your—your personal kitchen time—"
Ghost blinked. "It's the communal kitchen."
"Yes but you were here first—"
"König."
"—and I should have checked before I—"
"König."
"—I can come back later, or not at all, I do not actually need—"
"Sit down before you apologize yourself into a singularity."
König's mouth clicked shut. He stood there, hand on the doorframe, body angled toward escape.
Ghost gestured at the chair across from him. Not quite an order, but close.
König sat.
Perched, really—on the edge like he might need to bolt. His knees knocked the underside of the table (too small, everything here was too small) and he had to angle them sideways. Awkward. Always awkward.
Silence.
König's hands fidgeted in his lap. He clasped them together. Too formal. Unclasped them. Too casual. Settled for gripping his own thighs.
His tea. He'd come here for tea.
But getting up now felt like admitting defeat, and Ghost would think he was rude—
Ghost stood.
König flinched.
Ghost walked to the counter. Filled the kettle. Flipped it on. The heating element hummed to life.
König watched, confused, as Ghost pulled down two mugs. Added tea bags—the good kind, Earl Grey, hidden behind the cheap stuff.
The kettle clicked off. Ghost poured. Steam rose in lazy curls.
He set a mug in front of König. Returned to his seat with the other.
König stared at the mug like it might explode.
"It's not poisoned," Ghost said.
"I did not think—"
"You looked like you thought it might be."
Fair. König picked up the mug, wrapped his hands around it. The ceramic was warm. Grounding.
He took a sip. Perfect.
More silence.
But this silence felt... different. Ghost wasn't watching him with judgment—just sitting there, looking tired and human and unexpectedly peaceful.
König realized, with a start, that he wasn't uncomfortable anymore.
Well. Less uncomfortable. He was still hyper-aware of every breath, every movement, every potential social disaster waiting to happen. But the panic had receded from immediate threat to background noise.
Progress.
"Can't sleep?" Ghost asked.
"Ah. No. You?"
"No."
König waited for more. Nothing came.
"Does it happen often?" he ventured. "For you?"
"Often enough."
"Ah."
Ghost looked at him over his mug, something almost amused in his eyes. "You don't have to fill the silence."
"I—okay."
"It's not uncomfortable. Quiet."
König's hands tightened on his mug. "It feels uncomfortable."
"Only because you're making it uncomfortable."
That shouldn't have been comforting. But somehow it was. The bluntness. No dancing around feelings.
Just facts.
König took another sip. It was over-steeped now, bitter, but he'd been holding it too long.
Ghost slid his own mug across the table.
König stared.
"Take it," Ghost said.
"But it is yours—"
"And now it's yours. Take it before it gets cold."
König took it. Bewildered. Slid his ruined cup back.
Ghost drank from it like it wasn't liquid regret.
Something warm unfurled in König's chest. Something dangerously close to belonging.
They sat for twenty minutes. Thirty. Forty.
König's tea was gone, but he didn't move. Ghost didn't seem to want him to leave.
"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Ghost said eventually. "Or apologize. You exist. It's fine."
König's throat went tight.
He'd spent most of his life apologizing for existing. And here was Ghost, matter-of-fact as anything, saying it was fine.
"Thank you," König managed.
Ghost nodded once. "Don't make it weird."
Too late. But weird in a good way.
"You can come back," Ghost added. "If you can't sleep. Kitchen's always here."
"Even if you are here first?"
"Especially then."
König smiled behind his hood. Small. Genuine. Surprised. "Okay."
They sat until 4 AM. When they finally stood, Ghost clapped him once on the shoulder—brief, solid, grounding.
"Get some rest, Colonel."
"You too, Lieutenant."
König went back to his quarters and slept for four hours straight.
Best sleep he'd had in weeks.
The next night, sleep wouldn't come again. König headed to the kitchen.
Ghost was already there. Two mugs waiting on the table.
Neither of them mentioned it.
They didn't have to.
Soap had a cold.
According to Soap, he had the plague. The bubonic fucking plague. Possibly malaria. Definitely something requiring last rites.
"I'm dying, Simon," he moaned from his bed, draped across the pillows like a Victorian maiden in decline. "Tell my story."
Ghost, who was very much not hovering, didn't look up from the thermometer. "It's a cold, Johnny."
"It's death."
"You sneezed four times and decided you were terminal."
"Four violent sneezes! I saw my life flash before my eyes!"
Ghost stuck the thermometer in Soap's mouth to shut him up. Soap glared but kept it under his tongue.
The display beeped. 37.2°C.
"You have a very mild fever."
Soap spat out the thermometer. "Mild? I'm burning up!"
"You're barely above normal."
"Promise me ye'll tell everyone how brave I was."
"You've been in bed for three hours. You've sent me for water six times."
"A dyin' man needs hydration!"
Ghost sighed—the long-suffering sigh of a man who'd made peace with his fate—and went to refill the glass. Again.
Soap watched him go, smiling despite the congestion. Ghost was hovering. Actually hovering. Pretending he wasn't, but checking every fifteen minutes, bringing water, adjusting pillows.
Adorable.
"I love you, even though you're mean to me on my deathbed," Soap called.
"You're not dying."
"Not with that attitude!"
Ghost returned with water, crackers, more tissues, and the paracetamol Soap had taken exactly one dose of before declaring it "not strong enough."
Soap took the water. His throat did hurt, and his head felt stuffed with cotton, but he was absolutely milking this.
Ghost sat in the chair by the bed—the chair he'd dragged over four hours ago and hadn't left. He had a book open, but Soap had noticed he hadn't turned a page in thirty minutes.
"You don't have to stay," Soap said, even though he desperately wanted him to.
"I know."
"You could go do Ghost things."
"I'm doing Ghost things right here."
"Watchin' me slowly perish?"
"Apparently."
Soap grinned, then ruined it by sneezing three times. Ghost handed him tissues without looking up from his definitely-not-being-read book.
A knock interrupted them.
Ghost was up and answering before Soap could sit up—protective instinct on autopilot.
König stood in the doorway, holding a container that smelled incredible.
"Ah. Hello, Lieutenant. I heard Sergeant MacTavish was unwell." König looked past Ghost to Soap. "I brought soup."
Soap's heart did something complicated.
"You made soup?" Ghost asked, carefully neutral.
"Ja. My Oma's recipe. I thought—perhaps it might help?" König held out the container like an offering.
Ghost took it. Their fingers brushed. König's breath hitched. Ghost's shoulders settled in that pleased way.
"Thank you," Ghost said quietly.
König nodded, fidgeting. "I hope it is alright. I am not—cooking is not my strongest skill. I had to ask Gaz for help, but then I banned him from the kitchen after he ate half the vegetables. It was trial and error after that."
"How much error?" Ghost asked.
"The smoke alarm only went off three times."
"Jesus," Soap said.
König's attention snapped to him. "You are alright? Gaz said you were very ill—"
"Gaz is dramatic. I'm fine."
"You do not sound fine."
"It's just a cold. I'll live." Ghost snorted but said nothing, amused by Soap’s sudden change in outlook on his illness and supposed encroaching death.
König moved into the room, drawn by concern. Ghost stepped aside—gave him space in a way he didn't for most people.
"The soup should help," König said earnestly. "It has garlic, and ginger, and—many things. Good things."
"It smells amazin'."
Ghost ladled soup into a bowl, handed it to Soap. Soap took one sip. His eyes went wide. "This is—"
König tensed. "Bad? I am sorry—"
"—fuckin' incredible," Soap finished. "Oh my god, König. This is the best soup I've ever had."
"You—you like it?"
"Like it? I'm in love with it. Marry me. Both of you. We'll live in a cottage and König will make soup."
Ghost snorted. König made a strangled noise.
"I am—I am glad," König managed.
Soap reached out, grabbed König's hand. "Thank you. Really."
König stared at their joined fingers like he'd never seen hands before.
"I wanted to," he said softly. "You are always kind to me. I wanted to be kind back."
That did something to Soap's chest. Made it tight and warm and aching.
He didn't let go. König didn't pull away. They stayed like that while Soap ate with his free hand. Awkward. Impractical. Perfect.
Ghost watched from his chair, eyes dark and unreadable.
After the soup (every drop—too good to waste), Soap was starting to feel exhaustion pull at him.
"You should go," he mumbled. "Don't wanna get you sick."
"I do not mind," König said.
"You'll mind when you're the one dyin' of plague."
"Then I will make soup for myself."
Soap laughed, then coughed. König looked distressed. His hand tightened on Soap's.
"I should let you rest," he said, but didn't move.
"Stay," Soap said. Then realized how that sounded. "I mean—if you want. you don't have to. But. If you want."
König looked at Ghost, uncertain.
Ghost shrugged. "Johnny's not going to let go of your hand anyway."
"I might," Soap protested.
"You won't."
Soap looked down at where he was still gripping König's hand. "...Fair."
König hesitated, then carefully lowered himself to sit on the floor beside the bed. Uncomfortable—back against the wall, legs folded awkwardly. But he didn't complain.
"You can sit in the chair—" Ghost started.
"This is fine," König said quickly. "I am comfortable."
He wasn't. Very obviously wasn't. But Soap's hand was warm in his, and Soap was smiling, and Ghost was watching them with something soft in his eyes, and König looked like he'd rather die than move.
Soap drifted off like that.
König looked up at Ghost, panicked. "I did not mean to—should I—"
"Stay," Ghost said.
"But—"
"He wants you here. Stay."
So König stayed.
Ghost fetched a pillow and blanket without being asked. Handed them to König. Their fingers brushed again.
Neither mentioned it.
König arranged himself as comfortably as possible, which wasn't very, but he had Soap's hand and Ghost's presence and that was enough.
Ghost went back to his chair with his unread book.
They sat vigil together, not talking about what this meant. Not talking about how natural it felt. Not talking about König spending four hours making soup. Not talking about Ghost letting him in without question.
Not talking about anything.
Around 2 AM, Ghost dozed off, head tilted back.
König watched him sleep, then looked at Soap, then back to Ghost. His chest felt full of something he didn't have words for. Something warm and terrifying and wanted.
He fell asleep sitting up, Soap's hand still in his.
That's how Price found them in the morning.
Took one look. Pulled out his phone. Took a photo.
Closed the door quietly.
Sent it to the group chat: Get them a bigger room.
Gaz: ARE THEY CUDDLING?
Price: Unclear. But someone needs to tell them.
Gaz: Tell them what?
Price: Anything. Everything. That they're idiots.
Gaz: You tell them.
Price: Absolutely not. I don't get paid enough.
König was a strange blend of menace and vulnerability—towering, lethal, but shy. Like someone had taken a weapon and taught it to apologize.
He flinched at loud noises. Ducked his head when praised. Always thanked people too many times. Always looked faintly surprised to be included.
It made Soap's chest ache.
Soap's flirting bounced off him like rubber bullets off kevlar.
"C'mon, Colonel," he'd tease, leaning against him at the range. "Bet you're murder on the dance floor."
"I—I do not dance," König said earnestly, and the sincerity almost killed Soap.
"Not yet, you don't."
König frowned, confused. "Ah. You are joking again."
"Always, love."
The endearment slipped out natural as breathing—and König smiled behind his hood. Soap couldn't see it, but he could tell by the way König's eyes crinkled.
Ghost had to look away to hide how his mouth twitched.
One night, Soap found König in the motor pool, sleeves rolled up, tinkering with a truck. His forearms were dusted with oil and grease, and the light caught on his wrists like he was made of bronze.
Beautiful, in the way useful things were beautiful.
"You’re not supposed to be workin' off hours," Soap said.
König looked up, startled—always startled. "Couldn't sleep. Needed something to do."
Relatable. Soap knew that feeling.
He leaned against the hood, deliberate. "Could always come find me. I'm great entertainment."
"I think I would not survive it," König said, completely sincere.
Soap grinned. "Aye, but what a way to go."
From the shadows, Ghost's voice drifted out—dry as gunpowder. "He flirts like that with everyone. Don't let it scare you."
König jumped. "Ah! Lieutenant, I—did not see you there."
"Good," Ghost said, stepping into the light. "Means I'm doing my job."
König nodded, flustered, hands fluttering before he shoved them back into the engine.
Ghost tilted his head toward the truck. Permission.
"Carry on."
Soap winked at Ghost over König's shoulder.
Ghost's eyes crinkled—his version of a smile.
König, oblivious, went back to work. His hands were steady on machinery in a way they never were around people.
Machines made sense. Machines had rules. Machines didn't judge.
By the end of a few months, they were orbiting each other.
Meals, missions, downtime—they moved together like gravity had shifted.
Ghost would appear in doorways König walked through. Soap would materialize with coffee when König ate alone. They flanked him in briefings, sat with him in common areas.
And König, bless him, still hadn't noticed.
Hadn't noticed Ghost watching him when he thought no one was looking. Hadn't noticed Soap's casual touches—shoulders brushing, hands on arms.
König was too busy trying to figure out why they kept including him.
Soap's birthday always came without ceremony.
He never told anyone the date. Never made a fuss.
But Ghost always remembered.
The first year, Ghost left a bottle of whisky on Soap's bunk with a Post-it: Don't drink it all at once, idiot.
Soap drank half that night and saved the rest for six months. Kept the Post-it in his wallet until the paper was worn with the amount of times he’d taken it out to look at it.
The next year, Soap joked about wanting "a working espresso machine that doesn't taste like boot polish."
Three days later, a brand-new Italian model appeared in the kitchen.
No note. No explanation.
Soap caught Ghost watching when he made his first cup, watching to see if he liked it.
He did. Used it every day.
Then came the year he mentioned wanting "something alive," and Ghost presented him with a fish in a jar. A beta fish, brilliant blue, aggressive as hell.
Soap named it Sergeant Gill. Got genuinely upset when it died.
Ghost helped him bury it at 2 AM. Neither talked about it, but Soap kept the jar.
Last year, Soap asked for "something explosive but legal."
Ghost gave him a fireworks display that could be seen three towns over.
Price nearly had an aneurysm.
Soap kissed Ghost for the first time that night, tasting like gunpowder and joy.
So when Soap started acting cagey the week before his birthday, Ghost knew something was coming.
He just didn't expect this.
König liked the new recruit.
They were friendly, enthusiastic, asked good questions. Professional. Polite.
"You're very tall!" the recruit said during break, smiling up at him.
König nodded. "Ah, ja, I get that a lot."
"I bet you're amazing at basketball!"
"I have never played basketball."
"Really? Maybe I could teach you sometime!"
König blinked. "That is kind. But I do not think I would be very good. I am not coordinated with balls."
The recruit's smile widened. "I bet you'd be better than you think. Maybe we could grab coffee after training?"
"Oh. I do not drink coffee this late. It would keep me awake."
"Tea then?"
"Hmm. Perhaps. I do like tea."
Across the room, something crashed.
Everyone turned.
Soap was standing next to an overturned equipment rack, looking at it like he had no idea how it fell.
(He'd knocked it over. Deliberately. With his elbow.)
"Sorry!" he called. "Clumsy me!"
Gaz raised an eyebrow. "You alright?"
"Fine," Soap said through gritted teeth. "Perfect."
"You look like you're planning a murder."
"I'm fine."
"You just knocked over an entire rack."
"Accident."
"Was it, though?"
Soap didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on König chatting with the recruit. Where the recruit was laughing, touching König's arm.
Soap's grip on his water bottle tightened.
The plastic cracked.
"Soap," Gaz said carefully. "Your bottle."
Soap looked down. Water was leaking through the crushed plastic.
"Fuck," he muttered.
Ghost appeared at his shoulder. "Problem?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
Ghost followed Soap's gaze. Back to the destroyed bottle. Back to the overturned rack.
"Ah," he said quietly.
"Don't," Soap warned.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinkin' it loud."
Ghost crossed his arms. Watching. "You gonna do something about that?"
"About what?"
"The recruit who's two seconds from asking König out."
Soap's eye twitched. "I don't know what you’re—"
"You're gripping that bottle so hard you've crushed it."
Soap looked at the evidence of his emotional breakdown. "...Fuck."
"Yes."
"When did this happen?"
"Couldn't say. I'm still figuring out when it happened to me."
That made Soap actually look at him. Ghost was watching König too, jaw tight.
"You're jealous," Soap said, almost awed. "You're actually jealous."
"Didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. You’re doin' the thing with your jaw."
"What thing?"
"The clenchy thing. You only do it when you're bothered."
Ghost's jaw unclenched. Then clenched again. "I'm not—"
Across the room, the recruit said something that made König laugh—that surprised, genuine laugh.
Ghost's hands curled into fists.
Soap made a noise that might've been a laugh or a sob. "Oh my god. We're both jealous."
"Apparently."
"Of a recruit."
"Yes."
"A recruit who's just bein' friendly."
"Doesn't look friendly."
"No," Soap agreed. "It doesn't."
They stood there—two grown men, highly trained soldiers, having a crisis over someone talking to their—
Their what?
Their friend?
Their... König?
Not theirs. He wasn't theirs. They had no claim.
Didn't stop them from feeling it.
"This is fuckin' ridiculous," Soap muttered.
"Yes."
"I'm a possessive bastard and I don't even have a right to be."
"Also yes."
"Are we terrible people?"
"Probably."
Soap laughed, sharp and desperate. "What do we do?"
Ghost was quiet for a long moment. "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"He's allowed to talk to whoever he wants. We don't own him."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
Soap dragged a hand through his hair. "Aye. I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."
"No," Ghost agreed. "It doesn't."
They watched König excuse himself. Watched the recruit look disappointed. Watched König head toward the water station.
He walked past them, gave a small wave. "Hello!"
"Hey!" Soap said, trying to act normal and failing miserably.
König frowned. "Are you both alright? You look strange."
"Fine," Soap said.
"Training," Ghost added.
"Ah. Okay." König still looked uncertain. "That recruit is very friendly. They asked if I wanted to get coffee."
Soap's eye twitched.
"What did you say?" Ghost asked, carefully neutral.
"I said no, of course."
The relief was immediate and embarrassing.
"Why 'of course'?" Soap asked, trying to sound casual.
"I do not drink coffee this late. It would keep me awake." König said this like it was obvious. "They seemed disappointed, but I explained about my caffeine sensitivity."
Silence.
"So," Ghost said slowly. "They asked you for coffee. And you said no. Because of caffeine."
"Ja."
"Not because you weren't interested."
König tilted his head, confused. "Interested in coffee? I just explained—"
"In them," Soap said.
"Oh." König blinked. "Why would I be interested in them?"
"They were flirting with you," Ghost said bluntly.
König's eyes went wide. "They were—no. No, they were just being friendly."
"They touched your arm."
"People touch arms!"
"They laughed at everything you said."
"I am sometimes funny!"
"They asked you for coffee," Soap said. "Alone. That's what people do when they're interested."
König looked genuinely shocked. "That was—they wanted to—oh."
He stood there, processing.
"Oh no," he said finally. "I was very rude then. I should apologize. I did not mean to—they must think I am so rude—"
"You weren't rude," Ghost said. "You were honest."
"But I did not realize—"
"That's not your fault."
König still looked upset. "I should tell them. That I am not interested. So they do not think—"
"Why aren't you interested?" Soap asked before he could stop himself.
König looked at him. "What?"
"They're nice. Friendly. Good-looking, probably. Why'd you say no?"
"I..." König's hands fidgeted. "I do not know. I just—I did not want to get coffee with them."
"But you might want to get coffee with someone else?" Soap pressed.
"I—maybe? If it was the right person? But I do not know if—I am not good at this. At knowing when people are interested. At knowing if I am interested." König was getting flustered. "I have never been good at it."
"What if someone told you?" Ghost asked quietly. "That they were interested. Would that help?"
König stared at him. "That would be... very direct."
"Would it bother you? The directness?"
"No. I think—I think I would prefer it. To guessing." König's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I am very bad at guessing."
Something passed between Ghost and Soap. A look. A decision.
Not yet.
But soon.
"Well," Soap said, forcing lightness into his voice. "If anyone ever is interested, they should probably just tell you straight out."
"That would be nice," König agreed. "Much less confusing."
"Right then." Soap clapped him on the shoulder. "Glad we sorted that."
König nodded, still looking baffled. "I should go tell the recruit that I am not interested in a romantic way. So there is no confusion."
He left to do exactly that.
After he was gone:
"He has no idea," Soap said.
"None," Ghost agreed.
"He thought they just wanted coffee."
"Yes."
"As in the beverage."
"Yes."
"He's gonna kill me. The obliviousness is gonna actually kill me."
Ghost made a sound that might've been agreement or amusement. "At least we know he's not interested in the recruit."
"Small mercies."
They watched König approach the recruit, saw him explaining something. The recruit looked disappointed but nodded, smiled.
König returned looking relieved. "That went well. They understood. Very nice person."
"Good," Ghost said.
König smiled behind his hood. "I am going to finish my training. Thank you for explaining about the coffee thing. I really did not know."
He left.
Soap and Ghost stood in silence.
"My birthday's in two weeks," Soap said finally.
"I know."
"I know what I want."
Ghost sighed. "Of course you do."
"Ye gonna help me?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
"Then yes. I'll help you."
Later, Gaz found Soap in the common room, staring into space.
"You alright?"
"No," Soap said honestly.
"What happened?"
"I'm in love with an oblivious giant."
"...König?"
"Who else?"
"And Ghost?"
"Also in love with the oblivious giant."
"And König?"
"Doesn't know. Couldn't know. Too oblivious."
Gaz sat down. "So what are you going to do?"
"Something stupid."
"That's your solution to everything."
"Aye. But it usually works."
"Does it though?"
Soap thought about fireworks and fish and espresso machines. "Aye. It does."
Gaz shook his head. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Probably."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Definitely."
"Can I watch?"
"Absolutely not."
"I'm watching anyway."
"I know."
They were in Ghost's quarters, low light turning everything amber. Ghost at the desk cleaning a pistol—methodical, automatic. Soap sprawled across the bed, scrolling through his phone.
Comfortable. Easy. The kind of quiet that only came after years together.
"Oi," Soap said. Too casual.
Ghost knew that tone. "What."
"Got a birthday wish."
"That right? You finally ready to tell me what your plan is?"
"Aye."
Ghost reassembled the slide with a clean click. "If it's another espresso machine, you can piss off."
"Better."
"Not possible."
"Threesome."
The gun froze. Ghost lifted his head slowly. "...What."
Soap grinned. "You heard me."
Ghost's brain needed a moment. Needed to reboot. "With who."
"König."
Ghost blinked. Once. Twice. The world tilted. Then very carefully, he set the weapon down. "You want me," he said, voice flat, "to ask König. For a threesome. As a birthday present."
Soap nodded. "Aye."
Ghost stared. "You're insane."
"Never claimed otherwise."
"You think he'll say yes?"
"Oh, no. He'll probably melt into a puddle." Soap's grin went wicked. "But that's part of the fun, innit?"
Ghost leaned back, silent. Processing. Running scenarios. Then: "You remember when you said you wanted a live fish?"
Soap snorted. "Aye, wee Sergeant Gill. R.I.P."
"And I went to three different pet shops because you said the first two 'didn't have enough personality.'"
Soap grinned. "You're a good man, Ghost."
Ghost sighed—the sigh of a man who'd made his bed and was getting tired of lying in it. "And when you said you wanted fireworks—"
"That was class."
"—I had to get Price to sign off on a fake training exercise."
Soap looked pleased with himself. "You're sayin' I can trust you to deliver."
Ghost's mask tilted. "I'm saying I'm an idiot who enables you."
Soap rolled onto his stomach, grinning. "You love it."
Ghost didn't answer.
Which was as good as admitting it.
That night, Ghost couldn't sleep.
He lay on his back, listening to Soap breathe beside him. Watching shadows play across the ceiling. Thinking.
A threesome. With König.
He kept thinking about it. Not the logistics—he'd figure those out later. Not the sex, though that was... complicated.
Just König.
How he ducked his head when praised. How carefully he moved, like he didn't trust his own size. How Soap's flirting made him smile—confused, pleased.
How König looked at them sometimes when he thought no one was watching. Looked at them like they were something precious. Something impossible.
Ghost had gotten Soap everything he'd ever asked for.
Even the impossible things.
Especially the impossible things.
So when morning came, he already knew he was going to do it.
Already knew he was going to figure out how to ask a man for the most ridiculous thing imaginable, because Soap wanted it, and Ghost was weak for him in ways that should worry him more than they did.
It happened on a Tuesday.
König would remember it was Tuesday because that's when his brain decided to actually work, and he immediately wished it hadn't.
They were in the common room—him, Soap, and others watching football. König didn't understand the game but nodded when people cheered.
Soap was next to him. Very next to him. Close enough that their thighs pressed together.
This was fine. Normal. People sat close on couches.
"Oi, König," Soap said, leaning closer. "You're lookin' good today."
König blinked. "Ah. Thank you? I am wearing the same thing I always wear."
"Aye, but you wear it well." Soap's grin was sharp. "All that height, those shoulders. Bet you could pick me up without even tryin'."
"I—I probably could? You are much smaller—"
"You think about pickin' me up often?"
"I do not—why would I think about that?"
"No reason." Soap shifted closer. Their shoulders touched. "Just wonderin' what goes on in that head of yours."
"Usually panic," König said honestly.
Soap laughed—delighted. "You’re funny, big man. I like that about ye."
"You... like that I panic?"
"I like that ye're honest about it. Most people hide their weird bits. You just—" Soap gestured. "—you just are who you are. It's refreshing."
König's face felt hot. "That is kind."
"I'm a kind person." Soap's hand landed on König's thigh. "To people I like, anyway."
And that's when it clicked.
Like a switch.
Soap was—
Soap was flirting with him.
The hand. The compliments. The proximity. The tone.
This was flirting.
John "Soap" MacTavish was flirting with him.
John "Soap" MacTavish, who was in a relationship with Ghost.
Ghost, who was six feet of violence.
Ghost, who could kill a man seventeen ways with a paperclip.
Ghost, who was right now walking into the room.
König's brain short-circuited.
Fuck.
Ghost was going to kill him.
König jerked away like he'd been electrocuted—which, on reflection, made it look like something had been happening.
"I need to—I have to—excuse me—" König stood so fast he nearly knocked over the table.
"König?" Soap looked confused. "You alright?"
"Fine! Very fine! I just remembered I have a—a thing—"
"What thing?"
"An important thing!"
Ghost was getting closer. König could see him, moving with that predator grace—
König fled.
Actually fled. Out of the room and down the hallway. He could hear Soap calling but he didn't stop.
He made it to his quarters, slammed the door, collapsed against it.
His heart was hammering. His hands were shaking.
Soap was flirting with you.
Ghost is going to kill you.
You're dead.
A knock made him jump.
"König?" Soap's voice. "Can I come in?"
No. Absolutely not. Never.
"I am busy!"
"Busy with what?"
"...Things!"
"König, come on. What's wrong?"
What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG?
Everything. Everything was wrong. Soap had been flirting, and König had noticed, and now Ghost was going to murder him, and König's obituary would read "Death by Extreme Stupidity."
"I am fine!"
"You’re not fine, you bolted like the building was on fire."
"I remembered something important!"
"What?"
König looked around wildly. "...Laundry!"
Silence.
"Laundry," Soap repeated.
"Ja. Very important laundry."
"König."
"I am serious!"
"König, I'm comin' in."
"Please do not—"
The door opened. König had forgotten to lock it.
Soap slipped inside, closed the door, looked at König with concern. "Alright, what's wrong? Was it something I did?"
Yes! You flirted with me! And now your boyfriend is going to kill me!
"No," König said. "You did nothing wrong."
"You’re shakin'."
König looked at his hands. He was. "I am just—cold."
"It's 22 degrees."
"I am Austrian. We are used to colder."
"That doesn't even make sense."
König made a distressed noise and backed up until he hit his desk. Trapped.
Soap's expression shifted to worried. "Hey. Hey, big man, it's alright—"
"You were flirting with me," König blurted.
Soap stopped. "...Oh."
"And Ghost is going to kill me."
"What?"
"Ghost. Your boyfriend. He is going to kill me for—for letting you flirt. Or for not stopping you. Or for existing in the same space while flirting was happening." König was spiraling. "I did not mean to—I did not encourage—well, I did not discourage—but I did not know at first and then I realized and I should have said something—"
"König," Soap interrupted gently. "Breathe."
"I cannot breathe, I am going to die—"
"You’re not going to die."
"Ghost is very skilled at killing—"
"He's not going to kill you."
"You cannot know that—"
"I can, actually." Soap took a step closer. König pressed harder against the desk. "Because he knows I flirt with you."
König's brain stuttered. "He—what?"
"Ghost. He knows. I've been flirtin' with you for weeks, König."
"Weeks?"
"Aye. And he knows."
"And he has not killed me yet?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Soap's expression did something complicated. "Because he's not mad about it."
König stared. This made no sense. "But—but you are together. You and Ghost."
"Aye, we are."
"Then why would he be okay with you flirting with someone else?"
"Because," Soap said carefully, "maybe he wants me to."
"That makes no sense."
"Doesn't it?"
"No! Why would someone want their partner to flirt with other people?"
Soap ran a hand through his mohawk, looking uncertain. "What if I told you that Ghost flirts with you too?"
"He does not."
"He does. Just in his own way."
"What way?"
"He stands close to you. Blocks people from bumpin' into you. Makes you tea at 3 AM. That's flirtin', for Ghost."
König's brain was melting. "That is not flirting," he said weakly. "That is just... being considerate."
"Is it?"
"Yes!"
"König." Soap took another step. "What if I told you that both of us are interested in you?"
The world tilted.
König grabbed the desk. "Both," he repeated faintly.
"Aye."
"You and Ghost."
"Aye."
"Are interested. In me."
"Aye."
König made a noise that wasn't words. His knees felt weak. "I do not understand," he managed.
"I know you don't." Soap's voice was gentle. "And that's alright. You don't have to understand right now."
"Are you—is this real?"
"Aye, it's real."
"Ghost is not going to kill me?"
"No, love. He's not going to kill you."
The endearment hit König like a physical thing. Made his chest tight and his eyes sting. "I do not know what to say," he whispered.
"You don't have to say anything. Not yet." Soap smiled. "Just—stop runnin' away from me, aye? You keep boltin' every time I get too close."
"I am not—I do not mean to—"
"I know." Soap reached out slowly. When König didn't move, his hand landed on König's shoulder. Warm. Solid. Real. "You’re scared. That's alright. But you don't have to be scared of us."
"I am not scared of you."
"No?"
"I am scared of—of getting this wrong. Of misunderstanding. Of wanting something I cannot have."
Soap's expression went soft. "And what if you can have it?"
"That seems unlikely."
"But not impossible?"
König hesitated. "...No. Not impossible."
"Then that's enough for now." Soap squeezed his shoulder and stepped back. "Just think about it, aye? No pressure. No rush."
He left.
König stood there, staring at nothing.
Soap had been flirting with him.
Ghost knew. Ghost wasn't angry. Ghost was... also interested?
No. That couldn't be right. König must have misunderstood.
But Soap had seemed so certain.
König slowly sat on his bed. Put his head in his hands.
His heart was still racing but not from panic anymore.
From something else.
Something that felt dangerously close to hope.
Soap found Ghost in their quarters, cleaning a knife.
"Well," Ghost said. "How'd that go?"
"He thought you were gonna kill him."
Ghost's hands stilled. "What?"
"He realized I was flirtin' and immediately panicked because he thought you’d murder him for it."
"...Why would I murder him?"
"Because I'm yours and he was 'lettin' me flirt with him.'" Soap made air quotes.
Ghost set down the knife. "He thinks I'd hurt him over that?"
"Aye. Was genuinely terrified."
"Fuck." Ghost leaned back. "Did you explain?"
"Tried to. Don't know if it worked. His brain was meltin'."
"You told him we're both interested."
"Aye."
"How'd he take it?"
"Like I'd told him the sky was plaid. Complete disbelief."
Ghost made a considering noise. "He doesn't think he's worth it."
"No. He doesn't."
"We need to fix that."
"Aye. We do." Soap flopped onto the bed. "My birthday present idea is lookin' better."
"Johnny, if you traumatize him—"
"I won't! We won't. We'll be gentle."
"You don't know the meaning of gentle."
"I can learn!"
Ghost gave him a look.
"I can learn for him," Soap amended.
"Better." Ghost picked up the knife again. "Think he'll run?"
"From us? Maybe. But he didn't run just now. Not permanently. That's somethin'."
"It's something," Ghost agreed quietly.
In his quarters, König lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
"They are both interested," he told the ceiling.
The ceiling remained neutral.
"In me. Specifically me. This is not a prank."
Silence.
"Ghost is not going to kill me."
More silence.
"Soap called me 'love.'"
The ceiling might've been judging him.
König rolled onto his side, pulled his pillow close.
His heart was still racing. But not from fear.
From possibility.
From hope.
From the terrifying, wonderful realization that maybe—maybe—he wasn't alone in wanting this.
Whatever "this" was.
He'd figure it out.
Eventually.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hopefully before he died of anxiety.
He fell asleep thinking about Soap's hand on his shoulder. About Ghost making him tea. About the way they both looked at him sometimes—like he was something precious.
And for once, his dreams were good.
The next evening, Ghost found König alone in the rec room, sorting a deck of cards with patient hands.
The man looked peaceful—when he thought no one was watching. His shoulders weren't hunched. His hands moved with easy confidence, shuffling the cards in elaborate patterns.
"König," Ghost said.
The man looked up, startled—and there it was, the instant shift. Shoulders curling. Hands stilling. "Ah! Lieutenant. Is something wrong?"
Always assuming something was wrong.
"No." Ghost paused. "It's Soap's birthday next week."
König's whole posture brightened. "Ah, a surprise party?" He sounded hopeful. "I can help with decorations!"
Ghost blinked. The mental image of König trying to hang streamers...
"Not exactly."
"Ah." König tilted his head. "A gift then?"
"Sort of."
König frowned. "What kind of gift?"
And here was the moment. Ghost looked him straight in the eye.
"You'll find out," he said finally, standing before he could second-guess himself.
König frowned, confused but not suspicious. "Okay?"
"Be at our barracks Saturday night," Ghost said. "Don't eat too much beforehand."
König's confusion deepened. "Why not?"
"Trust me."
That seemed to work. König hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, Lieutenant."
Ghost left before the man could ask anything else—before his nerve could fail.
When he walked back into their quarters, Soap was waiting.
"You told him?"
"I told him to show up."
Soap sat up. "And?"
Ghost unstrapped his gloves, tossed them onto the table. "He thinks it's a surprise party."
Soap's grin went feral. "Oh, it'll be a surprise."
Ghost groaned, collapsing into the chair. "You're going to be the death of me."
Soap rolled onto his side, watching him with bright affection. "Aye, but what a way to go, eh?"
Ghost turned his head just enough to look at him, and his eye crinkled—he was smiling. "Christ," he muttered. "Every year it's worse."
"And every year you still deliver," Soap said softly.
Ghost didn't answer. He didn't need to.
They both knew he'd move mountains for Soap if asked. Had proven it over and over.
Across the hall, König was probably still sitting with his cards, wondering what kind of party required him not to eat dinner first.
And Ghost, who had once smuggled fireworks onto a restricted base for Soap's amusement, found himself planning something infinitely more dangerous.
His life had become a series of increasingly improbable situations.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
And Soap.
Mostly Soap.
König liked giving gifts. He just wasn't good at it.
He'd spent two days trying to think of what Soap might want, spiraling through options and second-guessing every single one. Something nice, but not too expensive—didn't want to seem like he was showing off. Friendly, but not strange—didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.
He rejected the obvious things: alcohol (too impersonal), weapons (too professional), food (Ghost had said not to eat beforehand—why?).
He spent an embarrassing amount of time in shops, feeling too large for narrow aisles, ducking under displays. Cashiers watched him nervously.
In the end, he found something in a supply shop: a bright blue rubber duck wearing a tiny tactical vest. It squeaked when you squeezed it.
Ridiculous. But it made him laugh—a surprised huff that earned strange looks from other shoppers. And Soap liked to laugh.
König bought it immediately, hands shaking. Added a ribbon at home. It looked worse, somehow—crooked and clumsy—but heartfelt.
Intentions counted for something, right?
When Saturday came, König arrived exactly on time, gift clutched in both hands.
The door was ajar. He could hear running water, low voices.
He knocked lightly. "Sergeant MacTavish?"
"Door's open!" Soap called, already too loud for a surprise party.
König stepped in, ducking under the doorframe—years of habit. The air smelled warm and clean—soap and gun oil and cologne. Lived-in. Comfortable.
Soap was by the couch, barefoot, hair damp and curling. Even in sweatpants and a ratty green tee, he looked radiant. Bright and at ease.
König envied that ease.
"Colonel!" Soap grinned, eyes dropping to the object in König's hands. "What've you got there?"
"Ah," König said, embarrassed. "A gift. For you. Happy birthday."
He held it out like a peace offering.
Soap took it carefully. Pressed it.
Squeak.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then Soap started to laugh—bright, helpless laughter that filled the room.
"A tactical duck!" Soap wheezed. "Oh, that's brilliant. Look at him! He's armed and adorable."
König felt heat creep up his neck. "You like it?"
"Like it? I love it, big man. He's comin' everywhere with me." Soap squeezed it again. "What made you think of this?"
König shrugged, flustered. "You are always laughing. I thought—maybe you would like something funny. But also useful."
"Useful?"
"For morale," König said seriously.
That made Soap laugh harder. "Christ, Ghost's gonna love this."
At the mention of Ghost, König frowned. "Ah. Is he here?"
"Aye." Soap jerked his thumb toward the closed door. "In the shower."
"The shower?"
Soap's grin turned wicked. "Told him he had to put effort in tonight."
König blinked, uncertain whether to laugh or salute. "He is preparing for the party?"
"Oh, he's preparin', alright." Something in Soap's tone made König's stomach flip.
Soap flopped onto the couch, still holding the duck. "Sit, Colonel. You make the place look tiny standin' there."
König sat, awkwardly, hands folded in his lap. The couch groaned under his weight—a sound that made him flinch.
Soap leaned sideways to look at him. "You really didn't have to get me anything."
"I wanted to," König said quietly. "You are good to me."
Soap's grin softened into something almost gentle. "Aye, well. You're easy to be good to."
That went straight through König like a live round.
He stared, unsure what to do with the warmth blooming behind his ribs.
The water shut off. Pipes hissed.
Soap looked toward the door, still smiling, and König felt the atmosphere shift.
"Looks like he's nearly decent," Soap said.
König tilted his head, confused by the tone. "Is everything alright?"
Before he could finish, the bathroom door opened.
Steam curled out, followed by Ghost—towel around his shoulders, shirt half-buttoned, black medical mask covering the lower half of his face. His eyes found König immediately.
"König," he said. "Good. You're early."
"Ah—yes. I brought—" König gestured helplessly.
Soap proudly held up the duck.
Ghost stared at it. "...Of course you did."
Soap grinned. "Look at him, Ghost! He's a little operator!"
Ghost's gaze lingered on Soap, then König, then back. "You told me to get cleaned up, but didn't mention he'd already be here."
"Didn't I?" Soap asked, feigning innocence. "Must've slipped my mind."
König, sensing something, started to rise. "Ah, should I—"
"No," Ghost said.
The single word stopped him cold.
"Stay."
Soap chuckled, low and warm. "Relax, big man. We're just celebratin'."
König looked between them—Ghost's steady gaze and Soap's gleeful grin—and felt reality shift.
Something was happening. Something he didn't understand yet.
He sat back down slowly. The duck squeaked faintly as Soap set it on the table like a mascot.
Ghost's eyes softened—just slightly—and König felt that same confusing rush of warmth. Part embarrassment, part safety, part something else.
"Nice gift," Ghost said quietly. "He'll actually keep it."
König smiled behind his hood. "Then I am glad."
Soap leaned back, eyes sparkling. "Best birthday ever, already."
And König, not yet realizing what he'd walked into, only nodded, heart thudding.
He was just here to give a gift.
Probably.
Maybe.
The room felt charged—electric with something unspoken. It felt too small to house the three of them together.
Not because of size—König had learned to navigate tight spaces. But because Ghost and Soap had a way of filling space that had nothing to do with physical presence.
Their presence pressed in on him like a stormfront: quiet, focused, unignorable.
He was sitting on the couch, knees angled sideways. Trying not to spread out. Trying not to impose. Soap lounged next to him, one arm over the backrest, other hand squeezing the tactical duck.
Squeak.
Squeak.
Each sound ratcheted up König's anxiety, made him hyperaware of how close Soap was. How warm.
Ghost stood nearby, still toweling his hair. Not in uniform—just dark sweats and a plain shirt that looked dangerously casual. The short sleeves of the shirt and the way it was unbuttoned showed off all of the smokey black ink that covered his skin. König had never seen so much of him on display before. He looked…good. Almost normal. Almost human.
"You've done good work lately, König," Ghost said.
König's shoulders went rigid. Praise made him tense—made him wait for the but. "Ah—thank you, Lieutenant."
"Reliable. Steady." Ghost looked at him. "Fits right in with us."
Soap grinned. "Aye, we'd be lost without our favourite colonel."
König's ears went hot. He waved both hands. "Oh, nein, nein, I am only—ah—temporary. You are all very kind."
Too kind. Suspiciously kind.
"Kind?" Soap repeated, leaning forward. "That what you think this is?"
König hesitated. "Is it not?"
Soap's grin widened. "Oh, big man, you've no idea."
Before König could ask what that meant, Ghost crossed the room and sat on his other side.
König's entire body went rigid.
Ghost wasn't touching him—wasn't even particularly close—but close enough that König could feel his warmth, could smell soap and something darker underneath.
The air shifted.
Something fundamental changed, and König's hindbrain started screaming warnings he didn't understand.
He went perfectly still, every muscle locked.
What is happening, he thought, heart thudding.
He glanced between them—Ghost's calm gaze and Soap's wicked grin—and realization hit him.
Scheiße.
This wasn't a party.
There was no cake.
There was no food because this wasn't about food at all.
His brain tripped over itself in five languages.
"Ah. I see now," he said faintly. "This is not a surprise party."
Soap laughed, soft and delighted. "Depends how you define surprise."
Ghost's shoulders shook once in silent amusement. "Relax, Colonel. No one's ambushing you."
"That is a relief," König managed weakly.
Soap leaned back, still smiling. "Unless you count us ambushing your personal space."
König made a noise that might've been a laugh or a plea. "You are very close again."
"Aye," Soap said easily. "You mind?"
Did he mind?
König blinked, caught between absolutely yes and absolutely no—between panic and something warm and terrifying and wanting.
"I—ah—I do not know yet," he admitted.
Ghost's eyes softened. "Then we'll give you room."
And that broke through König's panic. The fact that they were asking. The fact that he could say no.
Soap glanced at Ghost, eyebrows raised, but didn't argue. He slid a little away, still within reach. "Only if you promise to stay."
König hesitated.
The easy thing would've been to retreat. But instead, he stayed, hands clasped in his lap, pulse racing.
He wasn't afraid. Not exactly. Just... overwhelmed.
It wasn't danger; it was attention. And that felt scarier.
He exhaled slowly. "I can stay," he said finally.
Soap's grin softened, genuine. "Good man."
The duck squeaked again—ridiculous in the careful quiet—and they all stared at it before bursting into laughter.
The tension cracked.
The room felt breathable again.
Ghost leaned forward, shaking his head. "Only you'd bring a squeaky toy to a situation like this."
König smiled behind his hood. "I wanted to make him happy."
Soap chuckled, holding up the duck. "You did, big guy. You really did."
And somehow, the room didn't feel so small anymore.
Somehow, König felt like maybe he could breathe.
Somehow, he felt like maybe this was okay.
Maybe he was okay.
Maybe they all were.
He still floundered for a moment, grasping at straws. His sexual experience was... very limited. Consisting of his hands and a vibrator. Maybe if you counted kissing Klaus Mastersson in secondary school... no, that made him sound even more pathetic.
But it wasn't his fault! He'd been too uncomfortable with his own body when he was younger to consider partners, and then he'd entered the military and kept his baggage locked up because he wasn't going to hand predators details about what made him self-conscious.
Wait.
Did Soap and Ghost know? They were coming onto him, flirting with him, but how would they react when they knew?
König gripped his hands so tight he dug crescents into them. "There is something I must get off my chest, if you are serious about being... interested in—in sex with me."
Soap, sensing his nervousness, laid a calming hand on his knee. "There's nothing you're going to tell us that's going to scare us off, König."
König nodded once, then said, softly, "I am transgender."
He let the word sit there, small but solid.
"It is something I do not talk about much. Not because I am ashamed. Just... private."
Neither man spoke at first. Then Soap's grin came slow and sure.
"Alright," he said simply. "Good for ye."
König blinked. "That's all?"
"What d'ye want me to say? 'Congratulations on bein' yourself'? You've always been Lukas to us. That's not changin'."
Ghost set his book aside. "Seconded."
Then, quieter: "Thank you for trusting us with it."
König's throat felt tight in a good way. "You are not surprised?"
"Surprised?" Soap said. "Mate, you think we didn't notice how relieved you look when we use your name right?"
König blinked. "You caught that?"
"'Course we did," Soap said. "We notice everythin' about ye."
Ghost added, dryly, "You're not exactly subtle."
König groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "You two are impossible."
"Aye," Soap said cheerfully. "And you're stuck with us."
It was quiet for a few moments, with König lost in thought and Soap and Ghost watching him carefully, like he was going to explode. Or disappear.
Finally König nodded to himself, like all the mysteries of the universe had become clear. “I will have sex with you. As a birthday present.” He then added, nervously: “If you want.”
Soap choked on a laugh, and Ghost shook his head fondly. “We don't have to if you don’t want to,” Soap urged, not wanting König to feel pressured.
König drew in a deep breath and clenched and unclenched his fingers were they were curling into his trousers. “I want to. I do. But if we don’t do it now, I will probably panic, and then you will never get your birthday gift.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then how about you c’mere and kiss me, big man?” Soap commanded, his eyes going half mast.
König, briefly, froze, remembering Klaus Mastersson, how awkward and fumbling they had been. König had spent the whole kiss worrying that they were going to be caught.
“What if…I’m no good at kissing?”
Soap’s hand on his knee moved to one of his clenched fists, “There’s no such thing as being bad at kissing—it’s just about learning each other. Do you want to kiss me?”
“Ja, I do. Badly.”
Soap grinned, looking like the sun. “That’s perfect, love. Now. What about the hood?”
König bit his lip. He hadn’t considered that he might need to take off his hood. That he was going to have to remove all of his clothing at some point. Panic started up in his chest, like butterflies had turned into battering rams. He steeled himself and reached for his hood.
When he removed it, he knew that his hair was probably a mess. It was pin straight and stubbornly auburn, streaked with grey, a lot for his age. Horangi had said it made him look dignified. König thought it made him look haggard. He was covered in freckles from head to toe, but they clustered on his cheeks and nose and chin, innumerable. They didn’t disappear despite the fact that König hardly ever let his face see the sun, obstinate in remaining. His nose was large and hooked, a little crooked with how many times it had been broken. He thought it made him look like a bit like a bird, and not the majestic kind.
The thing he was most nervous of was his scar. He’d been made fun of so much for it when he was a child that he’d do anything not to show it to strangers. He’d been born with a cleft palate and a family living in poverty, so the surgery for fixing it had been unattainable until he was nearly ten years old. He’d grown up being mocked and shamed, and his parents and older siblings had only made it worse. They were the religious kind, the kind that saw deformities like his as signs.
His childhood had been the worst years of his life. Luckily for him, the Austrian Armed Forces had paid for all his surgeries since he was a teen. The scar wasn’t as bad as it could be, was certainly better than the hole he’d had in his face. But still. His lip didn’t look quite right, wasn’t quite the right shape.
He cringed away from Soap like the man would burn him, afraid to see his reaction.
“Oh, bonny lad, you’ve got no reason to hide from me!” Soap soothed, his hands running up to König’s shoulders and squeezing there. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
König's face was on fire. "This is mortifying."
"This is honest," Soap corrected. He reached up slowly, telegraphing the movement, and cupped König's jaw with one hand. His palm was warm. Callused. Gentle. "Ye ready?"
No. Yes. Maybe.
König nodded.
Soap leaned in slowly—giving him time to pull away, to change his mind. König didn't move. Couldn't move. Just watched as Soap got closer, closer, until—
Lips pressed against his. Soft. Warm. Careful.
König forgot how to breathe.
It was nothing like Klaus Mastersson. Nothing awkward or fumbling about it. Just—warmth. Connection. Soap's hand on his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek. The careful pressure of lips against his.
Soap pulled back after a moment, searching König's face. "Okay?"
König nodded mutely. His brain had short-circuited. His entire body felt like it was humming.
"Good?" Soap asked, grinning now.
"I—ja. Good. Very good."
"Want another?"
König nodded before he could think better of it.
Soap kissed him again, still gentle, still careful. This time König managed to kiss back—tentative and unsure, but trying. Soap made a pleased sound against his mouth that sent heat straight through König's entire body.
When they broke apart, König was breathing hard. Soap looked smug.
"Still scared?" Soap asked.
"Terrified," König admitted. "But—in a good way now. Maybe."
“Good, because it’s my turn,” Ghost said, reaching to grasp König by the jaw and move him so they were face to face. He dragged off the medical mask, and König didn’t even have time to appreciate the view of his full face before their lips were crashing together
Ghost didn’t kiss like Soap did. Soap had tried to be gentle, ease him in. Ghost was another beast entirely. He kissed like he wanted to merge their bodies together, their noses bumping awkwardly as König instinctively tilted his head to improve the angle. He was like a storm, sweeping through König’s defenses and rattling him down to his core. A tongue licked into his mouth, and König could only gasp in surprise, Ghost using the opening to explore further.
König made desperate little noises into the kiss, heat building in his stomach. When Ghost pulled back, he couldn't help the needy whine that escaped him, his eyes locked on the trail of spit that connected their mouths.
“Och, be gentle with the man, Simon, you’ll scare him off!” Soap admonished, but he had heat in his eyes, fixed on their lips and the way they shone with saliva. Soap pushed in closer, until König was well and truly trapped between two solid bodies, burning hot against his own.
Ghost leaned in for another kiss, his hand skimming up König’s jaw and into his hair, gripping the back of his head to angle him exactly how he liked. König was just along for the ride, swept away by the usually stoic man’s intensity.
He startled when he felt lips and stubble on his neck, but it was only Soap, trailing kisses down his jaw and throat, grazing his teeth lightly over tendons just to see the way König jumped and shivered. His attention was stolen by Ghost as the man bit his lip and tugged, hard enough to ache without truly hurting him. König moaned, feeling something hot pool low in his stomach. The man soothed the bite with his tongue, before diving back in like he was trying to eat König whole.
When they parted again, König barely had time to take in a breath before Soap was on him, licking his way into his mouth, mashing their faces together in his excitement. Ghost, now, was the one kissing König’s neck—well, kissing wasn’t the most accurate term. He was biting, sucking red marks into the pale, freckled skin, leaving a claim like a neon sign. His hand was still in König’s hair, grasping at the strands hard enough that he could feel the burn.
König found that he quite liked it, actually.
“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you, König?” Soap murmured against his lips, eyes dark.
König opened his eyes, lashes fluttering. “I didn’t know it could be this good,” he admitted carefully, “I had never thought to try…”
Ghost released his hold on König’s head, pulling back from the array of purple marks he’d left in the wake of his mouth. His scarred lip pulled upwards into a grin, the most expression König had ever seen from the man. “This is nothing compared to the main event,” he said, his hand heavy on the nape of König’s neck.
Soap caught König’s attention with a sound, “Do you want to go further than this? It’s okay if you don’t. This was more of a birthday present than I expected.”
König thought, really and truly mulled over his options. Ghost and Soap clearly wanted him, as unusual as that was. They had been gentle…well mostly gentle, Ghost’s mauling of his neck aside. He could stop here, and they wouldn’t be mad. His anxious mind screamed at him to escape, but he couldn’t ignore the growing voice that was saying he should let them do whatever they wanted to him.
He took stock of his body. He was trembling, but that wasn’t unusual. He felt hot, boxed in between Soap and Ghost, but that wasn’t all. Heat coiled in his belly, and he was sure his cunt was slick—he could feel the wetness already. He definitely wanted to have sex with them.
König took a steadying breath. “I would like…more. If that is an option,” he said after a moment of silence.
“Oh, it’s an option,” Soap said. “But we should move to the bed, it’s more comfortable there.” He got up and held out his hand for König to take, which he did. Soap was no less intimidating even when König was over a foot above him, it was amazing how much presence the man managed to fit into his more compact form. König was a little jealous. Even with his height, he always managed to fade into the background.
Soap pulled him by the wrist towards the bed, König followed on unsteady legs. When Soap had let go of his hand, he stripped off his shirt, revealing a broad, muscled torso with thick hair and a few silver-white scars that stood out on his bronzed skin. König ached to touch him, thought about reaching out a trembling hand and running his fingers through the thick forest of hair that ran from his chest to where a trail of it disappeared into his jeans. He imagined it would be soft.
He was so caught up in admiring Soap’s chest that he missed the man shucking off his jeans and underwear, but his eyes went wide when he saw far, far more skin than he expected. He bit his lip, wondering what the etiquette was for sex. Could he…look? He was too scared to hazard a glance below Soap’s navel.
He knew, of course, that most people got naked when they had sex, but he’d forgotten that meant that he’d have to get naked too. A sudden presence behind him made him jolt in surprise, then relax as he heard Ghost’s accented voice wash over him.
“No need to be nervous, Lukas, you’re safe with us,” he soothed, planting big, hot hands on König’s waist. One of his thumbs teased underneath König’s grey shirt, rubbing circles into the skin of his hipbone. König broke out in goosebumps, closing his eyes to steady himself against the sudden rush of arousal.
Soap stepped into König’s space, plastering his naked body against the taller man’s. He was sandwiched between them again, and he could feel the press of Soap’s erection against his thigh. “Want to join me? There’s something I want to try with you. Only if you want,” he said, his hands settling above Ghost’s on his middle.
“Ah—ja, give me a moment,” König forced out, and summoned his courage. He’d never been fully naked in front of another man before, much less in this kind of situation. He always used the private stalls in the showers, avoiding going when it was busy. He nervously shoo’d their hands away and grasped his tee by the bottom, pulling it off in one smooth movement.
He waited for judgment, but there was none. His hands ached to cover his chest anyway, though he hadn’t had breasts in nearly fifteen years. The scars beneath his hard-earned muscle were barely visible, a smattering of blond-red hair obscuring them further.
Soap ran his hands up König’s sides, feeling the dense muscle that covered him from head to toe. Despite his larger size, comparatively, he wasn’t as broad as Soap or Ghost. Ghost, actually, was broader than him, his body built thick and sturdy and perfect.
König wasn’t waifish by any means, but he had narrow shoulders and hips. Growing up he’d been teased for how tall and skinny he was. Members of Kortac had always called him “beanpole” or “twiggy,” because of his build.
Soap didn’t seem to be thinking anything derisive though. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to König’s sternum, where the scars on his chest met. “Love your freckles, sweetheart,” he praised, and König felt himself flush.
Nervously, his hands went down to his trousers, fiddling with his belt. He really should do it all at once, rip it off like a bandaid, get naked before he could second-guess himself and talk his way out of it.
Holding his breath, König unbuckled his belt. When nothing happened, he popped the button on his khakis and undid the zip. Ghost’s hands helped him pull his trousers down, steadied him while he stepped out of the material once it had pooled on the floor. He was left in a pair of black boxer-briefs that suddenly felt too thin to cover him.
“Almost there,” Ghost teased, kissing his bare back. Soap smiled up at him, comforting, and now König could feel the hot, hard skin of his cock pressed against his naked thigh. His face contorted with embarrassment, but he quickly shucked off his underwear, getting it over with before he could agonize further over getting fully undressed.
To his surprise, neither Soap nor Ghost stared at him as soon as he’d stripped down. They didn’t treat him like he was a freak, or a science experiment. They just watched him, tried to make him comfortable.
It was better than he’d ever imagined, than he’d ever dreamed.
Soap took him by the wrist and led him to the bed, waiting until König got comfortable in the regulation white sheets. König hid his face in the pillow, breathing in the musky, masculine scents of the men he’d found himself entangled with.
“Don’t hide, lad, there’s nothing to be scared of,” Soap coaxed, getting onto the bed with him. He slowly inched apart König’s legs, until the man caught the hint and spread them far enough that Soap could fit between them.
König risked a look at Soap, and saw him staring down at König’s exposed core. He flushed deeper, a red blush covering him from ears to chest.
“Oh, you’re a pretty man, aren’t you?” Soap praised, his hands settling on König’s thighs, squeezing the meat of them when he jumped.
König covered his face with his hands, hiding how flushed he’d become. “This is embarrassing,” he forced out from behind his fingers.
Soap laughed, but it wasn’t mocking, “It’s not. You’re brave, stripping down for us even though you’re nervous.”
König stiffened. “Do not patronize me. I have been in situations that required far more bravery than this. I…should not be so nervous to begin with,” he said, letting the words that had been repeated to him innumerable times since childhood flow out of his mouth like poison.
Soap held up his hands, a universal gesture of appeasement. “I’m not patronizing you, I promise.” He stroked König’s upper thigh, dangerously close to the furry thatch of red hair that covered König’s exposed cunt. “It does take bravery to do something you’ve never done before. And you are allowed to be nervous about it. Don't let what other people have told you make you feel like you’re not doing this right.”
He let König stew in that for a moment, and König did his best to relax. “I just wish I were not so…on edge all the time,” he admitted. He was tired of being jumpy, of thinking the worst. It was, frankly, exhausting to be so hypervigilant.
Soap pet at his thigh, leaning down to kiss König’s trembling stomach. “Well, we can work on that later. We’ve got better things to do right now.” And then he was shifting, moving so that he was on his belly between König’s legs. König could feel his hot breath ghosting over his core.
So focused on that, König missed Ghost stripping down next to them, so he startled when Ghost got onto the bed and lay next to König, one of his strong arms settling under König’s shoulders to hold him close. “Get on with it, Johnny, or we’re going to be here all night,” he said, but König could hear the smile in his voice even with his eyes covered.
König, having realized what was about to happen, promptly started panicking. “Wait! It’s…dirty! And—and I thought this was a birthday present for you?” he asked, the obvious why make me feel good when this is supposed to be about you going unsaid.
Soap, the absolute demon that he was, grinned from his vantage point between König’s thighs. “Aye, love, it is a birthday present for me. I’ve been dreamin’ about eating out this cunt for months,” he said, his Scottish brogue curling around the words and making what was already vulgar seem utterly filthy.
He didn’t give König any more time for complaints, just dove right in. König jumped, an honest squeak leaving his lips at the first press of lips and tongue to the furrow of his cunt. Soap licked his way in, collecting the generous amount of slick König had produced on his tongue before he headed up towards the man’s generous dick.
Soap pulled back for a moment, his lips and chin wet enough that it made König, who’d been peeking through his fingers, hide again. “You’ve got a proper cock on you, love. If I’d’ve known, I would’ve gotten my mouth on it ages ago.”
König squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the embarrassment to be over, but it only continued to stoke the arousal in his guts, making him want to squirm.
He wanted more.
Soap dove back in, ignoring König’s embarrassed silence. The man was cute, especially when he was hiding behind his fingers. He could tell Ghost thought so too, as he was curled around König’s larger body and pressing kisses to his neck.
He finally, finally took König’s generous cock into his mouth, licking and sucking with all the skill he’d acquired over his years of knowledge when it came to this particular piece of anatomy. He’d never slept with a trans man before, but it couldn’t be too different from all the other genders he’d had sex with over the years.
Above him, König hiccupped on a moan, seeming to fight to keep his noises inside. Soap grinned as much as he was able and redoubled his efforts, bringing a hand up to spread the lips of König’s cunt so his cock was more exposed, pulling the hood back so the thick, pink head of his dick was uncovered and quivering.
Soap pressed filthy, open-mouthed kisses to it, sucking it into his mouth and bobbing his head. It really was a perfect mouthful. Soap hadn’t known they could be this big, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. The urge to rut his own cock against König’s, to see how their sizes compared, was overwhelming, but he ignored it in favor of drifting downward, spearing König’s tight cunt with his tongue.
König made a noise that was part-surprise, part-pleasure, his hips jumping. Soap reveled in the tight clench of muscle around his tongue, the musky, faintly metallic taste addicting. His free hand began to toy with König’s dick, stroking and pulling it in ways that had the man forgetting to silence his noises. König’s deep, throaty voice rang out in the quiet of the room, moans and gasps coming freely and delicious to Soap’s ears.
Curiously, Soap brought the unoccupied hand further down until his fingertips brushed through the soft, wet flesh of his cunt. Soap slowly brought one of his fingers to the hole his tongue was buried in and carefully tested the give, sliding that finger in to the second knuckle. König’s voice caught, a new thread of tension in his voice, but he didn’t stop Soap, which he took as a sign to keep going.
One finger quickly turned into two, and Soap let his mouth trail up from König’s entrance to his cock, sucking it back into his mouth and running his tongue up the underside. König made a confused noise, almost a keen, and bucked his hips like he was unsure if he wanted to push up into Soap’s mouth or down into the thrust of his fingers.
Soap redoubled his efforts, curling his fingers with every plunge inside, the wet noise loud, but not as loud as König. It proved to be a good angle, his cunt clenching around Soap’s fingers, fighting him as he tried to keep a rhythm. The third finger slipped in well enough, with König so wet and fucked out he didn’t even seem to notice the stretch.
König was hiding his face in Ghost’s short blonde hair, his arm wrapped around the man as if he was trying to merge their bodies. Ghost looked thrilled, his tattoed hands stroking along König’s body, his inked and scarred form a contrast to König’s—who had his own scars, but was mostly miles upon miles of pale skin.
Soap could get used to seeing the two of them curled together.
He smiled and continued his work, stretching König out while paying special attention to his hard cock, taking it into his mouth and sucking properly. König held out for as long as he could, but Soap knew he was close when the legs he’d thrown over his shoulders started quivering, the trembling increasing every time Soap paid special attention to the underside of his dick.
From where Soap was, he didn’t see König come, but he did feel it. His body locked up, back arching, his cunt a vise grip around Soap’s fingers. Wetness spilled over, drenching Soap’s hand and face, slipping down König’s ass to the sheets. The noise he made was positively sinful, a shaking moan, low and brittle like he was about to break apart.
Soap kept up the motion of his hand until the sounds König made moved from overwhelming pleasure to oversensitivity. There, he pulled back, resisting the urge to lick his fingers clean as he sat up on the bed.
König, still trembling, had thrown his head back at some point, and was panting hard into the quiet room. He was a sweaty mess, his hair messy from Ghost’s fingers and his own movement. He looked, to be honest, stunning.
“Johnny’s good with his mouth, isn’t he?” Ghost teased, pulling back from where he’d been sucking dark marks into König’s neck.
König nodded wordlessly, his eyes still closed. “Ja…I have never felt like that before,” he admitted, his face scrunching up like he was embarrassed.
Soap laughed, wiping his face off on the bedsheet. “Don’t sing my praises too much, love. My head can’t get much bigger before it’ll start to look ridiculous.”
“It already looks ridiculous,” Ghost said with a grunt, pushing himself up on the bed.
“Oh, you always say the sweetest things,” Soap sighed dramatically. He hoped their banter was giving König some time to recover, but his thoughts were stolen away as Ghost leaned in and kissed him, tongue hungry, seeking out König’s taste in his mouth and taking it as his own.
Soap’s dick was so hard it hurt, ruddy and curved up towards his belly. He wanted, desperately, to get off, but he wasn’t really sure how he wanted to.
He was saved from making that decision by König nervously catching their attention. Ghost broke away from Soap’s mouth with a wet noise, and they both turned to look at the lanky man where he was sprawled across the sheets.
“I…hm. This is…humiliating.” König began, his voice shaky. “I am interested in…penetration. If you are! If not, I’m fine, I just…” He rambled on, voice gradually getting quieter until Soap couldn’t understand what he was saying.
Soap cut him off, “You want one of us to fuck you, big man?”
“Ah, ja, if you are amenable to such a thing.”
Soap looked at Ghost, raising an eyebrow, but really, the choice was clear. Between the two of them, it was obvious who was more suited to deflowering a virgin. Soap was above average yeah, but unlike Ghost, his cock wasn’t covered in piercings and tattoos and subdermal implants on top of being completely and utterly disproportionately large. The man liked his body mods, but damn, if it didn’t make taking his cock an experience you had to work up to.
König seemed to realize this at the same time, his eyes wide as they fixed on Ghost’s cock, the heavy droop of it, ink and metal catching the low light of the lamp off in the corner of the room. Soap could almost pinpoint the exact second that König noticed the ridges along the bottom of Ghost’s cock, his blinking as good as a neon sign above his head saying I’m in over my head.
“I’ll sit this one out,” Ghost acquiesced, though he didn’t seem put out. He lay back down on the bed, pulling a curious König closer. Now that König had seen Ghost’s cock, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of it, and Soap thought it was equal parts hilarious and adorable.
“It doesn’t bite,” Ghost said, reaching down and grabbing the thick meat of his cock, giving it a languid, sinful stroke, the foreskin rolling over the head and revealing the paired piercings through the head of his cock, arranged in a cross. “C’mon, touch me.”
König reached out slowly, tentatively wrapping his hand around Ghost. His long pianist’s fingers curled around him, stroking slowly, like he was afraid he was going to hurt the man.
Ghost grunted, face impassive, “Harder, I won’t break.” Then, with a wicked grin, he followed up with: “Obviously I like a bit of pain.”
Soap was content to leave them to it, and got off the bed to rummage through his pack for condoms. Him and Ghost didn’t usually use them, as they were regularly tested for anything they could give to each other, but Soap was intimately aware that testosterone was not birth control—he’d learned that from his brother when he was transitioning.
Grabbing the pack of condoms, he thanked whatever deity was listening that they weren’t expired. When he returned to the bed, König was stroking Ghost in earnest, his fingers tight, squeezing and dragging, the dry friction exactly the way Ghost liked it.
Soap climbed back onto the bed and ripped open one of the condoms, rolling it onto his dick with practiced movements. Curiously, he dragged his fingers through the wet mess of König’s cunt, strangly enchanted by the way his slick had matted the curly thatch of hair that surrounded his core.
A small noise escaped König, but he didn’t look away from where he was carefully working Ghost up. Soap took that as consent, and budged his way up between König’s legs, until they were spread wide enough to fit his hips. For such a big man, he had a damn narrow frame.
He thrust forward, letting his cock slide over the wet mess of König’s cunt. That caught König’s attention, and he looked down to where Soap was rutting against him.
“Will it hurt?” König asked, curiously. He didn’t sound afraid.
Soap patted his thigh affectionately. “It shouldn’t. If it feels like more than stretching a tight muscle, let me know and we can work you up to it,” he said, wanting to make König as comfortable as possible. Make his first time leagues better than Soap’s had been. Soap cringed away from that thought, and instead lined himself up.
Pushing forward slowly, his cock was engulfed in the heat of König’s body. It felt divine, even with the condom blocking some of the sensation. König had frozen when Soap had breached him, a reedy noise leaving his throat as Soap thrust in at a glacial pace. Soap gripped König’s hips to keep himself in check, pressing bruises into his pale, freckled skin, and sank home.
He fit like he belonged there, König’s cunt a perfect velvet glove that he hadn’t known he’d needed. He panted like he’d run a marathon as it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to draw this out very long.
Ghost, also, seemed to notice that, because he laughed low, almost mocking. “Give you a taste of proper cunt and you’re gone for it, is that right?”
Soap tried to bite back that no, it wasn’t like that, but it very obviously was like that. “Shut up,” he said instead. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get to fuck him first.”
“Well go on then, Johnny, put on a show for us,” Ghost said, settling comfortably on the bed. König clutched at his chest, reaching for comfort, and Ghost obliged by taking one of his narrow hands in his own. “We’ve got you, luv, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”
König nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “You…you can move. It doesn’t hurt,” he said, his voice catching on every word.
Soap, now with something to prove, pulled back until the head of his cock was barely lodged inside König’s body, then thrust home, drawing a groan out of the man beneath him. He built up a steady rhythm, changing pace and angle based on the noises that he dragged out of König. Ghost, who seemed happy enough to watch and stroke himself off, was blissfully silent.
For a few minutes.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ghost asked König, butting their heads together to get König to pay attention to him.
“Mmph,” König moaned, unable to speak. His body shook and twitched, his legs closed around Soap’s waist, crossed behind his back.
Ghost chuckled. “Yeah. This is a proper treat for Johnny. He doesn’t get to do this very often,” he told König, but his eyes were locked with Soap’s.
Soap moaned low and redoubled his effort to last a decent amount of time, despite the way heat licked up his spine and pooled low in his guts. Ghost had a way of working him up without doing much of anything at all.
It was intoxicating.
He put his back into his thrusts, jolting König’s heavier body up the bed. The force made König gasp, body going rigid. Soap made sure he angled his hips to thrust over that spongy flesh situated inside König’s cunt, the man reacting like he’d been hit.
König yowled, the hand not engulfed by Ghost’s shooting to Soap’s chest, leaving red scratches down his chest. His cunt seized around Soap’s cock, milking him, and Soap threw his dignity to the wind and let go.
His hips stuttered and Soap bit his lip so hard it bled. He circled his hips, working the lazy heat of his orgasm out, milking it for all it was worth. When he finally pulled out, König’s body had stopped shuddering, his legs fallen limp and open. Soap reveled in the view of König’s pink, wet cunt and the way it stretched around his cock, the way it couldn’t fully tighten back down when Soap slipped out. It was delicious, and he could easily get used to it.
Ghost arched a brow, his piercings catching the light. “Got any steam left for me, birthday boy?” he asked, his accent rough and scratching something excellent in Soap’s brain.
He grabbed a still recovering König and repositioned him on the bed, the tall man doll-like as Soap moved the pair of them into place between Ghost’s thighs.
König came back to himself enough to know what was being requested of him. He still followed Soap’s lead, though, waiting until Soap moved closer to do the same. Soap thought it was adorable.
But, he had better things to focus on. He licked up the side of Ghost’s cock, tasting salt and sweat and precum. His mouth watered at the taste, and he gave in and sucked the fat head of Ghost’s cock into his mouth, sinking down slowly, trying not to catch the piercings on his teeth.
König seemed to gather his courage and copied Soap, licking up the side of Ghost’s cock, his mouth working the parts that Soap wasn’t.
Soap couldn’t imagine what they must have looked like to Ghost, two of the best operators in the world, sucking his cock, wet and filthy for it. Ghost’s hands landed on Soap and König’s heads, guiding them as he rocked his hips into the sensation.
Eventually, Soap pulled off the head of Ghost’s cock with a wet pop! to slide his tongue down the underside, teasing those ridges that felt so fucking good inside him. To his surprise, König moved up and attempted to take the head of Ghost’s cock in his mouth.
It took a few approaches, but König managed to fit hislips around the broad head of Ghost’s cock, sinking down until he gagged, eyes watering.
“Go slow,” Ghost ordered breathily, dark eyes watching them unblinkingly.
König tried again, took less that time, and seemed to be successful, bobbing his head the way he’d seen Soap do. Soap, content that König wasn’t going to choke himself on Ghost’s cock, moved down lower and began to lick and suck at Ghost’s heavy balls.
Ghost groaned, fisting his hand in Soap’s hair and holding him there while he teased the sensitive skin, going lower to run his tongue over the piercing that hid behind Ghost’s sac. Soap could tell that Ghost wasn’t going to last either, his body shaking faintly, his hand heavy with restraint in Soap’s hair.
With a groan, Ghost came, all of his muscles going tight. Soap moved to suck at the side of his cock, snorting when he heard König’s surprised noise as Ghost’s seed spilled into his mouth.
König pulled back, a trail of pearly white connecting his lips to Ghost’s cock, and Soap took the opening to wrap a hand around Ghost’s cock, working him fast and rough, just the way he liked it. A few more pulses of cum spilled out of Ghost’s cock, running down Soap’s hand. When Ghost’s body finally relaxed, Soap slowed his pumping hand to a halt.
For a few moments, there was only silence in the room, broken by their panting breaths.
Soap was the first to recover.
“Well, happy birthday to me!” he said, extremely satisfied with himself.
“Shut up and grab some tissues,” Ghost ordered, throwing an arm over his eyes and tucking König close to his body.
Soap did, but continued to feel extremely pleased privately.
König didn’t know what to do with himself. Now, in the aftermath, his mouth tasting brackish with Ghost’s cum, he wasn’t sure what came next. Ghost and Soap seemed to be well-used to this part of sex, both of them cleaning themselves up with little fanfare.
He didn’t want to feel like an outsider, but he couldn’t help it.
They were so used to each other, so in sync. The little touches, the quiet glances, the way Ghost adjusted his breathing to match Soap’s without even noticing…
It wasn’t jealousy — he didn’t think he had the right to feel that — but something close enough to sting.
König uncurled from Ghost’s side, moving slowly so he didn’t jostle anyone, and slid off the bed. The wooden floor was cool under his bare feet as he crossed the room toward where his clothes were folded in a careful, nervous pile.
He bent to pick up his shirt.
“Where are you going?” Ghost’s voice didn’t rise, didn’t demand — it simply appeared in the quiet, low and steady.
König froze, shirt halfway over his shoulder. “I, ah…” He cleared his throat. “I thought you would want privacy. I should not— intrude.”
Soap made a noise that sounded like disbelief. “Intrude? Big man, ye climbed into the bed with us.”
König winced. “Only because it was for your birthday gift.”
“Aye,” Soap said, sitting up and scrubbing a hand through his hair, “and we’re tellin’ ye to stay.”
Ghost shifted behind him, the mattress dipping. “Sit,” he said simply. A command, but a gentle one.
König swallowed, twisting the fabric in his hands. “You two… already fit together. I don’t. I am only visiting.”
Ghost’s eyes softened. “Lukas,” he said — not Colonel, not König — and the name from his mouth always disarmed him. “You left like we pushed you out.”
König’s throat tightened. “I just… didn’t want to overstay.”
Soap snorted. “You can’t overstay when you were invited, ya dafty.” He patted the mattress between them. “C’mere.”
König stood there for a long moment, feeling too large and too awkward and too exposed. But neither man looked annoyed. Neither looked like he was a burden. Soap was smiling — soft, tired, fond. Ghost was watching — steady, patient, waiting for him to trust the room again.
Slowly, König returned to the bed and sat, hands clasped in his lap. Soap leaned into his side instantly, like he’d been waiting to do it. Ghost shifted closer too, not touching, but close enough that König felt the warmth again.
Soap nudged König’s shoulder. “What were ye thinkin’, huh?”
König’s voice came out quiet. “That you two have years of history. And I am… new.”
Ghost hummed, the sound low and thoughtful. “History doesn’t make you less welcome.”
Soap nodded vigorously. “Aye. Room’s got space for more than two.”
König blinked. “But you are so… connected.”
“Aye,” Soap said, “and now we’re connectin’ with you too. Just slower. And gentler. Because you get skittish like a wet cat.”
Ghost raised an eyebrow. “A very large wet cat.”
König covered his face with both hands. “Bitte, stop.”
He was mortified — but laughing, the kind that shook out of his chest before he could stop it.
Soap grinned triumphantly. “There he is.”
Then, softer: “Don’t pull away next time. If ye feel out of place, say somethin’.”
Ghost added, “Or just stay. We’ll adjust.”
König looked between them, overwhelmed but steadier now.
“You really want me here?”
Soap didn’t hesitate. “Aye.”
Ghost didn’t either. “Yes.”
The certainty in their voices hit him harder than anything else had all night.
König let out a slow breath and leaned back—not fully, just enough that his shoulder brushed Ghost’s arm and Soap’s knee pressed lightly into his own.
Soap beamed. Ghost relaxed.
And König… felt the room settle around him like a blanket.
Not a guest. Not an intruder. Not an outsider.
Just wanted.
For the first time that night, he believed it.