Anarchy (Spec Ops Guy(s) x Reader)

Chapter 8

Riot's eyes were dark with an intense emotion you knew as desire, pupils dilated in want. His breaths were ragged and his form stiff, as if trying to hold himself back from doing something he would regret. 

Now that you were fully awake, you understood the full gravity of the situation. The air was thick with want, the summer heat having infiltrated every inch of space in the room, a thin sheen across your skin as the bodies your were trapped between only amplified the warmth. 

The warmth was good, burning through your veins and fueling something within you. It was urging you to do something, to listen to your instincts. You couldn't bring yourself to regret your actions because they felt right.

So you slowly sucked his thumb in deeper, enveloping it with your tongue, making sure to maintain steady eye contact with the owner. 

You hear him suck in a breath, facial expression transitioning from one of disbelief to one of unfiltered lust, grip on your chin tightening to maintain control of your jaw.

You couldn't see the bottom half of his face, blocked by the restricting confines of a cloth mask, so you reached your hand up to draw it down, only to have your wrist tightly wrapped in Riot's palm, stopping your actions. 

You recall your sleep-drunk conversation from the night before and gently ease off your mouth from around his thumb.

"But I wanna see you," you say, hoping the request doesn't sound as whiny as you think it does. You feel a small puff of Tank's laughter against the back of your neck, warm breath brushing across the nape, creating goosebumps. 

"Sorry baby, it's for your own good, I promise, besides," Tank continues, "you wouldn't let a mask get in the way of us making you feel good, right?" 

The last part comes out almost like a whisper, voice dropping low as his hands take action. 

The hand that was once soothingly rubbing along your waist  traces its way down the outside of your thigh painstakingly slow, causing your breath to hitch in arousal. As you lay on your side, his hand slips to wrap around the back of your thigh, landing in the juncture where it meets your knee. He gently lifts, parting your legs just enough to fit his own thigh in between yours, chest still pressed tightly against your back. 

You recall hazily changing into something more comfortable to sleep in, but you definitely hadn't dressed knowing you'd wind up in bed with two overgrown men. You were under a blanket, so you doubted they knew you were only wearing underwear beneath an oversized worn t-shirt you'd dug up from the dresser in the room. 

As his thigh moves to slot closer, it gently brushes against against the thin fabric of your underwear, prompting you to release a small surprised whimper at the unexpectedly pleasurable sensation it incites. 

Even this brief instance of friction leaves you feeling helpless to the wants of your own body. Your instincts kick in to respond by delicately rocking your hips back down once, chasing the feeling again. 

Your mouth parts slightly, a harsh pant escaping as the small bout of euphoria rushes through your nerves again, eyes closing to revel in the sensation. 

You open them at the feeling of a hand coming to harshly grip your hip, pinning it in place, rendering you unable to chase your own pleasure against Tank's thigh. 

You let out a whine, angry at your loss of satisfaction, but you're cut off by his thumb harshly pressing into your mouth again, stifling your needy whine.

He tuts at you, eyes displaying a mocking disapproval at your actions, "Now, now, who said you could do everything yourself?"

You hope that your gaze conveys the desperation you feel, unable to speak on it due to the digit pressing against your tongue.