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Two Months Ago
Every so often, when his mind won’t quiet and his body won’t settle, Ghost goes to a bar. It’s not because he wants a drink, or even because he just needs to get away from people who know him. It feels like the walls close in around him, a sensation he’s all too familiar with, and he just needs to get rid of something. Honestly, he doesn’t know if it’s anger he’s getting rid of, or tension, or sadness, or whatever. He just needs an outlet, and this is one that won’t get him killed. He hopes.
It doesn’t happen frequently, maybe once every couple of months. Ghost hauls himself to whatever bar is furthest away from wherever he’s staying at the moment, sits himself down at the end of the counter, and waits.
He doesn’t order a drink. He doesn’t need to. Eventually, they come to him.
This time, however, two women walk up to the seats on either side of him and make themselves comfortable. He gives a perfunctory nod, willing to entertain small talk for a moment or so, but he has no interest in taking either of them anywhere.
“Nice mask,” the first woman says. She has dark hair and darker eyes. Her top looks knit, a soft green material. It’s a familiar opening line, nothing interesting there. Ghost rolls his eyes.
“It’s not that nice.”
She quirks a smile at him. The other woman touches him gently on his shoulder. Her hair is curly, like a halo around her face. “Are you here with anyone?”
Ghost clears his throat lightly, leaning back to remove himself from under her hand without initiating any new points of contact. “I’m waiting for someone.”
The first woman leans forward, tilting her head. “We can keep you company until they get here.”
“I’m sure you’re bored over here all by yourself,” her friend continues. She doesn’t touch him again, but she leans forward, too. Annoyance roils in Ghost’s gut. This is the opposite of what he was seeking out, but it happened every once in a while. Those nights, he usually returned to wherever he was sleeping alone, tense, and especially short with his team the next couple days.
He sighs. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
One of them touches the back of his neck. Ghost tenses, preparing to cause a scene in this bar regardless of the consequences. She mistakes his anger for interest and grins. “Oh, worried isn’t the word I would use…”
“Alright, ladies?”
They both look up, and she drops her hand. Ghost glances over. The man standing there is…new. Not anyone Ghost knows. His hair is shaved close on the sides, longer on top. It’s not long enough to be pulled back, but it’s pushed back, like he runs his fingers through it. He’s got a smirk on his face, like the scene before him is funny. His shirt hugs his chest, and his pants are unmistakingly government issued. So is the way he carries himself. Ghost catalogs that information, just in case.
“Yeah,” the second woman says. “Peachy.”
“Good,” the man says. He tilts his head, crosses his arms over his chest. Ghost raises an eyebrow that nobody can see. “Now piss off.”
Ghost could almost laugh. “Sorry, ladies. Told you I was waiting on someone.”
They disperse easily enough, scoping out the bar for their next target. The man slides into the seat beside him. Ghost is tempted to get up and leave, somehow he doesn’t think his plans for the evening are going to go exactly as he’d like, but something makes him stay. He tilts his glass in the direction of the new stranger, “Thanks.”
The man wiggles his eyebrows in a way that’s almost cartoonish. “Not a problem, but you can thank me by buying me a drink if you want.”
Ghost cocks his head, giving the man a considering look. “Just one drink?”
His examination doesn’t go unnoticed. The man shifts his weight toward Ghost, leaning an elbow on the bar. He winks. “I’m not greedy.”
Ghost rolls his eyes, but he can’t deny that this act, whatever it is, is working on him. He’s always been a little too fond of snark. “Think I owe you that much, at the very least.”
He waves the bartender down, and the stranger smiles. “You got any German imports on tap?”
The bartender gives him a little nod and his neighbor winks at him. “Thanks.” He glances over at Ghost, “Two?”
Ghost shakes his head. He’s had enough to drink. “Just one.”
Beer delivered, the stranger takes a considering first sip. Then he lets out a pleased noise, damn near a moan, and Ghost feels tension run up his spine. So that’s how it’s going to be. He can work with this. Maybe his plans for the night aren’t completely ruined after all.
“Good?”
The man smiles at him, calculating. “I’ve had better.”
Ghost doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead grabbing a peanut from the bowl on the bar and cracking it open. He slips it under his mask, and watches from his peripheral as the man observes him.
“So,” the stranger says, “a man comes to a bar in the middle of August, dressed in a Halloween costume, doesn’t order a drink, and sits in the corner until I have to come be his knight in shining armor?”
“Your armor isn’t particularly shiny, as far as I can see.”
He laughs in the middle of a sip, almost spitting beer across the bar. His eyes flash in delight, and the response makes Ghost feel strangely warm inside, like he’s won an award. “Oh, the armor’s actually on underneath the clothes. Can’t have everyone around here knowing I’m all… medieval.”
Ghost lets his eyes run down the man’s body a second (third, fourth, who’s counting?) time. “Under the clothes, hm? Wouldn’t that be a sight.”
“Yeah,” the man murmurs. He’s quieter now, like he’s trying not to scare a wild animal. It would be insulting if it didn’t make Ghost want to lean in closer, closer– “ it really is.”
Ghost wants to be responsible. Usually. Almost always, he wants to think things through, to be rational. But on nights like tonight, if he really wanted to be rational he wouldn’t be trying to hook up with a stranger in a bar. Looking at this man, he knows: this is what he wanted, this is the goal he came here to meet. Still, he doesn’t say anything.
The man sticks out his hand, a little awkwardly. “Name’s Johnny.”
Ghost reaches his own gloved hand out and they shake once, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he lets his hand trail up, leather glove skimming over the smooth skin of this man’s forearm, before he pulls it away. There’s a flush creeping up Johnny’s neck, pink blooming in his cheeks.
“How long have you been in the service, Johnny?”
He smirks. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only about as subtle as a foghorn,” Ghost says, “but I can always tell.”
“Is that right?” Johnny asks. “How long are you gonna be around here, stranger?”
Ghost shrugs. “Long as they need me to be. You?”
“I leave tomorrow,” Johnny tells him. “Got to fit a goodbye party into the next six hours somehow. I’ve always loved it here.”
Ghost hates small talk. And he hates flirting. Sure, it’s fun to watch that pretty flush rise under Johnny’s skin, but he wants to taste it. Besides, it isn’t as if Johnny’s being subtle either. Well , Ghost thinks. No time like the present .
“I’ll be in the bathroom,” Ghost says.
“Funny,” Johnny says, “I was just thinking the same.”
Three Weeks Ago
“You’re headed to Al-Mazrah at sunrise.”
Ghost is clicking a pen under the table. He knows the noise is driving Laswell insane, but he really doesn’t care. It’s the only thing that feels like a tether. “Understood.”
Laswell gives him a sharp look, like he doesn’t really understand. Like he could not understand. Something about the line of her body sets him off, makes him uneasy. Whatever is cooking is bigger than she’s letting on. “This situation is need-to-know, Lieutenant. And I can count on one hand who needs to know.”
Fucking obviously, Ghost thinks. He says: “Of course.”
“Good,” Laswell sighs. She runs a hand through her hair and sits at the table across from him. When she looks up, she doesn’t look determined or paranoid or steady, or any of the emotions he’s long since associated with Kate Laswell. She just looks tired. “Go get ready. I have a feeling this one isn’t going to go as smoothly as we’re all hoping.”
Ghost tilts his head. “What makes you say that?”
She huffs a little laugh. “Just a gut feeling. But I trust my gut.”
“I trust who you trust, Director,” Ghost says. It isn’t platitude. He trusts her, and she trusts her gut. He begins preparing himself for the risk factor to be five times higher than expected.
Laswell’s tight smile softens into something a little more real. “Good man. Get out of here.”
Ghost stands, but before he’s out of the door, something makes him stop. He glances back at her, but she’s still sitting, staring at the screen where a map of Al-Mazrah hovers in bluescale. “Laswell?”
She doesn’t turn toward him. “Yes, Ghost?”
“What’s in Al-Mazrah?”
Laswell shakes her head. “Answers. Hopefully.” She does turn to him then, and the look in her eyes makes him feel too exposed, rubbed raw. For all of the things that Ghost has seen, there are reasons that Laswell is sitting there and Ghost is getting on a plane in the morning. An ocean of understanding he will never be able to cross. “You’ll get a full sitrep on the plane. For now, get some rest.”
Two Months Ago
Johnny’s head almost slams against the mirror, but Ghost tucks his hand around the back of his skull before any injury can occur. Johnny’s hands are white-knuckling Ghost’s shirt. He swallows the noise that Johnny makes when Ghost tugs on the longer strands of hair in a kiss.
“Come here often?” Johnny asks, laughing as Ghost bites down on his collarbone. His mask is shoved up past his mouth, uncomfortable but still mostly in place. Johnny threads his arms over Ghost’s shoulders, spreads his legs and lets Ghost in, lets him press Johnny against the mirror. He’s not usually this touchy with the people he picks up, but Johnny is so eager to pull him closer, Ghost can’t help but follow.
He doesn’t usually kiss this much either, but Johnny’s mouth is warm and inviting. He grazes his teeth against Ghost’s bottom lip and the feeling is familiar and strange all at once. He is riding a fine line where half of him knows that this man is a perfect stranger, could be anyone from anywhere, and the other half of him wants to give Johnny whatever he wants.
So when Johnny pushes him back, walks him into a stall and closes them in, when Johnny sinks to his knees and tugs tentatively at Ghost's belt, Ghost gives him that, too. Not like it's a difficult thing to give.
Johnny's hands are curious but careful. Ghost doesn't know if it's the mask or his attitude that Johnny picks up on, but he seems to realize that Ghost wants as little skin showing as possible. He pulls Ghost's jeans down just enough to get access to what he wants.
When he closes his eyes and wraps his mouth around Ghost's dick, there's a moment where all rational thought flies out the window.
"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, hand flexing against Johnny's hair. He doesn't pull or direct, just lets Johnny decide what works for him.
Johnny hums happily, licking a stripe up the underside of Ghost's dick as he pulls off. "You can pull my hair," he says. "Just don't yank me around."
Ghost nods, and Johnny grins with his bright, wet mouth before going back to work.
It doesn't take long. Between the rush of successfully relieving that tension beneath his skin and the desire running like flame along his spine, it's only a matter of minutes before Ghost tugs twice on Johnny's hair, a warning.
Johnny doesn't move away, just hums in a satisfied way that makes Ghost groan out loud. He hollows out his cheeks, tongue moving in tight circles around the head of Ghost’s cock. When he comes, it’s almost silent. All the breath leaves him in a rush, and tension drains out of his shoulders as Johnny swallows once, then again before sliding off and back up to his feet. Ghost tastes himself on Johnny’s tongue when he drags him into a lingering kiss.
“Care to take this party somewhere else?”
Ghost nods, not trusting his voice to speak. He clears his throat, tries to find the floor under his feet. He isn’t sure if Johnny picks up on his trepidation or not, but he leans in, mouth pressing hot kisses up the side of Ghost’s neck as he redoes his zipper and belt.
Johnny’s teeth graze the side of the mask– so close to Ghost’s ear and so far away– as he murmurs, “I’ve got a place nearby. Walking distance.”
Ghost’s hand reaches out in a flash to grab the front of Johnny’s shirt. He pushes backwards gently as Johnny’s fumbles with the door to the stall. “Lead the way.”
The grin Johnny shoots at him as they exit the bathroom is all Ghost needs to know that he’s in way over his head. Good thing he knows how to swim.
Three Weeks Ago
Shepherd’s voice crackles through his comms. The tarmac smells wet; he’s always loved the smell of asphalt after rain.
“Wheels up in five.”
“Rog.” He picks his way past men trailing from one direction to another. Some look determined, harried, moving with the pace of someone who needed to be somewhere else five minutes ago. Others are meandering, uncertain. Too green , he thinks, for whatever is going to happen to them.
Shepherd chimes back in. “Marines are loading in now. You and the Sargeant are leading the way on this.”
That stops Ghost short. He glances around, like this new player will materialize out of thin air just for his benefit. “The Sargeant?”
He can almost hear the grin in Shepherd’s voice. “Soap MacTavish.”
Ghost nods, mostly to himself. There could be any reason for Shepherd to have brought someone onto their team that Ghost has never met, but not any reason that Ghost is interested in hearing. He doesn’t do well with new people. As if summoned by the low buzz of Ghost’s low-grade anxiety, someone is walking toward him purposefully.
But the man walking towards him isn’t a new person. It only takes him a second to recognize the curve of that smile, the glint in those eyes. Johnny walks towards him with a shit-eating grin on his face. Ghost doesn't know what to say. There really isn't anything to say. Other than, "wow, crazy seeing you here," or maybe, "remember me?" Neither of those options seems particularly wise. He makes the best decision, which is staying silent and praying for God to strike him down with lightning before he makes a bigger ass of himself.
Johnny seems delighted, which is so far from the correct response that Ghost doesn’t even know where to begin.
“Let’s get ourselves a win, yeah, L.T.” He reaches out, and it’s a testament to Ghost’s training that he doesn’t jerk himself out of the way, but Johnny– Soap, he thinks. Soap McTavish. Sergeant Soap McTavish. Shit. Shit shit shit – just punches him lightly on the shoulder. It’s so casual. It makes something in Ghost ache, but he doesn’t know why. “Save you a seat, sir.”
Johnny walks away before Ghost can pull the scattered panic of his brain back into a coherent thought. He’s going to have to see Johnny every damn day until this mission is complete. Of all the possibilities, he’d rather Shepherd make him work with some sorry excuse for a rookie than someone he’s seen naked. Soap is getting further from him, but Ghost can still make out his silhouette, still sees the slope of his bare spine every time he closes his eyes.
He bites down on his tongue, exhales sharply. “Fucking hell.”
Shepherd crackles back over the radio. “Ghost, you copy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any issues?” He can hear the real question in Shepherd’s voice, but it has everything to do with the fact that he knows Ghost is not necessarily a team player when he doesn’t want to be, and nothing to do with Soap. Is this going to be an issue? Are you capable of doing your job? How difficult are you going to make my life just because you’re an anti-social jackass? There’s no way Ghost is going to explain the tension building in his head, quickly becoming a migraine, so he just takes a steadying breath and starts walking again.
Only about a thousand. “Negative, sir.”
Two Months Ago
Johnny’s “place nearby” is a hotel room. It’s small but well-kept. Ghost can tell he’s been here a little while. A laptop and some files sitting openly on the desk, clothes hanging in the open closet, products scattered on the bathroom counter. He doesn’t have long to study Johnny’s personal belongings, because Johnny is stripping off clothing in between pressing kisses against Ghost’s jaw as they move further into the room.
There’s a little tap against the side of his mask. “Keeping this on the whole time, then?”
He almost considers it. It’s the most bizarre feeling: this sharp tug in his gut, pulling him into Johnny’s orbit and not letting go. But safety comes first. “Yes.”
“Hm,” Johnny replies, but he doesn’t sound upset. Just curious. He’s undoing his own belt buckle as Ghost runs gloved hands over the planes of his chest. There’s a warm flush rising on Johnny’s skin, and Ghost wants to see how far down it goes. “And the rest of your clothes?”
Ghost’s hands stop moving. He stiffens a little bit. It has been a long time since he’s gotten this far to actually sleeping with someone. Usually they don’t get further than the bathroom of whatever shitty bar he’s found. In all honesty, he had gotten so wrapped up in the feeling of Johnny against him that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. The road map of scars on his body is one that not many people have traveled, and regardless of this strange pull, Johnny is still a stranger. When he freezes, Johnny cocks his head.
He smooths his hands over Ghost’s shoulders, up the side of his neck, until he’s holding Ghost’s face between his hands. Part of his hands rest on the fabric of the mask, but the other part is warm against Ghost’s bare skin. Strangely, the feeling doesn’t make him want to puke. “Don’t stress. I’ve already committed to the cause of getting you into bed, I’m not going to give up because of a simple fabric barrier.”
Ghost nods stiffly, and Johnny smiles at him. “We’ve already worked out the kissing part, and the uh… fellatio bit. Though my jaw’s a bit stiff now, love, so no repeats for you tonight.”
“I have an idea,” Ghost says, but even as he says it, he has no idea what he’s doing. The further this gets, the more he knows it’s a terrible idea, but he does it anyway. Johnny steps back, gesturing for Ghost to continue. He nods, knowing that there’s no way he’s going to be doing this without Johnny’s full attention on him, so he just starts moving. He strips off his gloves, undoes his boots and slides out of them. Everything is methodical, slow, because he can at least make it look like he knows what he’s doing. His jacket comes off next, leaving only the mask, a fitted long-sleeve black shirt, and his pants.
When he starts undoing his belt, Johnny steps back into his space, face bright red and eyes just bright , and takes over. Ghost lets him, settling one hand on the back of Johnny’s neck and the other on the small of his back and pulling him into another kiss. This time, when he slips his tongue between Johnny’s teeth, Johnny moans out loud.
Ghost has been so fucking worried about his own situation of undress, he’s barely been able to focus on all of Johnny’s deliciously exposed skin. His hands skim over Johnny’s sides, up the backs of his arms. When one thumb brushes over one of his nipples, Johnny goes tense all over and jerks toward him and sucks in a breath.
“ Jesus .”
“That’s good,” Ghost murmurs, and revels in the way it makes Johnny whine from the very back of his throat. “Do you have a scarf?”
Johnny blinks at him. “Uh, yeah. Yes. I have— yeah, one second.” He scrambles toward a bag on the floor near the closet and after a few moments, he produces a thin brown strip of fabric. “I think I know what your idea is,” he says as he presses the scarf into Ghost’s hand, “and sure. Go for it.”
Ghost grins at him, aware that he probably looks terrifying with the mask rolled up past his smile, but Johnny just shivers. He’s careful as he ties the scarf around the back of Johnny’s head. It would ruin the effect if all Johnny could think about was that there was something totally unsexy yanking on his hair. But once it’s in place, once he’s sure that Johnny can’t see a damn thing, something in the air around them changes.
It’s subtle. If Ghost wasn’t paying such close attention to every twitch on Johnny’s face, he might not have noticed. But when Johnny’s shoulders relax, when his smile turns loose and relaxed, when he sways just a little as Ghost tows him along toward the bed– Ghost can’t believe his stupid outing to that bar could have led to something like this.
“This is a stupid thing to do with someone you met not even two hours ago,” he whispers into the skin where Johnny’s neck meets his shoulder. “Tell me if you want the blindfold off.”
He nods, shuddering as Ghost pulls Johnny across his lap until Johnny’s straddling him.. When he doesn’t say anything else, Ghost smooths a hand over his throat. His fingers fit so nicely around the back of Johnny’s throat. Johnny’s pulse thrums like a melody against Ghost’s thumb. Everything else in that moment is secondary. “This okay?” he rasps. “Are you okay with this?”
Johnny nods again, harder this time, and when Ghost tightens his grip just a little, he lets out a string of “ fuck fuck fuck, please, oh my God.”
Ghost growls. He tugs Johnny a little further forward, and ducks his head. Johnny’s skin is smooth. He’s got some scars– normal scars, active operative scars, not like what Ghost is hiding under all of his layers– but otherwise he’s soft and warm. Ghost wants to wreck him. He starts at Johnny’s collarbone, tugging the skin between his teeth and sucking until the blood rises to the surface.
“I’m pretty sure Christmas isn’t for another couple months,” Johnny mumbles. His mouth is wet and swollen from where Ghost had been biting at his bottom lip. “At least, I think my calendar’s right.”
Ghost pauses in his quest to suck bruises down Johnny’s entire chest. “What?”
“I’ve been putting your description in my letters to Santa every year, is all.” Johnny’s grinning now, like this is the funniest thing he’s ever said. “His timing is shit.”
“Oh my god.” Ghost says. How is Johnny still wearing pants? He shoves until Johnny rolls off of him and ends up sprawled out across the bed. Ghost stands up, rolls up his sleeves, and drags Johnny down the bed until his legs are dangling off the edge with Ghost standing between them. He keeps one hand on Johnny’s thigh and uses the other to unbutton his pants. “Quit talking.”
“Unfortunately for you,” Johnny says, getting with the program even though he’s blindfolded, “you picked the wrong guy at the bar if you wanted silence.” He lifts his hips and wiggles to help Ghost get his pants all of the way off, and Ghost makes quick work of Johnny’s briefs after that.
“You walked up to me,” he says, trailing a gentle path up and down through the fine hair on Johnny’s thighs. Johnny’s cock is almost purple and swollen against his hip, leaking pre-come onto soft, tanned skin. Ghost wants to lick him clean. If this were any other night, he might just do that. But it’s so rare, so once-every-five-years rare that he has any opportunity to take his time with someone, spend hours taking them apart and putting them back together instead of just getting off quick and dirty in a pub bathroom stall, that he doesn’t want to rush this for a single moment.
His lingering touches are clearly not enough for Johnny, who is squirming on the mattress and clenching his fists in the blanket like he isn’t quite sure if he’s allowed to reach out or not. “I was just making sure you weren’t a serial killer. Those women could have been in serious danger.”
Ghost lets his fingers continue coaxing little noises from Johnny as he writhes. One hand travels one leg, to the crease of his hip, along his lower stomach, around the head of his cock, but not touching, not yet. The other travels down, around the curve of Johnny’s knee and down the back of his calf, twisting around his ankle and pushing until Johnny’s leg slides back up the mattress. “What would you have done if I was?”
“Honestly?” Johnny is gasping for breath, sucking in deep inhales like he can’t get enough air. He does reach out then, grabbing at the fabric of Ghost’s shirt and pulling him in. Ghost lets him, settling against Johnny’s bare chest and sucking another bruise high on his neck. High enough that he won’t be able to cover it with anything. Not even a turtleneck. Maybe with the scarf covering his eyes. That idea is a tempting one, not that Ghost will be around to see it. “Probably still this.”
He grins at that, baring his teeth against Johnny’s throat. “Your survival skills could use some work.”
“Thanks for the tip, sir .” Ghost knows that he hasn’t told Johnny his name, hasn’t even told him his stupid call-sign. Johnny doesn’t have anything to call him other than that. But it still sends a line of heat down Ghost’s chest directly to his dick. He hauls himself up, supported by one arm, and reaches a hand in between them to undo his own button and tug himself free.
“I’ve got more where that came from,” he murmurs, eyes dragging slowly along the red marks that are already turning purple all over Johnny’s chest.
Two Weeks Ago
The plane ride to Las Almas is tense and silent. Nobody feels good letting Hassan get away, least of all Ghost. Soap seems to be gunning for second place, because he keeps tapping out a rhythm on his thigh and can’t sit still. Ghost knows that he’s going over and over what they did, the decisions they made, wondering what could have been done differently. He knows, because he’s doing the same thing. He just isn’t quite so obvious about it.
When the plane lands, it’s a relief. They’ve been crammed into a sardine can with a handful of other guys for hours, but Ghost couldn’t focus on anyone or anything other than Johnny. Soap , he corrects himself for the millionth time. Soap .
Las Almas smells like smoke and dust. The desert is a beaten canvas of orange and brown, but it’s somewhere new. It’s a new mission, a new day, and Ghost isn’t going to let anyone fuck this one up. Not even himself.
Soap seems a little happier, a little lighter, as they unboard. The reason for this gets a bit more obvious when he locks eyes with the man standing on the tarmac and breaks into a grin. “Alejandro!”
The man– Alejandro, Ghost notes– steps forward, smiling back. “Sargeant MacTavish.”
“Call me Soap,” he says, but it’s with a roll of his eyes. Like he’s said it before. Like they know each other. There’s an unpleasant sensation skating the back of Ghost’s mind as he watches them clasp hands. He wishes it was any other feeling, but jealousy is an ugly, familiar beast.
“Lieutenant,” Alejandro says, turning towards him. He looks kind, but his stance is damn near textbook. Five seconds of interaction, and Ghost is glad that they’re working with Alejandro and not against him, jealous or not. “Laswell says they call you Ghost.”
Before he can reply, Soap’s grin gets even wider. He holds up a hand and shoots Ghost a look. His eyes are glints of blue metal in the Mexico sunlight. “Actually, I believe he prefers–”
“That’ll do,” Ghost says quickly. There’s any number of things Soap could have been about to say and all of them are stupid. If they were anything more than what they are, he might grab the back of Soap’s neck, pull him in and hiss a warning into his ear. As it is, he has no right to touch Soap at all. His hands clench into fists at his sides, and he ignores Soap completely.
Alejandro ignores Soap’s antics, which is just as well. God forbid they acquire another person to work with who can’t keep his mouth shut. He does smirk, though, and he spreads his hands in a gesture that translates to, well, this is it. “Welcome to the City of Souls.”
Two Months Ago
Ghost must have done something pretty fucking spectacular in a past life to deserve this. That’s what he keeps thinking as he watches Johnny’s lips part in a keening moan when Ghost wraps a tight grip around the base of his cock.
“Needy,” he murmurs. “How long are you gonna last like this?”
“Depends,” Johnny says, “on how long it’s gonna take for you to get your cock in me.”
Ghost smirks, and his tight grip goes gentle and teasing as he trails two fingers up the underside of Johnny’s erection until he reaches the head. Johnny’s entire body goes tense and he makes a choked off noise that ends in another pretty moan.
“It could take me a bit,” Ghost says. “I like to play with my food.”
“Holy hells,” Johnny breathes. “Maybe you are a serial killer.”
“Too late now,” Ghost says, shoving his pants down and dragging Johnny a little further down the mattress. “Where’s your lube?”
“Inside jacket pocket,” Johnny says. He hasn’t gone for the blindfold once yet, and every second that he doesn’t, Ghost relaxes a little more. When he steps away to go find Johnny’s jacket, he takes his jeans off completely, kicking them to the side. It’ll be annoying if he has to get out of here in a hurry, but he’s been lucky enough so far. More than lucky enough.
The jacket is draped over the chair in the corner. “You keep lube in your jacket pocket?” Ghost asks, fishing out the plastic packet. It looks like one of the freebies you can get at sex toy shops; single use. It’ll do in a pinch. There’s a condom in the jacket pocket, too, so he snags that before he walks back over to the bed. He tugs his briefs down just enough to
“I keep lube in every pocket,” Johnny laughs. “Opportunity is everywhere.”
“Right,” Ghost says. “Lift your hips.”
Johnny does, and Ghost gets his hands around Johnny’s waist to flip him. Johnny wiggles in the new position, trying to get comfortable. He ends up supporting himself on his elbows so he doesn’t face plant into the mattress, one leg braced on the floor and the other hiked up onto the bed. Ghost wonders how long he can hold that position until something starts to cramp, but Johnny doesn’t seem to be complaining.
When he rips the lube packet open with his teeth, Johnny sucks in a quick inhale. “Did you find the–”
“Got a condom, too,” Ghost says. He places a hand on the small of Johnny’s back and rubs a small circle against his skin. “Relax.”
Johnny does, and his head drops to his forearms. The ends of the scarf flop over one shoulder, and Ghost wonders if he could somehow make it a blindfold and a gag at the same time. Not that there’s going to be a next time here for him to figure that out.
He empties a third of the lube packet onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up while his other hand continues smoothing over Johnny’s skin, down to the curve of his ass. He spreads him open just a little, enough to see by, and swears out loud.
“So fucking pretty, Johnny,” he hisses. “You’re so damn pretty.”
Johnny bites down on his arm. Ghost pulls back a little. “Don’t do that,” he warns. “I want to hear you.”
“Did I die in that fucking pub?” Johnny mumbles. “Did I die and this is heav–”
Ghost cuts off his rambling by sliding his index finger into Johnny, up to the second knuckle. Johnny’s sentence turns into a little shout mid-word. Instead of moving away from the intrusion, he pushes back against it, until Ghost’s finger is fully inside him.
“Greedy, huh?” Ghost asks, but he doesn’t get an answer, just another sweet noise from the back of Johnny’s throat. His other hand lands heavy on Johnny’s hip, pinning him to the mattress as he starts thrusting his finger back and forth a few more times. “Don’t worry, Johnny. You’re gonna get what you need. Gotta be patient for me, yeah?”
Johnny nods, wordless. Ghost adds a second finger as he pushes back in, slow but certain. “Good boy, Johnny. You’re doing so well.”
More lube, two fingers, then a third. Then even more lube and a fourth, because he can, and because Johnny begs so prettily when he does that Ghost figures, might as well. He isn’t sure how long he fucks Johnny open with his fingers, but it’s long enough that by the time he’s well and truly ready, there are tears darkening the fabric of the blindfold.
“You still okay?” Ghost asks. “I can make you come just like this, if you’re feeling overwhelmed.”
“If you don’t get your dick in me right fucking now, I swear to God–”
Ghost doesn’t let him finish. It’s too fun to cut Johnny off mid-sentence, so he has to get the most of it while he still can. He put the condom on a couple minutes ago, and when the head of his cock meets Johnny’s ass, there’s no resistance at all. That’s the beauty of extensive foreplay , Ghost thinks, as he thrusts forward before Johnny can get the rest of his threat out, all the way to the hilt. You get to do shit like this.
Johnny’s complaints turn into unintelligible pleas for more. Ghost fucks into him deep and slow. He’s so hot and slick, it’s almost more than he can take. Ghost lets out a low noise. Johnny pushes back against him, and his hiked up leg almost slips off of the mattress. Ghost catches it easily, clutching Johnny’s thigh and holding him in place as he fucks him. Johnny’s not holding himself up anymore, just whining into the mattress while his hands flex uselessly against the blankets.
“Please,” Johnny begs, “please, oh –”
“‘Please’ what, Johnny?” Ghost says. Speaking clearly feels impossible. Sweat drips down his forehead with the strain of keeping the same steady pace, but he bites back the noises building in the back of his throat and does his best to enunciate. “Use your words.”
Johnny groans, “Harder, you arse. Faster, I don’t– Please, just more .”
Well, that’s a difficult request to deny. “Good boy,” Ghost says, tightening his grip on Johnny’s thigh before he pulls out almost completely and snaps his hips back in. He changes the pace exactly how Johnny asked, harder, faster, until the only sounds in the room are skin hitting skin and Johnny’s unfettered moans.
He sounds like a fucking song, and Ghost could listen to him for hours, but he’s already close to the edge. The change in pace only drives him faster and faster towards orgasm. He releases Johnny’s thigh and his leg slips fully off of the bed this time. Ghost just uses the leverage to pull Johnny’s hips back until he’s supporting almost all of Johnny’s weight. Johnny’s voice is muffled where his mouth is facedown in the duvet.
“Gonna come,” Ghost says, voice hoarse and low. “Touch yourself for me, Johnny.”
Johnny turns his head, gasping for air. The blindfold is still securely in place. His whole face is flushed a deep red, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. “Don’t need to,” he stammers out. “Just keep– oh, fuck –”
When Johnny’s orgasm rolls through him, he clenches down so hard on Ghost’s cock that his vision whites out. Ghost comes with one final, stuttering thrust, hands undeniably leaving bruises on Johnny’s hips. It takes him a couple seconds for the feeling to return to his legs. When he slides out, Johnny lets out a low whine.
“Hold on,” Ghost says. “Lemme grab a towel.”
He stumbles over to the hotel bathroom, tossing the condom and quickly running a hand towel under some warm water. When he comes back, Johnny has pulled himself all the way onto the bed, but he’s still lying on his stomach. Ghost wordlessly begins cleaning him up, then wipes the still clean part of the towel over Johnny’s shoulders to get the rivulets of sweat collecting there.
Johnny hums pleasantly, and huffs out a breath as he flips himself over. He looks sleepy and sated, and the hickeys all over his neck and chest lay out the most tempting map Ghost has ever seen.
Ghost pulls his briefs back up, puts his jeans back on, and rolls his sleeves back down. His balaclava stayed on for most of this encounter, so even though it's sweaty and gross, he just pulls it back over his mouth. Once he’s satisfied that his skin is covered again, he leans over Johnny’s body to pull the blindfold off his face. Johnny’s eyes are shut.
“You can open your eyes,” Ghost says. “All clear.”
Johnny blinks a couple times. His lashes are a little damp with tears. Ghost reaches up on instinct, wiping his eyes and gently stroking his cheek. It’s a rare kindness– kindness, which is a word he would not typically attribute to himself, but with Johnny he doesn’t seem to be able to stop. Johnny leans into his hand, and he might as well be purring.
Ghost huffs a laugh. “You did good, Johnny. So good for me.”
“You’re not real,” Johnny slurs. “I think I dreamt you.”
“Uh huh,” Ghost says. “Get under the damn blankets.”
Johnny chuckles, too. He lets Ghost pull the duvet and sheets down and crawls underneath it, but when Ghost goes to stand up, Johnny grabs his wrist.
“Stay,” he says, and Ghost’s breath hitches. He can’t, and he had thought that Johnny knew that. “Not for the night,” Johnny continues. “Not even for an hour, if you want. Just for a bit. Stay for a bit.”
He shouldn’t. Already, he’s taken way too many liberties here. Too many risks. He knows Johnny’s some kind of soldier, even if Ghost’s never seen him before. There’s a huge chance they’ll never see each other again after tonight. There’s a small chance Ghost might have to shoot at him next week. In his life, weirder things have happened.
“Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Just for a bit.”
Two Weeks Ago
Johnny almost dies in the back alleys of Las Almas.
Ghost’s heart tries to tear its way out his throat and find him.
In the end, they both make it. Something is different. He can’t deny it, there’s no point. The air between them is charged in a way that would make sense if it was just about sex, but it isn’t. He watches Soap sleep with his face pressed up against the window of the truck that they stole, and Ghost’s head pounds.
Part of him knows that it’s a terrible thing he’s done, falling in love with someone he has to work alongside. This isn’t the only time Soap has done something stupid. Hell, this isn’t the only time one or both of them has almost died, this week alone. And things are going to get worse now, before they get better. The other part of him, the louder part of him, doesn’t give a damn. The part of him that wants to say fuck the world, fuck all the damage he’s done, fuck the fact that there’s not a single reason in hell that he deserves anything good; he wants this.
He wants to reach out with both hands, unafraid, and know that Soap will be there. He wants to make promises that he knows neither of them will really be able to keep. He wants to try to keep them anyway.
Wanting and having are two entirely different worlds.
Soap wakes up. The sun rises. They still don’t talk about it.
Two Months Ago
Johnny seems to fall asleep quickly. He snores a little. Ghost watches him for a little while. Not so long as to be creepy, but long enough that he wonders why the fuck he’s lingering like this. Usually he leaves as quickly as possible, anger with his own human needs beating a drum of insults inside his skull. Now, he just feels quiet.
It’s nice.
Ghost likes the quiet, but he can’t stay any longer. There would be far too many questions, and he definitely doesn’t have answers. Besides, Johnny had said he was leaving the city in the morning, and Ghost isn’t even sure if Johnny is the man’s real name.
He checks his phone. There’s a message from Laswell.
My office. 9am.
The electronic clock on the nightstand tells him it’s nearing three in the morning. He sighs and slides out of the hotel bed. He moves silently, but Johnny still stirs, blinking his eyes open.
“Leaving?”
Ghost holds up his phone. “Duty calls.”
“Mm,” Johnny says. “Here.” He reaches over to his pants, still laying in a crumpled heap with the rest of his clothes on the floor. After a little bit of rustling around, he sits back up, victoriously clutching a marker. He grabs at Ghost’s arm, and uncaps the marker with his teeth.
When Johnny releases his hand, there’s a string of numbers written on the back of Ghost’s hand. A phone number, he realizes.
“Call me,” Johnny says, “or text. I don’t care either way.”
Ghost nods, knowing he’ll never do that. Even if the idea is bizarrely tempting. Johnny either doesn’t see the hesitation on his face or doesn’t care, because he leans forward and places a single open-mouthed kiss on Ghost’s palm. His hand tingles, Johnny’s mouth on one side and his phone number on the other.
“See ya, mystery man,” Johnny says, with a mock salute.
“Simon,” Ghost says. “My name is Simon.”
Johnny grins, face open and warm. “Okay. I’ll see you, Simon.” Then he flops back down onto the bed, pulling the covers over himself.
Ghost smiles, and shuts the door quietly behind him as he leaves.
Yesterday
Ghost is sitting against the wall in the gym. If anyone walked in, he could act like he was just taking a quick rest and then jump back into working out. It was a good way to avoid conversation on days when he really didn’t want to talk to anyone. Or at least, it was a good way to avoid people, until he met Soap.
Soap, who has no respect for the sanctity of the gym, ignores the fact that Ghost starts bench pressing a little too much weight once he walks in. He walks over, standing by Ghost’s head and looking down at him. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Ghost sets the bar down, ducking under it as he sits up. “Sure.”
He doesn’t miss the way that Soap’s eyes drag down his chest, along his arms. He doesn’t miss the way Soap’s throat bobs when he swallows. He just doesn’t say anything about it. “I don’t know if you remember this,” he says, and Ghost’s stomach drops out. “But, um, a couple months ago–”
“I thought we weren’t talking about that,” Ghost says quickly. The sooner they get this over with, the better.
Soap’s eyes flash dangerously with memory. “You do remember.”
“It wouldn’t be easy to forget,” Ghost admits, and then curses himself for the way it comes out. It’s been a long time since anyone touched him, and the last person who did is standing in front of him calling him out on it. That itch is back, warm and insistent. It’s worse, in a way, that he knows exactly how easy it would be. If he caved right now, pushed Soap down to the floor– it wouldn’t even be a conversation. He looks away.
Soap takes a deep breath. Maybe he noticed the way Ghost was looking at him. Maybe he didn’t. This is what Ghost gets for not talking about it afterwards: the not knowing, the uncertainty. “I’m sorry that I–” Soap starts, but seems to reconsider. “I know I didn’t–”
Ghost cuts him off. “We had a job to do. It’s not like you owed me anything.”
“It was rude of me,” Soap insists.
“Yeah, and as we all well know,” Ghost snorts, “you’re a paragon of chivalry and gentlemanly efforts.”
“Be serious, Ghost.” Johnny says. His arms are crossed over his chest, but he doesn’t really sound angry. He just sounds kind of… petulant. Ghost would probably pay real money to watch Johnny throw a tantrum. It’d be entertaining as hell.
“I am being serious,” Ghost assures him. “It was a one-time thing, and now we’re here. Neither of us had any way of knowing that we’d end up here. No harm, no foul.” He stands up, abandoning the pretense of working out. “How long have you been stressing about this?”
“Is that what you want?” Johnny asks.
“What?”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “A one-time thing. No harm, no foul,” he repeats. His impression of Ghost’s accent is absolutely atrocious. “Is that what you want?”
“Are you asking me if I…” His voice trails off. Johnny might just be asking if he wants to fuck again. It might be nothing, but Ghost doesn’t sleep with his teammates, as a rule. He definitely doesn’t sleep with people he’s in love with. “Never mind, this is stupid.”
“Ghost. Are you asking me if I’m asking you if you want to sleep with me?”
“I’m asking– What? No. Yes?” Ghost scrubs a hand over his face, trying to make sense of Johnny’s question. “I don’t even think what you just said was a real sentence.”
“Brilliant,” Johnny says drily. “Glad we cleared that up. I’ll see you tomorrow, LT.”
Johnny turns around to leave, and Ghost doesn’t fully understand why, but he can’t let that happen. He snaps a hand out, grabbing Johnny’s forearm before he can get too far away. Johnny doesn’t turn back to face him, but he does freeze. There are too many things he could say, and a lot more that he shouldn’t. For all he knows, Soap is just looking for another orgasm. But Ghost is so far past that it isn’t even funny anymore.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says.
Johnny snorts, and he does turn then. His blue eyes are lit up like that’s the best joke he’s ever heard. He doesn’t try to pull away from Ghost’s hand on his arm. That might be a good sign. “That good, huh? Glad I left a nice first impression.”
“No, I mean.” Ghost’s mind is going a hundred directions at once. “Well, yes, I can’t stop thinking about that either,” he admits, “but I can’t stop thinking about you going into Valeria’s mansion, about you bleeding out in Las Almas, about you going up against a tank–”
With every new part of his confession, he takes a step closer to Johnny, pulling on his arm a little to draw him in. By the time he’s done, they’re so close that they’re chests are almost touching. Johnny’s smirk has turned to round blue eyes and what seems like utter surprise.
“Oh,” he says, a little breathless. Ghost tracks every twitch on Johnny’s face, so he sees when that surprise turns into something a little more sad. “Simon–”
“No, this was stupid,” Ghost says quickly. He takes a step backwards, and then another. “I’m stupid. I’ll just go.”
Johnny swears, darting forward to clutch Ghost’s shoulders. His brow is drawn together, and he looks like he’s trying to solve some kind of math problem. Ghost doesn’t move. He barely even breathes. Whatever Johnny has to say, Ghost can wait. When he does speak, he just says, “I hate the word boyfriend.”
Ghost blinks. “What?”
“I don’t think you’ll use it,” Johnny continues, and now that he’s started, the words just keep pouring out, “it doesn’t really feel like a word in your limited vocabulary, but just so you know. Don’t call me your boyfriend. We aren’t teenagers. Partner is fine, but it could get confusing. Uh, you can call me lover, but maybe just in private. Doesn’t it kinda sound old fashioned to you?”
He pauses, waiting for Ghost to answer. Ghost blinks again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“ Us ,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes. “I thought it was obvious.”
Ghost rolls back the tape in his mind of Johnny’s rambling monologue. “You don’t want to be my… my boyfriend. Is that it?”
Johnny releases Ghost’s shoulders and swats at his chest. “I don’t want you to call me your boyfriend. I want everything else.” His hand, which should have gone away after he landed his little hit, is still on Ghost’s chest. Ghost can feel the press of every single one of Johnny’s fingers, like a brand. “If you’re sure you can handle it.”
“Everything else?” Ghost asks. His voice is low, intense, but the knot that’s been eating up space in his chest is slowly starting to unravel. He reaches up to cover Johnny’s hand with his own. His other hand wraps around Johnny’s wrist and tugs sharply, pulling Johnny in again.
“ Everything else,” Johnny says. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lower lip. Ghost can’t wait anymore after that, and he kisses Johnny deeply. They stand there for probably too long, barely holding each other, while Ghost makes sure that he’s familiar with every single part of Johnny’s mouth. When he does pull back, Johnny looks dazed. “I hope you kept the blindfold,” he murmurs.
Ghost inhales sharply. “We won’t need it. So long as you promise not to freak out.”
Johnny laughs delightedly, and starts moving backwards towards the door to the gym. He doesn’t let go of Ghost’s hand, tangling their fingers together as he pulls him along. Ghost is happy to follow. “Inside. Now. Preferably to a bed, but I’m not picky.”
“Oh, by the way, Johnny,” Ghost says as they reach the door. Before Johnny can pull it open, Ghost pushes him up against it. He keeps the hand that Johnny is holding pinned against the cool metal door while the other reaches up to cradle Johnny’s jaw. He kisses him again, harder this time, until Johnny makes a soft noise, scrambling to stay upright as Ghost uses his body weight to hold him in place. This time, Johnny looks more than dazed. He looks wrecked, lips swollen and eyes a hazy, dark blue. He swallows hard, and when Ghost flicks his eyes down, he can see Johnny’s dick straining against the material of his jeans. “I know exactly how to handle you,” Ghost murmurs.
They barely make it to Johnny’s room. They definitely don’t make it to bed.
This Morning
Gaz is not a morning person. Ghost has known this for a while now, so when Gaz stumbles into their shitty excuse for a kitchen, he just presses a hot cup of terrible coffee into Gaz’s hands. Gaz smiles gratefully.
“Morning,” he says to Johnny, who is attempting to make the last of their pancake mix stretch enough to feed everyone before they’re forced to only eat MRE’s.
“Morning!” Johnny says brightly. “Ghost’s my boyfriend now.”
Gaz chokes on his coffee. He turns wide eyes to Ghost, who’s just staring at Johnny curiously. It’s going to take him a lifetime to figure out how Johnny’s mind works. “I thought you hated that word.”
“I hate being called that word,” Johnny says, pointing with a spatula. “Big difference. Keep up.”
“Is that… allowed?” Gaz asks. The question is directed at Price, who is staring at Ghost like he’s grown a second head. He hadn’t gotten this information as soon as he walked into the kitchen, which makes Ghost think that Johnny was specifically waiting for Gaz. Gaz, who looks like he isn’t sure that he’s fully awake. Ghost wonders if Gaz has those nightmares about standing in front of the school auditorium in your underwear. Maybe this is the Task Force 141 version of that nightmare, for him.
Johnny rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’re allowed to be gay, you bigot.”
“Oh my god,” Gaz says. He’s holding the coffee cup with both hands.
Price runs a hand through his hair, staring at the orange he’s been peeling. “There’s paperwork you’ll both have to file, but uh,” He nods to Ghost, “I’ll print it out for you later.”
Gaz goes over to where Johnny has moved on to cracking eggs into a bowl. He pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. He grabs an orange out of the bowl on the table before walking back toward the kitchen door. “Um, congrats?” he says.
Johnny grins. “Too late, you homophobe.” Then he ducks to avoid the orange that Gaz launches at him, and it hits Ghost square in the chest. He watches it roll across the floor and underneath the table. The blood drains from Gaz’s face while Johnny cackles, fits of laughter shaking his shoulders. Ghost cocks his head, and Gaz scrambles to get out of the kitchen.
“Oh, fuck me. Price!”
Price just levels a look at Johnny and Ghost before standing up. “I’ll go make sure he knows you won’t kill him in his sleep tonight,” he says to Ghost.
“No promises,” Ghost murmurs, but Price just ignores him.
Then they’re alone in the kitchen. Johnny abandons his eggs and wraps his arms around Ghost’s waist. Ghost lifts his arms, letting Johnny tuck himself in closer. He drops a kiss onto Johnny’s head, and Johnny looks up at him. “Should I have asked you before I told them?”
“It’s fine,” Ghost says. He runs a hand through Johnny’s hair, playing with the shorter strands at the base of his neck. “They would have found out sooner or later.”
“Yeah, with the way you gossip.”
Johnny’s laughing again as Ghost grabs him by the waist and hauls him in. Johnny’s fingers are quick to roll the mask up and out of the way as Ghost leans in to kiss him once, twice, a third time. It’s good. It’s all he wants to do from now on, every single day. Miraculously, he thinks he just might.