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“It was supposed to be simple” was the quote of the year. The quote of his life, too, if Ghost ever wanted to admit it out loud, but fortunately this whole mission had gone better than some.
Mactavish was his only company, breaking in from the other side of the facility to meet him in the middle, scavenging off any systems they could find. Reminded him of Las Almas.
The trouble had, ironically, only began when they were united. It seemed the majority of men had been stationed around the minor boss of the base’s office, all the best of the goodies kept under lock and key, and past plenty of bone and kevlar.
The door’s lock had opened easily with the swipe of a stolen keycard. The men, much the same with the swipe of something sharper.
Ghost fired past Soap at the last merc, their helmeted head sticking up at just the wrong time. They were dead before Johnny could aim.
He groaned dramatically, turning around to face the skeletal mask stalking up behind him, rifle lowered. “Stop taking my kills,” he chided.
Soap had become one of his best, he’d decided. He was painfully extroverted, but that came with most alphas. For all their talk of equal secondary sex induction every military he’d come across seemed to be full of them. Maybe he was the only person who got the memo, that armies shouldn’t be built off of stereotyped brashness.
He was the alpha Ghost wasn’t, and they complimented each other well—more lithe where Ghost was muscular, more outspoken where Ghost waited for the perfect moment to give his input, cute, maybe, whereas Ghost let people wonder if his self-proclaimed handsomeness was sarcastic. Soap, off his suppressants once a year as prescribed. Ghost hadn’t gone off his since he perfected convincing others he didn’t need to.
It wasn’t medically necessary to take a break from them. Just a way to maintain normalcy, as they said. Ghost hadn’t been normal for a long while, and he valued having control over himself enough to loathe the idea. He should've been a beta; as if he could've chosen otherwise.
The only benefit was his heightened sense of smell. There were no others.
“Stop hesitating,” Ghost offered in return.
“I didn’t—” Johnny cut himself off, aiming quick over Ghost’s shoulder. One last man shouted as Soap’s bullet knocked the pistol right out of his hands, clattering to the ground too far away to retrieve.
Ghost pushed down the barrel of Soap’s rifle, much to his confusion, but it faded when Ghost pulled out his knife. He was showing off for Johnny at that point, striding up to the straggler, but it would be worth it to see that impressed look on his face.
Eyes full of fear, the man backpedaled, then frantically grabbed a can of mace, spraying it at the hulking alpha coming towards him. It was laughably ineffective. Ghost stepped through the spray easily, eyes closed, and drove a knife through the man’s neck blind to finish it.
“Nice work, L.t.” Ghost didn’t miss the awe in Johnny’s voice, and took a moment wiping his eyes of the spray to preen under it. Still, he didn’t want a repeat performance.
“Sweep the room.”
“Already on it.”
He heard Soap’s bootsteps carry around the maze of sideways tables and equipment towers, fallen papers either crunching underfoot or being carefully collected by the sergeant.
“No others s’far as I can tell,” Soap called. Something metal clinked as he picked it up.
Ghost peeled his eyes open, pleased to find them not burning. He could feel the chemicals tingling around his eyelids, though. He blinked towards Soap and what he’d found.
“The can?”
Soap hummed, impressed. He turned it towards Ghost so he could see the partially ripped label. “Doesn’t say. Might be mace? Generic kind.”
“Can’t believe I’m not worth name brand,” Ghost husked, deadpan. He stepped through a ruined printer, making his way toward the door of the boss’s office. No doubt he’d gotten out of dodge by then, but with any luck there’d be something salvageable.
Soap followed. “Not much of a bear then, are ye? Just walked right through it.”
“Y’haven’t seen my teeth yet.”
Ghost pulled the fabric of his mask down over his eyes, soaking up as much of the remaining spray as he could. There was only the faintest capsaicin smell, undetectable until he started looking for it.
Soap hesitated. “Should wipe your face off properly. I can turn around.”
Ideally, Ghost should take the mask off entirely. That way he wouldn’t be breathing in whatever was left trapped in the threads. Showing his face wasn’t something worth suffering lungfulls of mace over.
“Think it was empty.” He said, but he didn’t fully believe it, not really. There was something off. It was easy to think the enemy soldier had grabbed an exhausted can in his desperation, but his gut twisted at how scentless the aerosol had been. It was always supposed to be simple, after all. Supposed to be.
He’d already inhaled enough. Even if he took the mask off now, there’d be no stopping whatever it did, if it did anything.
The door to the office wouldn’t open. They had plenty of time until evac, but still, Ghost grew impatient. He slammed once, twice, three times into the door with his boot, ignoring Soap beside him telling him to cool it. The door broke open on the fourth kick.
It’d needed a keycard—all the doors in the facility did, but the obstacle was enough to have frustration bubbling deep within him.
“Could’ve grabbed a card from one of the bodies, Ghost,” he huffed.
Ghost ignored the twinge in his ankle, stepping in through the broken door. “Might’ve needed higher level access.”
“And what if you broke something?” Soap asked, shimmying in after him.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Open filing cabinets spilled their few remaining contents, pins held on to the corners of papers on the walls, and a silent computer sat next to a darkened desk lamp on the tabletop. Ghost made his way around, rifle at the ready. All the drawers had been pulled out and emptied, but the computer looked relatively undamaged.
“Soap.” He cocked his head. Johnny nodded, hunching to get a better look at the screen.
“Bet it won't have any files left on it,” he predicted.
Ghost turned away, watching the door.
“Check anyway.”
While Soap fiddled with the system, Ghost’s mind drifted to things outside the scope of the mission. Like how overwhelming Johnny’s scent was becoming. The sour smell of alpha, a scent they’d all gotten more than used to by now, was scraping his nerves with every inhale. When Soap had brushed past him to get to the computer it’d almost been too much.
His nostrils flared behind the mask. Maybe the spray had affected his receptors. Great.
Fucking spray. Fucking merc. He should’ve gutted the man before he killed him, a knife to the neck was too quick for what he’d been trying to do, and Soap’s acrid scent was all he could smell... Air hissed low in his throat with the beginnings of a growl. He tamped it down as quickly as he recognized it, staring into space and hoping Soap hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t come that close to growling, truly growling like a fucking dog for no good reason in… in a long time.
He inhaled deeply, exhaled deeply. Focus.
“Shit!”
His focus vanished. Ghost whirled around, watching Soap struggle over the keyboard. He explained hurriedly at Ghost’s questioning stare, “sorry, sir. Triggered some sort of trap.”
Ghost forced his hackles to lower. This wasn’t the end of the world, never with Soap so far. “How bad?”
“Some of the data got corrupted. Whatever was left, anyway. I grabbed the rest.” He pulled a flashdrive free of the tower, holding it up.
A little data was more than he expected to come of it. He nodded.
“Good work. Let’s get out of this place.”
When they left the office, back into the room before it, Ghost could feel a creeping wrongness. Soap swiped the keycard against their door out. The light flashed red, with a cheerful two-tone negative.
“The fuck?”
Soap tried it again. Red. He turned on his heel, pulling another card off one of the bodies.
Red.
“Fuck. Computer must’ve been hooked up to the building.”
In a flash of fury, Ghost raised his boot to the door, and bashed it like it killed his family.
“Sir!” Soap planted hand on his chest, pushing him away. “Ghost, you’ll break your damn foot—” Johnny’s scent filled his nose, pungent and aggravating. He shook him off. No sooner had he raised his leg to kick again then Johnny’s arms came around him, yanking him away from the door and twisting them face-to-face.
“Jesus, sir, there’s a’least five more doors along the way. You gonna kick all them in too? Price’ll be here in a moment.”
In an hour, more like. Ghost zeroed in on Soap’s face. Soap. It was just Johnny. He needed to calm down. Even though he wanted nothing more than to wrench his way free of the touch.
“We’ll wait,” he agreed, but he felt like his voice had more venom in it than he intended. “In the office. More secure.” Johnny dropped his arms, brows furrowed while he studied Ghost’s masked face. His nose twitched.
“Your eyes are dilated,” he mentioned.
Ghost swallowed. “Probably the can.” He led the way back into the smaller room. More defendable. Less space for enemies to work with. …Nothing between him and Soap’s scent. Johnny noticed the shudder that time.
“’Course you didn’t just walk through it unscathed… you need an eye wash,” he fretted.
“Wasn’t mace.”
Johnny stopped in his tracks, even as Ghost slid through the door, back among the filing cabinets and shadows. He recovered quickly, though, following with a newfound sense of urgency.
“Fuck. Wha' was it then? Anything you recognized?”
Ghost slid down against the back wall, still watching the door, but with the desk in front of him for cover. He pulled off his rifle, and let it clatter to the side unceremoniously.
“Rut inducer,” he muttered. “In the spray.”
“Shit.” Soap set his own gun down next to the computer screen, then eased into a sit across from him, pushing in the drawers with his back.
“Not something I'm familiar with,” Ghost admitted.
Soap bit his lip, deep in thought. “Good weapon to turn us against each other.”
Ghost was referring to the rut itself, but what Soap said was true, too. Unfocused, hotheaded, and lashing out at their own brothers was what he’d want any enemy to be, and it was the opposite of what Ghost considered himself. Assets into dead weight. When a rut peaked, the alpha wouldn’t be able to stand being around others.
Like Soap, an alpha who didn’t seem to get that. He cringed in sympathy when Ghost slammed his head back, curbing another intrusive thought because another alpha’s scent was suffocating him, even though he had to know there was nothing he could do.
Well, there was one thing he could do.
Ghost eyed the door. It was broken on its handle-side, but solid enough and opaque.
“Johnny. I need you in the other room.”
Soap followed his gaze.
He fucking hated the feelings invading his head. That ancient, useless urge to protect territory he didn’t have from the invading alpha he knew and trusted. To chase off the intruder, one of the few people who’d ever called him his friend. To fight him off for omegas he didn’t want and weren’t even fucking present.
He clenched his fingers as tightly as he could. He didn’t think it had hit full force yet, but there was no telling how the inducer had affected his head. And Johnny wasn’t fucking moving.
“Other room. Now, Johnny.”
He’d be safe there, or at least safer. Without a line of scent or sight Ghost wouldn’t be half as rattled. And fuck, with every inhale he wanted to hurt. The rut was creeping in like poison. Ghost forced himself to his feet with a low growl he couldn’t hold back. He paced, five steps one way, slamming his shoulder into a filing cabinet, five steps the other, trying desperately to avoid looking at the man sitting against the desk.
“Sir, I… We can’t get separated now. What if more of them cunts show up? I’ll need backup.”
Ghost felt like he could strangle an entire army if they poured in through that door.
“I’ll come out, and we’ll kill them.”
“And if you don’t even know what’s happening ‘til I’ve been shot?”
“I said we’ll kill them, Mactavish,” he snarled. Then immediately put his hands to his head, breathing heavily. He hated this. But if snapping at him made Johnny back off to where Ghost couldn’t hurt him, it’d be worth it. His hands fell back to his sides. “Going into rut, Johnny. It’s not safe for us to be around each other. Nothing you can do.”
Soap was quiet. Ghost looked up to gauge his reaction, hopeful he’d finally come to his senses. Instead, he recognized a worrying look of determination. Soap leaned down, and started to undo the buckles around his legs. Ghost only found his voice when all of them were dangling, unclipped.
“Johnny, the fuck are you doing?”
Soap said nothing, the sound of zippers coming undone close to the loudest noise Ghost had ever heard. Fucking hell. Ghost stomped forward, fully intending to grab him by the arm and drag him through the door himself, when Johnny flipped over onto his stomach, scooting back for room as he went prone.
Ghost faltered mid-reach. Johnny’s thumbs were curled underneath his waistband, then they pulled the army camo down, down, down, to bunch at his upper thighs, taking his boxers with them. His head turned to side-eye over his shoulder.
“C’mon, sir.”
Ghost was frozen.
Soap shifted his knees forward, drawing attention to his arse clumsily raising up. His cheek and closed fists pressed firmly into the tiles.
He was trying to present to him.
“Fuck.” Johnny was an alpha. “Fucking hell,” Ghost hissed, more emphatically than before. Johnny was an alpha. Not to mention his sergeant.
“It’ll trick your head,” Soap muttered into the tile.
Closer, the other other’s scent had been assaulting his senses, but the anger from it began to eerily fade the longer he failed to pull his eyes away. Surely it wasn’t that easy to fool his hormones—and yet, the territorial thoughts(like a fucking dog) were shifting, from images of beating the other alpha within an inch of his life, to something more possessive. Foreign. It’d been years since he’d taken a partner to bed. Never another alpha.
Every heightened sensation was swirling together, all becoming indistinguishable from the rest. Fuck something to make the need go away. Get rid of any alpha scents that weren’t his own. The rut would valley if he fucked something, and this alpha was inviting him, oh-so-prettily, not a threat at all.
He’d give anything to feel like himself again.
A shaky breath escaped through the mask. Precome was soaking into the front of his straining trousers.
“You done this before?” Ghost asked.
He was doing this. Fuck.
“Let a beta, once.”
“Betas don’t have a knot.”
Soap shuddered below him, turning the jealously curdling in Ghost's stomach at the thought of anyone else on his sergeant into restless anticipation.
“I’ve seen videos."
Pornos, only the most educational of material. Ghost set his jaw under the mask. The first omega Ghost had been with said they relaxed naturally, with only the slick of Ghost’s pre needed to ease the way. That’d been proven true for omegas. He knew alphas and betas needed more.
“Don’t want to hurt you.” His voice broke shamefully on the words, reality and his rut setting in further. He was running out of patience, patience he desperately needed so he wouldn’t do something Soap regretted later.
He only realized he’d said the last part out loud when Soap shook his head softly.
“Wouldn’t regret this for the world, L.t.”
There wasn’t a hint of dishonesty in his voice. It was stupid of Soap to say something like that before they’d even started, but it was just like him to… it was him. Ghost focused on the familiar scent of Johnny underneath the haze of it all. Johnny, his six, one of his best men, no doubt pushing through fuck knows how much instinct demanding otherwise to do this for him.
Ghost dropped to his knees like he’d been gut-shot.
The moment he brushed against the fabric while undoing his own clips, he let out a choked groan deep in his throat. Deciding to follow Soap’s lead, he unzipped, and pulled down just enough to let his cock spring free, blood-dark pink and strained, head wet with precome.
“Fuck, sir,” Soap breathed. His neck was still craning to look over his shoulder. He looked gorgeous.
Eyes struggling to meet Johnny’s, Ghost stroked down from the head of his cock, slicking up the shaft with smeared pre. He drowned in the feeling of glove against skin, intoxicated and almost unable to stop, until Johnny’s shifting knees monopolized his attention with promises of something better.
A deep-seated urge begged him to just shove in. His fingers dug into the flesh of Johnny’s hips while he shuffled forward, but what hold he had left over himself fought back when he realized Soap had flinched. Prep. He had to prep him first, or it would hurt. Ghost forced himself back, the feeling like pulling a knife out of his side.
“You must be raring to go, aye?” Johnny squeaked out, hard pressed to hide the relief in his voice.
“Can barely bloody hold back.”
He collected more precome off his cock, a chill running though him while he did. Thoroughly slicked, the tip of his gloved index finger met his rim, circling gently while Johnny’s breathing picked up.
Ghost wondered if he was doing it right, if Soap would tell him if he wasn’t; Soap only twitched with an exhale when he pressed in. He slicked him up anyway, his own cock painfully hard watching the bone segments of his glove disappear and reappear. If there was any unpleasantness, it obviously wasn’t sticking around with the husky encouragements that started rattling from Soap’s throat.
“’nother. Pull almost out, ‘n add your middle.”
He did as Johnny said. The slow pace was killing him, as much as the pleased little noises in response to both fingers sliding deep got a bob from his cock. His thighs trembled with the effort of delaying gratification. Soap swallowed audibly.
“I’m good, L.t. That’s good.”
Ghost rubbed his fingertips down, trying to find the spot within him. He wanted to add a third to be safe, no matter how much his rut was cursing any further delays. Alphas tended to be bigger than betas. “Bit more,” he choked out.
Soap jerked when Ghost found his prostate, swearing. “Fuck, just—mount me, sir.”
Any remaining apprehension went right out the window.
Ghost rose on his knees, something raspier than a growl slipping through his molars as he grabbed the sergeant around the waist. Soap yelped when he was yanked flat against the tiles, then gasped when Ghost’s legs pinned his own, the larger man leaning over him from head to foot. He lined up the head of his cock to press against his entrance, then bore down without preamble.
“Fucking—fuck, sir—” Johnny hissed under him.
Ghost knew he should’ve gone for three. He compensated, desperately holding back from the jabs his hips wanted to make. Even then, Johnny reached to palm his hip with a slip of pressure. Slow. If he had been any deeper into the rut, he wouldn’t be able to.
Soap moaned when he was halfway in, cursing again when Ghost finally bottomed out. The last reserves of Ghost’s sense forced him to stop there and wait, leaning further down to drape himself flush over Johnny’s back, arms caging him in at the sides. The scent of alpha and Johnny, the soft sounds and twitches he made trying to adjust, the burning heat around his cock, velvet soft and wet with pre. If Ghost didn’t move soon he would lose it and move anyway. After what felt like fucking years, Soap pressed back, nodding.
“Good to go, L.t.”
The haze of urgency took over.
Ghost tightened his arms around Soap's sides. His hips popped a few times, then properly thrusted, rhythm speeding up with every moan-turned punched out sound of pleasure forced from the man below him.
“Fuck, sir, fuck, Simon—”
A low growl rumbled through him. He was too far gone to think of the implications of that, or any part of Soap’s eagerness, but they would need a talk when his head cleared. Soap certainly had enough sounds for the both of them at the moment. He rutted harder, whole body shaking with the exertion, but unable to muster the will to stop. Nerves lit with pleasure in waves from his cock to his abdomen, tight heat surrounded him, friction, possessiveness curling at the edges of his vision like asphyxiation while his mind screamed for more, more, more. Underneath him Johnny trembled and moaned encouragements, pinned and fucked as he was into the linoleum.
Every thrust sent a white warmth curling into his stomach. Breathing heavily through the mask, instinct grew with the intensity. He lifted the balaclava to his nose and closed the distance, sinking his teeth into the nape of Soap’s neck, hairs of the man's mohawk brushing against his cheek.
Johnny gasped, wrapping an arm around his neck to hold him closer, and Ghost's rutting mind sung. Johnny. His Johnny.
Using the spot he’d bitten into as an anchor, he chased the pleasure building in his tissue with frustrated purpose, warmth and pins and needles in his cock and serotonin in his head, until he finally felt himself crest. He grabbed more of Soap’s nape in his teeth. Ghost ground down as deep as he could into him, back arching with the effort, then trembled into tense stillness when he came. Pleasure rolled down, like warm water pouring to his cock. His knot swelled, tightening an already cramped condition to a squeezing whiteout, the added slickness of come joining it.
His body, strung like a crossbow throughout the ordeal, had finally relaxed. Squirming beneath him, Soap was not.
“Sir—fucking, Sir, you’re huge—”
Soap rocked back against him with more muttered curses, getting the lightest of grumbles from the man above him in response, and the full dead weight of Ghost’s body down on him. Still. His mate had to be kept still through the knotting, or he’d hurt himself. His teeth unlocked from Soap’s neck, chin moving to rest on his trembling shoulder.
Johnny let out his own growl, and used what little give he had to rock back against him. Ghost's knot caught on the rim, and they both groaned.
“Ghost,” he panted, “when you aren't moving it feels like there’s a fuckin’ rifle jabbed up my arse—”
The first of the aftershocks was coming anyway, tension building in his abdomen. Soap keened in relief when he thrusted shallowly to take the edge off. This was heaven. Or limbo, maybe, but he didn’t feel like complaining. The second high hit, and he trembled into stillness again, impossibly more heat surrounding his buried cock.
“Fuckin’ filling me up,” Soap groaned. His own hips took up a stuttering popping, restricted by Ghost’s weight along his back. Still. Ghost bore down harder, and Soap barely bit back a pained sound. “My dick needs some room, L.t.”
Ghost didn’t want to move. His mind was stuck in a mantra, but Soap’s fidgeting cut through to him for a split moment, just enough to react. He planted his shins, arm snaking under and around Soap’s waist, and helped lift him onto his knees. Johnny reached around for his neglected cock, but Ghost’s hand found it first, hard and slick with dripping pre, even through the glove.
Johnny’s fingers wringed with his, then drifted up to his stomach like he was trying to feel him there. He didn’t delay in fucking into Ghost's hand, growling when the pull of the knot kept him from a heavier pace. Ghost made up for it with slow, merciless pressure matching his own rolling pushes as he rose to another peak.
“Simon—"
Johnny let out a choked-out noise as he came, hips faltering and knot swelling in Ghost’s fist, the sound of his come dripping into the pool of pre on the tiles filthy. His ass clenched, yanking a third orgasm from Ghost. His eyes squeezed shut at the twinges of pain that accompanied this one, and he pulled their hips together like he could mold them into one, never separate again. His abdomen was sore from clenching when it passed.
Harsh breathing filled the room. Soap slid his knees down to lie flat again, trapping Ghost’s hand under his stomach, too exhausted to even complain about the lack of friction. He licked his lips, tilting his head to meet Ghost’s lidded eyes.
“Holy fucking shite.”
Ghost had to agree. He nuzzled back into the crook of Soap’s neck, his scent strong there. Alpha, but more like the tang of a green apple than something curdling. Combined with the earthy gunpowder scent of Johnny beneath it, it was… calming. Safe.
He tired, and failed, to banish the thought.
But still, he could feel that the worst of the rut had cleared up. It might come back if he didn’t get blockers soon, but at least he wouldn’t be a threat to his teammates. ...If he hadn’t already become a threat to them, rutting another alpha just because Johnny didn’t think he had a choice—
“That was good, though. Fuckin’ good,” Soap continued, voice low and worn out and content. His knot was deflating in Ghost’s hand, a perk of not being in rut that Ghost was envying right about now. Ghost tested his own hips. There was a bit more give than before, but they were still locked.
Soap twitched like he was ticklish. “Can feel your jizz leaking out o’ me.” Ghost sighed heavily at the phrasing. “No offense to you, L.t., but I’m calling first dibs on a shower when we get back.”
Ghost closed his eyes, and decidedly did not think of the consequences this would have, especially not letting his mind wander to the possibility of Soap's rut being triggered.
They laid in bliss for some time. Ghost had lost track.
Eventually, a test of his hips showed the knot had gone down enough, and with a groan from Soap, he pulled it free with a slick sound. Cum dribbling out after it and down his ass, disappearing into the bunched fabric of his pants.
Ghost didn’t have a scrap of clean fabric on him, so he settled with rubbing his sleeve against the sergeant’s arse, then doing up his own pants with his softening cock still wet under them. It was all black fabric anyway.
When Ghost finished the sad clean-up job, Soap turned on his side, pushing himself up on wobbly elbows. Ghost helped him the rest of the way over, guiding by the grip on his upper arm to lean him back against the desk. Soap's lip curled when he was seated again.
“Oh, shower. Definitely.”
If Soap didn’t have his cock out and a red flush to rival someone with a bullet in their head, it might have looked like nothing happened.
Sitting back on his haunches, Ghost hoped he didn’t look as lost as he felt. Soap must have seen something like it in his eyes, because he patted the ground next to him with a smirk, giving him something to do. Ghost leaned back against the desk, eyes closed and head back as he listened to Soap do up his own trousers and equipment.
“Don’t suppose you have a cig in there?” Ghost asked.
The other man snorted.
Then Soap was silent next to him, the kind of quiet reserved for deep thought. Ghost cracked his eyes open, peering over to see Soap looking back at him.
Soap gestured at his mouth when Ghost raised an eyebrow. “You forgot to…” The balaclava was still pulled to his nose, leaving the lower part of his face exposed. They stared at each other, just stared, until Soap’s throat worked. He reached out his hands towards Simon’s jaw, leaning closer. He stopped just before they brushed the fine hairs there, a question in his awed-open eyes.
Simon stared back. He trusted Johnny. He owed him. He loved him, maybe. He still needed to address that when his head cleared. And there was no point denying him permission for this after what they’d already done, and a part of him, some lonely corner that adored his sergeant too much, begged for it more than rationality could deny.
Their lips met. Slow at first, but swiftly demanding, tongues deep between lips and teeth. When they pulled away, Soap was looking at him like he hung the moon, and Ghost believed that he could, as long as Johnny was watching his back.
Price’s voice crackled over Soap’s radio, interrupting what remained of the moment.
“Soap, how copy? Soap?”
Ghost looked down at the device on Johnny’s chest.
“You turned your radio on before kissing me?”
Soap shrugged.
“I was… sort of expecting rejection,” he offered, and Ghost bristled. Maybe it was just the hormones talking for him, but Johnny felt like his. Soap held down the button. “Copy, sir, loud and clear.”
“Not seeing you at the exfil location. There been a change of plans I wasn’t informed of?”
Soap cringed. “Aye, sir. We’re stuck on the fourth floor, couple of locked doors between us and you.”
“Status?”
“I’m fine, sir.” Soap glanced at Ghost before continuing, ignoring the death glare he was giving him for what he knew Soap was about to say. “Ghost got hit with a rut inducer.”
Actually, maybe he didn’t love Johnny as much as he thought.
Price took a moment to respond, but when he did, it was in a thankfully neutral tone. “Doesn’t sound good. I’ll have the boys put on some scent blockers before they come get you, if we have any around here.”
Soap was avoiding Ghost’s gaze. Smart. “Shouldn’t worry about it, sir. His head’s clear as can be.”
“Man’s made of different stuff,” Price muttered. “The team’ll be up shortly. Stand by.”
“Copy.”
Soap turned off the radio, and finally met Ghost’s eye. He’d already rolled his mask back down, and his voice was muffled through it once more.
“The moment they smell us, they’ll know. No doubt we reek of each other.” Not to mention the bloody bitemarks on the back of his neck.
Soap leaned against him, and the annoyance melted away.
“Well, we’ll see who’s the first one who wants to mention it.”
Ghost hummed in response. “If they’re smart, none of them.”
It took a few minutes for Soap to speak again, apparently too comfortable buried in his shoulder. “Think I could…” Soap started, then trailed off. “Think next time you have your rut coming on, I could…”
For the first time in many, many years, Ghost considered following a doctor’s prescription to a T.