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The difference between Soap and Ghost is patience, specifically sexual patience.
Ghost takes his time, it’s an opposite side of him compared to how he is with other things in life. Usually, he’s a ‘get shit done, no questions’ type of person. He gets things done and he does them efficiently, quickly. But when it comes to sex, he’s a completely different person.
Hands roam, his mouth following shortly after, tongue stuck out past his lips and licking at any sort of skin Soap has on display, any body part he can get his mouth on, Ghost latches to. Bite marks, bruises sucked into flesh, fingerprint-shaped molds on Soap’s hips - Ghost does it all, he takes his time, like his mouth is a brush and Soap’s body is a blank canvas.
He works Soap up until he’s just about to break, it feels like. He’ll suck his cock, use his mouth until Soap almost cums, pull off when Soap whines a certain way, idly stroke his thighs instead, lick up his body, bite at his pecs, at his nipples, his throat. Ghost uses Soap like a chew toy, in a way.
Fingers will work slowly into him, one by one. They usually go to four, that’s Soap’s max before he’s whining and begging for Ghost to fuck him. But getting to those four is torturous, Soap has found out. Ghost takes Soap apart piece by piece, lays him out and examines every little speck of patience that chips away from him.
Ghost will stretch him open with the patience of a man who’s willing to sit and wait for the sun to explode, watch the stars go out one by one.
Sex is slow, it’s not exactly gentle, but it is gentle in a way when it comes to Ghost being in charge. It’s a complicated explanation. Ghost is rough in a gentle way, like roughhousing with a dog - playful, but as soon as there’s a whine that seems off, he’s softening, easing the way he touches and moves.
Soap, on the other hand, is what could be described as an eager puppy. He’s never been in charge when it comes to sex with Ghost, he’s always been on the submissive, receiving end. Not that he’s complaining, it’s a good end to be on — but a change of pace is good for the heart and mind, isn’t it? Curiosity killed the cat, but Soap’s not afraid of death, not quite.
Soap likes the quick touches, the ones that feel like there’s risk behind them, like there’s someone breathing down their necks and they’ve gotta get it done fast. Soap likes it rough and fast, likes it when it feels like a race, like a chase to get to the end first.
The kind of touching Soap was used to was quick, mindless, messy. He was used to the types of touches that felt like they were sins, like they were influenced by pressure, hidden beneath the eye of God and shameful. Soap had grown accustomed to being touched like he was something wrong but addicting, something terrible and ugly, but tempting, a scratch to an itch.
So when Ghost takes his time, Soap can’t quite wrap his head around it, when he’s touched like he’s something beautiful, like he’s something to be craved, desired by someone in a tender, gentle, sexually kind way.
He doesn’t know how to react, so Soap smiles and tries to speed things up. He tries to get Ghost to get to the point, get inside him, stroke him off, get each other to cum and then.. well, he doesn’t know. The aftermath of sex is always blurry to him, because Soap has discovered that getting worked up in that slow manner makes his head go fuzzy, puts him in a daze.
Typically, though, Soap knows there’s gentleness afterwards that is undeniably Simon, not Ghost. Soap has learned to differentiate the two.
Ghost calls him impatient.
Soap wants to tell Ghost that impatience is all he’s ever known when it comes to sex.
He doesn’t, though.
Instead he asks nicely for the things he wants, begs and almost cries, lets Ghost fuck him how he wants, hard but gentle, deep and slow and almost loving. Ghost fucks him like he’s got Soap’s pleasure in mind as well, like he’s not just a toy for satisfaction, and Soap can’t understand it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it.
As nice as all that is though, Soap isn’t always in the mood to be touched like that.
Sometimes he wants to be the one to touch, he wants to hold Ghost down, take him apart. He wants to touch Ghost the way Ghost touches him, because maybe then he can understand, maybe he can piece it together, why Ghost touches him the way he does.
So, it’s amidst a kiss that’s getting more heated that Soap takes control of the situation.
Ghost tries to push him down onto the bed, but Soap doesn’t budge, and instead he’s pushing Ghost down, climbing atop and over him.
“..This is new.” Ghost points out, flat but somehow curious. Ghost always has an interesting way of speaking, there’s emotion behind words and tones that sound emotionless.
Ghost is odd. Soap loves that about him.
Soap smiles, nods, “Change of pace,” he replies, sitting so he’s framing Ghost’s hips with his legs, straddling him, “Is.. that okay?”
Ghost eyes run from the bottom of Soap’s body to the top, taking him in. Then he nods, silent but affirming.
“Good.” Soap grins, lightly moving his hips, teasing at friction and letting his hands slide beneath Ghost’s shirt. Ghost tends to run cold, Soap has discovered, which is fun, because Soap runs warm, and watching Ghost react to that warmth is always adorable. He shivers in response to Soap’s hands, lets out a low sound, something akin to a hum.
There’s also the difference of noises between the two of them. Soap tends to be on the louder side - he whines and he begs, sometimes his moans echo off walls and get a little too loud for Ghost’s comfort. Whilst Ghost is quieter, he moans, but it’s soft, hidden behind his teeth and trapped in his throat most of the time.
Soap likes the noises Ghost makes, he thinks they’re cute, he likes the way Ghost hides himself, though he does want to try and break him from that shell just a little bit.
Pushing his shirt up, Soap reveals a little more of Ghost’s torso, his chest, waist. Toned skin, muscled and quite frankly overworked, Soap runs his hands over the skin of Ghost’s middle, pressing his thumbs in near his waist, feeling the way Ghost responds with a tensing of his muscles.
“Relax,” Soap says softly, leaning down, one hand going to touch the side of Ghost’s face, thumb sliding along his cheek, lightly petting him, “Just me. I’ve got ya’.” His fingers drag gently over his jawline, feeling the pinprick of stubble that’s beginning to grow there.
Ghost stares at Soap for a moment, there’s a glint of confusion in his eyes, like he’s lost on what’s happening, but he nods, leans his head into Soap’s palm for a second before he’s letting Soap move it and go back to Ghost’s torso.
“Good.” Soap offers a soft smile, one that’s weak on his lips, but gentle enough to reassure, to make Ghost relax beneath his palms a little.
The skin where Soap touches is scarred and rough in certain patches. Ghost has a scar just above his bellybutton, one near his right side that travels jaggedly to his ribcage, just to the middle of it. There’s a particular scar that Soap likes to touch, the one on Ghost’s left side, just above his hipbone. It’s not special in any way, it’s just an ordinary scar - but Soap likes it.
He likes running his thumb over it, feeling the smoothed skin, memorizing the length of it, the texture, location. Soap likes to memorize things like this about Ghost, because he can never promise that he’ll see Ghost again that next day, and you can’t appreciate a corpse’s scars, can you?
So, Soap tries to appreciate all the little parts of Ghost like this whenever he gets the chance, commits every detail to memory. He draws Ghost sometimes, just in a journal he keeps for.. personal reasons. There’s endless sketches in there of Ghost, of his face and his body, his hands, things like that.
That journal stays with him, it’s never in a place he doesn’t know. Every time he opens it, there’s likely something about Ghost being added to a page, whether it’s a drawing or perhaps a thought, maybe a conversation they had, an experience; Soap speaks about Ghost in that journal like a madman’s thoughts scattered upon walls.
One day he hopes to rest it down permanently, that he won’t have to open it to remember what Ghost looked like, to remember the things he’s said, the details of him.
Soap hopes he gets to remember those on his own, to see them every day of his life.
“Johnny?” Ghost pipes up, pulls Soap from his head, away from the thought of Ghost not coming back to him. The tone of his voice is just like Soap’s smile: it’s soft, reassuring, a jab of an elbow, a check-in. It’s the tone Ghost uses when Soap’s somewhere he’s not meant to be mentally, when he’s approaching a cliff that’s a little too unstable for comfort.
Soap looks at him, catches his eyes. They’re the same as they usually are when they’ve got themselves in a place like this. His pupils are blown, eyelids heavy and almost drooping. His stare feels like a ghost of a touch, like hands on Soap’s hips and a mouth attached to his throat.
The look Ghost is giving him is enough for Soap to come back to himself, shake himself back into that feeling of hunger that’s snaking itself around his chest, making routes through his whole body. He pushes himself down a bit so he can lean over and get his mouth onto Ghost’s skin.
He starts at his throat, hands on his waist, running them along Ghost’s sides, pressing his palm down against his stomach for a moment just to feel the way Ghost tenses in response. Soap mouths at Ghost’s neck, softly nips at the skin of his jawline, kisses over small leftover bruises he’d planted there previously.
Faintly, he can feel Ghost’s cock straining in his pants, just below the heat of Soap’s body. Soap knows Ghost is patient, he’ll wait for pleasure, will take whatever Soap gives him - but that doesn’t stop Soap from teasing, grinding against the hardness just slightly, just to hear the hiss Ghost lets out, low and rough, behind his teeth like a growl. Soap smiles, kisses down Ghost's throat like an apology, though he's not really sorry, bites softly at his collarbones.
Soap likes to feel the bones of Ghost's frame when he presses his fingers in, when his palms apply a bit of pressure to flesh. He likes to feel the foundations of Ghost's frame, the things that keep him going, likes to feel the muscle and the bone, the ligaments that keep his joints together. He likes to feel the things that make Ghost who he is, likes the beating of his heart and the sound of his breathing, he likes to count the seconds between breaths. Little things like that are things that Soap enjoys, things about Ghost that are so human yet so unique to him.
God, he's pretty. That's all Soap can think every time he looks at Ghost, at the paleness of his skin flushed a deep red from his cheeks to his chest, traveling down so cutely. Soap thinks he's the prettiest man he's ever seen, face like an angel, something along those cheesy lines. Ghost always waves him off, tells him to shut up, or kisses him so hard he forgets to speak - but that doesn't make Soap forget how pretty Ghost truly is.
“So pretty.. and all for me.” Soap growls as he kisses at Ghost’s chest, looking up at him every few seconds to catch his eyes. His hands keep stroking at the skin that isn’t being drowned in kisses, lips leaving practically no inch of Ghost’s middle untouched.
Above him, Ghost lets out a sigh, just something soft but heated, a little shaky on the exhale. Soap smiles, grins against Ghost’s skin and sits up, scooting himself down a little more so he can work at Ghost’s pants. Ghost watches, hands in the air for a moment before they settle on the bed, holding the blanket gently, like he’s nervous.
“You like when I call you pretty?” Soap starts to ask, hands pausing, more so teasing now at the zipper of Ghost’s jeans, finger running over the bulge there as he speaks, “When I tell you how much I want you?”
There’s a small throaty moan in response to his words, but nothing else, just a noise and Ghost clawing at the blanket he holds.
”You want me to tell you how bad I want you? How much I need you?” Words are just falling now, he's lightly rambling, just because he wants to watch that flush on Ghost’s cheeks deepen even further. “Yeah.. you do, don’t you?”
Zipper, button, belt. Tug, lift of the hips, a stronger tug, and then Ghost’s pants are off. They’re easy to get rid of now, Soap can do it with his eyes closed, with his hands bound, honestly. Tossed and forgotten, Soap hums at the sight of Ghost’s cock straining in his briefs.
Tight black briefs that leave nothing up for the imagination. Soap loves when Ghost wears these, so the soft groan he lets out is pleased as he leans over again, positioning himself so he can go from Ghost’s throat, softly biting it a few times again, then down his chest, all the way to the waistband of his boxers.
“Soap..” Ghost softly groans, and when Soap looks up at him, he’s met with the sight of Ghost even more flushed. A nice deep red that makes him look a little silly complimenting his cheeks, travels down and begins to mix with the redness that came from Soap’s teeth irritating the skin he’s bit.
Just the sound of Ghost being breathy like that makes Soap feel weak, makes his dick twitch in his own briefs. The noises Ghost makes, god, they could kill a man within seconds, Soap thinks, because he swears a single moan from Ghost could stop his heart in a blink.
”What?” He asks in response to his name, fixing himself into a position that’s less awkward for him to work with, pushing Ghost’s legs apart and laying down a little on his stomach, mouth right near Ghost’s crotch. Soap smiles at the way Ghost shimmies himself up, leaning on his elbows so he can look down at Soap.
Meanwhile, Soap’s got his hand running up and down Ghost’s thigh, his other resting somewhere on heated flesh, head laying on Ghost’s opposite thigh, looking up at him with a knowing expression.
By the look on Ghost’s face, and the way Soap sees his cock pulse right in front of him in his briefs; Soap guesses this is probably a pretty good look for himself.
“I..” Ghost mutters, and Soap watches the column of his throat move as he swallows, almost gulps, “Mm.” Ghost groans, frustrated, it seems.
“That’s not an answer, Simon.” Soap tells him in response to the groan. He knows he’s toeing the line, playing with his chances when it comes to Ghost’s patience right now, but that sort of adrenaline - a different kind, not like the adrenaline he feels on the field, a type only Ghost can make him feel - gets him off, makes him want to grind against the bed.
Using that name seems to make Ghost needy, because his hips buck lightly, makes Soap chuckle at the way it makes his own body move, head bouncing on his thigh. It’s a bit funny, but his laugher dies down quickly, replaced with a hum, pushing himself up so he can sit on his knees, hands framing Ghost’s hips, holding them.
Soap rubs his thumbs in small circles on Ghost’s hips, letting out a deep breath, like he’s been holding one in for a moment too long. Teasing like this is hard, he’s finding out, because he wants to do nothing but tear Ghost to pieces, to feel him crumble beneath his touch, make him feel as good as he makes Soap feel.
Maybe he is impatient, just a little. He hooks his thumb into the waistband of Ghost’s boxers and tugs at them, waiting a moment for Ghost to lift his hips so he can get them down, then completely off.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Soap curses under his breath, hands immediately going back to Ghost’s thighs, running them up and down, squeezing the meat and muscle of them, “I can’t believe how pretty you are, baby.” The pet name slips accidentally. They don’t typically call each other things like that, but the response, that’s what makes Soap break.
Ghost makes a sound that’s akin to a whine, throwing his head back, swallowing roughly again, “Johnny..” comes the sound of Soap’s name, breathy and shaky, wrapped in that pretty little noise Ghost lets out, straight from his chest and so, so maddening.
For a moment, Soap pauses, frozen, looking at Ghost with his eyes slightly widened. Ghost offers a bashful look, a type of look that Soap hasn’t ever seen on Ghost’s face before. He doesn’t know what it is about that particular look, but it’s what snaps Soap to move, to strike like a snake, hand gripping Ghost’s jaw so he can straighten his head, kissing him.
The kiss is hard, Soap bites at Ghost’s lips, licks into his mouth, gets a taste for him even though Soap knows it. Ghost tastes like gunpowder and herbal tea, a hint of something sweet mixed in that makes Soap growl into his mouth, teeth teasing Ghost’s bottom lip as he pulls off, breaths suddenly coming out hard.
Ghost looks at Soap with a wide-eyed expression, one that stays as Soap stares at him, hand that cups his jaw moving so he can run his thumb over Ghost’s bottom lip.
So much to say, Soap has so much on his mind, but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out. A loss for words, he can’t seem to verbalize what he’s thinking, so he settles for kissing Ghost again, his other hand that’s not busy going to wrap around Ghost’s cock, thumb sliding across the head, over the slit, feeling and collecting the precum that’s built there, and some that’s dripped down Ghost’s cock already.
It’s not a sufficient form of slick, but it’ll do the job as his fist tightens and begins to move. Ghost moans against Soap’s mouth, low, pushed out from his chest, like someone squeezed him a little too hard. What a noise that is, Soap thinks as he smiles against Ghost’s lips, kissing him harder, a bit more force behind it, keeping the pace of his strokes slow.
Ghost’s cock is heated in his hand, hot to the touch and leaking as he strokes, heavy as well. Soap likes Ghost’s dick, which is an odd thing to say, but it’s true. He likes the length, the girth, the slight curve it has, he especially likes the veins, running his thumb over one on a downstroke.
A gasp catches itself in Ghost’s throat, choked. Soap wants to eat him alive when he hears that sound, wants to wring it from him, dry him of noises like that because they’re like a drug and Soap’s an addict with no hope of recovery.
“Keep makin’ those noises for me, yeah?” Soap requests, voice soft, a bit assertive but not overly so. It’s a gentle plea, because he wants Ghost to do whatever is comfortable, but asking for those noises is a must. “Wanna hear how good you sound.”
Soap isn’t sure how much longer he can tease like this, his own patience is already run thin, he’s trying his best to do what Ghost does, work him up before letting him crash into the pleasure, but it’s proving to be something he isn’t that great at. He wants to just.. touch, to fuck, make Ghost feel good, make himself feel good, too.
But just for the moment, Soap tries to ease his own desire and focuses on stroking Ghost’s cock the way he knows Ghost likes it, slow, tight strokes that are almost lazy. Oh, that sounds like fun, lazily jerking Ghost off, maybe he should do that sometime, maybe early in the morning when he wakes next to him and has that bit of leftover lust sitting in his gut.
Another sound makes it way from Ghost’s lips, softer this time, more breath behind it, but it’s like a whimper, shaky and surprisingly needy. Soap chuckles, kisses Ghost a little harder and squeezes his cock, tilting his head when they break for air.
“God, who knew you could be so noisy?” Soap asks, but it’s rhetorical, he always had his suspicions that Ghost was a bit noisy like this if under the right circumstances. But being correct in that theory is a whole different type of satisfaction that makes Soap feel almost drunk.
Soap didn’t know Ghost could make noises like this, all whiny and soft, so unlike the sounds he makes when he’s the one in charge. Soap’s used to hearing his name in a growl, in a grit tone that’s strained and hard. But he’s never heard him like this, all unsteady, like he’s been knocked off his axis.
Ghost shakes his head weakly, “J-Johnny,” he says, but this time it’s more like a growl, that sound Soap is used to, voice rough, sort of like it always is. “Hurry.. hurry the fuck up.”
Oh?
Oh.
Ghost is being impatient. He wants to speed things up. He wants. He wants—
Soap pauses for a moment, freezes up again. He’s not used to Ghost being the person to break patience, to make things go faster, Soap has always been the one to do that, never Ghost. It’s.. different, but a good different, exciting, in a way. His dick aches in his briefs at the tone of voice, at the command.
Usually, he’s pretty strong-willed, stubborn, even. But in that moment Soap decides nothing in the world matters more than pleasing Ghost - so he’s kissing him again, nodding and sighing against his mouth before he’s moving, giving Ghost’s cock one final stroke, then pushing him down, back against the bed.
“On your stomach.” He orders, watches the expression on Ghost’s face go between a few different things before he settles on just listening, sighing softly as he flips himself, stomach on the bed. Now his ass is more available to Soap’s pleasure.
Perfect.
Immediately, Soap is gripping Ghost’s hips and forcing them up, making Ghost reposition himself onto his knees, putting his weight onto his arms to hold himself up.
“Look at you..” Soap whistles, kneading the flesh of Ghost’s hips, lightly running his hands up and down, listening to the slide of skin on skin, “Fuck, you’re sexy.”
“Soap..” he groans, but it’s more of a tired sound, like he’s embarrassed. What a sight that is; Ghost, big Simon Riley, countless KIA’s under his belt, ruthless and efficient with his kills, silent and deadly, is embarrassed.
On impulse, Soap moves his hands, takes ahold of Ghost’s ass and spreads it apart, reveals his hole, and maybe that’s a mistake, because immediately he’s diving down, tongue stuck out and licking at him, tongue sliding over his hole, gently trying to push in.
Above him, Ghost makes a noise that’s nearly unrecognizable, high in his throat, a full-blown whimper that makes Soap wonder how much he’s been holding back since they first started all.. this. He sounds so different, but there’s still grit behind the sound, that roughness that’s undeniably Ghost is there, makes Soap moan a bit into his skin.
Both desperately needy, it seems, but Soap’s enjoying this. The taste is new - a bit salty, somewhat like sweat, but it mostly just tastes musky, like.. skin, if that makes any sort of sense. But the taste doesn’t matter, cause even if he hated it, the soft moans Ghost is letting out makes it beyond worth it. Soap’s own cock leaks at the sounds, at the entire situation.
If he could, he knows Ghost would have a hand in Soap’s hair right now, would be gripping and clawing at his scalp, pushing and pulling, controlling the pace, use Soap’s mouth as he pleased, and Soap would probably let him, because it’s hot, being used like that, even if it’s just momentarily.
His tongue does push in the slightest bit, there’s resistance, but Ghost relaxes himself, so Soap gets to lick into him, move his tongue softly inside him. Soap wonders what this feels like, because if he is to go off of Ghost’s reactions, he’d say it must feel pretty good. Maybe he’ll ask Ghost to do this to him, Ghost is good with his mouth, but not as good as Soap.
This position is making Soap’s cock ache, just the sight of Ghost propped like this, holding his weight on his arms and pushing his ass into the air, face in the bed as he moans softly, knuckles white where he grips the sheets. It’s enough to make Soap groan, licking another stripe up Ghost’s hole, eyeing the way it glistens from his spit.
“D’you like that?” Soap asks, hands squeezing Ghost’s ass again. He knows the answer, it’s an obvious yes, but he wants to hear Ghost say it, wants to hear how shaky his voice must be, how he’ll force himself to sound more put together than he truly is. Ghost doesn’t answer right away, so Soap hums, opening his mouth and biting playfully at a cheek, laughing softly when Ghost jumps.
“Wh..What?” Ghost asks in return, head turning so he can look at Soap, catch his gaze. And, oh, that’s a mistake, because it makes Soap want to torture him even more, to use his mouth until Ghost is sobbing, till he can’t take it anymore. Ghost is flushed such a deep red Soap wonders if he should worry, eyes glossy and heavy. He looks like a wreck, and Soap just wants to worsen it.
Soap swallows down the urge to be a sadist, just for now. “I asked if you liked that.” He repeats, tilting his head, idly stroking Ghost’s ass, running his hands up to his sides, softly stroking him, somewhat petting him.
A faint sound comes from Ghost’s lips, then a short nod, jerky. Soap tsks, pinching a bit of skin on Ghost’s waist, “Tell me you like it, baby.” He orders, “Use your words. I want to hear you say it.”
That’s a risk, ordering Ghost like that, because at the end of the day Soap doesn’t really know how far he can take his role, what is and isn’t okay. So he’s playing with fate, like tossing a brick and hoping it doesn’t crash through a window. But, maybe the consequences wouldn’t be so.. dramatic, truthfully. They’d work around it, and if anything, they’d stop right now and talk about it.
Or, Soap would force Ghost to talk about it, or they’d toe around it until one of them broke, like pressure on a dam that’s far overdue for a fix. It’s a whole process, but it’s just how they work.
Ghost is quiet for a beat, so Soap just watches him, gently stroking his skin, running his hands up and down Ghost’s body, admiring him while he waits. It’s the only sort of touch Ghost is gonna get unless he uses his words, anyways, might as well make it silent praise.
A hard breath is pushed from his lungs, the type you’d take after holding your breath for too long, “I.. like it.” Ghost says exactly how Soap expected; shaky, hidden and gritty yet somehow so prettily pathetic.
“Be more specific.”
A low grunt falls from Ghost’s lungs, Soap can tell he’s over all the little games, which is good, cause this is how Ghost makes him feel most of the time.
“Your.. mouth. I like your mouth.” Ghost tells him, waiting a moment, like he’s expecting some sort of response. Soap doesn’t give him one, so he sighs, “..Your tongue. I..” he stops himself for a second, shaking his head like he’s in disbelief of what he’s going to say, “I like your tongue in..inside me.”
Soap hums, “Good lad.” It’s almost condescending, like he’s praising him and talking down to him all at once. Just one more time, Soap thinks, as he leans down and gets his mouth on Ghost’s hole again, licking and pushing his tongue in, just to hear how Ghost groans, how he curses under his breath.
He only does it for a moment, Soap is feeling a little selfish, ’cause he’s leaking and aching and needs Ghost, needs to feel him all around him, fill him up, make him feel Soap all around him as well and more. So, Soap takes his mouth off him, smiling at the way Ghost lets out a shaky puff of air as he grabs the lube, pouring some onto his fingers - three should do. He also pours a drop onto Ghost’s hole too, chuckling softly when he flinches.
“Cold?” Soap laughs, and Ghost nods, groaning at Soap’s laughter, shaking his head. “Aye, you’re cute when you’re frustrated.” He praises, pressing his index finger against Ghost’s entrance and lightly applying pressure, finger passing after just a moment.
The heat of Ghost’s body is a bit overwhelming at first, something Soap isn’t quite used to, because Ghost’s outer layers of skin run so cold, almost like a corpse. But it’s a good type of overwhelming, the kind that makes Soap growl softly under his breath, shifting on his knees so he’s closer, free hand grabbing Ghost’s ass tightly and squeezing, spreading his cheeks apart just for the sight of his finger slowly disappearing inside him.
He knows the ropes of this, at least a little bit. So he’s waiting just a moment before twisting his finger, pulling it out then pushing it back in, letting Ghost get used to the feeling of it. One finger to Soap is hardly anything, it takes less than a minute or two before he’s whining for another, but this is Ghost, so he’s trying to be considerate at the very least, taking it slow and letting Ghost get used to the feeling, the slight burn that probably comes with it all.
”That okay?” He asks, peaking over at Ghost who gives a groan in response, then a nod, shaky. Soap wonders how he’s going to react to his cock if a little bit of teasing has him so wrecked and overwhelmed.
But he’s doing okay, apparently, so Soap keeps going, working his finger in and out of Ghost’s body for a few moments, softly touching his skin as he does so, like he’s praising him for how well he’s doing.
That has Ghost moaning at every little movement of Soap’s finger, soft and hidden in his throat, like he’s trying his best to keep them down whilst they try to claw their way free. Soap isn’t too pleased about that, so his finger keeps up the work of stretching him as Soap’s other hand strikes a hard slap against Ghost’s ass, making him whine. Jesus, what a sound that is. Soap’s never going to get over that noise.
“I told you to let me hear you.” Soap reminds the other, pushing his finger deeper inside him, knocking the air from his lungs for a moment, almost like a reboot of his brain and body, “Don’t be shy now, Lt, gone a little too far for that, don’t ya’ think?”
Shitty attempt at a joke, but it earns Soap a huff, just something small, but it still means the absolute world to him, makes him smile wider and squeeze Ghost’s hip, lightly prodding at his hole with his middle finger, testing.
Ghost tenses for a second, but then quickly relaxes, Soap watches the outlines of his muscles go lax, letting out a deep breath, nodding softly because he knows Soap is looking at him, it’s just something they can both sense with each other.
Like a breath on the back of the neck, or a light brush of fingertips. Soap can tell when Ghost is looking at him, and he imagines Ghost can do the same. It’s like a gut feeling.
Permission is given, so Soap eases his other finger in, slowly moving them in and out for a moment, letting Ghost adjust to the feeling, the stretch, then scissors them, spreading them apart inside him, pushing further in, listening to the soft pants Ghost lets out in response.
“Wish you could see yourself right now, Ghost,” Soap says, voice low, rough in his throat, “You look fuckin’ amazing, taking my fingers like this. Doin’ so good.” Praise falls easily, it’s easy to praise Ghost, because he’s good at absolutely anything he does, Soap doesn’t have to think twice about things to praise Ghost for.
Ghost gives a whimper in response, then a quiet series of curses that Soap hears just under his breath. He’s breathing so hard, Soap wonders if his lungs are burning, if the heat in Ghost’s body is homing itself in his lungs now, making his breaths rough, almost punched out of him.
Working his fingers in and out, Soap keeps the same slow pace going, keeps running his free hand along Ghost’s body, feeling the way he breathes, the sharp inhales he takes, the shaky exhales, shuddering breaths that make his body shake and shiver. Soap didn’t expect him to get this worked up, to fall this deep into it all like this, but it’s definitely good, Soap isn’t going to complain.
He does that for a bit, slowly moving his fingers, scissoring them apart and making Ghost groan every time his fingers press at his prostate, soft in his throat, almost from his chest, it sounds like. Soap does eventually get his third finger in, praising Ghost along the way, talking to him in that soft, low voice he knows Ghost likes.
And after a bit of time, Ghost lets out a groan, almost a growl, hand reaching for Soap anywhere he can grab and gripping tight.
“Enough.”
Soap looks at where Ghost grips him, knuckles white from the tightness, “Finished?” He asks.
“..No.” Ghost answers, turning his head to look at Soap, eyes glossy and a bit wet. Soap stares at him, a little lost. Ghost groans, “I.. want you to fuck me.” He tells the other. A beat of silence, “Please.”
The last part wasn’t necessary, not even a little bit, but it just makes Soap’s dick ache even worse, makes him swallow hard around a lump in his throat and simply nod, easing his fingers out of Ghost’s body and reaching for the lube he’d set aside.
With Ghost, there’s usually more ‘foreplay’ with this, more teasing that leads up to Soap begging to be fucked — but this is Ghost, and he most certainly isn’t going to beg further than that, and Soap isn’t gonna try to make him do it either, this will do just fine, no need to push his luck.
Soap takes some lube onto his fingers that are already slick and tacky and pulls his briefs down with his other hand, thumb hooked in the waistband and tugging, exposing his cock to the air. He lets out a soft hiss at the temperature change, then runs his slicked hand along his dick, getting it properly wet.
Ghost watches him the entire time, eyes focused and following Soap’s every move, breaths still heavy as he waits, shifting on his knees to get more comfortable. Soap looks back at him, taking ahold of his hips and moving Ghost a little forcefully, hand in the middle of his back and pushing him down, ass in the air.
Then he’s lining up, teasing the head of his cock against Ghost’s hole and slowly pressing in. The heat grows and grows as he sinks in, each inch slowly disappearing into Ghost’s body, going from a heat that’s almost bearable to scalding. Tight around him, but loose enough to not worry, hot and velvety, Soap nearly cums the second he makes it to the hilt, hissing behind his teeth and slightly leaning himself over Ghost’s body, holding himself up with his fists against the bed.
“Bloody hell..” Ghost cusses, fingers clawing at the bed, face hidden, but Soap can still see the redness that spreads across his cheeks, can see the way Ghost is biting his bottom lip. He wants to scold him for that, but for now he’ll let it pass, because he still has a bit of work to do, to get Ghost through.
He settles for a moment when he’s pressed in to the hilt, hips flush with Ghost’s body, then he’s pulling his hips back, watching as his cock slides from Ghost’s hole and back into view, then he holds it, just for a second, before pushing back in, keeping the movement slow, just easing into it all. It’s hard to not just start fucking into Ghost how he wants, all rough and hard and deep, but he controls the impulse, keeps it on a tight leash at the very least.
“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” Soap praises, ducking down to press a kiss to the top of Ghost’s spine, to the back of his head, “So tight for me.” Ghost moans at that last part, muffled because he’s got his face somewhat in the bed, but Soap hears it, smiles real big because he knows how overwhelming this must be.
He keeps that slow pace up, working Ghost up to a quicker one after awhile, making sure there’s no sign of discomfort or pain, nothing too out of the ordinary, at least. Soap just finds that Ghost seems to be enjoying this, so he keeps going, quickening his pace to a good speed, nothing too hard or quick, but just close enough to how he wants to fuck him.
These deep thrusts that make Ghost moan with every stroke in, strokes that make their skin clap with every connection of their bodies. Soap groans and cusses with each pull and push of his hips, with every thrust, because the heat is so much. It’s much different than a handjob, so much different than getting fucked, that’s for sure.
He’s had sex before, but never like this, never with so much want behind every touch, with anticipation so thick it makes his hands shake, with desire and lust that’s almost palpable. He’s never had sex like this, never with someone he loves as much as Ghost. It may be rough and messy, but it means the world to him, being connected like this, having Ghost’s trust like this.
Being vulnerable is hard, it’s even harder to be vulnerable and give yourself over to someone, but Soap does it because he loves Ghost, because he trusts him with his life. He wonders if Ghost loves him, because it’s obvious that he trusts him enough to give himself over - but love? Soap’s unsure of that one.
It doesn’t matter right now, or that’s what Soap tells himself to not ruin the mood and headspace he’s in. He focuses instead on the way Ghost feels, the heat of his body, the bare expanse of his skin, the scars that litter his frame. Some deeper than the others, some fresher, most unexplained and left to be a mystery unless Ghost feels he can tell Soap all about them.
Soap slightly repositions himself, just so he can lean down and press kisses to any available and visible mark that’s on Ghost and within his range. Some to his back, along his spine and to the sides, then on the back of his neck, his shoulders. There’s what looks like lashing scars that decorate his shoulders, the lower parts of his back, and Soap hates to think of the reasons he might have those.
Pain like that.. Soap won’t think about it right now.
“Fuck. Fuckin’.. Johnny,” Ghost moans, no, whines, hands scrambling around on the bed and clawing at the material of Soap’s sheets, his blanket, even his pillow. “F-Fuck! Johnny. J-Johnny..” he repeats, somehow arching his back more, Soap watches the way his body curves, the bend of his spine, the way his muscles flex and move beneath skin. And, god, the way he sounds, Soap feels as if he’s on some sort of drug that most definitely should be illegal.
His head feels like it’s floating, like he’s in the clouds, and his whole body is on fire, just a continuous burn that never eases or lessens, just grows worse, like a wildfire that can’t be snuffed out, just spreading all throughout him, gut twisting and twisting, almost painfully tying itself into knots of arousal and hunger.
Soap leans further down, quickening his pace, fucking into Ghost harder, getting his mouth onto his shoulders and kissing, then biting, teeth sinking into skin, making Ghost moan louder, broken and almost like a sob, “Fuckin’.. hell, Soap. A-ah.”
Jesus, Soap wants to eat him alive, he can’t handle how good he sounds when he moans Soap’s name like that, all shaky and like he’s crying. Soap licks over the bite-mark, the print of his teeth in Ghost’s shoulder, moving to the crook of his neck instead and attaching to his throat, biting down hard and just high enough up that if anyone saw Ghost without his mask, they’d see it.
Again, Ghost moans, wet and weak, hand moving and reaching around to touch somewhere at Soap. It lands on his side, nails digging into Soap’s skin, making him groan around the bite, easing off and licking over it like he did the other, chuckling hotly.
“So good, Simon. Such a..” his words get a little trapped in his throat as he fixes himself, hands on either side of Ghost’s head, thrusts practically slamming now, hard and deep, “Such a good b-boy. Fuck.”
Praise seems to be something Ghost likes, because he’s tightening around Soap’s cock and moaning, gritty and sweet, “Johnny. I’m..”
He doesn’t know what Ghost is gonna say, but he has a feeling it’s a warning of sorts, one that Soap is going to completely ignore. He makes it worse, if anything, stopping for a moment so he can reach for Ghost’s shoulders and tug him upward, back against Soap’s chest, hand around his throat and lightly squeezing.
Like this, Soap fucks him a little harder, makes the bed shake, makes Ghost shudder and reach around to claw at Soap’s ass, holding it like a lifeline as Soap fucks into him, right along his prostate with every hard thrust.
Soap wants to devour Ghost like this, wants to lick every inch of his skin, kiss all of him, make him squirm and whine, make him beg and maybe cry for it. He wants to bite at every part of him, claim Ghost in any way he can, carve his initials into his skin, let everyone know that Ghost is his, nobody else’s. It’s intense, but it’s a primal want, something he feels every time he sees Ghost like this, all flushed and sweaty and bare.
Nobody else gets to see Ghost like this, only Soap gets to see this side of him, this beautiful side that’s bashful and pretty, that’s gentle and kind and full of soft touches and kisses that are feather-light. Only Soap gets to see this part of Ghost, the part that melts away from Ghost and becomes Simon - that person Soap thinks is so insanely beautiful that he sort of wants to cry when he really thinks about it.
“Fuck, baby,” Soap moans into his ear, biting at the shell of it playfully, just cause it’s something he’s never done, “I know you’re c-close, I can feel it, how tight you’re getting.” It’s all assumption, but it’s not so unlikely that Ghost is close, because Soap had worked him up quite a bit, and with every thrust he’s brushing against his prostate, so it’s very likely Ghost is—
A moan, loud and rough, falls from Ghost’s lips, head leaning back to fall onto Soap’s shoulder, “Johnny. I - I can’t.. can’t. Please, p-please.” He begs. Ghost is begging him. Soap waits to see if he says anything further, but nothing else comes but soft moans that push hot air against the skin of Soap’s throat when he turns his head and hides his face there.
Soap isn’t sure what he’s begging for, but he assumes it’s just to be touched, because he knows from personal experience that getting fucked like this is a one-way trip to cumming way too fast. So, he’s taking his hand that’s not around Ghost’s throat and wrapping it around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, thumb running over the tip, toying with the slit, pressing into it a little, just for a second.
“That what you want, baby?” Soap asks, and all Ghost can do is nod as a reply, breaths kicking up in speed with every stroke, getting harder and harder until Soap can feel the way Ghost’s body tenses, tightening around Soap’s cock as he cums, hot over Soap’s fingers and knuckles. Soap strokes him through it, “Fuck, look at y-you, cumming from me fucking you. So good for me, Simon, so fucking good for me.”
His own words are coming out as growls now, hard and from his chest as he fucks Ghost harder, chasing after his own high now, hand still stroking Ghost’s cock even when he hears the other hiss from it being too much, just mindlessly going after his own orgasm, turning his head to mouth at Ghost’s neck, biting at it again as he gets closer and closer.
“J-Johnny.. c’mon..” Ghost groans, voice low and soft, like encouragement that he knows will make Soap fall apart with ease. And it does work, Soap moans against his throat and feels the way his body burns up, heat rushing and rushing till it’s like an avalanche of warmth all throughout him and he cums, arms wrapped around Ghost’s body and squeezing him, thrusting into him once, twice more before he’s satisfied.
Breathing is hard, his heart is racing and pounding so hard he worries it’s going to beat out of his ribcage, out of his chest, even. He does lay them down though, resting on top of Ghost and breathing in the scent of sweat and sex, some faint hint of cigarettes that’s leftover on Ghost’s skin.
It’s silent for so long that Soap almost falls asleep, that is until Ghost groans and elbows Soap in the side.
“Get off of me, Johnny.” He says, and Soap can hear the way he rolls his eyes. It makes Soap laugh, push himself up so he can ease himself out of Ghost’s hole. The pullout is.. well, it is what it is. Cum leaks from Ghost’s body, and Soap fights the urge to lick him clean, settling instead for flopping down next to him.
That’s when his laughter kicks up, and Soap starts to laugh for no reason at all. Ghost looks at him like he’s crazy.
“Why are you laughing?”
Soap shakes his head, “I don’t - I don’t know!” He replies, shrugging.
Ghost stares at him, and slowly a smile creeps onto his face before he’s grabbing Soap and holding onto him, Soap’s face in Ghost’s chest. He keeps laughing, harder and harder till he’s almost crying from it.
After a moment, he hears Ghost chuckle too.