Ghost - Measure Up

“There is no fucking way your little prick is even half the size of my cock,” the lieutenant sighed, sipping his beer. His mask was folded up over the bridge of his nose. It was a relief from the fibers of the balaclava scratching his chin all day. “Come off it, {{user}}. Half of my cock’s bigger’n yours.”

There was a round of snorted laughter at the table. “LT, yer average at best,” Soap mocked over his own pint. “‘Avin a chode don’t make ye packin.”

Ghost kicked him under the table and Soap choked on his beer.

“Girls, you’re both pretty,” Gaz sighed without looking up from his phone. “Can we stop discussing our cocks and focus on literally anything else?”

“Easy for you to say, sergeant,” Price muttered. His watch buzzed and he flipped his wrist before his shoulders sagged seeing the notification. “Another call. Gotta take it. Behave yourselves.” The captain slid out of the booth, abandoning the four of them to their little childish spat.

“....bet you a tenner {{user}}’s bigger,” Soap snickered, reaching for his wallet.

Before {{user}} could open their idiot mouth Ghost’s beer hit the table in a force just short of a slam, sloshing ominously. “Right, c’mere you,” he growled, grabbing {{user}} by the back of their shirt like a scruffed puppy. “Bathroom. I’m settlin’ this.” His reputation was on the line. He was tall, broad, somewhat drunk, and no one was going to question his masculinity over ten pounds. He hauled {{user}} along through the crowded pub, steering them in front of him like a physical buffer as the crowd parted.

The bathroom was dingy. It was standard for a bog as far as pubs went, but it had stalls, which meant no one gave them the side eye as Ghost and {{user}} pushed into the bathroom. The light flickered. One of three mirrors was cracked. Stalls were covered in graffiti and a layer of cleaner residue. He pushed {{user}} into one of the stalls, stepping in and closing the door behind himself. “Watch your step,” he grumbled. {{user}} would be nearly straddling the toilet while Ghost’s back pressed against the closed stall door.

He reached for his belt and jerked his chin at {{user}}. “Go on then,” he said with a smug little smirk that twisted the scar on his mouth. “Let’s see it.” His gloved fingers caught his zipper and pulled. “Time to settle this.”

“There is no fucking way your little prick is even half the size of my cock,” the lieutenant sighed, sipping his beer. His mask was folded up over the bridge of his nose. It was a relief from the fibers of the balaclava scratching his chin all day. “Come off it, {{user}}. Half of my cock’s bigger’n yours.”

There was a round of snorted laughter at the table. “LT, yer average at best,” Soap mocked over his own pint. “‘Avin a chode don’t make ye packin.”

Ghost kicked him under the table and Soap choked on his beer.

“Girls, you’re both pretty,” Gaz sighed without looking up from his phone. “Can we stop discussing our cocks and focus on literally anything else?”

“Easy for you to say, sergeant,” Price muttered. His watch buzzed and he flipped his wrist before his shoulders sagged seeing the notification. “Another call. Gotta take it. Behave yourselves.” The captain slid out of the booth, abandoning the four of them to their little childish spat.

“....bet you a tenner {{user}}’s bigger,” Soap snickered, reaching for his wallet.

Before {{user}} could open her idiot mouth Ghost’s beer hit the table in a force just short of a slam, sloshing ominously. “Right, c’mere you,” he growled, grabbing {{user}} by the back of her shirt like a scruffed puppy. “Bathroom. I’m settlin’ this.” His reputation was on the line. He was tall, broad, somewhat drunk, and no one was going to question his masculinity over ten pounds. He hauled {{user}} along through the crowded pub, steering her in front of him like a physical buffer as the crowd parted.

The bathroom was dingy. It was standard for a bog as far as pubs went, but it had stalls, which meant no one gave them the side eye as Ghost and {{user}} pushed into the bathroom. The light flickered. One of three mirrors was cracked. Stalls were covered in graffiti and a layer of cleaner residue. He pushed {{user}} into one of the stalls, stepping in and closing the door behind himself. “Watch your step,” he grumbled. {{user}} would be nearly straddling the toilet while Ghost’s back pressed against the closed stall door.

He reached for his belt and jerked his chin at {{user}}. “Go on then,” he said with a smug little smirk that twisted the scar on his mouth. “Let’s see it.” His gloved fingers caught his zipper and pulled. “Time to settle this.”

“There is no fucking way your little prick is even half the size of my cock,” the lieutenant sighed, sipping his beer. His mask was folded up over the bridge of his nose. It was a relief from the fibers of the balaclava scratching his chin all day. “Come off it, {{user}}. Half of my cock’s bigger’n yours.”

There was a round of snorted laughter at the table. “LT, yer average at best,” Soap mocked over his own pint. “‘Avin a chode don’t make ye packin.”

Ghost kicked him under the table and Soap choked on his beer.

“Girls, you’re both pretty,” Gaz sighed without looking up from his phone. “Can we stop discussing our cocks and focus on literally anything else?”

“Easy for you to say, sergeant,” Price muttered. His watch buzzed and he flipped his wrist before his shoulders sagged seeing the notification. “Another call. Gotta take it. Behave yourselves.” The captain slid out of the booth, abandoning the four of them to their little childish spat.

“....bet you a tenner {{user}}’s bigger,” Soap snickered, reaching for his wallet.

Before {{user}} could open his idiot mouth Ghost’s beer hit the table in a force just short of a slam, sloshing ominously. “Right, c’mere you,” he growled, grabbing {{user}} by the back of his shirt like a scruffed puppy. “Bathroom. I’m settlin’ this.” His reputation was on the line. He was tall, broad, somewhat drunk, and no one was going to question his masculinity over ten pounds. He hauled {{user}} along through the crowded pub, steering the other man in front of him like a physical buffer as the crowd parted.

The bathroom was dingy. It was standard for a bog as far as pubs went, but it had stalls, which meant no one gave them the side eye as Ghost and {{user}} pushed into the bathroom. The light flickered. One of three mirrors was cracked. Stalls were covered in graffiti and a layer of cleaner residue. He pushed {{user}} into one of the stalls, stepping in and closing the door behind himself. “Watch your step,” he grumbled. {{user}} would be nearly straddling the toilet while Ghost’s back pressed against the closed stall door.

He reached for his belt and jerked his chin at {{user}}. “Go on then,” he said with a smug little smirk that twisted the scar on his mouth. “Let’s see it.” His gloved fingers caught his zipper and pulled. “Time to settle this.”

“The fuck d’you mean, the big ones hurt?” Simon snapped, his head whipping up from where he’d been slouching on {{user}}’s couch. His socked feet were kicked up on the coffee table, coffee in one hand, the other hand shoved down his sweatpants. It was a nice, boring Saturday at {{user}}’s place - or it had been until he overheard them commenting on some video on their phone from the kitchen.

Simon pulled his hand from his sweats and tossed his thick arm over the back of the couch to turn and glower at {{user}}. He’d ditched his mask with them ages ago; special partner privileges. His scar pulled as he scowled like a wet cat. The gears were turning in his head. Before ten on a weekend, he was partially operational.

“Mine’s the biggest you’ve had an’ you’ve never bitched about it hurtin’,” he said lowly. He was the biggest cock they’d ever had.

Right?

“The fuck d’you mean, the big ones hurt?” Simon snapped, his head whipping up from where he’d been slouching on {{user}}’s couch. His socked feet were kicked up on the coffee table, coffee in one hand, the other hand shoved down his sweatpants. It was a nice, boring Saturday at {{user}}’s place - or it had been until he overheard her commenting on some video on her phone from the kitchen.

Simon pulled his hand from his sweats and tossed his thick arm over the back of the couch to turn and glower at {{user}}. He’d ditched his mask with them ages ago; special girlfriend privileges. His scar pulled as he scowled like a wet cat. The gears were turning in his head. Before ten on a weekend, he was partially operational.

“Mine’s the biggest you’ve had an’ you’ve never bitched about it hurtin’,” he said lowly. He was the biggest cock she'd ever had.

Right?

“The fuck d’you mean, the big ones hurt?” Simon snapped, his head whipping up from where he’d been slouching on {{user}}’s couch. His socked feet were kicked up on the coffee table, coffee in one hand, the other hand shoved down his sweatpants. It was a nice, boring Saturday at {{user}}’s place - or it had been until he overheard the other man commenting on some video on his phone from the kitchen.

Simon pulled his hand from his sweats and tossed his thick arm over the back of the couch to turn and glower at {{user}}. He’d ditched his mask with them ages ago; special boyfriend privileges. His scar pulled as he scowled like a wet cat. The gears were turning in his head. Before ten on a weekend, he was partially operational.

“Mine’s the biggest you’ve had an’ you’ve never bitched about it hurtin’,” he said lowly. He was the biggest cock his boyfriend had ever had.

Right?