Chapter Text
To say Soap was nervous when the Captain called both him and Ghost in, sans Gaz, to the briefing for their next mission was an understatement. Sending the two of them together on an assignment wasn’t unusual, but the shit-eating grin that Gaz was not hiding very well when he passed on the word to meet in Price’s office didn’t fill him with much confidence. Even Ghost had noticed, muttering a “ The hell’s his problem? ” under his breath. Soap had simply shrugged in response.
And with each step the two of them took closer and closer to Price, that pit formed even deeper in his gut. Soap didn’t get nervous. He had moments of adrenalized anxiety, sure. Everyone did. But he was able to use that to fuel his energy, his passion. It didn’t cause a shaking in his hands, or– as they were now– sweating profusely against the denim fabric of his pants.
Ghost knocked on Price’s door twice with the back of his knuckles, barely waiting for Price’s “ Come in” before he was pushing the door open. While Gaz’s odd interaction was unusual, this particular moment wasn’t. Ghost and Soap, a force to be reckoned with– a mini team of their own within the 1-4-1, practically joined at the hip since the events of Las Almas. The familiarity of walking into Price’s office next to Ghost was comforting, despite the danger they faced at any given moment. It was foolish to believe in the idea of being infallible, intouchable. But when Soap was with Ghost, it almost felt that way. As if nothing could stop them as long as they were together, fighting together, watching each other’s six and taking turns patching the others wounds in dingy safehouses while they waited for exfil.
It should have been obvious when Soap started feeling hesitant on taking his leave, knowing Ghost would stay on base. It should have been obvious when he started skipping out on his leaves whenever possible to stay. It should have been obvious when Soap could barely repress the urge to grin like an idiot every single time he saw his Lieutenant.
But, while Soap was an arguably incredibly intelligent man, he was still a soldier– and whether he meant to or not, repressed feelings he didn’t quite know what to do with just yet.
That, coupled with the knowledge of how comfortable he has grown around Ghost and working with him in any capacity, meant that the sinking feeling of dread (and… excitement?) filled him with an unfamiliar fervor as their Captain explained the intricacies of their next mission.
That dumb fucking smirk Gaz had after he had left his own, private brief with Price made perfect sense now.
Ghost showed no outward reaction, which came as no surprise to Soap. Soap, on the other hand, was desperately trying to keep his jaw from hitting the floor and simultaneously attempting to prevent both begging the Captain to reconsider– and asking how long they had until he got to be with Ghost in the capacity that this new mission required out of giddiness. Soap was processing everything on surface level amounts of awareness. He obviously wasn’t going to just completely zone out in an internal panic and disregard important information that he needed to know for their assignment. He was a better soldier than that.
However, he was but a man. And the words sex club, and infiltrate , and evidence , and the both of you together had all the right (and wrong) synapses firing in his brain. His pent up, horny, pining pea brain. Taking down weapons and drug cartels were something that they all had in their ledger.
But a fucking sex den ?
“We can’t have any of you in as individual guests, people who show up alone are seen as… Targets, to put it simply. Too risky to have either of you distracted from some random civilian's attempt at courting. The safest bet is to have you two together as a couple and convince him to invite you in. We need irrefutable proof. He’s a slippery bastard, and paranoid– for good reason.” Price continued his monologue, Soap’s attention wavering in and out as he fought against the odd ringing in his ears.
It was probably just tinnitus, he was sure. Certainly not his blood pressure shooting through the roof.
“We cannot fail at this. Every other team that’s been sent to take him down has failed. We’re the last resort. You’re going to have to make it believable.”
“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” Soap asked. It was… mostly rhetorical.
“I don’t know, son. He’s not sloppy in what he does. Every move, every breath he takes is meticulously planned out— which means we must do the same. He’s not one to hide himself— but he knows as well as we do how to hide damning evidence. Lost too many good soldiers. Need to do right by them and the people he’s hurting. Get in close, earn his trust, and take him down. Gaz’ll be on the inside posing as a guard in VIP, and I’ll be on overwatch just in case.”
“And it won’t be suspicious, him having a guard he’s never seen before?”
“We’ve got that squared away already. Falsified documents, courtesy of the brass and a little help on Laswell’s part. Guards don’t last long there, either dying in the line of work or simply disappearing– so it wasn’t a reason for alarm when one suddenly became… Indisposed.”
“Indisposed?” Ghost mused, a hint of amusement in his tone.
“Hmm. It’s a shame most of them have warrants for low-level crimes, it was admirable for that one to have a change of heart and turn himself in.”
Price’s casual dry humor helped break some of the tension in the room, but Soap still couldn’t quell the growing nausea.
“Oh, and uh, one other thing,” Price cleared his throat, and looked very much like he’d rather be anywhere else than stuck in this room with them. “There’s… A signal you’ll have to give. To let him know you’re looking to buy. It wont work unless he’s noticed you, and he’s not an easy man to draw interest from. So you’ll need to be sure. It will put you at risk, if you give the signal and he doesn’t think you’re trustworthy, there’s a non-zero chance he’ll have you taken out. Violently.”
“What’s the signal?”
Price’s gaze flickered between both Soap and Ghost. There was a flash of something in the expression in his eyes, something that mirrored Gaz’s expression earlier, and Soap couldn’t prevent narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
“I’ll let you know just before you go in.” He responded after a moment’s pause.
Nope. Soap didn’t like that. Not one bit.
- ••
Soap grumbled to himself as he adjusted the jacket on his suit, fussing with sleeves. They only had ten minutes until the limo was set to pick both him and Ghost up from the hotel, taking the short trip to the horrendously large mansion that was serving as the club host. Gaz was already in place, his earpiece tapped so Price could keep in touch as well as listening in on the actual guards conversations– but he and Ghost were going to be going in blind. It wasn’t the first time either of them had done so, but was certainly the first time they were doing it in obnoxiously expensive suits that had been obviously tailored to their specifications. It fit him perfectly, but he couldn’t help the uncomfortable cloud that settled over him. He wasn’t meant to wear fancy suits, he was meant for fatigues and cargos and dirtied denim– worn combat boots that had seen enough blood to throw off the mean average of the human population over the smooth leather of these dress shoes that were almost shiny enough for him to see his reflection in it flawlessly.
But as much of a soldier as he was, he’d power through this. Price had stressed over and over how important this was for them to do. For them to succeed at. He’d already complained to Ghost and Gaz how stupid it was for them to be dealing with something involving a drug lord, but it was mostly empty arguments, he supposed. He understood that being in such an elite Task Force such as the 1-4-1 resulted in them acting as the clean up crew for other people’s fuck ups, and this was no different.
A soft, but firm knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts.
Ghost.
He took one last look at himself in the floor length mirror, a little spark of satisfaction fluttering through him as he took in his own reflection. There was no denying he looked good. Soap wasn’t sure who picked out the outfit, but if he found out he’d have to thank them. A well fitted suit jacket, fitted securely over a very similarly colored black turtleneck with matching pants and loafers complimented him well. Wasn’t too tight, but it was definitely a slim cut. Wouldn’t have been his first choice– though his first would have been his usual t-shirt and jeans. Those would stick out like a sore thumb in the club though, so this is what he was stuck with.
He sighed, sending a long look at the complimentary hotel safe that housed his favorite pistol that he’d be unable to bring with him, and turned to stalk over to the door. He swung it open, another gripe of their situation ready to fly– but the words quickly died down at the sight in front of him.
Ghost stood in front of him, looking every bit like something out of a fashion magazine.
A sexy, macabre, terrifying fashion magazine.
A stark black button up that looked like silk with a matching tie, tucked cleanly under a deep burgundy suit jacket with black lapels, and pants that looked absolutely sinful stretched across his thighs. There were pieces of gold hardware adorning the suit as well; a thin chain across both points of his collar, cufflinks that if Soap had been able to look closer at he’d be able to see they were little skulls– and a few rather ostentatious rings on both of Ghost’s hands.
The kicker, though, was the shiny gold half mask that disguised the top half of his face– and in classic Ghost fashion, was shaped as a skull with the lower half missing, exposing his impossibly strong jawline and pale pink lips that were quirked up in a tiny smirk.
And would Soap ever admit, to anyone , the way his mouth watered at the smudged black eyeliner around his eyes– not the same solid black he normally wore, but more like he had clean liner that was smudged from a fun late nights activities– and the gold liner delicately placed along his lower waterline that somehow accentuated the warmer tones in his dark eyes. Not to mention his light blond hair, the shade complemented by the rest of his outfit, slicked back— the natural curl of it hinting in the curve as it was pushed away from his hairline.
He looked expensive in a way that almost seemed indecent in the filthiest sense of the word.
“Nervous, Johnny?” Ghost asked after a few beats of silence, apparently taking Soap’s quietness as something different than what it really was.
“A bit, yeah.” He responded, trying to shake the flash of want that shot through him. He’d long since admitted to himself that he felt attraction towards his superior officer, and had resolved himself to allowing the feelings to remain on the backburner to avoid becoming compromised or– even worse– tipping Ghost off towards his affections, but now it felt like someone had cranked the knob all the way up to high and the pot was boiling,
“Never been to a club before?”
“A club? Yes. Like this? No.”
“Can’t say I have, either.”
“Didn’t take you for a club person.”
“I was when I was younger, I suppose. Before I joined the military.”
“Really?”
“Mhm. Nothing fancy. Didn’t have a great home life. Bartender saw me out once late at night with a black eye. Only gifts my father ever gave me.” He paused, giving a dark chuckle. “Brought me in, gave me an ice pack and threatened to kick the ass of ‘whatever bloody bastard’ did that to me. Hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet, I was a scrawny little thing. Told me to come by any time I needed to.”
Soap could do nothing but unabashedly stare at his Lieutenant, taking in the vaguely far away look that had cast a shadow over his expression. He knew Ghost was a bit more loose lipped around him than others, a fact he kept close to his heart. Price and Gaz had noticed it as well, and hadn’t hesitated to mention it early on once the two of them had met.
But this was… something different. Ghost rarely talked about his personal life, his past. The little Soap knew about it, he couldn’t blame him.
“Oh, one more thing.” Ghost paused, reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thin box.
Soap blinked at the sudden change in subject, feeling a little whiplashed. The haunted look had disappeared from Ghost’s face, now replaced by something akin to amusement and… nervousness.
“What’s this?” Soap asked.
“Something to help keep up appearances while we’re there.” He said, lifting open the lid and pulling out a long chain with two hoops at each end.
It was the exact same shade of gold that Ghost had fixed on his own suit and accessories.
Ghost motioned for Soap to step closer, a little come hither with his pointer finger that had no reason to send as much heat through Soap’s body as it did– but he complied. Ghost reached briefly around his neck, and while the suit covered as much of his body as he almost always did when out in the field, it did nothing to hide the sheer power of his well used, well trained muscles. Muscles that were now inches away from Soap’s face. Bare hands he could see out of his peripheral vision– pale from lack of sunlight, white scars that almost seemed to glitter with a silver glow against shockingly smooth looking flesh. His hands were surprisingly unblemished aside from the healed wounds and the hint of calluses on his palms. Soap didn’t know exactly how long Simon had been Ghost , but it was obviously long enough for whatever weathering from constant work to fade away from the protection of the sun and direct contact with guns or the rough terrain he's undoubtedly had to scale a thousand times in the past.
Soap sure as hell knew he’d lost count of how many times he had done the same thing, and the thick skin on his own hands showed. It didn’t bother him, he was proud of the signs of life and perseverance scattering around his body. But being able to see something he was rarely privy to, seeing actual flesh and blatant exposure of the proof Ghost really was a human and not just a specter of someone’s nightmares….
Well, it was a special treat.
- ••
As ostentatious as Soap already felt, looking at both him and Ghost in their fancy suits, the limo that greeted them outside the hotel certainly didn’t help. It wasn’t a long drive, fifteen minutes at best— most of it through a deep wooded area Soap hadn’t even realized was in the area.
As they approached a, in Soap’s opinion, unnecessarily large house— mansion, castle, whatever the fuck— Ghost threw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close and whispering into his ear to keep the driver from overhearing.
“Remember, we won’t have comms— only Gaz, and even then he won’t be able to relay much without burning himself. Stay close.”
“Got it.”
Going in blind was not something Soap or Ghost particularly enjoyed, regardless of how necessary it was.
They approached the building, walking up the cobblestone pathway.
“Johnny?” Ghost asked softly as they stepped up the final stair onto the large porch.
“Hm?”
“Look at me.” He glanced over, startled for a moment as he and Ghost studied each other, unable to put a name into the expression in Ghost’s eyes. He’d grown fairly skilled at reading what Ghost was feeling through the limited access to his face he had, but something about him right now made it damn near impossible.
“Sir?” Soap asked, confusion evident in his voice. Something flashed in his eyes at that, his gaze flickering down to the necklace settled across Soap’s collarbone before returning back up.
“Price briefed me in private on a few things before I came to get you and I just…”
“You just?”
Ghost took a deep breath, as if to steady himself— but didn’t once break eye contact.
“Nothing between us changes tonight, after this, unless you want it to. Copy?”
…What.
“Uh, copy.” Was all he could get out, quite dumbly if he was completely honest with himself. Ghosts words and the unidentifiable expression on his face were throwing him for a loop. What did that mean? Nothing changed unless he wanted it to? And what did Price tell Ghost that Soap didn’t get to know beforehand?
Ghost nodded after searching his face for… something, Soap wasn’t sure what, seemingly satisfied with whatever he found, and reached one hand up to hook under the chain of his necklace, fiddling with it. He then trailed that hand up to Soap's shoulder, squeezing it gently, and Soap could feel the warmth from his skin even through the multiple layers separating them.
It only took seconds after Ghost’s heavy fist knocked on the rather gaudy looking double door for someone to swing it open, greeting them inside. After a quick pat down from a guard whose size and bulk damn near rivaled Ghost’s, they were led inside past an overtly decorated entry room through another set of doors.
Soap was quick to take inventory of his surroundings, scanning around the vast space and noting each door, potential exit, and picking out where the guards were stationed. He knew Ghost was doing the same next to him, a habit they would both most likely take to their graves if they made it long enough to die of natural causes.
As he got a closer look at the other guests around him, the full weight of the situation settled onto his shoulders– and his breath hitched.
The room was packed. Still space to move around, of course– their target obviously spared no expense when it came to these… parties. He knew from Price’s intel some of what to expect. But there was no denying some pointedly withheld details.
Most importantly, how undeniably erotic everything was. From the deep, moody lighting, to the music, to the fucking air Soap was breathing in shallowly through his nose in an attempt to rid the swimming nervousness. The decorations, the nearly completely naked bodies swirling around with grace and precision around shiny silver poles; an equal mix of both men and women. All of various body types, some with soft curves and plush breasts, some thin and almost pixie-like in appearance, some with muscle and brawn that damn near rivaled what you’d see commonly around a military base.
He tried to keep his line of sight from lingering on the bigger men, the ones that resembled a certain Lieutenant that was right next to him giving off a smug and humored aura so obviously it was almost palatable on Soap’s tongue.
Price was right when he said it was too much of a risk to have them come as individuals. Soap had that confirmed almost immediately as he laid sights on the guests around them. More than half were obvious couples, much like Soap and Ghost were posing as, and the ones that were alone were quickly being swooped down on and courted by others.
The most glaring detail, however, was one that made the necklace settled over top of Soap’s turtleneck feel like it was burning hot through the material of his shirt.
Every single pair, whether it was a same sex couple or not, had an obvious dynamic between the two. It didn’t matter the size, age, or gender– each pairing had a glaring balance of power sitting blatantly between the two of them. No one seemed uncomfortable, or coerced. Simply as if they had a role to be in, one discussed and thought out– one they were content to be settled in with mutual respect within the parties.
And if the way each couple presented and held themselves didn’t make it glaringly obvious who fell into what role, the necklaces that matched in some way to their partner's outfit solved that issue. Soap and Ghost would blend in well, that was certain– with Ghost in his fancy suit and hardware, and Soap in his own deep black outfit with the most noticeable asset being the necklace around his throat.
Everything was on purpose. Each couple, as individual as they were, still had the same appearance– one in muted colors with various pieces around their necks being the notable statement, as if they had been willingly whittled down to just that. The silence of them, the soft and pliant smiles they gave as their partners chatted with a possessive hand somewhere on the other's body.
Soap wasn’t wearing a necklace at all. He was wearing a fucking collar. One that labeled him in clear, explicit terms that he was Ghost’s.
A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. It sent an unpleasant chill down his spine, and he felt his heartbeat quicken.
He was fucked.
There was no way he could manage “pretending” without it appearing too convincing. Maybe he could lie and say he did theater as a kid? Say he’s always always been a good liar? Tell Ghost he had been thinking of some old lover that doesn’t exist, the one that got away—
“Relax.”
The singular word came out as a breathy whisper, Ghost’s lips just barely brushing against the top curve of his ear. His palm was resting on the small of Johnny’s back. Part of Johnny was proud of himself for catching on as quickly as he had, which would only prove them closer to success of the mission where others had failed.
Another part wished he had been able to stay in the dark just a little bit longer. To be able to pretend they were just pretending to be a couple. Not… This.
He took a deep breath and slowly let it out before looking up at Ghost. A stiff nod of his head in confirmation had Ghost studying his expression, no doubt taking in the faint blush Johnny could feel warming his cheekbones.
It didn’t take long for them to lay sight on their target. Anyone with eyes could see who the most important person in the room was. Nestled in the center of the room, enough space between the gyrating bodies to see despite the sheer amount of people shoved into the large space— surrounded by bodyguards was one of those conversation pits that were wildly popular in the seventies. Sitting comfortably, without a care in the world, as if he wasn’t one of the biggest arms and drug dealers in modern history. Practically drowning in both men and women that seemed to want nothing more than fawn for his attention.
All of them wearing an identical red collar, matching the color of his suit.
Johnny resisted wrinkling his nose. The red was bright, demanding— and honestly, gaudy. In his opinion, it didn’t look very good.
Especially not compared to the deep, intricate red of Ghost’s own suit.
Sellers like their target oftentimes had huge parties like this. With lots of eyes, one would think it would be harder to have a private conversation in order to fulfill the transaction, but Johnny knew how surprisingly easy it was for the buyers to remain anonymous with this many people. Lots of eyes, yes, but that also meant sufficient distraction. A good enough event, with a gracious host, meant the guests were happy, drunk, and left ignorantly unaware.
Plus, it was an easy way to form connections. Once the right connections were made, and both the buyer and seller were deep enough in, that provided protection for the both of them. The buyer wouldn’t run their mouth and risk exposing their dealer, and the dealer always knew anonymity and privacy garnered return clients.
Ghost and Johnny were decidedly not return clients. Their mark had no idea who they were. And Johnny had never seen a party thrown quite like this. Had he not been here with Ghost , his eyes would have been wandering much farther than they were now.
Well, they’d be wandering in the first place.
Right now, he only had eyes for Ghost and the way his suit provided such a stark contrast to the pale, creamy skin exposed on his throat. The way the light shined off the gold on his mask and suit.
The possessive hand now pressed into his waist, pulling him close against Ghost’s side. Johnny could feel his thumb slowly rubbing soothing circles into his skin over the material of his own clothes. He was kind of impressed, albeit confused, how the motion somehow managed to both soothe his nerves and simultaneously send waves of heat and anticipation through him.
Another part of him was concerned for Ghost, though. He put up with how tactile Johnny was on the regular. The way simple touches would help ground him, whether they be a hand on his shoulder or their thighs pressed together on the helo after a tough mission. And he never complained. But Ghost rarely initiated, and always had a look of hesitancy when he did. Johnny knew Ghost would do what he needed to in order to come out successful and keep his team safe, and seldom complained about it if ever. Regardless, he still didn’t want to make Ghost uncomfortable in any way. There was nothing in his body language that hinted he was in this moment; in fact, he appeared relaxed and at ease. As if he was enjoying having Johnny next to him like this. He could see his razor sharp mission focus, his drive and determination— but he knew to others it would appear he was every bit the same dominant force that one half of the couples here had as a factor.
Which wasn’t a lie.
Perhaps that’s why Ghost had said what he did earlier, Johnny mused to himself, still stewing in his rampant concerns about Ghost regardless of the unbothered air surrounding the other man. Maybe he was warning me to not get the wrong idea. To not get excited over… this.
But that doesn’t explain the ‘Unless you want it to.’ Did he think I’d be uncomfortable being around him after this? That I’d pull away? Did he like me touching him? Would he want to talk about everything after this? What would he even say? What would I even—
The palm on his waist suddenly wrapped around the back of his neck, Ghost’s pinky sliding under the collar of his turtleneck, squeezing gently. His skin was warm and it felt nice against Johnny’s, especially as his thumb continued its rubbing— this time behind Johnny’s ear.
He looked up at Ghost, chewing on his bottom lip as he did so. Ghost leaned down close, turning to face Johnny completely, his other hand coming up to cradle Johnny’s face. His thumb gently pressed just under the corner of his lip, causing Johnny to release it from between his teeth.
“You’re stuck in your head.” Ghost murmured, low enough for only the two of them to hear. “It’s alright. I’ve got you, Johnny. Just follow my lead, yeah?”
Johnny nodded, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and rested his hands on either side of Ghost’s hips.
“Is this alright?” He asked, unable to keep from tightening his fingers in fear Ghost would say no.
“It’s perfect,” Ghost responded, his hand slighting up slightly to cup the back of Johnny’s head, scratching gently against his scalp.
“Thank you,” he said, failing to keep the moan all the way out of his words— and unsure exactly what he was thanking Ghost for in the first place.
Ghost’s eyes seemed to darken in a dangerous way— not one that had Johnny afraid for his life , but a different kind of well-being.
“Thank you, Sir. ” Johnny corrected himself automatically. Almost instantly Ghost’s expression turned appreciative, proud.
Fuck. He’s really falling into this role headfirst, isn’t he? How did he do it so easily—
“Good boy.” Ghost practically purred, looking down at Johnny with half-lowered lids.
Something short circuited inside Johnny’s brain, leaving him useless to do anything but stare up at Ghost like he was the only person in the room.
Ghost partially released him after that, his hand returning to Johnny’s new favorite spot on the small of his back, and he carefully led them to the bar. There were four bartenders in deep blue suits, working quickly but calmly to fill the orders with an efficiency that rivaled the military. As they approached, Johnny kept one arm wrapped around Ghost, trying not to make it obvious he was clinging to the fabric of Ghost’s suit in desperation.
He probably wasn’t very subtle.
Ghost settled into one of the seats smoothly, the tall bar stool not doing anything to mitigate the height difference between the two of them, and quickly parted his legs to pull Johnny between them. It was both a protective and provocative position, allowing Ghost to watch the action from behind Johnny— and letting Johnny do the same for him.
Though being this close to Ghost, his massive thighs bracketing Johnny’s body with one hand resting on his waist while he propped his free elbow up on the bar top, was not helping his predicament. Especially not while facing each other like this.
Ghost was the picture of cool, confident, and unbothered.
Johnny, on the other hand, was fighting a violent internal fight to not collapse on shaky knees where he stood. He wasn’t sure what it was about Ghost that had him reeling like this. Johnny was historically the one to be able to take control with ease— to lead, conquer. Some would even describe him as cocky, even, headstrong. And he wore that badge with pride.
But fuck if he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees right now and do whatever Ghost asked of him.
Before he could make due on that impulse, one of the bartenders strolled up to take their order. To Johnny’s surprise, Ghost ordered himself a bourbon. It wasn’t like him to do anything that could prove potentially harmful on a mission, but Johnny knew he wouldn’t do anything to truly inhibit himself and put either of them at any higher risk than they already were.
“Would you like anything?” Ghost asked softly.
Yes. Heavy pour. Whatever has the highest ABV. Six shots of the nastiest, cheapest liquor available.
“No, Sir. Thank you.” He responded instead, resting his hands on the tops of Ghost’s thighs. Ghost hummed, low in his throat, his fingers stroking gently back and forth on Johnny’s waist.
It didn’t take long, maybe only another ten minutes— the longest ten minutes of Johnny’s life— before Ghost gently pushed Johnny back just enough to pull himself off the chair and on his feet.
“He’s looking.” Ghost muttered. “It’s time.”
“What’s the signal? Price never said. I don’t want to fuck this up, not after everyone else has.”
“You won’t.” Ghost’s eyes hadn’t left where they were cut across the room, and Johnny knew better than to look over without Ghost’s permission. Given the roles that they had to play. Just the roles. Absolutely not because it felt natural, easy to fall into a subservient space and leave himself completely vulnerable and under Ghost’s command. He was Johnny’s Lieutenant after all.
“Remember what I said earlier.” Ghost murmured. Johnny looked up at him through his lashes, watching as Ghost took a large sip off his bourbon.
Nothing changes between us unless you want it to.
Johnny’s brows furrowed, wondering why exactly Ghost felt the need to bring it back up, when suddenly Ghost took his free hand and gripped Johnny’s jaw, lifting his head up and tilted back. His thumb brushed across his bottom lip, Johnny instinctively parting his lips at the motion.
Then Ghost leaned himself down, eyes still locked on the target while Johnny’s were glued to Ghost’s face—
And carefully parted his own lips, allowing the stream of now slightly-warmed bourbon to fall onto Johnny’s tongue right as he forced his mouth open further.
Is it possible for the human brain to blue screen? Because Johnny was pretty sure his just did.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Ghost, who was millimeters away from having his lips brush against Johnny’s. Ghost was still staring across the room, and Johnny managed to get his wits back just enough to recognize the brief flash of success across his features.
Oh. That was the signal.
What the fuck.
Hours later (it was probably only a few seconds), Ghost finally pulled himself away, just a few inches. He still towered over Johnny, the grip on his jaw loosening slightly, and his gaze flicked over, trailing down the dumbstruck and awed look Johnny was certainly sporting. He swallowed after allowing the bourbon to sit on his tongue for a moment.
Suddenly bourbon didn’t taste so bad.
“You alright?” Ghost asked, sounding surprisingly gentle. Johnny nodded, then pretended like keeping up appearances and falling into the role he was ordered to play was the only reason the next works fell from his mouth in the breathless way they did.
“Yes, Sir.”
Ghost hummed, his eyes trailing south. The hand that gripped Johnny’s chin slid down, softly caressing, before his thumb planted itself just barely underneath the collar of his turtleneck. It took Johnny a moment to realize what he was doing, then recognized the cool stripe of skin where a trail of bourbon had escaped from the corner of his mouth. Ghost’s thumb followed it up, all the way back up to the edge of Johnny’s lips, scooping the liquid onto his finger the best he could— then took it into his own mouth.
It was all Johnny could do to resist gaping at the sight, watching Ghost’s lips wrap around his own thumb. Licking the moisture off.
“Is it good, Sir?” Johnny asked, his voice low and quiet—
“Exquisit.” Ghost answered, removing the digit from his mouth, and trailing the spit-slick pad of his finger across Johnny’s bottom lip.
It took a moment for Johnny to just stare, positively dumbfounded, before he was able to return his thoughts even vaguely to their mission directive.
“How do we know if it worked?”
“He just called over one of his guards. Whispering in his ear. Looking right at us. Stay calm, act casual.”.
How the fuck was he meant to act fucking casual after that?
Johnny just nodded, and without even thinking about it flicked his tongue out to suck his bottom lip between his teeth.
Licking exactly where Ghost’s spit was still smeared across his mouth.
If he hadn’t already been basically looking up through his eyelashes at the other man, he would have missed the way Ghost’s pupils dilated. Missed the way his lips parted, how his eyes bounced around Johnny’s face.
The almost imperceptible shallow gasp he took.
Right now was probably not the best time to unpack that, so Johnny filed it away for later. At this point he had a giant, human sized suitcase labeled Ghost that was very quickly overfilling to the point of bursting. Hopefully, at the very least, he’d make it back to the hotel before it exploded everywhere and he’d be able to have an embarrassingly short tryst with his hand shoved down the front of his trousers.
It didn’t take much longer after that for a guard to approach the two of them, barely glancing at Johnny before leaning in to mutter something into Ghost’s ear. He’d been working with Ghost long enough to recognize the very vague shift in his posture, one that Johnny knew by heart at this point. Ghost had known the man was coming before he’d gotten close. But not once did he give off any tells that an outsider would clock.
And not once did his eyes leave Johnny’s face.
Once the guard pulled away from Ghost, Ghost slid one of his hands down the length of Johnny’s arm and placed it on the same spot on his lower back that it had been before, turning both of them to follow the guard as he started marching through the crowd with an ease only shown through practice.
They were led through the bulk of the party, coming up to a dimly lit hallway partitioned off with a velvet rope and another guard standing watch. The two nodded to each other, the one guarding the area unlatching the rope as the other led Johnny and Ghost through the doorway.
Johnny’s countless years of military training— and, honestly, sheer force of wanting to live— had the back of his neck prickling the further they were led down. It was made even worse once they took a few steps to descend into what appeared to be a sub level basement area.
The room was better lit than the hallway, warm and romantic tones throughout. Candles were lit all round, causing slight flickers of shadows on the walls, and a massive chandelier brightening the rest of the room. Sprawling bookshelves lined with countless leather bound novels. An expansive roll top desk, papers neatly stacked and shiny pens sitting in an organized row. It was a nice area, honestly. In any other circumstance Johnny would be sitting taking in the decor and features for his own personal use, imagining how it would feel to sit next to the fireplace that was currently crackling with a nice book and glass of scotch.
But he wasn’t at home in Scotland, relaxing with some light reading and considering a quick kip. He was in the middle of a mission, with Ghost’s warm palm pressed against his back, surrounded by guards in a packed mansion, working to get the evidence they needed to take this bastard down once and for all. To succeed where the rest hadn’t.
While violently trying to get his boner to go down, Jesus Christ MacTavish now is not the time !
Gaz was stationed in the corner of the room, a welcome familiar face and raising their chances of success if he’d been able to make it this far. With Price being tapped into his earpiece— the same one all the real guards had— coupled with Ghost and Soaps testimony, as long as the rest of the night went as smooth as expected, they’d be home free.
Johnny averted his gaze from staring at Gaz for too long, not wanting to garner suspicion that they may know each other. He did , however, see Gaz’s chin tilt ever so slightly down in recognition.
There were a few other guards around, some standing more relaxed than others. Definitely outnumbered if anything went wrong, but they were the 1-4-1. He’d personally watched Ghost bring only his fists and wit to a gunfight and win.
The door clicked shut behind them softly a few moments later, Ghost and Johnny standing closer to the middle of the room near a few plush looking armchairs. They circled around a low coffee table, all facing each other.
“I see the way you look at him.” A voice spoke behind them, a muted accent just barely picking its way through his words. “I have a feeling you won’t be giving him up without a pretty price.”
A chill slithered its way down Johnny’s spine, not for the first time tonight. But it was different this time. It wasn’t the same shiver that the touch and smell and sound of Ghost— but one of dread and danger.
Ghost turned halfway to greet him, canting his head slightly to the side. Johnny kept his body where he originally was, shoulder now pressing into Ghost’s chest, but couldn’t help from ducking his chin slightly and looking over his shoulder.
Their target.
“Smart man.” Ghost responded with just the right amount of humor.
The other man smiled, gesturing to the chairs.
“Please, have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.” He said, leisurely walking over to a small bar nestled across the room. Ghost led Johnny over to the other side of the coffee table, towards the chairs facing the door with Gaz behind them. Johnny moved to go sit in the spot next to Ghost, but before he could Ghost grabbed either side of his waist with both hands and pulled him into his lap, throwing one of Johnny’s legs over his own, the other resting flat on the floor.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
He was going to give Johnny a fucking heart attack at this rate. There was no denying it. And there was no way he could comfortably shift without one, accidentally grinding his ass against Ghost’s crotch and two, exposing the bulge that now threatened to tent the front of his suddenly too thin trousers— especially with the way his legs were spread open.
He wrapped one arm around Ghost’s neck, resting the other on his stomach, chanting to himself it’s just pretend, it’s just pretend, it’s just pretend in an effort to keep from losing his fucking mind over how close the two of them were. Just play the part. Ghost would somehow let you know if you were going too far. You’re doing well, MacTavish, don’t fuck this up.
“I don’t believe I recognize the two of you.” Their target said, his back to the both of them as he plugged the lid back on the decanter.
“You don’t.” Ghost answered simply. One of his arms was wrapped around Johnny’s back, the other hand resting just above his knee. He was so warm , the strong and well used muscles shockingly comfortable where their bodies touched.
“May I ask how you found your way to me?”
“Afraid not. Anonymity is important to my clients, I’m sure you understand.”
“That I do.” He chuckled, making his way back over and settling in one of the chairs directly in front of Ghost, still separated by the table. “You can call me Erik. And you are?”
“Riley.”
“Do I have the pleasure of knowing his name?”
“Hmm. I think I’ll keep that private, for now. If you don’t mind.”
“I understand. I certainly have a few I like to keep close to my chest, myself.” Erik took a long sip off his drink, his gaze falling to Johnny, down to his necklace, and back up. “He’s a pretty one, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.” Ghost said, his hand splaying out and gripping Johnny’s leg posessively. He’d been playing his part well, Johnny couldn’t deny that…. But there was nothing in Ghost’s tone that hinted he was joking, or faking it. Nothing that indicated he was agreeing just for the sake of keeping up appearances.
Nothing but pure honesty. A genuine, raw emotion in those words Johnny had only heard a few times before in the past— and always when it was just the two of them, together, without other listening ears.
He thinks I’m pretty.
Johnny could feel his face flushing, his cheeks burning red— so he did the only thing that made sense to do in this situation.
Bury his face into Ghost’s neck and decide Fuck it, if Ghost is gonna play this hard into it… Surely this wouldn’t be pushing it too far, considering everything.
The first press of Johnny’s lips against the bare skin of Ghost’s neck didn’t have him stiffening and subtly pulling away like Johnny expected. Instead, Ghost lifted his chin up and over slightly, allowing easier access, and the arm wrapped around Johnny pulled him even tighter against his body. He took that as a good sign, continuing to leave open mouth kisses across Ghost’s throat. Occasionally allowing his tongue to slip out and taste the goosebumps that pricked up as he practically worshiped Ghost’s skin with his mouth.
Erik and Ghost continued their vague small talk, most of it sounding like distant muffled noises to Johnny. He should have been paying more attention, but Ghost was being attentive as he should be— and all audio was being intercepted and recorded through Gaz anyway. So maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he just let himself sink in, enjoy the way Ghost had him positively melting in his lap… The way he could feel the deep rumble of Ghost’s voice against his lips every time he spoke.
Johnny wasn’t sure how long he sat there, practically floating in his own head. His entire body thrumming, almost vibrating in need, his lips slick from the spit he was kissing and licking into Ghost’s throat— when he was almost crudely snapped back into reality from none other than Ghost himself.
“I normally like to keep more than one, but he’s something special.” He heard Ghost say, his hand trailing up Johnny’s thigh. Johnny’s breath hitched as his fingers started dipping across the sensitive skin on the inside of his leg. “I don’t like to play favorites, however I won’t deny I’ve grown fond of him with our time together.” Ghost’s words were calm, level, like he wasn’t ripping Johnny apart piece by piece as his palm drew closer and closer to Johnny’s crotch, and fuck. Fuck. I’m not wearing underwear. He’s gonna fucking feel— “But I’m a busy man, and he is a needy boy.”
With those last words, Ghost’s hand cupped Johnny’s half hard cock over his pants, squeezing , forcing a quiet whimper to rip from Johnny’s throat. He couldn’t help the way his hips canted up at the touch, chasing it, reveling in it. And it definitely wasn’t Johnny’s imagination running wild and hearing things when Ghost let out an appreciative hum, just loud enough for only the two of them to hear.
Through the hazy cloud of I need this man to fuck me right now , bend me over this table in front of everyone and do whatever you want to me for the love of all that is holy Ghost please— the weight and realization of exactly who and what they were dealing with finally settled like an ugly cloud over Johnny.
Erik wasn’t just selling drugs and weapons. He was selling people.
And Johnny had a price tag over his head.