Chapter Text
Soap forgot how boring clubbing is. Not only that, he’s getting too damn old for it now, and it’s only because of Alejandro that he’s here. Something about meeting someone or other and needing Soap there for either moral support or a wingman, he can’t remember which. But Alejandro’s long gone, in the arms of some guy he doesn’t know, leaving Soap drinking scotch after scotch after scotch and getting more drunk, bored, and, perhaps most surprisingly, horny by the minute.
He could be home right now, either getting railed by a drunken stranger or eating a pizza, or maybe both. In fact, he decides that he’s going to do just that. Alejandro seems happy enough. So he finishes his drink, slips off the stool, and heads outside, fishing his cigarettes out from the pocket of his jacket. It’s much cooler outside the club, despite being only slightly less noisy, due to the sheer amount of people queueing to get in. He lights up a cigarette and sits at a bus stop across the road, taking a moment to scroll through his phone and have a smoke before he hails a cab. Soap opens up Grindr, an app that he doesn’t use all that often any more (the weeks after he broke up with his ex were bad, okay?), and he absentmindedly checks the profiles offered to him, but he finds nobody worth messaging. Until -
He pauses, his cigarette halfway to his mouth, and he blinks a few times, clearing his drunken vision. Some guy who’s name is just “Ghost” appears as a recommendation, and as he looks through this very tall, muscular, attractive guy’s profile, Soap can’t help but feel like he knows him from somewhere. Where, though, he hasn’t a clue, especially considering all he can see of the guy is his torso and dark, commanding eyes behind a skull-shaped mask. Before Soap’s brain can kick in and tell him that this is a really bad idea, he puts his cigarette between his lips, and his thumbs fly across the keyboard, typing out a message that only really makes sense to him:
Hey, you look like this guy who was the best shag I’ve ever had, but you can’t be him because he moved away. And also he hates me.
He presses ‘send’ before sanity can regain the wheel, and then, locking his phone, he gets to his feet, putting out his cigarette before walking down the road towards the taxi rank. Once he gets back to his flat, he opens a bottle of wine and strips down to his boxers. He then throws himself onto the sofa and turns on the tv, changing channels until he finds something mind-numbing to watch. He thinks it’s CSI but he doesn’t know; his mind is fuzzy from all the scotch and the wine’s not helping. Tastes good, though.
He swigs the wine straight from the bottle as he watches tv for a while as, and for a moment he’s a little disappointed that he’s not getting laid tonight. He quickly shrugs it off, however; there will be other nights, other times he can have someone in his bed. He’s tempted to check his phone and see if this “Ghost” guy has replied, but he’s so drunk he forgets about it the second the idea comes to his mind. After drinking half a bottle of wine, it doesn’t take him long to pass out on the sofa, his hand in his underwear and some American police drama on the TV.
-
Soap’s awoken by the sun beating down on his face, and he groans, covering his face with his arm as his head begins to pound. After taking a few deep breaths, he slowly sits up, finding a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table alongside his phone and the tv remote. He turns the tv off, silencing whatever morning talkshow that’s playing, and against his better judgement, he takes a swig of wine, picking up his phone.
There’s a text from Alejandro, a missed call from Alejandro, some news notification he doesn’t care about, and -
He spits out his wine.
Grindr: Ghost sent you a message
He almost doesn’t want to open the message, but he does, because he wants to know why Ghost, of all fucking people, would be messaging him at 4:42 on a Sunday morning while he was passed out drunk on the sofa.
Nice to know that you still think about me fucking you, Johnny. If you want to see my dick, just ask.
Soap splutters, tossing his phone aside and getting to his feet. “What the fuck?” he mutters to himself, heading over to where his clothes are dumped on the floor and pulling his jeans on. He doesn’t remember getting home last night, and he sure as shit doesn’t remember messaging his ex-boyfriend. But he can’t have been that drunk, surely?
He grabs his phone and his cigarettes, and steps out onto the world’s tiniest balcony, shivering a little at how cold it is in the middle of March. He runs a hand through his messy mohawk, which is more of a mullet now and is in desperate need of a trim, the early morning air doing both soothing his headache and making him feel sick. He then lights a cigarette and inhales deeply, holding the smoke in for just a second too long before coughing it out into the air. He reads the message from Ghost again, torturing himself a little bit, his heart and his dick fighting for control.
It wasn’t a lie, Ghost was the best lay of Soap’s life; and even though he’s slept with countless guys in the four months, two weeks, and three days since they broke up, none of them, not a single one, has ever come close to making him feel as good as Ghost made him feel. None of them made him sob with pleasure, no man fucked him so hard he came twice before they could come once, and nobody even slightly let him take his sweet time worshipping their dick.
Thinking so much about Ghost and his godly cock makes Soap hard in his jeans, but he’s too hungover (and a little too sad) to do anything about it right now. Besides, he needs to respond to Ghost, apologise to him, explain that he was drunk and he didn’t mean anything by what he said. That is priority number one. Once he’s done that, then maybe he can think about getting off.
Hey, he types, his hands shaking. God, it’s been so long. What does he even say? Sorry was drunk.
He finishes his cigarette and puts it out in the ashtray he keeps by the door, and he heads back inside, going into the kitchen and turning on the kettle. As he’s waiting for the water to boil, he gets a mug out of the cupboard and spoons coffee into it, watching his phone out the corner of his eye in case he gets a reply from Ghost. His phone lights up as the kettle finishes boiling, and he scrambles to pick it up, his heart racing. It’s Ghost again, and Soap has to keep from moaning out loud at the message he’s reading.
You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Always so desperate to be fucked. Always looking for someone to pin you down and take you. You could have literally anyone you wanted, you know. And yet, even when you’re drunk, all you can think about is me.
Soap shakes his head, taking deep breaths in a vain attempt at taking control of the situation, and he puts his phone to one side for a moment as he makes his coffee. Milk, three sugars, same as he’s had it for years, and the act of stirring the coffee helps calm his racing heart. He takes his coffee through to his room, setting it on the nightstand before stripping out of his jeans and underwear. When he tosses his phone onto the bed, it lights up with a new message from Ghost, and he almost trips over in his haste to read it. Get a grip MacTavish, God damn it! You’re not a teenager any more!
Just say the word, Johnny, and I’m there. You can have as much of me as you want.
He closes his eyes, groaning out loud, the temptation to take Ghost up on that offer growing by the second. He has to be sensible, though; he can’t just drop his pants for his ex whenever he says so, regardless of how good he is in bed. Not only is that bad for himself, but it’s worse for Ghost - Ghost was the one fully invested in their relationship, Ghost would’ve given him the entire goddamn world if he asked for it, but Soap had to fuck everything up, didn’t he, and ruined the life of the one fucking person who truly gave a shit about him. He rubs his face with one hand, the other still holding his phone, and it takes him a moment to remember that he’s standing naked in the middle of his room. Soap sits on the edge of his bed, and he takes a sip of his coffee before replying to Ghost, half-heartedly trying to shut down whatever mortifying endeavour this will end up being.
This is a really bad idea, Simon.
Ghost’s reply is instant:
I’ve always been your worst idea though, haven’t I?
Soap bites his lower lip, his cheeks heating up. Ghost has always had an answer for everything. He shouldn’t have messaged him back, shouldn’t have continued the conversation, but when it comes to Ghost, he’s weak. Always has been.
You’ll only end up hating me more, he messages back, lust and loneliness waging its never-ending war in his body, leaving his dick hard and his heart hurting.
I’ve not once hated you, Johnny. Not even when you left me.
He’s weak. He’s always been weak. He could never resist Ghost, even if he tried. Not when the man’s offering himself up on a fucking platter.
It’s fine. It’ll just be one time. It won’t mean anything. I need this. Ghost wants this. He repeats the words in his head like a mantra, trying to reassure himself that this is okay, even though all he wants is to turn his phone off and hide under the duvet until Ghost has forgotten all about him. This will only make things worse. And yet he can’t help himself.
He messages Ghost one word:
Please.
-
Soap is towel-drying his hair when he hears the front door open. He left the front door unlocked while he showered, turning off his phone so that he wouldn’t be distracted waiting for whether Ghost replied or not. He drops the towel and rushes into the hallway, wearing only fresh underwear and a t-shirt.
His ex-boyfriend is standing by the front door, over six feet tall and stupidly muscled. Ghost still wears that skull mask he always wore when they were together, and probably even before that, covering up his face for some reason. When Soap got to see under the mask for the first time, he almost had an aneurysm - Simon Riley was the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, and had the perfect dick to match.
Ghost cocks his head ever so slightly, his massive arms folded across his chest. Soap is by no means skinny, but even he looks like a twig next to Ghost. He’s almost vibrating with want, desperate to be encased in those arms. He knows Ghost’s come here to fuck him senseless, and he can’t wait. He’s cruel for wanting it, cruel for doing this to Ghost, but he can’t help himself. He needs this.
“Si -” he starts, but it takes half a second for Ghost to step towards him and take his face in one large, rough hand, calloused fingers digging into his cheeks.
Ghost pushes backwards and Soap takes the hint, allowing himself to be guided back into the bedroom and almost shoved onto the bed. Soap swallows heavily, looking up at Ghost, who reaches out and brushes his thumb over Soap’s bottom lip.
“Look at you,” the older man muses, and Soap shudders, his eyes closing. It’s been so long, too fucking long, since he heard that voice, and all the blood shoots straight to his dick as that low rumble hits his ears. “You’re so desperate for me, even after all this time.” Ghost uses a finger to tilt Soap’s chin up, and his eyes open, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “You know you’ll never have someone as good as me. you, don’t you?” Soap shakes his head, his hands clenching into fists either side of him. “Say it.”
Soap takes a second too long to speak, to which Ghost takes a fistful of his hair and pulls, yanking his head back even further. “I won’t ask again, Soap.” he says, his voice low, and Soap’s mouth falls open, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
“I will never - never ever - have anyone as good as you, sir.” he chokes out, and Ghost hums in approval, letting go of his hair.
“Go on,” Ghost says, nodding once, gesturing to his crotch. “I did say you could have as much of me as you want.”
“Fuck,” Soap whispers, sliding his hands up Ghost’s thighs, feeling the muscle there and imagining them both wrapped around his neck. He’s the worst, fuck knows he’s the worst, he’s the most pathetic man he knows, but if he doesn’t get Ghost’s cock in his mouth soon then he’s going to cry. “Fuck,” he repeats, mostly to himself, as he unbuckles his ex’s belt and unbuttons his ex’s jeans.
Ghost hums softly as Soap pushes his jeans and underwear down his thighs, exposing his perfect cock, hard and glistening at the tip with precome. Soap bites his lower lip once more, wrapping a hand around Ghost’s impressive length, stroking slowly and hearing the older man moan quietly above him. He takes that as an invitation to lean forward and mouth at the base, his nose grazing dark pubic hair and his tongue dragging across Ghost’s heavy balls. He inhales deeply, the smell making him dizzy, taking him back to when they were dating and Soap could easily spend an hour with his mouth on Ghost’s cock, taking his sweet, sweet time and making Ghost come several times.
“Gods, you smell fuckin’ divine, sir,” Soap moans, his nails digging into Ghost’s thigh. Ghost responds by running his fingers through Soap’s already messy hair, clinging on for dear life as the younger man’s lips close over the tip of his dick.
“Still so good for me, Johnny. Such a good boy, such a pretty mouth.” Ghost lets out a low moan, his fingers tightening in Soap’s hair as Soap takes the entirety of his cock in his mouth. “Fuck, just like that, just like that. Jesus, I forgot about that tongue of yours.”
The tongue in question has a small metal bar straight through it, a piercing that Soap’s had since he was nineteen and realised he loved sucking dick so much. His favourite thing to do is make people like Ghost weak with his tongue, the balls securing the piercing in his mouth creating sensations that the naked tongue otherwise cannot.
Soap closes his eyes, the weight of Ghost’s dick heavy on his tongue, precome trickling down the back of his throat in salty droplets. He swallows, his gag reflex near enough nonexistent with the amount of practise he’s had, and he takes a moment to let it rest there. Ghost’s hand moves to the back of his head, his fingers gentle in his basically-a-mullet, but Soap doesn’t want gentle. He wants to be used. He wants to be reminded of what it’s like to be fucked so hard he can’t breathe. So he grabs the hand on the back of his head and pushes, forcing Ghost’s cock deeper down his throat. Thankfully, Ghost gets the hint and begins to buck his hips, and Soap takes it like a champ - they didn’t call him Johnny “Oral Fixation” MacTavish in Uni for nothing, after all.
Ghost’s moans increase in volume the longer his cock is in Soap’s mouth, the younger man swallowing around him. Unfortunately for Soap, though, he does need to breathe at some point (a major inconvenience, really, seeing as he could happily sit there all day sucking his ex’s dick). Gasping for breath, Soap lets Ghost’s dick slip from his mouth, spit dripping obscenely down his chin and onto his t-shirt. He takes it in his hand, licking up the shaft in one long stroke, teasing Ghost the way he knows best, looking up at him through his lashes. Ghost grips Soap’s hair tightly as he circles the tip with his tongue, before rubbing it against his swollen lips, spreading spit and precome over his face.
“You finished?” Ghost demands, done with Soap’s teasing.
“I might be.” Soap licks his lips. “You should take your mask off, Ghost.”
Ghost huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Give me one good reason as to why I should do that.”
“I want to see your face while you’re inside me,” Soap replies, grinning wickedly as Ghost rolls those dark, magnetising eyes of his.
Soap leaves that particular ball in Ghost’s court, and, saying nothing, he scooches back on the bed, grabbing Ghost’s shirt and pulling him down on top of him. Ghost follows without a fight, using one hand to prop himself up while the other hand pulls his mask up over his head and tosses it aside. Soap, as usual, is breathless; he didn’t expect it to be so easy. Ghost’s eyes are dark, almost black, and stubble covers his sharp jaw. There are scars on his face from his time in the military, and his short, blonde hair is growing out, almost long enough to fall into his eyes. Soap’s eyes meet Ghost’s, and then he kisses him hard, all teeth and tongue and desperation. He wants to taste Ghost’s mouth, but he also wants Ghost to taste himself on Soap’s tongue, salty and sweaty.
Their hands frantically paw at each other, grabbing hold of shirts and hair and, in Soap’s case, a handful or two of Ghost’s ass. Soap’s messy t-shirt ends up on the floor, and Ghost growls into his mouth, his dick leaking onto Soap’s stomach as he grinds their bodies together. And then Ghost moves his mouth to Soap’s neck, and it takes everything he has not to come undone there and then. Because Ghost’s mouth on his neck is pure fucking magic, and as the older man bites and sucks at his skin, he can’t help but moan, his own cock uncomfortably hard in his underwear.
“S-Si, fuck, please -” he begs, his hands slipping up the back of Ghost’s t-shirt to rake his nails down his back. “- please - I need -”
“Use your words, Soap,” Ghost says in his ear, his voice low. “Come on, you’re good at telling me what you want.”
He ignores the jab at the way their relationship ended, and instead pulls Ghost’s t-shirt up and over his head, throwing it aside to join the steadily-growing pile of clothes on the floor. Soap runs his hands down Ghost’s divine chest, the skin smooth and the muscles hard. As his hands make their way back up Ghost’s body, Soap decides to push his luck a little.
“I want you to fuck me, b-but only if you’re not too scared.”
Ghost tenses instantly, pulling back slowly to meet Soap’s eyes. “Scared? Why would I be scared, Johnny?”
Soap shrugs beneath him, maintaining eye contact, challenging him. “In case you’re not as good as you think you are.”
“Oh?” Ghost climbs off the bed and gets to his feet, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and pulling down his jeans. “You’ve slept with people since me, have you?”
The younger man nods, watching intently as Ghost also removes his underwear, and his eyes dip down to Ghost’s cock for a fraction of a second before returning to his face. “Yeah,” he says, his pulse racing as Ghost reaches for the lube on the nightstand. “Loads.”
“Loads?” Ghost repeats, tossing the bottle on the bed and grabbing Soap’s knees, pulling his legs apart so that he can kneel between them.
“A good twenty or so,” Soap nods, and Ghost nods too, his fingers on the waistband of Soap’s underwear, pulling them off so that they’re both naked on the bed.
“I didn’t realise you were such a slut, Johnny.” Ghost says, adjusting himself so that he’s comfortably between Soap’s thighs. “Although I suppose I expected that, with the way you were begging me to come over here and fuck you into next week.” He arches an eyebrow, his eyes meeting Soap’s, and Soap feels his cheeks heat up, the blush spreading down his neck.
“You’re telling me you haven’t -” Soap’s too busy trying to get a reaction out of Ghost that he doesn’t realise that the older man’s popped the cap on the lube and spread a generous amount on his fingers until one of those fingers is suddenly inside him. The reaction is instant: Soap grabs at Ghost’s wrist, his hole clenching at the sudden intrusion, and his head falls back against the sheets as he gasps. “Fuck me, Simon, give a guy some warning.”
“You were in the zone, baby. Trying to rile me up or whatever it was you were doing.” He slips in a second finger, humming as Soap moans loudly, and he bites his lip. “I’m not scared, Johnny. I know that no-one does it better than me, because I’m confident in myself.” Ghost adds a third finger, stretching Soap nicely as he pants on the bed. “And you know how else I know?” He removes his fingers and squirts some lube onto his cock, stroking it slowly to spread it around. He waits for a response that doesn’t come, leaning over Soap with one hand on the bed and the other holding his cock steady. “Hm?” Ghost tilts his head, knowing that Soap knows the answer, but doesn’t want to say. “It’s the reason you keep texting me when you’re drunk, begging me to fuck you.”
And in one fluid motion, Ghost is inside him.