Chapter Text
As you can probably guess, it starts with alcohol.
Lots of alcohol. And a card game in the common room.
To say it had been a rough few weeks would be the understatement of the year. Tension were high and spirits were low within the 141, and it was obvious they needed a breather. So after their small but much needed victory over Graves, the men saw the opportunity and grabbed at it.
“Ye fuckin’ cheatin’ bastard.” Soap gapes as Alejandro lays his cards down on the table.
“Hey, I never cheat hermano.” Alejandro crosses his arms behind his head as he leans back, chuckling. “The cards don’t lie.”
Gaz curses under his breath and throws his cards down. Rudy sighs, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t know why I even try.”
Soap stands out of his chair to look at the cards, “There’s no fuckin’ way-“
Alejandro watches him with a grin, “You are a sore sore loser, Soap.”
Soap curses, falling back down into the chair. He lets his own cards fall from his hands onto the table, and reaches for his glass of bourbon.
“Fuckin’ hell. I had a shite deal anyways.”
Ghost shifts slightly in his chair next to Soap. “You had a winning hand a couple times there, Johnny but you traded ‘em out.”
The others burst into laughter while Soap gapes at him. He thumps a fist against the lieutenant’s arm, “Oh, now ye tell me!“
Alejandro takes the bottle of bourbon and tops off his glass, “What do you say, Ghost? Price? Should I deal you in for the next round?”
“Count me out, lads.” Price says with a shake of his head, “I’m havin’ fun just watching.”
The air is warm with smoke and laughter. There’s a slow melody playing quietly on the radio, some Spanish channel Rudy had managed to find. Soap’s face is warm with liquor and he’s surprised to feel as carefree as he does.
“Deal me back in,” he says, leaning forward and placing his hands on the table. “I ain’t leavin’ ‘till I win. Who wants to place a bet?”
That rouses a hearty laugh from Alejandro’s chest as he reshuffles the cards. “Oh ho ho, you a gambling man all of a sudden?”
“Aye, damn right I am, hermano.”
“Alright,” Gaz holds his hands up between the two of them, “I think as your best friend I’m legally required to stop you from doing anything stupid, Soap.”
Rudy yawns, the movement oddly child-like. “It’s a bit late for another game, no?”
Soap waves him off with a drunken pfft.
Gaz raises his glass with a lopsided grin, “I say we just get pissed and go to bed, whaddya say lads?”
“Or,” Alejandro says then, a wicked grin lighting up his face. Cards forgotten, he digs in a pocket then produces a plastic baggie containing what are no doubt two thick rolled joints. “We could…”
Rudy’s face is slack with disbelief, “No me digas.”
“Fuck off,” Gaz lurches forward off the sofa.
Price watches from across the table, huffing a laugh as he lights a cigar. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”
Soap grins, “Yer aff yer heid, Vargas.”
“Oh c’mon,” the man shrugs, feigning humility - a poor look on him, “I’m a generous guy I figure- we deserve a treat, huh?”
Gaz snatches the baggie from his hands to inspect the joints. “How long you been holding these out on us then?”
“Yeah,” Rudy elbows his friend playfully, “Should’ve smoked a couple of those with Graves, no?”
Price snorts, “Aye, I’m sure that would’ve gone over well.”
They all laugh and Gaz starts to open the little pouch. “What’re we thinkin’ mates? Who’s lighting up?”
Rudy finds a lighter and the smell of the joint as it begins to burn transports Soap back to his Uni days. Come to think of it, that’s probably the last time he’s smoked at all. Back then, he was mostly sharing dry, hand-rolled blunts with his mates on the hillside under a gray sky. It strikes him as funny that all these years later, he’s doing the same thing. The thought warms him a bit - although that could just be the liquor still in his belly.
In this light, with Alejandro and Rudy sharing one joint and Gaz currently lighting up the other, they all look years younger. There’s something nostalgic about the scene, the room hazy with smoke and the music still playing. If Soap stopped and thought about it long enough he could get sad about it, so he stops that train of thinking right there.
He motions for Gaz to pass the joint. “A’ight ye greedy bastard, dinnae smoke the whole thing, hand it here.”
Soap takes the blunt between his thumb and forefinger, his old university instincts kicking in. He puts his mouth to the small filter at the end and inhales. He feels the prickling sensation in his throat, and knows instantly that this is good fucking weed.
Exhaling the rest of the smoke, Soap feels a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Whaddya say, Lt.” He turns to Ghost, surprised to find the other man already watching him.
The balaclava is still pulled up to his nose from the last time he took a drink, and Soap has the sudden urge to lean in close and place the joint between those lips. His eyes linger on Ghost’s exposed mouth only once before he recovers and meets that piercing gaze again.
If Ghost notices, his gaze doesn’t betray it. “Think I’ll stick with the bourbon tonight, Johnny.”
Soap resists the urge to pout. He was looking forward to sharing a joint with him - something intimate about it isn’t there? Aw hell, he’s thinking like a college kid too.
So he just leans back into the chair, kicking a foot up on the table, spreading his legs as he looks Ghost up and down, “Ah. A good ol’ boy indeed.”
He takes another hit, hoping to come across nonchalant and sexy, but his throat seizes and he erupts into a coughing fit. If his face wasn’t red before it sure as shit is now, coughs racking his body as he chokes on smoke and air.
Gaz is full on laughing at him, but he gives Soap’s back a couple hearty thumps to help. Soap buries his face in the crook of his elbow, too embarrassed to even look in Ghost’s direction.
Alejandro takes an easy drag from his joint, “You good there, Soap?”
Soap, admittedly, isn’t okay, still struggling to catch his breath - Christ, he’s actually light-headed - but he puts on a brave face anyways.
He waves a hand in Alejandro’s direction, choking a few words out, “Ah, bile yer heid.”
They continue smoking and drinking and chatting, and with each passing second Soap becomes more and more relaxed. He hasn’t smoked since university, and soon he realizes how much he’d missed it.
He’s sunk deep in his chair, a dopey grin plastered on his face. His whole body feels like calm, droning static and his belly is still warm from the liquor. God he loves being high. Why did he ever stop, he wonders?
Looking around, it seems like the others are in the same boat. Alejandro’s reclined back against Rudy, with one arm around his shoulders and the other gesturing wildly in the air. He’s telling some story, and Soap swears he hasn’t gotten to the point yet.
Gaz is leaned back, taking another drag from the joint before exhaling smoke rings into the air and watching them vanish with hazy red eyes.
He’s suddenly struck with a wave of giddy happiness, and a giggle bursts out of his chest before he can stop it. He feels more than sees Ghost turn to look at him. Soap covers his mouth with a hand to try and suppress them but they just keep coming.
“Somethin’ funny, MacTavish?” Price asks, the amusement obvious in his voice.
Soap just throws his hands up and laughs again. He feels all floaty and warm, perfectly comfortable and at ease. “I’m absolutely melted. High as a kite, sir.”
Gaz snorts and slaps a hand on his shoulder, and the movement feels like it disrupts the very particles of Soap’s being. Each of his nerves feels like a live wire, buzzing with a fuzzy warmth.
He hooks an arm around Gaz’s shoulder and hugs him close to his side. The two of them erupt into laughter, and it feels so natural and easy Soap forgets they didn’t grow up together. He feels like these men could really be his brothers, and it always catches him off guard to remember they aren’t. At least not by blood.
Snagging the joint from Gaz’s hands, Soap takes another hit. Exhaling, he starts to talk. “Y’know what? I’m gonna say it.”
Ghost leans forward, “Soap-“
“Say it!” Gaz yells into his ear.
Soap shushes their protests until they go quiet. “I’ll say it. I love all of ye, ye lads are like my family.”
Price just shakes his head into his glass.
Gaz makes an exaggerated daaawww and hugs him so close Soap nearly falls out of his chair.
“Aw, Soap,” Alejandro laughs and leans over Gaz to slap Soap’s knee. “Que precioso.”
Rudy, at least seems to take him seriously. He’s looking at Soap with a soft, fond smile. “That was really sweet, Soap.”
“I mean it.” Soap nods, “I dunno why I dinnae say it every day, but I love ye guys. Each of ye.”
“Aye, we know that. We heard you.” Price says.
“Including you, Lt.” He gives Ghost a soft kick in the shins. Ghost just looks at him, doesn’t say anything. So Soap winks at him, cracks a smile, “Especially you, Lt.”
Gaz slaps a hand over his mouth and swipes what remains of the joint out of his hands. “Right, I think that’s enough for you.”
In the ensuing laughter, Soap misses the blush spreading up Ghost’s neck and the way he fidgets nervously in his seat, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.
They pour more drinks. Time passes in a bit of a haze after that. Soap thinks he spends most of it in a blissful, giggly trance, sitting silently in his seat and listening to everyone else talk. They try to get another game of cards going but Soap and Gaz can’t take it seriously enough; they keep sneaking glances at each other’s hands even while Alejandro yells at them to quit it and play the game correctly. Ghost and Price sit on the sidelines, nursing their drinks and happily watching the chaos unfold.
Soap drops his cards on the table and stands abruptly, pushing his chair back.
“Goddammit Soap, sit back down and play the fucking game.” Alejandro growls, and Rudy just laughs at his growing annoyance.
Soap looks around, forgetting what he was gonna do. Ghost watches him silently, looking ready to intervene if he decides to do something stupid. But Soap just lowers himself to the ground and lays down on his back. The cool floor feels lovely against his warm skin, and Soap groans. He doesn’t miss the way Ghost stiffens at the sound.
“What are ya doing, Soap.”
“Oi, lads, lay down on the ground with me.”
Gaz and Price start laughing again. Rudy hides his laughter behind his hands of cards even though there’s no way the game is still happening.
“‘M serious.” Soap spreads his arms out. “Feels nice.”
“I’m coming,” Gaz says, leaving his cards on the table and dropping to the floor. Alejandro cusses the two of them out in Spanish.
“Get up off the floor, you bloody plonkers.” Ghost tells them, but his voice is devoid of any threat. He’s got this disbelieving look in his eyes and Soap can tell by how they’re crinkled at the corners that Ghost is smiling.
“Does feel nice.” Gaz breathes from where he’s laying next to Soap. “Everyone lay down on the floor with us.”
Soap makes a vague motion with his hand, “Lt. Lay down on the floor.”
Ghost actually has to stifle a laugh, “I will do no such thing.”
“Y’know what I could use right now?” Gaz holds his hands up in front of his face, like he’s trying to reach something far away, “A burger.”
“Oh my God.” Soap sweeps out a hand towards him, meaning to grab the collar of his shirt but he ends up just slapping his friend in the face. He’s suddenly more hungry than he’s ever been in his life. “That is pure deid brilliant.”
Rudy groans, falling back into the couch and covering his face with one arm. “Do not mention food right now.”
Gaz continues, “A fat bloody fuckin’ burger, medium rare. Load of chips and a cold beer on the side-“
Price scoffs, “You a fuckin’ American, all of a sudden?”
“I need a good fuckin’ shepherd’s pie is what I need-“
“Fuck that,” Alejandro waves a hand, “I’m in the mood for barbacoa tacos.” Rudy makes a noise of agreement. “Slow cooked, with lime juice and guajillo chilis-”
Rudy stops him, “Like the ones we got in Mexico City?
Ale groans, “Yes.”
Next to Soap, Gaz sits up suddenly. “Bloody hell, are the kitchens still open?”
Price stops him there, “No, none of you are allowed in the kitchens while stoned.”
The thought of them in the kitchens is a pretty funny thought, Soap thinks. “We’re like those wee goblins. The furry ones with the big ears.”
They all just look at him like he’s grown another head.
“What’re you on about?” Gaz asks.
Soap motions with his hand, trying to articulate his thoughts. “Y’know. The goblins from that movie. They cannae be fed after midnight?”
There’s a pause where no one says anything.
“Gremlins?” Ghost finally says. “As in that American movie from the eighties?”
“Yes!” Soap cries, throwing his hands up as the others start to laugh. “We’re the gremlins! Ye cannae feed us after midnight!”
Gaz has actual tears in his eyes, shoulders shaking as he laughs. “You said goblins-“
“Ach, y’know what I meant-“
“I thought you started hallucinating,” Alejandro snorts.
Soap starts to giggle again, “Fuck all a ye. Only Ghost understands me.” He reaches up and knocks his fist into the lieutenant’s knee affectionately.
“Alright, lads.” Price stands up with a yawn. “Party’s over. I think it’s high time we get to bed.”
Soap groans in complaint as Gaz starts to stand. He doesn’t ever want to move from this spot.
“MacTavish, get up off the floor.”
“Cannae.” He says matter of factly, reaching out towards Gaz. “Cannae move my legs. Help me up.”
Gaz takes him by the hands and tugs weakly, barely even managing to get Soap’s shoulders off the floor. He must be fooling around, cause he’s kicked Soap’s ass too many times in sparring to not be able to pick him up.
“Get Ghost tae do it,” he says, starting to laugh again, “he and all nine of his abs woulda had me up by now.”
Gaz combusts into wheezing laughter, and then Soap is laughing too and there goes any chance of either of them getting back to their rooms.
Price laughs, “Fuckin’ hell, we’re never getting you two high at the same time again.”
Ghost extends a hand down towards him. “C’mon Johnny, up.”
And Soap, who truly lives for getting under Ghost’s skin, has a wicked, impulsive idea. He takes Ghost’s hand and allows himself to be pulled halfway up. As soon as he’s close enough, his hand darts out towards Ghost’s neck, reaching for the hem of the skull mask.
And in a second, Ghost hooks a leg around Soap’s calf and knocks him back down to the floor. Dropping to his knees, he pins Soap’s wrists to the floor above his head and holds him down with a steady arm on his chest.
He’s all of a sudden so much closer than he was before, and he’s got Soap pinned under him and it’s all going straight to Soap’s groin. His rabbit-quick heartbeat makes him feel like a small animal; trapped under Ghost’s weight, a warm wide palm holding him down. He didn’t even know he was into stuff like this.
“You’re on thin ice there, Johnny.” Ghost growls, amusement light in his eyes and his voice deliciously deep.
Soap wants to say a million different things. If he were sober it’d probably be something witty and flirty, but through his weed-fogged judgement he’s not that clever. He has half the mind to tell Ghost to take him right there on the floor. He’s got nearly a dozen different scenarios running through his head and most of them are x-rated and he’s entirely too high for this.
So on a shuddering exhale that sounds dangerously close to a moan, he ends up saying, “Yer so fuckin’ sexy, Lt.”
The room explodes with laughter at the same time Ghost’s eyes widen and his brows shoot up behind the balaclava. Someone - Alejandro, he thinks - whistles, and it’s that sound that snaps Soap out of it. He grins like a fool, and he feels a flush start to creep up his neck.
Ghost releases him a second later and sits back on one knee, scanning him up and down incredulously. Soap, still careless from the weed and in awe of what he just said, begins to laugh. Maybe he hit his head too hard and he’s officially lost it now.
“I’m serious,” he laughs, sitting up and turning to look at the guys. Alejandro and Rudy are dying on the sofa, and Gaz has fallen back into his chair, head in his hands, from laughing so hard. Price is just standing there shaking his head, but his grin and bouncing shoulders give him away.
“Didja see the way he pinned me down?” Soap laughs again, scrubbing his hands over his face. He’s aware of his accent slipping, his words sounding thicker even to his own ears. “Got me blushin’ up to my ears, Ghost.”
Ghost narrows his eyes at him. Price disguises his laughter behind a cough, “Alright, will someone get MacTavish back to his room before he says anything else he’ll regret?”
Gaz helps him stand again - with Soap actually making an effort this time - and he stretches with a yawn, eager to move on from whatever that just was. “When have I ever said anything I regret?”
Rudy pulls a still laughing Alejandro off the couch and loops an arm around his waist. “We don’t have time for that list.”
Soap throws an arm over Gaz’s shoulder and resists the urge to hug him again.
“Who knew you’d be such a slag when you’re stoned?”
“Umnae a slag,” Soap says, but he giggles again, “Ah’m just fuckin’ honest.”
-
Eventually, as in most situations, it ends up just being Soap and Ghost. Price had given Ghost the order to escort Gaz and Soap back to their respective rooms. That had been after Rudy and Ale stumbled off down the halls together, practically attached at the hip, even though Alejandro’s room was in the opposite direction. Soap made sure to point this out, and he and Gaz joked about it until Ghost threatened them into silence.
And now it was just Soap swaying dizzily towards his room, with Ghost following a few steps behind, watching him cautiously. As he approaches his room he digs the key out of his pocket. Ghost hasn’t said anything to him since the incident back in the common room, and it might just be the weed making him paranoid, but Soap is starting to get antsy. He remembers now the effect weed had on him in college - he’d lose his filter and say and do things impulsively, only to sober up with more than a few regrets.
He realizes he’s been fumbling with the key for several good seconds and sneaks a glance in Ghost’s direction. The lieutenant gives him a good side-eye before Soap manages to finally unlock and push the door open.
“Fuckin’ finally,” Simon grumbles, “I thought I’d have to kick the fuckin’ door in.”
Soap leans his back against the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets. For a moment, they just look at each other. Soap loves looking at him.
Ghost catches on. Something shifts in his face, “Spit it out.”
“I’m sorry.” Soap says. Ghost looks at him quizzically, so he continues. “I shouldn’t have said that back there, in front of everyone, that was-“
“Did you mean it?”
“What?”
Ghost repeats himself. “Did you mean it, Johnny? What you said.”
Soap feels himself flush and rubs at his neck. He considers lying, saying it was all just some friendly joke, but some part of him wants to be honest. He wants Ghost to know exactly what he does to him.
“‘Course I did.” Soap shrugs, meeting Ghost’s eyes for only a second. “I wasnae tryin’ to make fun. Didnae mean to make you uncomfortable, Lt.”
Ghost huffs under the mask, and it sounds close to a laugh. “Never said I was uncomfortable.”
“No?” Soap laughs, relieved.
“Made me quite hot under the collar actually.”
All of the breath leaves Soap’s body in one exhale. Did he hear that right? He just stares at Ghost, slack jawed with shock. There’s something teasing in Ghost’s eyes, and it occurs to Soap then that the man knows exactly what he’s doing.
And that is somehow the most attractive thing about him.
“I have scotch,” Soap blurts out, frantic. Ghost cocks his head, like a curious dog. He continues, “in my room. If ye care for a nip.”
It might be the lighting, or the drugs, but he swears he sees Ghost’s eyes darken. His gaze flickers down the hall momentarily. “It’s late, Johnny.”
He pushes himself off the doorframe then, purposefully invading Ghost’s space just so he can feel the man stiffen. Soap avoids his eyes, instead toys with one of the strings on his hoodie, curling it between his fingers. He can hear Simon’s slow, even breathing hitch through the balaclava. It occurs to Soap that he wants to hear those breaths quicken, wants to hear him panting.
He looks up through his lashes at his superior. They’re so close Soap could count each fine blonde lash, the fine creases beneath his eyes. He can see the ragged scar that scores one of his brows, the silvery way it reflects the light. And he can see Simon’s pupils, dilated, drinking him in, nothing but a coffee ring of brown surrounding them.
And Soap is staring at him the same way, begging him in his head ‘Want me, please want me’.
He smirks, “Cannae even interest you in a wee nightcap, Lt?”
And Ghost leans forward just slightly, almost as if he’s not quite conscious of it. Soap feels the press of his chest against his and nearly goes dizzy with it. He wants this man to do awful things to him.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” It’s probably meant to come out more annoyed, but Ghost’s voice only expresses fondness.
Soap takes a chance then, figures what the hell? He’s completely faded and he’s pretty sure Ghost is full-on flirting with him now.
“Ye could kiss me.”
Ghost gives him one quick shove into the room for that. He grabs the door with one hand and shuts it firmly behind them. It looks like it takes him a great amount of restraint not to slam it.
Soap closes the distance between them in a few quick strides, takes Simon’s face in his hands, and kisses him over the balaclava. And it’s weird - the fabric is rough against his stubble and he doesn’t know if the kiss landed right but all of a sudden Simon’s moaning into it and Soap decides it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done.
His fingers scrabble along Ghost’s neck, pushing up underneath the offending mask. “Take this off,” he breathes, open-mouthed against his jaw.
Simon pulls back just long enough to wrangle the mask up to his nose and then he’s back on Soap with the energy of a rabid animal and they’re finally finally kissing. Ghost has him by the waist, his thumbs pressing bruises into his hip bones, and Soap’s arms are around his shoulders, hands fisted in the fabric of his hoodie.
Soap is on cloud fuckin’ nine. The kiss is wet and heated, mouths slanted together like they’re trying to devour one another. Simon’s got him bent backward with the force of the kiss, and Soap is arching up into it, more than willing to accommodate for the height difference. He doesn’t realize Ghost is moving him until his back hits the wall and he’s crowding Soap up against it and then the larger man is all he can see and feel and Soap could fucking melt with it.
“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” Soap growls into another kiss, shuddering when Ghost echoes the sound. Ghost swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and Soap’s hips jolt off the wall at the sensation, desperate to be rutting against something.
When their groins brush together, it feels like an electric shock even through the layers of clothing. They gasp into each other’s mouths and Ghost braces one of his hands on the wall by Soap’s head.
It sounds like a threat when he says, “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Johnny?”
Soap needs to hear Simon say his name like that again. And again and again. Untangling his arms, he reaches down and grabs him by the ass. He watches Simon jump at the touch before he’s pulling their hips flush together again. And he knows by the punched-out groan that falls from Simon’s mouth that the man is just as rock-hard as Soap is.
“Am I makin’ ye blush, Lt?”
The air between them feels hot. Ghost brings his other hand up to take Soap by the throat, pressing his thumb in just hard enough to feel his pulse thundering beneath his hand. His eyes are so fuckin’ dark as he stares at Soap, drinking in his expression, flushed and panting. He’s always had a thing for the lieutenant’s eyes on him.
“Makin’ me more than blush, sergeant.”
Soap laughs breathlessly, “Aye. I can feel that, sir.”
Ghost smirks, “Can you?”
And it takes Soap a second to catch up because he was caught off guard by that smirk - it’s one thing to know Ghost’s smiling by his eyes, it’s another to see that smile up close and personal, all white teeth and wet lips. And then Ghost grinds against him again, slow and deliberate and pressing, and Soap’s mouth falls open on a moan. Ghost silences him with a kiss, swallowing that sound.
Soap can feel his heart beat in his dick and he knows then that he won’t last a fucking second if this continues like it is. He’s already throbbing with want and his briefs are growing damper by the second. He can’t tell if it’s due to the weed or if it’s just Ghost and his large hands and heaving chest, and the rough burn of his stubble as they kiss.
“Simon,” Soap breathes, marveling at how the name slips off his tongue.
Ghost actually fucking growls. “Christ yeah,” one of his hands moves to the back of Soap’s head, his fingers curling into the tail of his mohawk. “Say my name just like that.”
Soap preens under the attention. He cocks his head to the side and Ghost takes the bait, trailing kisses down his throat to his collarbone. The only thought going through Soap’s head is how much he needs Ghost naked now. Why the hell are they still fully clothed?
He slips his arms around Ghost’s waist and gets his hands up underneath his hoodie. He maps out the muscled plane of his back with his hands, imagining what it would be like to mark up that flesh with his nails.
A thought occurs to him. Would Ghost keep the mask on, even in bed? Soap can sure picture it: Ghost naked as the day he was born, sculpted like a marble statue, with the skull balaclava still on. Laughter swells in his throat. He tries to bite it back but-
He giggles.
Ghost smiles into the warm skin of his neck. “Somethin’ funny?”
Soap just shakes his head, still grinning. His hands climb higher up Ghost’s back, pushing his hoodie up with it.
And Ghost shifts backwards, putting a little space between them. His hand leaves Soap’s hip and he reaches around to grab one of his wrists.
“Soap, hold on.”
“Lose this,” Soap tugs on the hoodie, still giggly.
“Hold on, we can’t-”
“What?” Soap says with a laugh, unable to imagine not sleeping with this man tonight.
Ghost takes a full step back then, swatting away Soap’s wandering hands. “Soap, you’re still high.”
Soap realizes he’s serious then, realizes what Ghost means. He swallows down his laughter and tries to stand up straighter. “No I’m not.”
Ghost sighs, pulling the balaclava back down. “You shared a whole joint with Garrick, and you’ve been drinkin’.”
“Only a little!” Soap chases after him and slips his hands around his waist. “I’m barely high anymore. What, ye don’t think I’d know?”
Ghost looks him up and down, gives him a look that says really?
“Christ, c’mon Simon.” Soap drops his voice to a whisper, letting his hands slide up Ghost’s chest to those broad shoulders. “I’ll be sober by the time we’ve reached the bed.“
He brings a hand up to cup Soap’s chin, the touch surprisingly gentle. Ghost’s gaze linger on his lips before their eyes meet again. There’s a fondness in them when he looks at Soap, and it’s reflected in his voice. “You’re not makin’ it to the bed tonight, love.”
The pet name makes Soap go weak in the knees, so he doesn’t even notice the tonight, the implication of another time, of more to come. “What, just gonna blue ball me then, are ye?”
“You’ve survived worse injuries I think.”
Soap snorts. ‘Not likely,’ he thinks.
“C’mon Lt.” He gives Ghost’s waist a needy little tug, rocks forward on the balls of his feet so that they’re nose to nose. His voice is near a whine when he says, “Don’t make me beg for it.”
He lets the words settle long enough for Ghost’s eyes to darken. Soap slides his hands slowly down his body, coming to a stop on his hips. Then, wordlessly, Soap drops to his knees.
“Soap. Get up.” There’s a desperation behind the demand, something breathless that makes his usual commanding tone devoid of any real threat.
Soap just leans forward, just enough that Ghost could step away if he wanted. He’s glad to see Ghost is still hard, bulge straining against the confines of his jeans. The sight of it makes Soap’s mouth water. His breath fans over the man’s crotch when he speaks.
“You don’t want it?”
One hand comes down to card shakily through Soap’s mohawk. “Not now. Not while you’re off your face.”
His lips graze the fabric. “Ye don’t hafta worry about takin’ advantage of me, sir.”
“Johnny-“
Soap lets his eyes fall shut. “I’ve wanted ye since the moment we met, Simon.”
Strong, warm hands grab him by the shoulders and he opens his eyes to find Ghost hauling him to his feet. He holds Soap at an arms-length distance and glowers at him.
“I know, Soap.”
It takes his brain a second to catch up, his blood having all rushed down to his dick. “Wait, what do ye mean?”
Ghost just laughs through his nose, taking him by the hands and starting to pull Soap towards the bed. “I’ve known about your feelings for a while. Jus’ been waitin’ for you to get your head on proper and do somethin’ about it.”
If it’s a tactic to keep him distracted, it works. Ghost is able to get him sat down on the bed while Soap is busy focusing on his words. He just stares up at him, dumbfounded.
“Did Gaz say something? How did-“
“You talk too much,” Ghost snorts, “you’re not exactly hard to read, Johnny.” After a pause, he touches Soap’s chin again, a thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “Not for me, at least.”
Soap releases a shaky exhale, shutting his eyes as he tries to focus on what’s happening. He would’ve never smoked if he knew this would be happening tonight. He would’ve stayed stone cold sober and happily gotten railed by the handsome, stoic love of his life.
“But- ye never said anythin’ Simon?”
Ghost lets his hand drop, shrugs his large shoulders. “Never been one for romantics ’n’ all that.” When Soap frowns, he clears his throat, shifts on his feet, “I didn’t know what to say. Kept thinking I was jus’ imaginin’ things.”
Soap allows himself a shy little smirk and reaches for Ghost’s hand again. He takes it in his, rubbing his thumb along Simon’s knuckles. Beneath the hoodie, he can see the beginnings of his tattoo sleeve. Soap longs to see it in its entirety, to pepper kisses all along the stretch of black ink and pale skin.
He looks up and catches Ghost staring at their entwined hands. He meets his eyes when he feels Soap looking at him.
“Because…ye fancy me too?”
Ghost’s eyes soften and he makes an amused sound. “You think I let just anyone get away with half the things you do?”
Soap rolls his eyes, “Ye could just say it back, y’know.”
Ghost cups his face with one hand, and Soap can tell by his eyes that he’s smiling under the mask. He himself can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when Ghost looks at him like that.
“Yes, Johnny. I care for you quite a bit.”
Soap laughs, relief flooding his body. Turning his head to the side, he places a kiss on Simon’s open palm, then another, and another.
“Stay the night, Simon.”
Ghost starts to pull his hand back, “Johnny-“
Soap snags the hand in his, “I won’t try a thing. Just stay ’til I fall asleep.”
He pauses, eyes flicking between their hands and Soap’s face, seeming to consider the proposition.
Soap pitches his voice low and sultry. “Should I get on my knees again?”
“No.” The panic in Ghost’s voice earns a laugh from Soap. “Now quit yammerin’ and get in bed.”
Soap spends the next few minutes diligently following those orders. He moves to the other side of the small military-grade bed to make room for Simon and begins to remove his shoes. Ghost does the same before silently stalking across the room to turn the lamp off.
Under the cover of darkness, Soap stands and reaches for his belt buckle.
Simon, across the room, instantly stiffens. “What are you doin’?”
“Umnae gonna sleep in my jeans, Ghost.” Soap ignores the glare Ghost gives him and instead pushes his pants down to his ankles. He knows that Ghost is looking - he’s very familiar with the feel of the others’ eyes on him by now.
He crawls under the covers before looking up at Ghost, still hovering by the foot of the bed. Soap pats the mattress invitingly. Ghost rolls his eyes in response, but comes over anyways.
When he sits down on top of the covers, Soap gives him a look. “Ye could get under the blankets, y’know.”
Ghost crosses his arms and settles back against the pillows. “I’m only staying ’til you fall sleep, so get on with it.”
Soap ignores the jab, choosing instead to press himself to Ghost’s side and throw an arm over his waist. He peers up at him and nods at the balaclava. “Ye could take that off, y’know. If it would be more comfortable.”
He feels the vibration of Ghost’s answering hum and smiles. Sleep is already starting to pull at him, now that he’s beneath the covers and warmed by Simon’s body heat. Ghost uncrosses one arm and gently caresses Soap’s face, closing his eyelids, his touch feather-light. He rests his hand on Soap’s back, a warm comforting weight.
“Go to sleep now, Johnny.”
And Soap follows that order.