Chapter Text
Soap is riding him like he’s made for it, like heaven carved Soap’s lines with Ghost’s hands in mind. Ghost lets his head drop back against the pillows and groans softly as the ring of tight flesh slides back down over his cock. Ghost’s hands glide over the expanse of smooth, rich skin in front of him, gripping Soap’s hips and bringing him back down slowly, dragging the moment out for them both. Soap is being uncharacteristically quiet, soft whimpering sounds coming from him, head tipped back and his eyes closed with feeling as he slowly fucks himself on Ghost’s cock.
The room is full with the sound of sex, every slide and hitch of their movement causes a cacophony of wet sounds, echoed back by the bare walls of Ghost’s room. Soap gasps as he pushes himself back up, thighs flexing where they are bracketing Ghost’s side. He’s moving criminally slow and Ghost pants through the fabric of his mask; enjoying the drawn out slide and Soap lowers himself back down on Ghost’s aching cock. He’s letting Soap do the work, cautious of the freshly stitched knife wound winding down Ghost’s leg.
Moments like these are rare; too often they are rough and desperate, fresh off of missions, high and desperate on adrenaline. But Ghost lives for this: Slow drawn out fucking. Soap warm and pliant in his lap. His glittering blue eyes half lidded in quiet pleasure. Breath warm and even. Suspending in the space they’ve carved out for each other.
When Soap is like this, it reminds Ghost of old oil paintings he used to see in English museums. Spines arched in ecstasy, hands grasping at something just beyond the bounds of the frame. Beautiful men caught in eternal moments of rapture, twisted together in shared joy, forever caught in their most vulnerable moments. Ghost isn’t a religious man but Johnny is, and he would worship Johnny. If only he’d ask. Would stay in this moment, caught in the euphoria, their faces tilted to the heavens.
There is pink and orange light shining through the window and it illuminates Soap’s rich skin, tanned and freckled from the sun’s kiss, in this moment he is nothing more than beauty. Ghost’s breath catches in his throat, because he is not a religious man, but what do you do when there is a young god in your lap, supple and warm and gasping as he spears himself over and over on your cock.
Soap looks like he is ascending with pleasure, like he is being called back to heaven; but Ghost is selfish, he will keep Soap down here on earth with him. Keep Soap tied down with weight and hands and ecstasy. Devour Soap and let all his rich flesh and throaty voice nourish Ghost’s body. Soap is a star caught up in a human form, twisted threads of hair turned golden in the light filtering from the setting sun.
Time slows impossibly more and Soap grinds down on Ghost, taking him deeper into the gaping warmth of his body, sucking him in further. Pleasure rolls through him, warm and sticky like molasses, and Ghost can almost taste the sweetness of it on the back of his tongue. Large hands slide up along Soap’s ribs gliding across the starburst scar of an old gunshot wound and he brushes calloused fingers across one of Soap’s nipples, Soap leans into Ghost’s touch with a moan, rolling his hips in a wavelike motion, his own hands sliding across Ghost’s chest.
Soap’s eyes slit open and Ghost sees a glint of smokey blue, glazed with passion and nearly swallowed by blown out pupils. Soap meets his eyes and Ghost doesn’t know what Soap sees in his own eyes, but knows it is likely just as raw, just as visceral, as what he sees in Johnny’s gaze. Soap’s hand drifts up further to graze Ghost’s clothed cheek in a questioning gesture, tugging lightly on the fabric of the balaclava. The movement still sends a brief jolt of panic through Ghost. He doesn’t know if he will ever get used to anyone touching his face; and he instinctively jerks back in surprise. Emotion flashes across Soap’s eyes, molten and sharp edged, and he pulls his hand away.
Ghost takes a single hot breath, inhaling a scent uniquely Soap, the cinnamon of his body wash, the musk of sex, a faint undercurrent of gunpowder; and then takes another, inhaling the combining smells of their bodies. Heat reclaims Ghost’s chest, brushing away the lingering fingers of panic and he grabs Soap’s retreating hand. Soap’s hands are rough against his own, calluses rasping together, but there is a strange harmony in how they fit, both weapons of war transferred here. Together they glide Ghost’s balaclava up, pulling at the sweat slicked black fabric together.
“Only just above my nose,” Ghost says, voice husky.
“But ye have such a bonnie face,” Soap flutters his eyelashes, accent thickened to a purr.
“Don’t push your luck.” Ghost guides Soap up until just the tip of his cock is inside his body. “Look at you, even when you’re split open on my cock you’re still mouthing off to me.” Ghost looks down at where they are connected, watching as each inch slides out of Soap’s body. It's obscene how gorgeous he looks like this, his hard cock bouncing neglected against the flat plane of his stomach.
“You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that if ye want me to shuddup,” Soap pushes himself back down on Ghost’s aching cock, wrenching a rough groan from them both. He leans in and mouths at Ghost’s exposed jawline, their stubble dragging together deliciously.
Ghost turns his face to capture Soap’s mouth in a rough kiss, snagging his plush bottom lip between his teeth and then soothing the sting away with a hot swipe of his tongue. Ghost swallows down a moan, he can faintly taste the minty bite of Soap’s toothpaste and laps further into his mouth chasing the taste. A frantic edge enters their kiss as their tongues tangle, Soap kisses like he fucks, greedy, sucking Ghost’s tongue into his mouth stroking it with his own before pushing forward and tracing Ghost’s molars.
Ghost pulls his good leg up on the bed, digging his heel into the mattress and thrusts up into Soap’s body. He sets a brutal pace, fucking harder into Soap’s willing body. Soap braces himself against Ghost’s chest, splitting himself open further on Ghost’s throbbing cock. Soap’s nails dig in where his hand is resting on Ghost’s chest, scratching red lines onto the firm pectorals. The angle of his thrusts changes with the movement and Ghost watches Soap’s eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering. He’s panting into Ghost’s mouth now, their lips sliding slickly together.
The space between them heats with their breath, sweat slicking their skin and the air filled with the slap and drag of skin. The room smells like sex and sweat, combined with the warm cinnamon scent of Soap’s skin.
“F-fuck, Ghost…. Haa,” His voice is rough, thoroughly fucked out and half swallowed by Ghost as their tongues tangle together, lips swollen and kiss bruised.
“Damn, Johnny you look so good, all perfect for me, stretched out on my cock, fuck you’re so hot right now.” Ghost pants, compliments dripping from his mouth like honey.
Soap chokes on a broken off moan. He’s flushed all over, his dick red, weeping, and bouncing in time with Ghost’s thrusts. It’s leaving wet smears of precum against the smooth skin of his stomach and particularly hard thrust rocks Soap forward, pushing their chest nearly together and rubbing Soap’s dick between their bodies. It must be torture for him, Soap looks like he’s close to coming nearly untouched.
“Si-s-simon, f-fuck,” Soap is panting into his mouth, broken moans and words intermixed with warm susurrations of breath.
Ghost groans at the sound of his choked out name, absolutely sinful, the way Johnny says it.
He must catch on, because Soap gasps his name again “Fuck, Simon. I’m close, getting so close, you feel so good. Please. Please.” Soap pants, mouthing brokenly at Ghost’s jaw.
“Use your words Johnny,” Ghost pants into the air between them, “tell me what you want.”
“P-please, Simon, I’m so close,” Soap gasps, pressing his forehead into Ghost’s, only the thin fabric of the balaclava separating them. “Can I.. will you…”
Ghost takes pity on Soap and reaches down between their bodies to stroke him in time with his thrusts, he can feel Soap's thighs shaking, muscles fluttering against Ghost’s sides. He’s shivering now, blue eyes only a tight ring around blown out pupils, blinking back tears lining his eyes as he shakes apart on top of Ghost.
Ghost can feel himself getting close, his balls tightening, and uses every ounce of willpower not to come before Soap does. He wants Johnny to come first, wants to see him shake apart, wants to know that Ghost is the one making him feel this way, make sure he is finished, wrung out and limp before Ghost can follow him.
“That’s good Johnny, be good for me, let go.” His own voice sounds so rough, cracking slightly.
Soap has one shaking hand braced against the bed, the other clutching Ghost’s shoulder as he pushes himself back into each thrust. He’s trembling, so close to the edge, caught between pushing his dick into Ghost’s fist working on him, and rolling back into each thrust.
“F-fuck, that’s so good. S-si I..”
“That’s alright baby, look at you, you're doing such a good job.”
Ghost is close now, so fucking close, he can feel the hot wave of his orgasm is cresting, each thrust more erratic than the last. He pushes it back, focusing on Soap’s face. He’s fucking gorgeous, hot flesh pressed up against Ghost, taking it so good.
Soap’s body jerks against him. He cries out, whining, ass tightening, throbbing where Soap is stretched around Ghost’s dick. He swallows down Soap’s cry as he comes, feels Soap paint hot lines of come over his hand and their stomachs.
Ghost gets a few more thrusts in, hips stuttering, before he’s coming too. The dark ocean swallows him, and Ghost nearly sobs into Soap’s damp mohawk, the dark curling strands catching on blonde stubble.
They both take a moment, caught in the aftershocks, fine trembles of muscle wracking both their bodies. Soap’s thighs are still shaking lightly, muscles jumping under sex-warmed skin. He slides off of Ghost, both of them making soft sounds at the overstimulation as Ghost slides limply out of Soap’s body. Soap drops on his side next to Ghost, both of them trying to catch their breath. Ghost wraps his arm around Soap, keeping him from sliding off the bed and pulling him in closer. The bed is not small necessarily, but the beds were clearly not made with muscled military men in mind.
Silence reigns, broken only by the sounds of breathing and the light rasp of skin as Ghost’s hand traces patterns along Soap’s arm. He feels satiated and heavy, eyelids more reluctant to open with each slow blink. Ghost breaths in Soap’s scent, the other man is warm and sweat slicked, a comforting weight against his side.
Soap shifts and they both become aware of the cooling fluids slicking their bodies. An involuntary noise of objection leaves Ghost’s throat as Soap peels himself away and stands. A satisfied smile tugs on one corner of Ghost’s mouth as Soap unsteadily locks his legs. Soap shoots a warning look to Ghost, and he holds his hands up in a placating gesture. Soap holds his gaze for a moment and then bends and swipes Ghost’s discarded shirt to wipe them both down.
Ghost lets him, cautious of the still fresh stitches on his left thigh. Soap’s expression is still relaxed as he wipes them both down, brow smooth and eyes calm lakes of blue. Soap tosses the shirt into the laundry in the corner of the room and looks around the floor, hunting for something.
“What are you looking for, come here.” Ghost’s voice is lazy. He flaps a hand loosely snagging Soap’s wrist. “Forget about it, come back to bed.”
“Where’d ye throw my boxers?” Soap asks, arm twisting as he clasps Ghost’s hand in his own.
Ghost directs him an amused dark eyed stare, admiring the expanse of smooth freckled muscle in front of him. “Dunno, do you need them?”
Soap twitches at Ghost’s comment, one eyebrow raising up. He doesn’t answer, just pulls his hand away from Ghost. He bends and swipes his jeans from the floor, shoving himself into them, careful with the zip.
Ghost pushes up on one elbow, eyes slightly confused. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my room, have to be up early. They’re sending me back out with Roach 0800.”
Ghost tilts his head, confusion twisting its way through his head. “Well I’m grounded for the next two weeks.” He gestures loosely at the black line of stitches embedded in his swollen flesh.
“Believe it or naw Ghost, I don’t do everything under you,” Soap’s voice is tired but a sharpened edge has entered his voice. Ghost tries to focus on Soap’s figure, but the sun has truly set now, cloaking the room in shades of blue, shadowing Soap’s eyes and blurring his figure.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ghost narrows his eyes to slits, tension settling back into his body.
Soap shrugs, the motion too casual for the stress winding across his shoulders. “It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing at all. Just how you’ve wanted it.”
“We both agreed to this before we started, if you don’t like it fuckin’ say something MacTavish.”
Soap’s eyes flash. “Diya really want to have this conversation now?”
Ghost passes a hand over his face. He’s fucking tired, his legs hurts, and he’s too drained to puzzle out what Soap means. “I don’t know why this needs to be a conversation, come back to bed, you can head out in the morning.”
Soap stands straighter, shoulders coming back slightly as he settles bullishly in the center of Ghost’s room.
“Are you going to keep ignoring this?” Soap gestures roughly between the two of them. “Because I don’t think this is working anymore, keeping it casual.” His voice is slightly mocking, mimicking Ghost’s accent on the last word.
Ghost’s voice catches in his throat and anger makes his voice hot. “Ignoring what?”
Soap snorts in disbelief. “You honestly are going to fuck me like that and then ask what?”
Panic winds its way along Ghost’s spine and he sits up, the motion pulling a pained hiss out of him as fire laces through his leg. “Johnny…”
“Forget it.” Soap steps back, passing a hand roughly over his face. “You’re injured and I have to go. We can talk about this when I get back, okay?”
Anger sticks in Ghost’s throat and his voice comes out harsher than he meant it to. “So what you’re just going to limp out of my room, freshly fucked and that’s it?” Damnit that wasn’t what he wanted to say. Ghost breath hitches and he’s struck with the belief that if Soap walks out right now, he’ll never come back.
Soap is suddenly leaning into Ghost’s space and they’re sharing a breath. Fuck he can be fast when he wants to, sometimes Ghost forgets that, it’s never directed at him.
“Not at all LT, I’m going to saunter out of your room, freshly fucked. And then I’m going to sit on that damn plane with all the men I'm in charge of and act like I can’t still feel the tenderness where you had me bouncing on your cock just 6 hours before. That’s the arrangement we have, the one you asked for Lieutenant Riley.”
Ghost fully recoils at the formality of his name, shocked into complete silence while Soap spins away, all lean muscle and grace. Ghost braces himself for the slam of the door, but it’s almost worse when Soap just closes it softly behind him. Just shuts the door with a quiet click and leaves Ghost; wordless and frustrated in the wake of Soap’s words. The window is still open, and it’s dark outside, truly set into night with only a slice of silvery moon illuminating the inside of Ghost’s much emptier room. It feels even colder than it normally does, like Soap’s exit sucked out all the warmth.
Ghost drops his head in his hands.
Fuckin’ hell. His hands still smell like Soap, like the slickness of lube, the cinnamon scent of his skin, like warmth and sex. What the fuck was that?