Archive of Our Own ^beta

Roach let out a loud groan as fingers brushed his prostate again. He tried to spread his legs wider, but he was already at his limit, even with all his athletic training. Two fingers moved inside him in a steady, deliberate rhythm, hitting his prostate with such precision that all Gary could do was arch his back, gasping for air. The other hand gripped his cock, sliding slowly along its length, teasing the tip before letting go, driving Roach to the edge until he started whimpering. His hips twitched, torn between pushing back onto the fingers or forward into the hand that was pushing him to the brink.

“Goddamn… goddamn…” Roach’s voice broke into a rasp.

Hot breath grazed his neck, lips barely brushing his earlobe.

“You were made for this.”

Those words sent Gary barreling toward the orgasm he’d been chasing.

It all started with a bloody stupid idea Soap threw out after chugging another beer. The three of them — Soap, Roach, and Yuri — were crammed into a tiny dorm room. Ghost was there too, lurking in the corner, mask pulled up to his nose so he could smoke, staring at them like they were complete morons.

Because on the table was Soap’s phone, open to some dumb dating app — a half-baked plan to kill time. “Just for laughs,” Soap had said, and soon they were scrolling through profiles, snickering like kids over gym mirror selfies and cringeworthy bios.

Ghost didn’t even pretend to care, just huffing out smoke in annoyance.

“This is a waste of time,” he grumbled, blowing another plume of smoke that curled up to the ceiling and vanished.

Yuri, perched on a chair next to him, elbowed him in the ribs with a smirk, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Scared your mask pic won’t pass the filter?” he teased, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a whisper. “Or just worried Johnny’s gonna find someone?” He nodded toward Soap, who was glued to his screen, swiping through profiles with manic energy, barely reading.

Ghost choked on his smoke, his cheeks flushing slightly under the mask, but he snapped back, jabbing his cigarette toward Yuri.

“Piss off. I’m just not wasting my time on pointless crap.” His voice was sharp, but there was a slight hitch, and Yuri knew he’d hit a nerve. Ghost glanced at Roach, who was ignoring their bickering, then quickly looked away, taking a long drag to cover his irritation.

Gary, sprawled on the floor with his back against the couch, didn’t look up. His fingers flew across the screen, eyes scanning bios with a weird mix of curiosity and excitement. He was the only one who seemed to take the app seriously, reading every profile like it was a mission brief.

Soap, still at the table, burst out laughing at something on his phone.

“Yuri!” He wiped tears from his eyes, still chuckling, and turned to Yuri, shoving the phone in his face. “Mate, this guy’s totally your type!” He yanked the phone back to read the name before Yuri could get a proper look. “Vladimir!”

Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Seriously? Just ‘cause he’s Russian doesn’t mean he’s my type,” he started, but Soap, ignoring him, shoved the phone back under his nose. The screen showed a guy in his forties, dark stubble, a scar cutting through his brow, and a stare that made Yuri’s gut tighten. Soap was right—dead-on hit. Yuri grabbed the phone, surprised.

“He’s… not bad, actually.”

Soap grinned like he’d just won a bet, his face lighting up. He slapped Yuri’s shoulder hard.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” He tapped the phone to send Yuri the contact. “There’s Vladimir’s number. Don’t thank me.”

Ghost snorted at the whole scene.

Ten minutes later, everyone was bored of scrolling through endless profiles of gym selfies, dog pics, and bios like “looking for the one.” Soap yawned, lazily swiping with zero interest. Ghost stubbed out his cigarette on the table’s edge.

“Told you. You really thought you’d find anything decent here?”

Soap scoffed, tossing his phone on the table like it had personally insulted him.

“Quit whining,” he said, stretching so his shirt rode up, flashing abs that Ghost tried not to stare at too long. “At least we’re sorting out Yuri’s love life.”

Yuri smirked but stayed quiet. Roach, unlike the others, was still glued to his phone. He smiled faintly at first, then frowned.

In the near-silence, broken only by the sound of fingers on screens (and Yuri’s phone buzzing with texts), Roach suddenly piped up, curious.

“What’s a ‘sugar daddy’?”

Everyone froze. Soap, about to take another swig of beer, nearly choked, his eyes bugging out as the can almost slipped from his hand. Yuri whipped around, barely holding back a laugh. Even Ghost coughed on his smoke.

“What?!” Soap practically vaulted over the table to peek at Roach’s phone. “What sugar daddy? Show me!”

Roach, red to his ears, quickly swiped the profile away, his cheeks burning like he’d been caught doing something shameful. He looked up at Soap with the most innocent expression he could muster and mumbled, “Never mind, forget it.”

But Soap was already locked in, eyes gleaming with curiosity and a grin splitting his face.

He leaned closer, trying to snatch Roach’s phone. Gary was quicker, tucking it behind his back. He pressed his lips together, trying not to smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his confusion over what he’d just read.

“Nothing worth seeing.”

They wrestled over the phone for a bit until Soap gave up, pouting dramatically.

Yuri, who’d been watching the chaos unfold, finally snorted.

“Hope he buys you a yacht.”

Roach flipped him off and went back to his phone. The profile was some guy named Hershel — gray hair, fancy suit, offering “financial support for companionship.” It stuck in Gary’s head.

“Vladimir’s ghosting me,” Yuri whined, looking like his world had ended. “No hello, no nothing.”

Soap, whose shoulder Yuri was leaning into, rubbed his temples. Ghost saved him from another round of complaints.

“Maybe he’s got a job, unlike you,” Ghost shot back.

Yuri snapped his head up from Soap’s shoulder.

“Screw you,” he growled, his accent thicker with anger. “Don’t be jealous.”

Ghost rolled his eyes but smirked. He was about to fire back when Yuri’s phone buzzed. Yuri grabbed it, his face lighting up instantly.

“It’s him!” He jumped up, nearly knocking over his chair and Soap with it, and bolted for the door, phone pressed to his ear. “Be right back!”

Johnny didn’t want to know what they were talking about that required Yuri to step outside every time. He watched him go, shaking his head, and muttered, “Lucky bastard.”

He turned to Roach, who was rummaging through a backpack by the closet.

“How about you?”

Gary wasn’t in his usual beat-up t-shirt and worn jeans. He had on a relatively new shirt and surprisingly clean sneakers he’d spent half the night scrubbing, keeping everyone else awake. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and paused, fingers lingering on the zipper. Roach turned, glancing at Soap with a vague smile, like he was hiding something but not trying too hard.

Soap’s eyes widened, brows shooting up as realization hit.

“Where are you off to?!”

Roach smirked, shrugged, and glanced at the door, clearly planning his escape.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Soap leapt up, but Gary was ready. 

“I’m late!”

With that, he bolted out, slamming the door and leaving Soap standing there, mouth open. From the other side of the wall, voices carried:

“Even on that stupid dating app, everyone’s found someone except me.”

“You’re just looking in the wrong place,” Ghost said softly. Roach rolled his eyes—Ghost would never make a real move, but he was full of cryptic hints like that.

“Maybe you’re right.”

And now, after five meetups, here was Roach. With Shepard—his sugar daddy?—sitting between his spread legs. This was their third round tonight, and Shepard, no spring chicken, knew how to make Roach forget his own name, even just with his fingers.

Gary wasn’t complaining—hell, he was shocked at how insatiable he’d become, like the fancy restaurants Shepard took him to were spiking his food with something that set him on fire. Older guys were never his thing, but Shepard… Gary thought he was hot, and not just because of the money, though Roach’s own bank account was practically empty.

Shepard planned to pay for his company—dinners at upscale restaurants, events where Roach felt out of place but went anyway because it was… cool. He awkwardly refused the cash, muttering that “this” was enough—the good food, expensive booze, new clothes Shepard bought without a second thought. Sex wasn’t even discussed; Shepard never pushed, but one night Roach just couldn’t hold back. First a blowjob in a bathroom stall at some gala, and now this—in a penthouse, on a massive bed that smelled of high-end cologne.

“You sound so good,” Shepard said, the hunger in his voice impossible to miss. Gary’s eyes nearly rolled back.

His phone, sitting on the nightstand, buzzed and lit up. He reached for it but was too caught up to care. Shepard glanced at the screen.

“Your buddy?”

The screen showed a text from Soap: “Where you at now???¿”

Roach just groaned—he could barely think (especially about Soap), let alone reply. Shepard pulled his hand off Gary’s cock, and Roach nearly cried out in frustration, his hips jerking forward, desperate for more, his voice breaking into a pitiful whine.

“Easy, easy,” Shepard whispered, soothing. He grabbed the phone with his free hand, snapping a couple of quick photos—Roach, naked, legs spread, sweaty and slick, looking like a porn star. Shepard smirked.

“Should we send this to your friend? Let him see what you’re up to.”

Roach knew Shepard was just teasing, but his cheeks burned anyway, his body trembling with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. With a shaky hand, he grabbed Shepard’s wrist, making him drop the phone onto the sheets, and silently guided his hand back between his legs, to his aching cock.

Shepard chuckled low and started rubbing the tip again, while his other hand sped up inside. Roach was close, so close he could feel everything tightening, ready to explode.

“I’m gonna…” he tried to warn, but the words drowned in a hoarse moan as the orgasm hit. There was barely any cum, almost a dry climax, but the sensation was so intense Roach could hardly breathe as waves of pleasure rolled through him.

Shepard wiped his hands of the lube, watching Gary bask in the afterglow.

“Feels like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Shepard laughed, lazily trailing a hand along Gary’s ribs. He reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed and draped it over him, tucking him in.

“Staying till morning?”

Roach turned his head, meeting his eyes. The same thrill that brought him here sparked in his gaze.

“Hell yeah.”