“Poor thing,” he croons, patting over his pussy like he’s consoling it, not him and fuck that shouldn’t make him drip; the wet sound echoing in his ears. “Just want attention, don’t ya? Dumb fucks here don’t know what they’ve been given. Should be fuckin’ lined up to put you in your place.” Johnny’s skin heats and he can only hope it doesn’t spread far enough down for him to see as he shifts restlessly on the bed. “Big talk fer a man behind a wall,” he spits. “Harsh words for a slag flashin’ ‘is cunt,” he shoots back.

Ever since he’d come out to his devout Roman Catholic family, Johnny had been told he was going to Hell. Seeing Simon “Ghost” Riley on his knees in front of him, looking like Lust incarnate, has him thinking Hell suits him far better than Heaven anyway. His blonde hair catches the fluorescents like a halo, and Johnny now knows exactly what the legends meant when they said the devil has angelic eyes. OR: Johnny needs proof that the aphrodisiac drug sample they're retrieving is real, so he tests it the only way he can with the resources he has: on himself. It's real, alright - he figures that out pretty quick.

Soap took a deep breath to try to steady his nerves, "Ah, are you conscious or unconscious?" "Let's say unconscious, new arrival so no sensory or sleep deprivation as of yet. What is the first step?" He hadn't moved, arms crossed against his chest and eyes not giving away a damn thing. "Securement." He was confident in that answer at least. "Alright, Soap. Secure me." With that, Ghost stood his full height, dropping his arms at his sides. Fuck. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. It felt incredibly wrong to stand here and imagine how he would tie up his superior. •OR• Soap is forced into a simulated interrogation with his Lieutenant and the information he learns about him isn't what he expected.