Work Text:
It starts off as a joke, as most things do.
Dangerous thing – joking. Especially in the army, where men have nothing better to do than to take them too seriously. Jokes are the kind of thing that get the microwave blown up, that get you stuck with extra drills, that end with write-ups and hangovers. Joking is the reason a man like Niall Cat is called sergeant Kitty, and it’s an unspoken rule to greet him with Hello, Kitty. It’s why Scarecrow has a shitty tattoo of a scarecrow on his back and why Meat ate only red meat for a week, it’s why Archer got his callsign though he can’t shoot a bow to save his life and why Worm started hiding worms in newbies’ boots.
Riley acts like he’s above such joking when it suits him, but he’s here in the rec room on a Saturday night like the rest of them, laying down a pair of aces with not much interest from the rest of the table – despite the fact that another ace of diamonds was put down just last round – since they’re concocting more interesting plans.
There’s a pub nearby, cheap and open late, and Worm ended up with a phone number written in lipstick the last time they went – it was joking that led to that too, dares layered upon each other to give him the push to ask that bird out. No one expected her to say yes, and now it’s more teasing to get Worm to agree to go there again, despite – or because of – the way he’s already flushed in the face.
Riley spots the captain the moment he walks in. The door is in his line of sight, right on the edge of his peripheral vision. MacTavish knows how to sneak when the situation demands it, but Riley can scout him out even then.
If there were coffee in another room except this, none of this would have ever happened.
“You’re still working, captain?” Ozone finally notices him when he’s all the way at the kettle, filling it with water.
“Cleanin’ up your messes.” MacTavish barely looks over his shoulder, though Ozone bristles dramatically anyway.
“Haven’t had any messes, sir. That’s Archer, this time.” He knocks the man heavily on the shoulder, and Archer spills another frothing sip of his drink – something brightly coloured and screaming energy drink, the previous can of which is still a drying stain on the table.
“It’s bedtime soon, innit?” Meat adds. MacTavish scoffs, turns to let his eyes slide over them as the kettle boils. Takes in the team gathered around the table with one and a half pack of cards, relaxed and laid back and easy with grins.
“Doesn’t seem like any of you are goin’ to bed.”
“Ah, you should come with us, sir!” Ozone shouts then. “We’re goin’ to town, gonna get Worm a girl.”
Worm goes decidedly redder in the face. He brings up his hand of cards to hide behind.
“Can get you one too,” Ozone offers generously. MacTavish huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. Turns back and reaches for a mug.
“Come on, captain.”
“It’ll be fun!”
“It’s good stress relief,” Riley jumps on the train.
MacTavish does turn around at that, even as the kettle finishes boiling and his arm is halfway stretched out reaching for the instant coffee packs. “You going out too?”
Riley isn’t, but he’s still going to badger him over it. “C’mon, take a day off. Relax a bit.”
He grins at him, and he’s sure MacTavish can tell even with the sunglasses and mask. Tries to incite him into doing something stupid, something funny – just joking.
“Yeah, you need to take the edge off,” Scarecrow chimes in.
“Respectfully, sir,” Ozone starts, “I think the problem is you haven’t had any recently.”
“Yeah! When’s the last time you got laid, captain?”
MacTavish is pouring water into his mug, but Riley can read the exasperation even from the set of his shoulders.
“I don’t care for it,” he says, with all the enthusiasm of a man who was done with this conversation three minutes ago, which means it’s only right to keep needling him.
“C’mon, everyone cares for it,” Riley eggs him on again.
“You’re sayin’ that?” MacTavish glances at him over his shoulder with a raised brow. “Tellin’ me you go around pubs bending people over?”
The men laugh like it’s a joke. Riley laughs because MacTavish really doesn’t know him if that’s what he’s assuming.
MacTavish takes his leave with his coffee before he can be harassed any more, and the lads pack up the cards to take their leave as well. The conversation is left hanging. Could be mistaken for being over, but no one has ever accused Riley of doing things half-arsed.
***
A few days later he has a delivery. Riley carries the package into his own room, taking a route where no one will see him. The guy working the mail station is long done with this job and planning to quit soon, has seen worse shit than this, and has also been bribed not to spill to anyone. All that to mean, Riley feels confident the contents of this joke won’t reach any ears – uninvolved or otherwise.
The details on the shipping label are all correct, but Riley still unpacks it to check. Removes any identifying factors, because MacTavish would trace it to him even if he bought it under a false name and– actually he will trace it to Riley either way. But that’s not really an issue. Riley’s mouth is already curling towards a smile at the expression he imagines on MacTavish’s face.
He looks it over, tests the material between his fingers. Just something cheap and with fast delivery, but the silicone is decent quality and the colour scheme positively horrid. The inside is soft and spongy when he pushes two fingers into the channel. He went a bit generous with the size since he walks like it’s heavy.
Riley packs it up again, minus the discreet shipping box. The plastic seal is broken, which makes it obvious that it’s been tampered with before, but that should be the least of the worries. The incriminating, frankly gaudy picture on the package itself speaks volumes, bright letters inviting the user to claim the depths of this hot, enticing hole–
Riley scoffs at it. The hole is neither hot nor enticing, but maybe his preferences just lean heavily the other way. Either way, it’s packed back into its original box, which is checked over thrice just to be sure it’s clean of any giveaways.
Breaking into MacTavish’s room is easy. Riley knows his routine better than he probably knows it himself, and it’s not a gamble at all to assume that he’ll be working late into the night. Riley checked the light in his office anyway, just to be doubly sure, before picking the lock open.
He doesn’t leave a single sign of himself other than the gaudy box holding a fleshlight on his bed.
***
The roof is abandoned during the reasonable hours of the day, so it’s certainly so late at night. The thick cover of clouds hides how high the moon has risen and lets Riley delude himself that he’s not supposed to be trying to fall asleep by now.
The nicotine helps. Calms his nerves, forces him to breathe in a stable pattern. The glowing red tip of it is the only source of light. The air is cool, which will make it better when he makes it back into his room and can bundle under a blanket, where it will feel warm in comparison. Until then, he simply lets his mind drift.
He smokes the cigarette down to the filter so it’s almost crumbling between his fingers. Puts it out on the railing, but stays leaned against it, watching the clouds roll by for a while. He’s not thinking of anything in particular. There’s simply the cold air in his lungs, warmer when he exhales; the metal of the railing digging into his forearms; the vast nothingness before him that’s filled with only the quiet sound of his breathing and a very persistent owl somewhere close by in the woods.
He suddenly doubles over at the feeling of something in his arse.
In a flash he’s spun around, knife drawn. Stance lowered and other hand curled into a fist. Eyes narrowed to lock onto a target.
Except there’s no one there. The rooftop is literally empty.
And there’s the unmistakable feeling of a cock in his arse. He knows the feeling. He’s definitely been fucked enough to recognise it, the fullness of his hole and the slide as they sink deeper.
Except there’s no one fucking here, no matter how much he waves the knife around. Slashes it through the air – just in fucking case – backs himself up against the railing and then spins around to cut the empty space over that too. No one fucking appears.
He palms at his own arse, presses his fingers to his hole, but it’s only his trousers, there’s nothing fucking there. Nothing except for the feeling.
He doesn’t let go of the knife, but tugs his trousers up as high as they’ll go as he rushes towards the door, heartbeat echoing in his ears. Doesn’t care to open it carefully to stop it from creaking. Bounds down the stairs and stumbles over his feet as he hurries to his room, knife clutched in his hand and panting with sudden adrenaline. A sudden thrust into his hole has him nearly tripping. Good thing it’s late enough no one else is walking around, seeing the confused, panicked state of him.
He throws himself into his room, locks the door, and presses himself against the wall. No one can be behind him like this. It’s pure concrete at his back.
The feeling doesn’t go away. Intensifies. Riley holds his breath as he bears through it. Grits his teeth and clutches the knife hard enough it hurts. His blood is pounding and his eyes are wide to take in the dark room; he doesn’t blink when they start to dry out. He presses himself against the wall so forcefully that he can’t move, even as the thrusts into him are hard enough he should be rocking along with the motion.
He hasn’t touched himself – no one has touched him recently – yet whatever it is feels like it slides into him with no problem. He can feel the stretch, the way his rim widens and how the touch brushes against his inner walls, but it doesn’t burn like it should.
It shouldn’t be at all. Riley cautiously moves his palm behind himself, slips it between his own body and the wall, and can’t feel anything but himself. There’s no pressure at his trousers, no supernatural fucking presence, there’s no room for fucking anything, but whatever it is in his hole fucks into him in hurried, sloppy thrusts until it– stops.
Riley doesn’t blink as he pants in his empty room. Stays frozen still against the wall as the sensations all suddenly disappear. He waits. It doesn’t come back. Except for…
The knife clatters to the ground as he hurries to undo his belt, just enough to be able to shove his hand down his pants. He desperately touches his fingers to his hole and feels wetness leaking out of him. He already knows. Still, he takes a shuddering breath in to prepare himself before he drags his hand out.
It’s cum. It’s definitely cum. White and sticky and dripping down his fingers and trickling out of his hole–
His clothes are on the floor in a second. He’s throwing himself into the shower, cranking the heat up to the highest setting but not letting the water warm up before he steps under the spray. He shivers as the cold water sluices over him. Lets it wash over his face, over closed eyes and bitten lips, before daring to reach behind himself again.
He’s unsteady on the wet tiles. Holds onto the wall for balance as he lets the water clean him, confused and angry and half hard despite himself. Half his mind is running a mile a minute and the other half is shocked still, so he busies himself with washing the non-existent touch off, when it suddenly returns.
Odd insistent probing, a sensation in his hole he doesn’t recognise. Rough and unexpected and definitely not the slide of a cock as it was before. Shoving his own fingers into him doesn’t help, doesn’t make the sensation go away, and just confirms that there’s nothing fucking there. Nothing, except for the very existent cum he scoops out of himself. He doesn’t look at it as it washes down the drain.
He stays in the shower until his skin is red from the heat of the water, and then until the hot water runs out. He crosses the distance between his bathroom and bed as fast as possible. Lies down pressed against the wall, facing the door, the blanket tightly cocooned around himself.
He can’t fucking sleep, not with his brain so active, desperately trying to figure out what the fuck that was. He tries to justify it to himself as some trick of the mind. An illusion he created for himself. A daydream that turned too real.
It has to be.
***
Riley is groggy and sulky from shit sleep, trudging out of his room later than he should be after wallowing in bed for an extra half hour. He accidentally ripped a hole in his balaclava from pulling on it too hard, put his shirt on inside-out and then the hoodie the wrong way, and it’s been overall a shit fucking morning. He walks out of his room with a fierce gait, because he’s pent-up and overtired and fucking moody about it.
He heads for the mess when it’s approaching the end of breakfast, planning to steal himself something to eat somewhere private, when he turns the corner and nearly runs straight into MacTavish coming from there. MacTavish nods at him in greeting, for all accounts polite and chipper.
“What’s got you so happy?” Riley asks sullenly, because he has to live out his bad mood on other people and MacTavish has got a veritable pep in his step in contrast to how he usually frowns.
“Stress relief,” MacTavish says simply. Riley frowns at him. Glares at his at-ease expression which just makes him more peeved.
“Stress– Oh.” He realises suddenly. His anger disappears under unexpected startlement. “You used it.”
“Didn’t you want me to?” MacTavish frowns, seeming halfway concerned he wasn’t supposed to even though the gift – the joke gift – was obviously left for him, and the conversation about harassing him to get some all suddenly comes back, far too real.
“Oh.”
Riley’s breath leaves him all at once. He looks just past MacTavish, not seeing him, suddenly struck dumb and bewildered. He spent the whole night awake thinking and then trying not to think and–
“What’s up with you?”
Riley shakes his head. Doesn’t meet MacTavish’s eye as he puts the pieces together. Stupid pieces. Illogical pieces. Pieces that don’t make any sense except that–
“I thought you wanted me to?”
Riley does a doubletake as he brings himself back into focus. Opens his mouth before he has an answer ready.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, stupidly. Nods at nothing. MacTavish quirks a brow at his tone, half-hearted at best, continuing the banter with barely any thought. “Yeah. Good for you.” He keeps rambling then, trying to retroactively make up for the faux pas of not retorting immediately. “Need the stress relief. Gonna give yourself an aneurism, working like that.”
He avoids MacTavish looking at him as he tries to figure out a good exit for the conversation when his thoughts have abruptly been rendered overwhelmed. He could just walk away without saying anything, even though MacTavish’s stare would burn even harder into his back–
“Come on.” MacTavish nods him along. Doesn’t care for a bit the frown he’s the recipient of, even though he can certainly tell, despite the mask.
“What–”
“Something’s wrong and you’re obviously not going to tell me,” he explains and motions from him again. Riley moves without conscious thought, falling in step with him. “So we’re making you tea.”
MacTavish leads him to the kitchen nook. He grabs the kettle and fills it with water while Riley simply stands by him, watching. He isn’t making the situation any better, not speaking a word and haranguing him about how his tea should be made – MacTavish is already pouring three full teaspoons of sugar into the mug anyway. He simply lets it happen until he has a hot cuppa in his hands and MacTavish’s keen eyes roving over his covered face.
Riley doesn’t think he can read anything from him – except that he already has. But he doesn’t ask. Doesn’t push or prod and certainly doesn’t try to guess. Not that he could guess. Riley himself is still doubting the reason he’s in a bad mood. Lost in his thoughts he keeps fighting with himself. It doesn’t make sense, yet it does, yet it doesn’t either.
He sees MacTavish giving him a decisive nod before walking off to his office, staying a comfortable distance out of Riley’s personal space. Riley only registers that he does it after he’s already gone, and it pisses him off all over again.
He registers the whole day belatedly. Goes through motions with mechanical routine. He has a meeting and drills and MacTavish makes him another tea in the late afternoon. The hours have suddenly passed by and it’s only late at night when he’s supposed to be asleep that he allows himself to put words to the image that appeared in his mind. That his psychotic break and MacTavish’s stress relief happened at, probably, the same time.
Except that shit can’t be possible. But Riley is also sure he isn’t that crazy.
***
He has written the event off as a one-off. It happened. It doesn’t happen again. That’s it. There’s no need to look into it any further. He’s deigned to forget all about it, in fact.
He’s thrown away the brown cardboard box and destroyed the shipping label that came with the joke gift. Laughed at himself that his mind managed to play a joke on itself, all on its own. Then gathered all that up and threw it away too.
Everything goes on as normal. Everything is normal. He’s just laying on the worn-down couch in MacTavish’s office and reading while he finishes up some work. He’s read this one before, something light and easy and with a happy ending that leaves him feeling better than when he started. The light in the office is the kind of cosy yellow that doesn’t bother his eyes and the clacking of the keyboard as MacTavish writes out emails or reports or briefs, half of which he should be delegating to someone else, really, is a pleasant background noise that stops Riley’s mind from wandering.
It goes exactly as it’s supposed to. Riley finishes the book again and MacTavish finally shuts down his computer. They say goodnight to each other at the door as they go separate ways to their rooms.
Riley steps into the shower when he feels it again.
He jolts and falls against the cold tiles, palms leaned against it for stability. The shower spray is just in front of him, hot water sluicing down his arms. There’s no other person pressing against him.
This would be the time that MacTavish would take to make it to his room. And apparently neither of them is actually going to bed.
He can’t know it’s MacTavish, even if all the signs are pointing towards it. And MacTavish definitely can’t know that it’s somehow connected to Riley – if it even is – because he certainly would have said something.
The phantom cock in his arse presses deep, and Riley stumbles into the shower spray as he instinctively arches forwards. There’s no build-up, no easing into it. The cock fucks into him with brutal, pragmatic efficiency. Feels like it presses against everything all at once, because Riley isn’t stretched, isn’t in any way prepped to take something that feels this big, yet there’s only the pleasant ache that comes with being fucked and none of the pain of being fucked dry.
It has to be MacTavish. It has to be the fucking fleshlight. Somehow that random sex toy that Riley fingered for all of ten seconds is connected to his arse and MacTavish is fucking it after just a two-day break when he said he isn’t missing any action – which means he was lying or he discovered the joys of carnal pleasures.
Pleasures that have Riley pressed to the wall, arching his back to push his arse out for no one. The hot water sprays over his head, sluices down his back, and if he closes his eyes, the heat makes it easier to imagine another person behind him.
MacTavish standing in the tiny shower with his hands on Riley’s hips, gripping him tight to pull him onto his cock. Fucking into him harder and harder and then adjusting the angle to somehow press against his prostate insistently, relentlessly.
The slide is so easy and smooth, even as Riley clenches around the feeling. It feels like it’s wet, like there’s lube involved, even though it’s only water running over his hole. He doesn’t reach back to check. Keeps his palms on the tile and his eyes forwards, as if MacTavish has ordered him to. It makes the fantasy better, if he imagines there’s an order, that there’s a reason the only part of him Riley can feel is his cock. Pounding into him hard enough that Riley has to bite his lip to stay quiet, moans burning in his throat despite it.
His cock is pulsing under the shower spray, leaking another bead of precum with every pass against his prostate that MacTavish hits with dizzying precision. Fleshlights don’t have prostates, Riley is pretty sure, but MacTavish is fucking it – him – like they do.
Riley’s hips jerk forwards as he comes untouched, cum shooting over the tiled wall. His breath comes out in a long too loud groan, hole tightening around the cock even though it doesn’t feel any tighter. But the steady pace it keeps fucking into him works him through it, a persistent stimulation that has his cock pulsing until the last drops trickle down his shaft, washed away by the water.
Riley sighs. Leans his forearm against the wall to rest against, eyes closing as he lets the pleasure wane. This would be the moment when his partner would draw back and help him wash off, when they’d pull out of the tight clutch of his hole before they get oversensitive or stroke themselves for a second longer to come over his back.
There’s no one, and the fucking just keeps going.
The same constant determined pace, stretching him without the ache and brushing over his prostate and pounding into him hard enough that Riley leans forwards as if he’s being pressed there. Riley can’t even fucking do anything about it since no one is fucking here. The only thing he can do is slump against the wall and ride it out.
He shifts forwards in hopes the hot water will somehow ease the sensation, but it washes over his back and arse and hole where something else should be, and doesn’t lessen the feeling inside him where that something else is making a mess of him. He bares it with gritted teeth and teary eyes. Nothing else to it but to imagine MacTavish fucking the fleshlight, stroking himself with it faster and faster until it has Riley’s legs trembling beneath him. He leans more of his weight on the tiles, his thighs shaking, knees ready to give out. The room is filled with steam from the water temperature and it’s almost too thick to gasp in.
MacTavish must like it, Riley figures. Despite the awful colours scheme, despite the size – maybe because of the size – fuck, if he thinks any more about MacTavish’s cock he’s going to come again and he’s already too fucking exhausted. The cock pounding into him feels almost desperate, faster and urgent like it’s chasing something. Riley clenches around it despite himself, doesn’t even know if he’s trying to stop it from thrusting back in or keep it inside his hole – as long as it just stays still for a moment–
Just when he feels like he’s going to collapse there’s a deep thrust into him, and then the unmistakable wetness of cum sliding out of his hole. It’s washed away by the shower. Riley angles himself to let the water do most of the work. Lets it naturally drip out as he steadies himself against the tiles and simply breathes, willing the sparks of electricity still shooting through his system down. Consciously slows his breaths until he finds enough strength left to rinse himself off.
He feels something almost like stable when he shuts the water off and grabs a towel. Still panting slightly, thoughts a little hazy from overstimulation. He dries his face and feels something like satisfied.
His knees nearly buckle at another touch to his hole.
Riley catches himself on the sink as fingers drag against his inner walls, curling and pushing and prodding. There’s no fucking reason to finger a fleshlight except–
Of course MacTavish is the fucking type of pragmatic to clean his sex toys two minutes after finishing. And now Riley has to bear the consequences of that.
***
Riley has always prided himself on being adaptable, so when he ends up accidentally giving his superior a joke sex toy that’s also somehow magically connected to him, he simply accepts the fact.
Yes, he could devise a stealth mission to steal it back. Except then MacTavish would inevitably know it was him – Riley doubts he’s going around blabbering about how he’s advanced from his right hand to a pocket pussy – and sure, he could make another joke about not wanting MacTavish to get distracted – but that would also betray that he somehow knows how often MacTavish is using it to get off.
There’s also the simple fact that he enjoys the feeling of being fucked. He hasn’t got good dick in ages and now the best dick he’s getting is fucking ghost dick – hah – so even if it does have him suddenly scrambling to get to his room, he considers it worth it.
There are some downsides, like that he’s noisy getting fucked. So when he feels the unexpected but not entirely unwelcome sensation of a cock sliding into his arse as he’s sitting down in the rec room, he barely manages to muffle a gasp.
He pushes a fist in front of his mouth, eyes squeezed shut behind the glasses he’s fortunate to be wearing. He gets weird looks from the team, a hesitant pause in the poker game they’re playing as Riley jolts up from his seat.
“What’s up?” Scarecrow dares to ask. Riley pointedly ignores the question as he bolts from the room, walking like he’s got a stick up his arse, which, not all that far from the truth.
Turns out, it’s rather difficult to walk while being fucked. Riley manages, only stumbling against the wall once when there’s a hard press right against his prostate. It feels deliberate though it can’t be anything more than accidental, but it has his knees wobbling beneath him all the same as he throws himself into his room.
He lies on his stomach at the range with his sniper all but forgotten, cheek leaned against it as if he’s looking through the scope when he’s really trying to subtly grind his cock against the ground. He was living out his frustrations on a sandbag target until MacTavish interrupted him by living his out on the fleshlight.
He bites his lip bloody keeping himself quiet because there are people around, though MacTavish’s cock is pressing into just the right places to have Riley moaning for it. He fucks like he’s trying to make the fleshlight feel good, which is a ridiculous thought, because he also fucks like it’s just a hole – which it is, but it’s also Riley’s hole, and his hole gets so fucking sensitive when he’s coming in his pants in the sniper range. And that’s usually the moment when the pace turns faster, leaves Riley borderline drooling into his mask, squeezing his eyes shut as he bears through the painful overstimulation, body locking up.
He drops his lit cigarette over the roof railing and bends himself over it like MacTavish is genuinely behind him. Arches his back and pushes out his arse like an overeager whore, cock twitching where it’s trapped in his pants, though Riley keeps his hands gripping the railing because he imagines MacTavish wouldn’t want him touching himself.
He bites his mask between his teeth to keep himself somewhat quiet as he’s fucked cross-eyed. The grunts he lets out are muffled but still too loud to be entirely subtle, and he rocks along to the thrusts like trying to impale himself on a cock, since there’s no force moving him but himself.
He adjusts himself like trying to make MacTavish hit his prostate, even though he knows he can’t do anything, but it helps with the fantasy, helps to imagine there’s someone behind him even though the space is empty and quiet and his trousers are firmly pulled up. But MacTavish manages to hit it all on his own, at that angle he seemingly loves to hold the fleshlight at, because he slams into his prostate hard enough to have Riley coming in his pants. And then MacTavish keeps fucking him hard enough that he’s coming a second time too, because his captain has great stamina, apparently.
And it’s all great and everything, until Riley meets him the next morning.
“Why are you limping?” MacTavish frowns at him, looks him up and down with a perceptive stare. Not even a hello or good morning. Goes directly for pointing out how Riley can’t sit right – again.
There are only so many excuses he can make before it gets suspicious.
***
It’s somewhat of a habit, except Riley can’t figure out the pattern, because MacTavish doesn’t have a discernible pattern. Sometimes he fucks him three days in a row and then he doesn’t touch him for a week straight, leaving Riley wondering and waiting until he’s suddenly doubling over in the middle of the gym, pretending to be out of breath against the punching bag so he doesn’t give away how he’s suddenly being railed within an inch of his life.
Maybe it’s wrong to frame it as MacTavish not touching him in particular, since there’s no way MacTavish could know it’s somehow connected to Riley. There’s a very real chance that Riley stubbornly doesn’t consider that MacTavish would cut this whole thing off were he to find out. So Riley tries to keep it quiet, on the down low, making up increasingly stupider excuses. It’s just extremely unfortunate that MacTavish is the only person willing to call him out on his bullshit.
It’s become somewhat of the new norm that Riley spends late nights in the gym so he has a good excuse for why he’s groggy in the mornings. Either he’s sore and limping because MacTavish partook in some stress relief, or he’s annoyed and sulky because he didn’t get his own. He’s stopped searching anyone else out. There’s no need when the best dick he’s had comes from someone who isn’t even in the same room as him when he’s fucking him, who doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
He’s grown used to the irregular schedule, but he’s also grown used to at least getting some sometime. So when MacTavish doesn’t touch the fleshlight for a week, and then for a second week, and then going on the third with not a hint of it, Riley is getting frustrated himself. He wouldn’t say he’s needy but he’s throwing glares and pointed side-eyes MacTavish’s way despite it. Beating up the punching bag only leaves him sore in the normal way.
When he takes up his usual spot on the sofa in MacTavish’s office, fishing out the book he keeps there instead of carrying with him, he only pretends to read. Has it open in the middle, skipping a few pages after what feels like an appropriate time though he hasn’t absorbed a single word.
He glances over at MacTavish every few seconds, trying to gauge whether tonight is the night. Except MacTavish looks so awfully engrossed in whatever documents he’s reading, that frown of concentration creasing his brows and lips turned down like whatever it’s telling him isn’t good news. There’s a set to his shoulders and an even harsher set to his jaw, and there are lines around his eyes like he hasn’t slept properly for a few days and also probably hasn’t blinked in ten minutes. Riley gets the distinct feeling he’s only going to return to his room when he’s already half way asleep.
So he takes it upon himself. Makes a show of it as he puts his book away, rises up, and stretches. Arms up towards the ceiling and groaning as something in his back clicks. He pretends not to notice the bewildered glance MacTavish gives him at his unusual noisiness.
Riley meanders up to the desk, glancing over the papers spread out over it. He tugs them out of place to twist them towards himself, only skimming over the words. “Still doing all of this?”
“Aye.” MacTavish grunts an affirmative. Is looking at Riley in that annoyingly perceptive way.
“Mm.” Riley pushes the papers back into a messy pile that MacTavish takes in his hands to reorder. “Probably need some stress relief after all of this.”
MacTavish pauses with the documents stacked in his hands. He turns to look up at Riley with narrowed eyes. “How do you know I haven’t?”
It’s more of an accusation than a real question. Sharp and alert, staring at Riley like trying to see through him and the act he’s been putting up for, well, a while now.
“Just–” Riley shrugs, suddenly more flustered than he meant to be. He maybe should have thought this out better, so he wouldn’t be standing here shoving his hands into his pockets as he shrugs again. “You’ve been busy with the mission planning, y’know.”
It’s a pathetic reason, shitty pretext to try to dig himself out of this.
“So it– makes sense. Since you’ve been busy.”
He gives another pathetic shrug. Deliberately avoids MacTavish’s eyes as he spins on his heel and takes his abrupt exit. Feels MacTavish’s stare burning into his back the whole way until he shuts the office door and quickly hurries down the corridor to leave the situation behind him.
Riley lies awake in bed that night. Laying on his back, he stares up at the ceiling, the blanket mechanically pulled over him and hands clasped on his stomach. Waiting. Waiting and becoming increasingly frustrated as he continues to wait. The clock beside his bed taunts him when nothing happens and it becomes infuriatingly clear that MacTavish isn’t planning on using the toy.
Riley falls asleep pent-up, irritated, and angry. At MacTavish, at himself, at the world in general. He twists himself into his blanket and shoves his face into his pillow and doesn’t touch his half hard cock out of sheer spite.
***
Riley wakes up an hour before his alarm to being fucked.
He jolts awake at the first hard thrust into him. His mind snaps to awareness on the second one, and by the third he’s rolling onto his stomach as if to present himself.
He bites the pillow to muffle his moans, hips jerking forwards to grind into the mattress. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to tamp down the sudden surge of arousal before he comes too fast, because MacTavish has apparently decided to come in the morning instead – and who the fuck fucks so hard first thing in the morning?
He’s drooling a wet patch into the pillow and definitely leaving one in his sweatpants. He arches his back as if to push his arse out, as if to tempt MacTavish to be fuck him deeper, and it doesn’t change the angle but the rough pace MacTavish is going at is doing it for him on its own, slamming into him like he wants to leave his arse red and sore.
Riley’s thighs are trembling instead, body tensing up as his hole goes tight, trying to feel the girth of MacTavish’s cock though the usual expected strain doesn’t come with the motion. His imagination fills in the gaps despite it, and the way his body seamlessly opens up to the cock brushing right over his prostate has him squirming, panting into the pillow as he chases that last bit of stimulation. His body is taut and his thighs quivering and mind so hazy he feels disorientated. He has no idea how he’s going to act normal during their morning meeting.
The only saving grace is that MacTavish must have woken up already halfway there, because he comes nearly at the same time as Riley does. It keeps the usual overstimulation to a minimum and allows Riley a minute to tremble and catch his breath, splayed out in bed, until he forces himself up to take a very early shower.
There’s cum in his sweatpants, some of it his own, some of it not. He’d appreciate the feeling of it dripping out of him for longer if he didn’t have shit to do, and he knows from experience of being suddenly fucked in near public places that it doesn’t feel as great anymore after an hour.
He lets the cool water wash away the blush that will inevitably darken his cheeks before turning to clean the cum from his hole. He feels MacTavish’s fingers probing at him at the same time as he does, cleaning the toy too, which just leaves him shuddering all over again under the shower spray.
By the time he walks into the conference room, first thing in the day, he’s managed to will away the tremble in his thighs. MacTavish is already there, pulling up his notes on his laptop, and he gives him a nod as Riley sits in his usual seat in the corner. He can’t quite hide the way he recoils.
“Alright?” MacTavish asks. Looks him up and down, a furrow to his brow that reads more as concerned than suspicious.
“Fine,” Riley grunts. Bites his lip to stifle whatever noise is building in his throat as he shifts to find a position that doesn’t leave him wincing. Avoids MacTavish’s lingering look and crosses his arms. Acts like he’s moody instead of noting how MacTavish looks like he’s never slept better, like he’s sated and relaxed, and Riley resolutely does not think of the reason for that.
***
Sometimes it’s all too easy to think that the universe has it out for him. One joke after another played on him, and he simply has to accept it.
Really, it’s probably his own fault – he should have expected it. Should have assumed eventually it would happen.
He’s walking through the barracks where the captains’ rooms are for no good reason except the same one that’s kept him from stealing the stupid fleshlight back. He isn’t even thinking about the possibility, right up until he’s stumbling into the wall with a sharp gasp, a sudden cock in his arse and his body tensing. It thrusts in hard, at an unexpected angle that has him nearly curling up. He only manages to bite off his groan when it’s already half way out of his mouth.
The next door slams open just as Riley slaps a palm in front of his mouth.
“Riley? You alright?”
Of course it’s MacTavish. Of course he had to walk right by here. Of course this shit is always happening to him.
Riley steals himself a couple extra moments, dragging his hand down his face and slowly straightening. The feeling is gone as fast as it came, because MacTavish rushed out to investigate the sound of Riley falling against the wall of his room.
He’s standing in the door in only sweatpants, one hand on the door handle, and frowning at Riley as he watches him visibly compose himself.
“I’m fine. Just– pulled something.”
“You pulled something by walking?”
Riley rubs at his arm, both a gesture of hesitance and half-heartedly pretending he’s somehow hurt. “I… tripped.”
MacTavish raises a suspicious brow that Riley meets for only a glance, because he can’t lie for shit when he’s flustered and half hard.
“You can go back.” Riley nods towards MacTavish’s room. Breathes in consciously to centre himself, straightens, and meets MacTavish’s eyes, feigning nonchalance. “Don’t need to stop because of me.”
MacTavish frowns instead of doing any of that. “How’d you know what I was doing?”
Riley freezes. He does a doubletake, and a moment too late realises what his words implied. MacTavish’s eyes are boring into him and his mind is suddenly empty. He opens his mouth to answer but can’t find the words, gaping like a fish out of water. MacTavish is standing only in the doorway, yet it still feels like he’s blocking the entire corridor, and Riley shifts uselessly from foot to foot.
“Just… um, guessed,” he throws out. Not that unfair of an assumption, he thinks, considering that MacTavish’s clothes seem hastily thrown on. It’s obvious there’s nothing underneath the grey sweatpants, low on his hips, worn-out, a little tight near the crotch. Riley swallows thickly as he thinks his assumption that it’s heavy isn’t all that wrong.
MacTavish isn’t letting it go. “What’s this about, Riley?”
“Nothing.”
MacTavish crosses his arms, leans one shoulder against the wall, and quirks a brow. It’s unfair that there’s no fucking shirt to cover the way his biceps bulge; Riley gulps as his eyes get stuck on them. He speaks before he can think about it.
“I think there’s something wrong with the toy.”
“What?” MacTavish’s frown deepens into genuine confusion. Riley backtracks immediately.
“Never mind.” Riley takes a physical step back, like that’ll save him. “You wouldn’t believe me. Just– keep going in five minutes.” That should be enough to make it back to his room, catch his breath, and get his clothes off. His cock twitches in his pants at the most inopportune of times, but the way his eyes linger on the trail of dark hair leading into the waistband of MacTavish’s sweatpants isn’t fair either.
MacTavish moves to stand in front of his way the moment Riley takes the first step towards escape.
“Explain.”
It’s definitely an order. A demand. Justified, except for the part where Riley really doesn’t want to explain it.
He glances down the corridor, then behind himself. It’s entirely empty. MacTavish is standing there half naked and pinning Riley with only his stare, and even though the hallway is deserted except for them, Riley doesn’t see an avenue where he can skirt this.
He opens his mouth, hesitates. Bites his lip under the mask and grimaces. Chances a glance at MacTavish. “I don’t want to…” He makes a vague motion to their surroundings.
“Come here, then.”
Riley only realises what he means to do when MacTavish already has him by the arm, dragging him into his room. He closes the door behind them with a firm click. The curtains are drawn, the lights bright, and the damned fleshlight is out on his bed, shiny with lube.
MacTavish’s stare burns into the side of his face, even as Riley is looking at the fucking fleshlight.
“I can feel it,” he blurts out. Turns to meet MacTavish’s eyes, practically pleading with just his look because he doesn’t know how to explain it any differently, and he doesn’t have an explanation at all. He has no fucking clue how this works, only that it does. He’s being as sincere as he’s ever been and MacTavish is simply looking at him.
The silence hangs, heavy and awkward. Riley doesn’t fill it because he doesn’t have the words to. He’s stupidly hoping that something will somehow just resolve itself. Except the reality that he’ll be thrown out of the room or be reprimanded or that this will turn into something far more real than the stupid, botched joke that this was supposed to be is becoming awfully more possible with every second that ticks by.
Until MacTavish uncrosses his arms and walks over to the bed. “I can’t think of any reason why you’d lie to me.”
Riley watches with a mix of dread and anticipation as he picks up the fleshlight. The same one he ordered as a joke, the same one he left right there on the bed as a joke, and the same one MacTavish plays with the rim of – not a joke.
“So you’re telling me you can feel this.” He drags the pads of his fingers over the rim of the fleshlight, gentle pressure behind it as if he were teasing. Riley does his best not to squirm.
“Yeah.”
MacTavish thrusts his fingers into the hole and the doubt seems to wash away when Riley’s eyes slip shut on a muffled grunt. It makes a slick sound as he pumps them in, something Riley hasn’t heard in a while. They drag against his walls at an odd angle, distracted and slow, because MacTavish is busy watching him. Riley curls his hands into fists to keep himself still under his stare, even as his back naturally leans towards an arch.
“Turn around and drop your pants,” MacTavish orders.
Riley blinks rapidly to shove the haze of arousal away. Frowns hard enough MacTavish must be able to read it even through the mask. “What?”
“I want to see.” He pulls his fingers from the fleshlight and pins Riley with that look and an expectantly quirked brow. He’s used to having his orders be followed. And Riley must be out of his fucking mind because he follows this one too.
He turns around to face the wall, fighting with his belt. His cock is twitching in his pants yet somehow that’s less embarrassing than whatever this whole thing is. He shoves his pants to his thighs and spreads his legs shoulder-width so they don’t slide any lower. He can feel MacTavish’s eyes on his arse as he pushes his fingers into the fleshlight, the phantom sensation of them tugging at Riley’s rim, and his back bows intuitively. He looks only at the wall in front of him, even though MacTavish’s presence is like a physical sensation behind him.
“So if I…” MacTavish wonders, pulls his fingers out.
The tip of a cock breaches his hole. Slowly slides into him, stretching Riley without stretching him. Riley leans his forearm against the wall as he lets out a heavy sigh at being filled.
“Fuck,” MacTavish says as he watches Riley’s hole gape around nothing.
“Yeah,” Riley agrees. He rests his head against his forearm on the wall and glances over his shoulder at MacTavish and shivers at what he sees. Definitely heavy. It feels thick inside him but it looks thick too, and Riley clenches down around nothing as if he might feel it better.
“Fuck, that you?” MacTavish grunts. Riley has to rip his stare from where his cock disappears into the silicone hole to meet his eyes. “You squeezing ‘round me?”
“You can feel that?” He does it again, intentionally. Tightens himself as much as he can, though it doesn’t make the phantom pressure in his arse any more tangible, his hole fluttering. MacTavish tips his head back, though his eyes stay firm on Riley’s hole.
“Aye, I feel that. Was wonderin’ why this thing felt so good.”
“Oh,” Riley says, dumbly. He blushes fiercely under the mask, thinking back to all the times when he clenched around the feeling – there but not at the same time – trying to better sense and feel out the cock that was fucking him. And all those times he was inadvertently squeezing MacTavish’s cock in the toy, making it snug and tight for him, which is maybe why he fucked the fleshlight like he was bullying his way in, and Riley bore it with overstimulated trembles.
Riley’s lashes flutter on a moan that he doesn’t quite manage to hold back. But he thinks he’s allowed to, now, because MacTavish doesn’t mention it. He grunts as he sheathes himself in the fleshlight and Riley arches as if to present himself, MacTavish’s cock grinding against his prostate even as he’s standing at the other end of the room.
He forces his eyes open and steadies his stance as he looks over his shoulder to watch as MacTavish sinks into the fleshlight, and MacTavish is staring at Riley’s arse being fucked by nothing. Filled and gaping and fluttering, yet it’s only air.
The slick sound of him fucking silicone fills the room, and Riley huffs little breaths as the length fills him too. He doesn’t have a good view of MacTavish’s cock like this, but it’s good enough, it’s far better than what he’s had until now – sweatpants pushed down and chest bare, head tipped back but eyes on Riley, stroking the fleshlight faster over his cock and pushing into Riley’s arse in time.
Riley digs his teeth into his bottom lips as pleasure coils in his gut, his cock dripping precum, hips jerking forwards, looking for that final push. But he keeps his hands on the wall in front of him and his eyes on MacTavish. He squeezes purposefully, and gets a low grunt in return for it, MacTavish’s cock suddenly shoved hard into his hole. Then again, and again, and at that angle MacTavish keeps hitting, so Riley’s voice breaks off as his cock pulses and he comes over the wall, clenching down tight except it doesn’t stop MacTavish’s cock from fitting in his hole. He forces his eyes open to keep looking over his shoulder, watching MacTavish watch him as he comes on his cock but not at the same time.
Riley slumps over as the high wanes, loudly gasping for breath and bending over with the motion. It only serves to exacerbate the feeling of being fucked open, his hole gaping yet filled, and even as his eyes flutter shut, he feels MacTavish’s stare on him. Feels the hard way he pounds into him, hears the way he’s not doing it at all, his presence so temptingly close that Riley feels high simply at being in the same room, the overstimulation suddenly spiking much more than before–
Until MacTavish thrusts hard into him – into the fleshlight – and finishes in his hole with a rumbling groan that makes Riley shiver all over again. He still feels floaty from the rush of endorphins, but the sparks of too-much fade almost as quickly as they came. MacTavish finished much earlier than Riley is used to, which means it must be because of him and the sight he makes – and the realisation has Riley inadvertently clenching down again, trying to squeeze around MacTavish’s cock that’s pulling out of both him and the fleshlight.
“So that’s why it’s so easy to clean,” MacTavish muses, watching in fascination as his cum trickles out of Riley’s hole. He puts the toy aside, gaze still lingering on Riley as he steps closer.
“Can I?” he asks, which is funny, considering what they’ve been doing.
Riley nods and stays leaned against the wall, supporting himself on his forearms, trousers still around his thighs and cum trickling from between his cheeks.
MacTavish grabs a handful of his arse, squeezes, gropes indulgently, then spreads him open to look at his hole. He nudges a thumb inside, dry and only somewhat stretched, though the fleshlight-ghost cock slid into him easy despite it. MacTavish hooks his thumb inside him, pulls, and Riley can’t hold back the breathy sigh at the way he can practically feel MacTavish’s eyes looking straight into him – the same almost-there sensation of the fleshlight. Until MacTavish suddenly pulls back.
“C’mon, on the bed,” MacTavish orders. Riley turns to frown at him over his shoulder.
“What?”
“I’m going to fuck you properly,” MacTavish says. It takes a moment for the words to register. And then he’s pushing off the wall, shoving his trousers down on the way to the bed, on his hands and knees in record time. His hoodie slides up his back as he leans down onto his elbows. He shifts his knees wider apart when MacTavish comes on the bed behind him, pressing his face into the pillow that smells like vestiges of laundry detergent and his captain.
The touch of lube to his hole is new. Almost a shock before it warms up to his body, mixing with the cum dripping out of him as MacTavish pushes it into his hole. He hasn’t needed to fuck himself on his own fingers with MacTavish fucking the fleshlight, but he sinks into it readily. He just came yet he’s pushing into MacTavish’s fingers anyway.
They sink into him, two digits spreading him open, and either the fleshlight-cock stretched him out or he’s just naturally opening up for him – because Riley can’t fucking keep count of how many times he’s imagined this scenario exactly, face down on his own bed and writhing as his cock pulses at a touch to his prostate.
By the time MacTavish has stretched him fully, he’s back to full hardness, making a mess of MacTavish’s sheets as well, dripping precum in anticipation like he’s never felt before. MacTavish pulls his hand away, and another surge of arousal shoots through Riley at the slick sound of him spreading lube over his cock. Then that lubed hand is gripping Riley’s hip, pulling him backwards as MacTavish positions himself at his entrance, pushing in.
The first slide of MacTavish’s cock into him is breath-taking – literally. Riley’s breath leaves him in a groan and he can’t catch it again. It’s fatter than it looked now that it’s inside him, stretching him even after MacTavish’s fingers. it’s different from the fleshlight, physical and hot. There’s a body at his back, hands on his hips, and there’s a loud slap of skin as MacTavish thrusts into him.
It’s dizzying, has Riley’s eyes rolling, simply at being rocked forwards with the force of MacTavish’s cock pressing into him. By the third thrust Riley has all but forgotten to muffle his moans, the side of his face pressed into the pillow and mouth open on loud, unabashed cries.
MacTavish leans over him to clasp his palm in front of his mouth to muffle his noises, which changes the angle to something that just gets him even louder. Even as he’s trying to tamp down how noisy Riley is being, he fucks into him like he’s trying to get him to scream.
“You’ve been like this every time?” he asks. Peers down at Riley to look at his flushed face, hips snapping forwards and pushing Riley hard into the bed. “Every time I fucked that, you were cryin’ like this?”
His palm is still muffling him, firmly clamped over his mouth. Riley shakes his head, but the way his brows furrow at the rising heat coiling in his gut and how the strength of his moan when MacTavish thrusts right against his prostate has his throat going hoarse contradict him.
When Riley squeezes around him now, he can feel it. It makes the fit tighter, his hole clenching but still forced open as MacTavish fucks into him. Makes the feeling so much more acute, intensifies the burn at his rim from the girth of his cock stretching him open and the heat at the base of his spine when MacTavish shoves deep enough it feels like he’s in his guts.
Riley barely registers it himself when he comes. His hands dig into the sheets and his body goes tight like he’s trying to feel out every vein on MacTavish’s cock, back arching and bowing into the thrusts that don’t stop, working him through it and then some.
Out of the corner of his hazy vision, Riley can make out MacTavish’s almost fascinated look, roving over him and the spot of cum he’s leaving on his sheets, something like surprised he can get Riley to come untouched a second time just like this.
It only encourages him, pounding Riley into the mattress. It’s far too much stimulation, sharper and so much more intense when it’s a real cock fucking into him. Riley’s knees tremble beneath him yet the sounds he’s making are anything but displeased – tears in his eyes but rocking backwards to get MacTavish’s cock deeper into him again, happy to let MacTavish fuck him into near painful overstimulation as long as he gets him properly inside him.
He sucks up the feeling, revelling in the realness. The way he’s trembling from overstimulation has him sweating, the thrust of a cock into him is loud and wet, the hands gripping him are solid and promising to leave bruises, the grunts behind him are in that raspy tone he’s always been imagining.
And the pulse of a cock is what he’s been missing, the way MacTavish buries himself as deep as he can, grinding into his arse, as cum floods him a second time. And that feels real too – hot and thick and copious inside him. A palm slides over his flank and Riley shudders at that too, at the calloused touch and the indulgent squeeze that follows. Steadies himself to keep his knees under him so he can feel that touch for a moment longer.
MacTavish doesn’t pull back like he usually does. Doesn’t withdraw to go clean up after he’s taken a minute to catch his breath. He rocks forwards, grinding against Riley’s arse, staying buried inside him. The weight of him at Riley’s back when he leans over him is novel, but not unwelcome.
He likes it more like this, Riley thinks.
***
It starts off as a joke, as most things do.
It’s an innocent comment made in the afterglow, when Riley is sweaty and bare and taking up most of the space on MacTavish’s bed. When MacTavish is searching for the pack of cigarettes he keeps in the nightstand despite the restriction on smoking indoors and his own preference for cigars – which seems to waver whenever Riley is offering to smoke together.
“You still have that?” Riley asks, peeking over the side of the bed where he catches a glimpse of the garish colour combination. He’s already forgotten about it, despite the fact that, frankly, barely any time has passed.
MacTavish abandons his search for smokes and gets the fleshlight out instead. Takes it in one hand and looks over at Riley, a side-eye that’s far too mischievous for his face, before he traces the opening of it with a finger. His smirk widens at Riley’s shudder. Twists into something cruel when he pushes a finger inside and drags it against the silicone, Riley gasping sharply beside him.
“I think we can find a use for this,” he says with a smile. Easily, with levity. Almost like it’s a joke.
It’s not a joke anymore when he learns to use pleasure as a punishment.
He calls Riley into his room afterhours, at the end of a day when he’s been especially mouthy and insubordinate. Riley knows he’s doing it – sometimes does it on purpose – but usually it’s amusing to see MacTavish irritated. It’s a joke, riling him up, until Riley gets pushed onto the bed and he’s suddenly rendered a gasping, writhing, trembling mess, all the while MacTavish stands beside him fingering the fleshlight.
It’s great stress relief and amusement for MacTavish. Fucking grinning next to him, close enough to touch yet he only does it through the toy. Riley pleads and whines for it – he knows how well a real cock stretches him out, how hot it feels when it’s pushing into him – yet the only thing he gets is a phantom sensation, fucking him hard but not pinning him to the bed.
MacTavish will fuck him for real if it’s a reward. If Riley has done something particularly impressive – there’s a reason he’s started rigorously timing himself on the training courses, and it has little to do with his growing ego, as the rookies gossip – or sometimes if he’s simply had a good day and Riley is around to make it better.
The fleshlight gets tight when Riley does, but MacTavish seems to appreciate the real thing the same as he does. The hot clutch of a hole, hips to hold onto, and a face to push into the pillow to muffle Riley’s moans. He can put real power behind his thrusts, rattle the bed and shake the walls, and Riley likes to think he can take it much better than some stupid piece of fucking silicone. There’s a very fine arse Riley pushes out for MacTavish to grab and he’s grown out his hair for him to tug. His legs may already be sore from pushing himself hard in the gym, but MacTavish makes sure he’ll have trouble walking tomorrow.
But then again, MacTavish has always been a great strategist. A keen mind and critical thinker, constantly turning a problem over to find the best solution, and then repeating it all to find one that’s better.
“C’mon, you love to show off,” he says, pushing Riley down with a hand on the back of his neck, “so show off for me.”
It’s said fondly, because Riley has been especially good – at least he thinks so, and the tone is leading him to expect a very pleasant evening. The squeeze at his nape is fond too, though the expression on MacTavish’s face is promising far more than just pleasant.
The position leaves his arse high, knees spread, hole open and exposed for MacTavish. Yet he doesn’t touch it. Brings out the fleshlight again, and fucks into it hard enough that Riley can barely prepare himself. His breath leaves him and he can’t gasp it back in before MacTavish is already sliding back into him – it.
“Want you to come for me,” he says. Orders. Is steadily bringing Riley towards it. He gropes at Riley’s arse and spreads him open with one hand, working the fleshlight over his cock with the other, watching the way Riley’s hole opens up for nothing – for him.
He’s angling the fleshlight, watching Riley’s reaction as he shifts to thrust into it slightly different, until he has Riley keening loud enough it’s definitely audible outside. Riley’s legs are shaking after what feels like only a moment yet forever, MacTavish fucking him like he doesn’t care at all whether he’ll get off himself. Shallow, hard thrusts that jab right against his prostate and have Riley’s thoughts melting away to nothing.
He’s pushing back against MacTavish’s palm even when the cock pressing into him should be rocking him forwards. And he can’t even be disappointed about only getting the phantom sensation when MacTavish knows perfectly how to touch him even when he isn’t touching him, bucking his hips into the fleshlight and roving his eyes over Riley’s form in what feels like a tangible touch. The palm squeezing his arse is very much tangible, physical and strong, callouses dragging over the parts of Riley’s skin that have remained mostly soft and unscarred.
Riley’s breath gets stuck in his throat as the feeling heightens, peaks, and his back arches near painfully as he comes. MacTavish’s hand is nearly burning against him compared to the feeling that’s filling his arse, and he clenches down despite knowing he won’t feel the stretch as well as he wants. Yet his cock is pulsing with each rope of cum anyway, eyes half-lidded but not seeing much, his face pressed into the pillow to muffle himself.
MacTavish pulls mostly out of the toy, and pulls out of Riley too, just the hint of a cock at his hole, not forcing him open and not fucking him. Like an afterimage to wean him over in the fading pleasure.
MacTavish pulls out of him completely and drops the toy beside them on the bed. He caresses his palm up Riley’s spine, steady and grounding, and Riley sighs as he leans into it.
“Come here,” he says, slides his hand over Riley’s shoulder, around him to his front, and he pulls Riley up with an arm around his chest.
“Been so good for me,” he murmurs into Riley’s ear. The way his fingers caress down his chest makes Riley shiver. He hums a response, something vaguely affirmative, acknowledging, satisfied with himself.
He doesn’t register that MacTavish never finished until he feels his hard cock sliding over his entrance. He only realises that it must be a combination of MacTavish being pleased with him and having a good day himself that has led him here. He only realises that MacTavish has figured out a whole new way to get Riley as fucked out as possible when he’s pushing into him when Riley is still panting from his high.
The sound he lets out is high-pitched and almost pained. His hole clenches down hard, but MacTavish pushes in despite it, forcing his cock between tense muscles, carving out a place for himself that has long been his before he even knew it.
MacTavish holds him up with a palm firm on his chest, the other gripping Riley’s hip. Even the slow rolls of his hips as he works himself deeper into him have Riley keening, his head falling back onto MacTavish’s shoulder as a violent shudder wrecks him. MacTavish’s – real – cock inside him is so good and far too much, hot and thick and making it ache. Riley can’t even force himself to relax or loosen for him, his rim tight without his control, and it just makes the feeling of being stretched that much more acute.
MacTavish bottoms out, pressed in to the hilt, hips against Riley’s arse, and he gives Riley only a moment to get used to the feeling of being filled properly, by a cock that’s hot and real inside him, before he pulls out to thrust back in hard.
Riley tilts his head to press his face into the crook of MacTavish’s neck. His thighs are trembling and he’s leaning almost wholly against MacTavish, body tight and tense and tears beading at his eyes, but he doesn’t make a single attempt to get away from the overwhelming feeling.
MacTavish’s hips snap forwards hard and fast, leave Riley’s arse red, sorer than he already is. There isn’t a moment for Riley to come down from the peak of pleasure when MacTavish keeps sliding over his prostate again and again, and the way Riley involuntarily clenches down around him isn’t making it easier for himself. He’s overcome and breathing shakily, yet his cock grows hard again, an unavoidable reaction to the continuous stimulation. He’s drunk on the feeling, dizzy and light-headed, but happy to let MacTavish use his hole to fuck him like he wants to get himself off.
Until MacTavish reaches for the toy again, and Riley realises a moment too late he isn’t aiming to just get himself off at all.
MacTavish holds him up with one arm around Riley, and the other brings the fleshlight to Riley’s cock. He lets out an embarrassingly shrill sound, something between a gasp and a mewl, he doesn’t know himself if it’s a protest or not, as MacTavish pushes his cock into the fleshlight.
Riley’s eyes roll back at the feeling. His hips jerk forwards, then backwards, and his body jolts as his brain struggles to catch up.
It’s two cocks inside him at once. Overlapping, alternating. MacTavish makes him fuck the fleshlight, snaps his hips forwards and pushes Riley fully into the silicone hole in the same motion. It’s himself inside him and also not. It’s the phantom sensation he’s come to know so well yet it’s MacTavish too. One of them shoves deep into him and then the other follows. A slide over his prostate before a second one right after. The motion of a cock sliding into him at the same time as the other pulls out. Both pushing against the same place in him at different angles, shoved inside him when there shouldn’t be room.
His cock is enveloped in a wet hole that squeezes around him, a tight clutch that just gets tighter. It makes his body go taut, his arse clenching down, which only makes the feeling so much headier around his cock. A feedback loop that MacTavish doesn’t let up, stroking the fleshlight over his length, fucking into him at the same time. It fills him up more than should be possible. They grind against his insides simultaneously, overstimulating nerves that are already too sensitive. One length thrusts into him and then the other does too, overlapping impossibly, filling the same space, and Riley feels both sides of it when he tightens around the cocks inside him.
Riley loses all sense of reality as he comes again. His throat is hoarse and a tear is rolling down a flushed cheek. His heart is beating loud enough it echoes in his ears yet everything turns fuzzy. His hole is tight and his body is taut and his lungs are straining. The sensations keep going, amplifying each other, layered one atop another.
There’s cum in his arse – his own – and it’s lubricating the slide of MacTavish’s cock, smoother and easier but no less overwhelming. Each thrust makes a wet shlick as MacTavish’s hips slap against his arse. His cum leaks from his hole, fucked back into his body and dripping out over his thighs, making a mess between them.
MacTavish still slides the fleshlight over his softening cock, overstimulating him twice. His mouth is on Riley’s neck, teeth scraping over his jaw, and Riley tilts his head to the side to let him suck a mark just under his ear, though it sends another shiver down his spine.
The moment might last forever or a heartbeat. Riley is barely aware of the points where he and MacTavish connect – where he connects with himself. He might be floating if it weren’t for MacTavish’s arm around him holding him still, and he might not be breathing except that he hears the way he’s nearly sobbing.
MacTavish’s grunt makes it past the cotton in his head, gruff and low and timed with a harsh thrust into him. The fleshlight stays still, Riley’s cock buried in it, so he can feel the way he’s convulsing as MacTavish comes deep inside him, filling Riley up with his load and making a bigger mess of his hole. The feeling has heat curling in his gut, the coil of arousal building up again, except he really can’t fucking take it anymore.
MacTavish hums something against Riley’s jaw. It might be words, or just a simple groan of satisfaction. Riley is vaguely aware of the salty taste on his lips where his tears have rolled down.
He flinches, lets out a pitiful whine, when MacTavish slowly drags the fleshlight away. It’s abandoned somewhere, forgotten – Riley’s worldview barely extends beyond himself.
The palm on his chest keeps him stable when MacTavish tilts away from him, slowly drawing his hips back. The simple slide of his cock from Riley’s arse is too much, his hole fluttering and body twitching. The mix of their cum leaks out after, dripping down Riley’s thighs.
MacTavish lets him fall forwards slowly. The moment he lets go, Riley collapses.
He still feels like he’s trembling. The afterimage of being overfull makes him clench down. It’s vivid, too real yet not entirely. Tangible enough it makes him shudder, his nerves alight with the sensation, like something is still pressing him open and sliding in past the cum oozing out of him. He doesn’t feel the heat of a cock inside him, but he doesn’t know where the fleshlight is, figures that MacTavish might still be playing with it, the almost-there sensation making him shiver.
Until two arms wrap around him and pull him into a warm chest, and he realises he’s not touching the toy at all.
Riley digs his hands into strong muscle, warm and sweaty and real as he clutches him too tight. It’s grounding. It’s something to focus on. The chaste kiss pressed to his hairline is affectionate and fond and makes Riley’s breath come out on a sigh.
“Did good, love,” MacTavish murmurs, and his chest rumbles with the words under Riley’s hands.
Riley doesn’t even remember what he did to earn this. He deigns to figure it out later, so he can earn it again.