More S4 thoughts about Billy chilling in his little house on the beach in Cali (the one he bought outright with his government hush money, of course), until he hears the news of the whole 'earth opening up and a ton of weird shit' happening again in Hawkins. And at first he smirks, glad that he's out of it, glad that all he has to worry about is how many entitled little shits he's gonna have signing up for surf lessons this month, and whether or not he set the VCR for Knight Rider.
But then he hears about Max. And it's mostly whispers and rumours, but it's enough to have him jumping in his car and racing the whole way back, barely stopping to sleep or eat, screeching into Hawkins and then storming right into the emergency centre, asking anyone and everyone for information on his sister, getting more and more worked up as he hears nothing but the same repeated lines about the 'proper process' from people who call him 'sir' and wave him away with pitying smiles.
And it's been a while since Billy got angry. He hasn't needed to, for the last few months. But it soon comes back to him, the familiar red mist falling over his eyes, as he stands in the middle of a row of cots and bellows at some poor soul brandishing a clipboard and a sign-in form.
And that's when Steve appears from out of the makeshift kitchen, summoned by the commotion. He's got a ratty dishtowel slung over one shoulder, and a smear of peanut butter on his cheek, but there's a calm, authoritative confidence in the way he rests a hand on Billy's shoulder, and says,
"C'mon, man, yelling at Gloria's not gonna get you anywhere. You got it all outta your system now? Good. So how about you come with me and help me finish up these sandwiches and I promise I'll explain everything."
And Billy does. A little sheepishly, he follows along and sits in a snug little backroom where Steve hands him a sandwich and a steaming mug of cocoa and, true to his word, he explains it. Everything. And Billy takes it all in, wide eyed but without saying a word -although he can't stop himself from gasping in shock when Steve talks about what happened to Max- and he's damn near shaking by the time Steve's finished, so Steve takes hold of his hand and squeezes it and says, so firmly, "She's getting better. She's fighting, every day. And you know how stubborn she is. Hey, must be something in the Cali water, man, cause, uh, you're also in damn fine shape for someone who died."
And there's no tact there, no gentle easing into it, but that's exactly why Billy's next gasp is one of laughter.
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12 / 1,147 words / for @141wh0re. happy birthday <3
nsfw, free use, rough sex, group sex ⬇
...
"Shut your bloody mouth before you broadcast our hiding place to every tango in a mile radius," Ghost snaps. He's got you bent over a crate, your nails digging into the old wood for purchase as his hips grind against yours.
"Then don't be so fucking rough," you snap, though it sounds breathy and thin even to your ears. You shift, feeling his hands squeeze your hips in irritation.
Ghost doesn't falter, but his eyes glitter at your backtalk. He claps his gloved hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds you're making. His other hand grips your thigh, forcing you onto one leg as he pushes your knee onto the top of the crate. He pulls out and slams back into you, getting back to railing you hard and fast.
“We need you on your sniper, Ghost,” Soap hisses from his spot at the far window. He’s peering down the scope of his own rifle. This building is only two stories high and small enough that any one of you could cross the room in three strides. The body heat alone is getting to you. Not to mention the way Ghost is fucking you like it'll save this mission, his pants pushed down to mid-thigh just as yours are.
"Get back to work, then, Ghost," Price tells him from the nearest window, eye leaving the scope of his rifle for a moment to take you in. "I don't need you two distracting my team."
Ghost grinds into you, a frustrated snarl muffled under his mask. You feel the muscles in his hands flex as he bites back his anger. "Fuck," he mutters. "Alright. Let's finish this."
On the other side of the cramped room, Gaz and Soap kneel at the largest window. They keep their focus, sniping marks with ruthless precision. As they do, Ghost's hips snap into you faster and harder. His teammates are focused on their task; he's focused solely on his.
"You're so tight," he growls. His hand slips away from your mouth, falling to your neck. "I've been wanting you since we--"
"Stop talking," you snap, hyperaware of the implicit warning in Price’s voice and the way Soap and Gaz are shifting in position, getting restless. You’re not sure if they’ve had enough, if they’re jealous, if they’d sooner throw you out the window than entertain another moment of this. "Get it done."
Ghost doesn't bother to argue. He pins you down with a hand between your shoulder blades as he fucks you, unceremonious and primal.
You bite your lip and try to stay quiet as Price's judgmental gaze falls over you again. Ghost flattens you even more against the crate and slams into you so hard and fast it creaks and squeaks against the floor. You cry out, writhing. His hips stutter, and then he's coming, slamming into you until you can't think. Your clit catches the rough edge of the crate. The sudden, sharp jolt is too much. An unexpected orgasm crashes over you, and you groan pathetically, clenching around Ghost.
Ghost curses. He slows down, still panting, and slowly pulls out of you. He runs a gloved hand down your back in a quick—but still noticeable—gesture of appreciation.
"Nice," Price mutters in approval. "Good work."
"She’s a good teammate, ain’t she," Ghost says. "Always wet."
You shiver, their words shooting straight to your core. You're sure you should be insulted, not flattered. But your body doesn’t seem to understand that.
Gaz nudges Soap and they glance over their shoulders at you.
“How long was that one?” Gaz asks Soap.
“I’m busy at the moment. You think I bloody timed it?” Soap snaps.
Gaz looks amused. “Did you not?”
Soap swears under his breath, eye returning to his sniper scope. “Eleven minutes.”
Gaz scoffs. "Could do better."
“Alright, that’s enough,” Price says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Ghost, take up position.”
He disappears from behind you. You pull yourself together and get to work.
...
This mission went tits up right out of the gate. If not for your teammates’ ludicrous skill and focus under pressure, you’d be dead. No doubt. But they’ve been in far worse binds than simply being pinned down inside a rickety, moldy shack by endless enemy gunfire.
Soon enough, the chaos is over, and no more shots ring out.
“Clear,” Soap says.
“Proper job,” Price says. “Regroup.”
You’re patching up a graze on Gaz’s forearm when Price returns three minutes later, frowning.
“Bad news. No exfil for another forty-five minutes.”
“How bloody long does it take to—” Ghost cuts himself off with a rough sigh. “We should keep moving. Find somewhere safer to wait it out.”
“After we regroup here, yeah?” Gaz says.
Ghost scoffs. “Why? You in the middle of something?”
“Oh, we’re about to be,” Soap retorts.
You’re hardly paying attention, fastening two butterfly bandages to Gaz’s laceration when Soap’s arm loops around your waist and drags you backward into his lap. He makes sure to drag your core over his thigh, knowing you’re still sensitive enough to feel it even through your pants. You grit your teeth, biting back a groan. He tugs the top half of your combat uniform apart and shoves his hand inside, groping your chest roughly. You gasp, grinding down on his lap unwittingly.
“That’s a good fuckin’ girl.” Soap’s breath is hot in your ear. “Real reliable.”
“We don’t have time for fun and games, Johnny,” Ghost says, sounding irritated.
“Easy for you to say. You had yours,” Gaz says. He slides closer to Soap, his eyes fixed on you.
Ghost throws a questioning look at Price. Price leans back on the crate you’d been bent over a few minutes ago. He shrugs, rolling around a fresh cigarette between his lips. “Not a bad place to sit tight. We’ve got a good view in all directions if more tangos approach. Relatively protected and exfil has a clear landing zone through those trees. We stay.”
“You heard him,” Gaz says.
“Arsewits, both of you,” Ghost mutters.
You’re staring at the cigarette in Price’s mouth, eyes half-lidded, when Gaz’s fingers take your chin and tilt your face toward him. “You don’t mind, love, do you?”
A frustrated growl rolls through Soap’s chest, but he pauses mid-squeeze to hear your answer too.
You stare at Gaz, then Ghost, then Price again. “Forty-five minutes?”
“We’ll make it work,” Soap says.
“I know.” You shift in his lap again. Your core is aching, your mind already clouded over with want. “Fine. If… if that’s what you need.”
Soap chuckles into your ear. “Away wi’ that. No pretendin’ you do this because it’s your job. You like it.”
“Fuck off,” you snap.
“Gettin’ to that.” Soap shifts you so he can get his pants and yours out of the way. He notices Gaz’s hand run down your neck enticingly, hears you sigh, and pushes Gaz’s hand away. “Wait your turn.”
Gaz scoffs. “You’ll hardly last long enough to wait on.”
“You can share,” Price tells them. Then he gives you a pointed look. “Saves time. You can rest on the bird, sweetheart.”
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