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Who would've thought for all the people in America, there's really fucking nothing out there.
Out before them stretches a desolate road, one with cracked pavement and nothing but sand and dying shrubs lining the sides and splitting the opposite lane off with a wide median. They're still an hour and a half out from the stupid New Mexico base, one tiny enough to lack an airstrip but still big enough to require a massive footprint so the locals don't get nosy over what's been exploding out in the desert every now and then. It really doesn't help that they've already been on the road for almost two hours now, and Ghost swears it's been near forty-five minutes since they've seen any sign of life that wasn't a splatter of roadkill or one of those fucking massive trailer trucks traveling the opposite lane.
The roads had been more populated before Soap had turned them off onto the one they're on now, the GPS doing on about Interstates and Highways and ten other fucking terms for a long stretch of asphalt and nonsensical numbers. That had been an hour ago now, and for all his usual patience, something about looking out and watching the desert whip by for has Ghost about ready to crawl out of his skin.
Soap isn't helping either, one hand on the wheel and eyes locked on the road in front of them. He's an unreasonably focused driver, no music- although, this far out, all they get is static, none of his usual chatter. Just a quiet, steady gaze and the occasional tap of his thumb on the wheel to a tune in his head.
It takes three more minutes of staring at fucking nothing before Ghost starts to grumble and shuffle in his seat uncomfortably.
"Ants in yer pants, Lt.?" Soap asks, a teasing smile twisting one corner of his lips up. He's backlit by the desert sunset, skin practically glowing in the warm light. Ghost frowns.
"No."
"Then what's with the squirmin', hm?"
Ghost levels a glare at the man, who still hasn't taken his eyes off the empty lanes before them.
"I've been cooped up in this god awful chair for the last two hours; Chinook jump seats are more comfortable than this shit." At least if he were in a helo, he could stretch his legs. Even with the seat thrown fully back, Ghost's knees still rub the edge of the glove compartment and the side of the console. Soap just laughs, splaying his own thighs wider in a bid for some circulation.
"Biggest rental on the lot, and you still don't fit."
"It's bullshite is wha' it is."
Soap hums thoughtfully, sparing his attention to the desert around them for a moment. "Not really any good places to stop, sorry, sir. Just gonna have'ta tough 'er out."
"Fucking hell..."
For a few moments, the car dips back into comfortable silence. Ghost manages to find a relatively comfortable position once he ducks the top strap of his seatbelt behind him, thighs spread as wide as he can to give his knees a break from grinding to dust against the unforgiving plastic. The silence only lasts so long, however, broken by the choked off snort of laughter from the driver's seat.
"Somethin' funny, Sergeant?"
"It's nothin', sir."
"Doesn't sound like nothing. What?"
Soap keeps his lips sealed, and when Ghost finally looks over from his latest bout of staring out the window, Soap's ears are starting to redden, his embarrassed smile poorly contained.
"Soap."
"Not sure ye actually want to hear it, sir," Soap says in that high pitched, secret-hiding tone of his. Well now he's just gone and pushed Ghost's curiosity and irritation too far.
"Spit. It. Out. That's an order, MacTavish."
"Bleedin' fuck fine. Just thinkin' ‘bout the time I shagged a PMC in this same kind'f car!" Soap's voice cracks in embarrassment, and if he was keenly focused on the road before, now he's resolutely avoiding eye contact by pretending to look ahead. His cheeks flush brightly in the waning sunlight.
Ghost sits there a moment, blinking like he just got rammed in the skull by a rifle. The words sink in slowly, and yet, he still finds himself asking, confused, "What the fuck, Johnny?"
"I told you ye didn't want to know!"
"No, you dumbass, how the hell did you go from me being uncomfortable in this clown car to thinking about fucking someone in the backseat?"
"I don't- You, it's a small fit, he- Jesus Christ, I cannot believe I'm havin' to explain this to ye, Lt.'' Soap drags his free hand down his face, dropping it down to his lap in a not subtle way to conceal the fact that he's starting to tent his fatigues. Ghost clocks the movement immediately, watching every subtle twitch and readjustment like a hawk. He snorts, not wanting to push the matter further.
Still, it seems that the universe has it in for his Sergeant, as the road starts to worsen and every bump has him shifting in his seat.
Soap hisses, "Great, now we're both uncomfortable. Real appreciated, Lt." When he looks over, it's obvious Soap's dick has a mind of its own and refuses to soften.
"I'm not the one reminiscing on getting my dick wet here," Ghost bites back.
"I-" Soap scowls at the road, flipping on the cruise control and shifting his foot off the pedals. "Fuck off, Ghost."
The silence that returns is not the same comfortable kind that had been present for much of the drive, settling heavy and awkward and wrong . It makes Ghost's skin crawl worse than the boredom, knowing that Soap, sitting less than half a meter away, is upset. Worse yet, the creeping image of Johnny tangled in the backseat with some faceless American starts to invade his mind.
He'd never admit aloud to the thoughts he's had at night of his Sergeant, wondering what the man would look like spread out below him, what noises he'd make under the heady throes of pleasure. Soap has always been so quiet about his sex life, Ghost hadn't even realized the man lacked a preference in his bed partners until two months ago.
Ghost glances over Soap again, noting the fact that the tent he's pitched still refuses to go down, and decides to make things worse. Or better, maybe, it really depends on Soap’s response.
"At least one of us can solve our problems," he mutters, just barely aloud, pointedly schooling his expression into something aloof and unreadable.
He gets a small swerve of the car as Soap startles and yanks the wheel toward the shoulder. Immediately, an awful loud buzz and vibration fills the car as they ride the rumble strip, and Ghost barely picks up the choked gasp Soap makes as he maneuvers them back into their lane.
"Excuse me?! Did ye just fuckin' suggest I- I toss off right now? In the middle of driving my Lieutenant to an American blacksite for an interrogation? Are ya fuckin' serious?" They waver across the lanes as Soap's voice increases in volume, his attention split between driving and staring dumbly at Ghost. He can feel the man's eyes burning a damn hole through his temple.
"Considering you can barely drive straight one handed and focused, that'd be dangerous," Ghost deadpans.
"Oh, so now yer just offerin' to gimme a wank?" Soap's voice is incredulous. Really, he's got every right to be in disbelief; that's exactly what Ghost is offering.
"If you want," Ghost says nonchalantly, as if rather than a handjob from a superior officer, he's just offered Soap the rest of his bag of crisps.
Soap stews in his seat for several long moments, every heartbeat of the stretching silence sending a small spike of anxiety through Ghost's chest and he realizes how badly he’s possibly fucked up and read the room wrong. Is Soap going to report him for abuse of power? Fraternization? Request a transfer from the 14-
"What happens doesn't leave this car," Soap mutters, wiggling down until his waistband sits below the seatbelt. He cuts his gaze over to Ghost once, expression unreadable, and then goes about bracing one knee on the underside of the wheel and– holy shit– practically ripping open his fly.
Talk about all of Ghost's late night hopes and dreams being served on a silver platter.
Ghost springs into action immediately. Admittedly, he's being even less safe right now, only kept in place by the belt over his own hips, but the freedom gives him the range to smack Soap's right hand out of the way and back towards the wheel. He lets the man help in shoving his pants down his hips enough to let his cock spring free, then snarls, "Two hands on the wheel or I stop. I'm not dying with your dick in my hand today."
Soap snorts, but obeys, his fingers curling tight at ‘nine’ and ‘midnight’ to give him some room.
Looking down at his prize now, Ghost takes the time to admire the ruddy flush of Soap's cock, resting upwards against his belly. He's definitely proportionate all over, not as long as Ghost, but a good girth and uncut. The waistband of his briefs sits tucked under his balls, pulled taut by the spread of his thighs. The poor man is so hard he's leaking, his tip glistening in the honey glow of dusk and threatening to stain his shirt where it rests. Soap glances at him with an embarrassed frown.
"Relax," Ghost rumbles, slipping off a glove and fitting his left hand around that velvety flesh.
Immediately Soap spits out a "Fuck!", his hips canting upwards and thrusting against Ghost's palm. It's dry for the most part, the first few pumps and half aborted thrusts have Soap gasping and breathing hard from the probably overwhelming friction. Ghost rubs his palm against his tip, smearing precum down Soap's shaft to ease the glide. Soap leaks more and more slick with every flick of his wrist.
"Yeah, that's it, oh, yes yes yes," Soap encourages, as Ghost sets an unrelenting pace, all throaty groans and speaking deep from his chest. His hips twitch off the seat, chasing the pleasure.
"Like that?"
"Ff-fuck, yeah." The pleased rumble sends a shiver down Ghost’s spine. He resolves to pull as many sounds from the man as he possibly can, and commit every single moan to memory.
Ghost gives him a few more strokes, before stopping to massage at Soap's frenulum and slit. Dewy strands cling to his fingertips when he pulls them away, holding his hand up to catch Soap's attention.
"You always this much of a leaky tap, Johnny?" He asks, his hidden smirk bleeding into his voice.
Soap rolls his eyes, does his best to conceal the whine at the loss of contact but he fails, miserably. "C'mon Lt., please."
Something dark settles in Ghost's chest at the last word, something way too satisfied with how desperation tinges Soap's tone. Ghost curls his fingers back around Soap's cock, giving him one, two loose, slow pumps to spread that slippery precum further on his hot skin.
"Faster, yeah, nghh fuck…"
For the next two miles, the car is filled with heavy breathing and Soap's bitten off moans, the man struggling not to squirm in his seat the closer he gets to the edge. A lorry blows past in the opposite lane, and Ghost wonders if the driver had seen anything, how Soap's back has been steadily bowing, his head tossed back as far as it can be while still being able to see the road.
"Ah! I'm getting close, yeah, yes!" Soap's grip on the wheel has his knuckles turning white, his thighs twitching wildly with every light squeeze around the head Ghost pulls on the upstroke. "Oh- oh shit, I'm gonna come."
The slick sounds of Soap's drooling dick in his hand present Ghost with a problem. One Soap seems to realize a heartbeat later. If Soap leaks this much precum, he's going to make an absolute mess of their rental and himself when he comes, stains the cloth seats and his green-grey fatigues are going to put right on display for their welcome party.
Soap downright keens when he lets go to rifle through the glove box for napkins or something to catch his Sergeant's cum with. All he manages to find is a single, brown crumpled napkin, something that'll barely get his already slick fingers clean and for a moment, Ghost freezes.
He could just… swallow it. Satisfy a couple fantasies and break three separate regulations and a lot of ethical codes.
They hit a pothole and Soap swears under his breath, dick twitching under Ghost's wavering gaze between the napkin, the empty road, and Soap's weeping tip.
"Are you going to make a mess, MacTavish?" He asks carefully, twisting and setting his clean hand on Soap's thigh.
"Yeah, probably, always tend to– fucking Christ!"
Ghost rips his mask off before Soap can fall apart to the friction of his shirt, knocking his right arm up and out of the way and leaning over the console and into his lap. The car jerks to the right, then back again.
"Don't choke me," Ghost warns, and three things happen in very quick succession.
One; Ghost finally satisfies his curiosity of what sucking off Soap is like. The flavor, the musk, the slick and smooth texture of the head of his cock hidden beneath his foreskin; it all blurs together in a heady experience that has Ghost questioning if he's going to be able to let this stay a one time thing. It's addicting. His still sticky hand plants itself at the base of him, shoving Soap's arching pelvis back into the seat.
Two; Soap barely manages to blurt out, "What are you doing?" before his own strangled cry cuts him off as Ghost's lips seal around the head of his cock. Ghost can feel the twitch of surprise under his curling tongue, the flex rapidly descending into:
Three; Thick pulses of cum immediately flood Ghost's mouth as his tongue brushes the underside of the crown on the first swirl, followed rapidly by a firm hand planting itself on the back of his neck and fingers sliding, curling into, knotting in his hair. He doesn't choke on the first, or second swallow, but the violent twitch of Soap's hips on the third has him gag around a mouthful of cock and cum.
"Fuck, oh, fuck! Simon, God yeah!"
Ghost feels his own dick give a violent twitch at the way Soap sounds moaning his name. If the tables were turned, he probably would have busted all over Soap's face just from his breath. Hell, Soap's breathy little ah's and mnh's with every aftershock and suckle encourage his own tip to start making a damp mess. At least two layers of black fabric doesn't visibly stain easily.
Still, he manages to swallow down nearly all of Soap's spend without choking, and without Soap crashing the car in shock from surprise road head. As he pulls off, licking his lips and cleaning what dribbles escaped off Soap's skin, the hand in his hair loosens to a light pet. Satisfied with his work, after a few cheeky kitten licks to the softening skin, Ghost settles back into his own seat.
"Feels a little weird thankin' ye for sucking my soul out through my dick, but... thank ye, I guess?" Soap glances over sheepishly, the last of the light capturing just how vivid the blush is across his face.
Ghost just hums, using the sad excuse of a napkin to wipe off his hand and the corners of his mouth. His mask comes back on shortly after, and the scent of skin and sweat clings to the fabric just below his nose.
The GPS startles them both after a few moments of silence, cheerfully chirping that they need to exit again in two miles.
"Good way to pass the time," Ghost mutters, because he can't leave well enough alone. "Might give us something to do again on the drive back."