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The word “trouble” is an understatement for the sort of conditions he’ll be in if any of the other 141 finds out he’s here. If Gaz, Alejandro, or Rudy were to wander down the hall where he stands—or god forbid, Price. He’ll have hell to pay, and not just a warning that he shouldn't be entering Soap's quarters while he's asleep. He’ll most likely have a raging Price in his face by sun-up, the threat of dishonorable discharge on the horizon.
But the hallway remains empty, and he lets out a silent breath—an internal “fuck it” later, and he slowly, gently twists the doorknob.
Of course it’s open. The idiot had always been too trusting, the minute his loyalty was won over. Had probably gotten a good amount of late-night visitors among their other teammates, for him to deem it necessary to leave it unlocked for any number of reasons.
It’s to his advantage, though.
Without another second wasted to thought, Ghost slips inside, closes the door behind him. It locks with a quiet ‘snick!’
All the lights have already been turned off. Only the waning moon peeking through the half-drawn curtains provides a view of the room’s previously sole occupant, lying asleep in his bed, perfectly oblivious to the newcomer.
Soap is slumped on his stomach over the covers, the night breeze filtering in through the window he sees is slightly ajar. Another damning evidence of his trust in the safety of the base—trust that shouldn’t be there. Ghost should have known.
He could’ve used the window to sneak in easier. Could’ve made it a point to show that the 141 and his place in the military are not the secure shelter he seems to think they are.
But just walking in here is proof enough of that, he supposes.
He slinks up to the bedside on quiet feet, staring down at his quarry. Soap’s got his arms buried underneath the pillow his head is on, one leg slightly raised with the other stretched out along the length of the mattress. It’s a tantalizing position, made worse by the fact that he’s gone without any nightwear to combat the humidity.
All except for tight, black panties. Ghost feels his cock twitch at the sight, idly observing the way the fabric is drawn over the thick globes of his ass.
It barely contains him, with the slight muffin top over the waistband, a healthy mix of fat and muscle in his stomach, the small of his back. Luscious flesh dipping past the seams, showing off the crease where his ass meets his thigh. He’s outgrown them about two sizes ago, yet here he is, still wearing them to go to sleep.
With one leg crooked upwards, the plush mound resting between them practically taunts Ghost. The exposure, it’s like he’s asking for someone to come in and see him in his most vulnerable state.
Within seconds, Ghost’s rock hard in his cargoes. He licks his lips, and carefully, carefully rests a knee on the mattress by Soap’s side.
The bed dips with the extra weight, and he locks his gaze onto Soap’s face. The man remains unbothered, however, merely snuffles into his pillow before rolling his head to the other side.
His mouth is slightly open, tame, soft snores slipping out. If Ghost had the time, he would’ve taken advantage of his head’s positioning instead—would’ve used his fat underlip to wrap around his cock, forced his length down Soap’s throat until those snores petered out. At least for the first round.
But he doesn’t, because he’s not here for dredges of pleasure. He wants the full force of it, the chaotic, heady brunt that can only be found buried between Soap’s legs. With the time he has now.
Ghost slides further into the bed, until he can test the way it takes the rest of his weight on the open space between Soap and the wall. It creaks, but doesn’t otherwise give, so he stretches out the rest of his body into an approximation of spooning.
When Soap still doesn’t wake up, he puts his hand on the small of his back. It’s warm to the touch, curving upwards into the obscene shape of the panties.
Ghost spends some seconds just patting at him, feeling all this naked, hot skin for the first time in too long a while. He denies himself the pleasure of going for his real target, to appreciate his back, ribs, his trapezius muscle. Soap lets out a small sigh, wiggling back against the contact as if asking for more—and it’s when a thick thigh unwittingly makes contact with the front of Ghost’s pants that he decides that that’s enough.
Ghost grabs one meaty globe of his ass, fingertips brushing just past where the panties end against smooth skin. Revels in the way it completely fills out his hand, already so much bigger than Soap’s. He squeezes and kneads, not unlike a cat, and waits for Soap’s reaction to the unkind grip.
He doesn’t. Only keeps breathing deep, even breaths, slumbering soundly. It’s the way he can still sleep through this apparent molestation that Ghost sneers.
“So used to this up till now, aren’t you?” He whispers rhetorically into the night. He keeps massaging and squeezing, until his cock twitches in desperation, then slips the hand lower.
They’ve done this more times in the past than in the present. When they’d been younger, more prone to the heat of the moment and adrenaline coursing through their veins—heated make-outs in the communal showers turning into rushed fucks in closets into warm beds by morning. But now, now Ghost doesn’t want to wait for their fights to end, to get permission to crawl back to his side.
His mound is still so soft, still so unnecessarily fat, despite the tiny, tiny slit that Ghost knows is nestled inside. He cups it from behind, mouth starting to salivate as he kneads this too, relishing in the feeling.
It’s not long before something wet starts to seep into the cloth of the panties. Ghost leans down, pressing a calming kiss to Soap’s ear when the man’s breaths come a little faster.
Crooking a finger around the edge, he tugs the underwear aside, until it stretches and traps itself in the crease of one thigh.
“I missed this,” Ghost sighs.
Soap’s shaved, chubby pussy glistens in the waning moonlight, a telltale sign of his arousal. Without thinking, he pinches the plush mound between forefinger and thumb, a molten drop of pleasure easing out with the squeeze.
Soap lets out a little huff, and then makes to roll away from whatever’s holding his most intimate area. But Ghost hushes him, quickly letting go to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him back.
He lies down on his side until he can get his other arm beneath him, to go back to Soap’s pretty cunt. He pets the abused flesh for a moment, rubbing slick all around, getting him wetter. When Soap’s sluggish struggles subside, he eases a finger in, splitting those fat lips to get even deeper.
The inner lips are already sopping wet. Ghost’s own breath hitches, feeling himself leak in his underwear, cock painfully hard and trapped beneath the waistband. Against his wishes, his hips twitch forward when even more pre-cum gushes out with the touch. He keeps petting, pressing harder and harder against where the opening should be, so tight Soap feels almost virginal against his thick finger.
A brush a little higher up on his slit, and Soap gives a slight jerk, groaning in his sleep. Ghost smiles against the back of his neck, doesn’t even realize he’d pressed himself close enough to get to it, before pushing down on the tiny, tiny, clit.
Soap shakes, body tensing and immediately trying to pull away once more. But Ghost’s arm around him is as good as steel, forcing him to remain in place as he rubs mindless circles around the nub.
By now, his pussy is leaking copious amounts of slick, enough for Ghost to gather on the rest of his hand. One finger becomes two, and then three, as he strokes down the sensitive flesh. The air grows warmer with their combined arousal, one unaware of its source, and Ghost’s hips now in an almost constant hitching motion, mimicking what he’s about to do.
The movement, the moisture, the hard, demanding push against his core, finally soften his entrance for Ghost to push a finger inside.
His middle enters with another gush of slick, and Ghost grunts out a curse. Searing soft heat wraps around his first knuckle, and then his second, making his cock jerk with jealousy to be in its place. But Ghost’s not small, and they’re not as young as they used to be—cramming himself inside without preparation would cause more than just discomfort now.
He tries not to think of the way he feels himself, impossibly, harden even more at the idea of seeing blood, of actually tearing Soap’s cute, perfect pussy in the hurry to fuck his way inside. Of what it says about him, that his excitement doesn’t dull in the slightest at the imaginary vision of himself forcing his cock into the other man, causing pain rather than pleasure, while he seeks his own out.
He tries to fixate, instead, on the way his cunt swallows his finger, and then another, when the excitement wins out. Soap groans, but doesn’t otherwise jostle awake with the rushed entry. His one raised leg stretches even higher, panties twisted beyond any hope of returning to their original size with the motion. As if his body is opening itself to the challenge, trying to widen for him.
Ghost laughs softly under his breath, thrusting his fingers in, out, in, out, and then scissoring them to help accommodate. It’s only a few minutes before his impatience gets the better of him and he wriggles his ring finger alongside them.
Soap’s dripping onto the covers at this point, a lewd sound softly emanating from between his legs as Ghost fucks him on his fingers. A part of Ghost wants to keep doing this, wants to make his body keep producing that messy, colorless liquid, until he has enough to lube up the other’s asshole. He can’t just leave without filling both holes on the other man, after all, especially if he can’t take his mouth.
Pumping in one last time, grinding his knuckles meanly in, in, in, until he’s sure it’s painful and Soap’s clit brushes against them with the pressure, Ghost finally yanks his hand back. He’s rewarded for his efforts by another tremendous gush of pre-cum from his loosened cunt, a squirt that escapes Soap along with a strangled moan.
His eyes flutter for a bit, a looming signal of his eventual return to consciousness, so Ghost hurriedly unbuttons his pants, pushes them down. His boxers get the same treatment, just enough until he can get his cock out, balls trapping the waistband against his thighs and keeping his clothes out of the way. He can’t have Soap waking up before he can get to the main event.
He pushes himself up until he can sit with his knees at either side of Soap’s legs, properly getting into position while the man’s still on his belly. It doesn’t take much to usher a pillow under his hips, still hopelessly lost to the oblivion of a sleeping pill.
With Soap’s back finally somewhat level with him, he angles himself down, down, down, until his fat cockhead can finally notch against Soap’s sopping wet pussy. Just the touch, the press, of his throbbing length against that delicious mound sets his nerves alight, shivers working their way up his spine.
He grinds his teeth, committing himself to savoring this moment—to taking this slow, to dragging his already dripping dick through the slick folds. To being good, and easing Soap into the act, once more, with him.
A slurred, tired groan breaks through, abruptly bringing his attention to Soap’s face. His eyelids are fluttering once more, blearily looking around him and then over his shoulder, over to Ghost.
“König…?” Soap asks, confused.
The commitment is lost.
Before Ghost can think, before he can stop the angry snarl raging a path on his own face, he slams down.
The full, thick length of his cock is enveloped in heat, all the way to the root—slick pushed out, pouring down Soap’s shaking thighs as he lets out a strangled yell. Ghost’s reaching up, burying his hand in Soap’s hair and shoving his head back down into the pillow as shivers overtake him.
It’s a mind-blowing, searing pleasure, sensitive walls bullied open by his throbbing dick. Grinding down a little more, toes curling, he can feel Soap’s muffled cries as vibrations all the way down to his pussy. He shuffles, only to sit higher on Soap’s thighs, so that his cock doesn’t leave him for one second.
“Wrong person,” he grinds out, needlessly. Soap struggles beneath him, either for air or to get away. But Ghost only presses down on his head harder, ignoring as hands grapple against the covers, one reaching up to grasp desperately at his wrist.
He has half the mind to suffocate the man, to feel oxygen and consciousness leave him with his dick still buried inside. It’s an interesting prospect, so interesting that his erection doesn’t flag in the least at the thought of fucking Soap’s unconscious body. He could wait for him to wake back up, for those pretty, blue eyes to flutter back open while he fucks him into awareness again.
But the tantalizing wet squelch against his cock distracts him. He looks down, sees the way Soap’s wet folds strain and stretch around him, hips jerking and twitching. His very much alive body still struggling to fit around his whole length. Ghost swipes his tongue along the front of his teeth, and finally lets go.
Soap arches off the pillow with a gasp for air. Ghost gives him a second to catch his breath before pushing on his shoulders. He keeps him in place and slowly pulls out.
“S-Simon? What are you—hhgh!” Soap twists, teeth clenching as Ghost shoves back inside without warning.
Lightning bolts of pleasure lance through Ghost, ecstasy briefly winning out over the anger, in the moments he spends back inside Soap’s cunt. He can feel slick gathering at the base of his cock, trailing all the way down to his balls. It’s a blinding, heady mixture of hedonism that temporarily makes him ignore Soap’s slight, so he wrenches himself back out, and then does it again.
“Fuck…!” Soap’s reedy voice is lost, punched out by Ghost slamming in and out, in and out, too fast for him to even process. There’s hardly any consideration for his pleasure, but they’ve done this enough times before that Ghost now knows his cock is fat enough to drive into that spongey bundle of nerves inside without him even having to look for it.
He hunches over the man, arms wrapping around him in a headlock. He’s high enough on the bed that Soap can do nothing but smack uselessly against his shoulders, a forearm pressed down on his neck, another pulling his head far back enough that he has to listen to Ghost’s groans right in his ear.
Ghost fucks into Soap exactly as he is, as a man starved of his tight pussy for far too long.
“Got it on the second try,” His balls smack against Soap’s ass with the force of his thrusts, loud in the small room. He licks a stripe along Soap’s clenched jaw, reveling in the way the other man’s eyes roll up in spite of his hushed noises of pleasure. Practically snarling through his teeth, trying to prevent the “hah, hgh, ngh…!” from going past a few decibels.
“Not even the first to do this to you, huh? Already have that son of a bitch creeping into your room to fuck you? Whore,” He spits. An elbow digs into his side and he puts his weight on the smaller man, chest on his back, cock buried to the hilt, to put a stop to it. “Who else sneaks inside for a taste, hmm? You got the whole base wrapped up in your slutty cunt, too?”
His forearm closes around Soap’s throat before he can even think to reply. Choking, Soap tightens even more around him, and Ghost rolls his hips at a steady pace in an attempt to stave off the impossible.
Every rough drag has him seeing stars. Despite the smug joy he’d taken from Soap’s inability to control his expression at the onslaught, it’s now his eyes rolling back up into his skull as he drives insatiably into the sloppy, dripping hole.
“I was the first,” he huffs breathlessly, body working on muscle memory at this point to maximize the experience. Piston-fucking in and out, slick making the slide even easier and driving him crazy. The pungent smell, the noises, filling up his senses like a drug.
“Fuck, I was the first, I should be the last.”
Soap’s cunt is like a vice around him, straining, even as he starts to go limp with lack of oxygen. Ghost eases up on the pressure only to shove his tongue into Soap’s gasping mouth, back curved tightly up, up, up.
It laps at the other man’s teeth, the top of his palate, before curling around Soap’s own. He sucks on his tongue, pulls until Soap’s lips are wide open, eyes deliriously on him, nearly consuming him.
There’s another way to rack up this ecstasy, another way he wants this round to finish. Head-aching desire rings through his skull with the need to keep those eyes still on him when he does.
His cock slips out with another strangled noise that he ignores, planting his feet more firmly onto the mattress. He yanks at the flimsy, wet elastic of the panties still somehow trapped by Soap’s meaty thighs, until they snap and slide off.
Flipping Soap onto his back is easy, then, the other man turned pliant and too confused to do anything about the sudden change in position and loss of underwear. Bending his flailing legs until his knees meet his chest is even easier, though Soap wheezes with exertion at being reduced into a human pretzel.
Both his fat ass and pussy are exposed in the air like this, a sensuous, dangerous sight that makes Ghost shake with want.
His own thighs at either side of Soap’s hips, he practically sits on his curled form. As Soap lets out a garbled moan, a soft, “Simon…get off, I can’t…fucking breathe…”, Ghost slots the head of his dick once more between pink, shaved lips.
He lets gravity do the rest.
Drops the rest of his weight back onto Soap, driving his cock down in one go—so fucking far in, so fucking deep, he swears he’s pushing right into his cervix—in a mating press.
Ghost lets out a loud, long groan. Sparks light up the backs of his eyelids, spine arching with the spasms of pleasure that run through it.
His hand slams down onto Soap’s face in the next second, smothering his mouth before the scream can erupt in full volume. Slick surges out around the length of him, an obscene amount, to the point that he glances down and laughs breathlessly. Almost looks like Soap’s pissed himself—orgasm cruelly wrenched from him with the sheer pressure of the cock buried deep in his guts.
It’ll be the first of the night, if Ghost can help it.
He keeps the grip around Soap’s mouth, free hand fisting the sheets beside his head for some stability. Thick, powerful thighs working on overtime, Ghost raises himself until only the mushroom tip is stuck inside. “Look at that,” He sighs. “You’re still hungry for more. Doesn’t matter whose cock is inside you, so long as one is, no?”
He drops down again, watching in shivery delight as Soap’s eyes cross. Heart beating wildly in his chest, tight sac sticky against Soap’s ass with cum, Ghost loses his mind to need.
He pounds into Soap with animalistic fervor—the new angle so much better and so much worse, depending on which of them asked. Orgasming once has made Soap oversensitive, practically covering Ghost and the sheets with juice at each pass. Under Ghost’s unrelenting hand, he can hear Soap call out his name in pained heaves of breath.
“Does it hurt, Johnny?” He coos, meanly. Uncaring. “I feel like I’m hitting something else in here. Think my dick will be able to get through it?”
Soap shakes his head, gaze wild as he finally seems to remember his arms. Nails rake down Ghost’s back, down his ribs, like he’s trying to stop or wound him enough to get off. But the burst of agony only makes Ghost grit his teeth, cock pulsing a stream of pre-cum into his cunt.
“Shit, you feel so good,” He groans, working his hips, grinding and shoving. The bed creaks a continuous tempo with his pace, slamming the headboard against the wall. “Missed this. Missed you.” He repeats, in spite of himself.
Letting Soap’s face go so he can wrap around the back of his neck instead, he leans even closer to kiss him once more. But it’s more like they’re panting into each other’s mouths at this point—Soap, with a trail of drool down the furry edges of his jaw, a high “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts…” whined into the tongue Ghost keeps trying to force down his throat.
But the hard pressure coming into contact with his cockhead at each thrust in only encourages him, entices him. He keeps drilling down onto it, feet scrabbling at the mattress in an attempt to get even deeper.
Ghost feels when the fleshy wall against his tip starts to soften, to give way. Sweat pours off them both as he presses onto Soap’s legs and licks at any bit of skin he can reach. He pushes harder, fucks faster, with rolling, unforgiving plunges—until the head is sheathed, somehow, even deeper inside.
“Simon!”
Soap jerks, once, twice. His cunt clamps down even tighter around Ghost. His hands slide and shove, staring unseeingly up at him, lips moving soundlessly—when a spray of cum spews from him, drenching Ghost’s stomach, thighs, even splattering a bit onto his face.
The sight, the sensation, zings through Ghost, even seeing it happen a second time. It’s almost bone-breaking, the snarl that works its way back onto his lips, the euphoria. White fills his vision, buzzes in one ear, out the other, as he envelopes Soap in his arms and follows.
He comes, and comes, and comes. Directly into Soap’s guts, overflowing with the amount of it—it slides over his cock, down to his balls, dripping onto the mattress. Almost mechanically, on instinct, Ghost keeps moving—fucking himself stupid, drunk on the feeling of Soap’s pussy, intoxicated by the all-encompassing bliss of filling him up, breeding him.
Soap lies limp on the bed, letting him use his body like a flesh-light to work himself into a frenzy. Knocked out by the pleasure, lack of oxygen, Ghost doesn’t really know or care at this point.
He pants as his vision slowly returns, the edges of everything blurry, only the feeling of his cock encased in warm, wet heaven clear.
Finally, as the ecstasy borders into pain, Ghost stops. He leans back with a low sigh, sitting back on his feet. Rolling his head on his shoulders, hearing a crack, he looks down to survey the damage.
Soap’s chest still rises and falls with even breaths. Good—he’s still alive, at least. His arms have fallen to the sides, much like his legs around Ghost’s waist. Still speared on Ghost’s softening cock, he almost looks like he’s sleeping again.
But because Ghost is not kind, doesn’t want the man to remain unconscious for this, he snaps his fingers in Soap’s face.
Slowly, the other man blinks back awake. For a moment, his eyes search the ceiling above them, blearily looking around, not quite comprehending how they’d shut again. And then they snap back to Ghost.
“You son of a bitch—” He starts, voice rough and gravelly from the strain. Ghost cuts him off with a pointed thrust of his hips. Nothing more than a rock, really, but it gets them both to hiss, and Soap to look down at where they’re still connected.
“Did you really—? Pull out right now!”
Ghost rolls his eyes, and doesn’t. “That’s all you can say? Even after I snuck in, fucked you into passing out?”
“I—” Surprisingly, Soap doesn’t just shove him off. Awake and fully conscious of everything going on now, he has enough strength and experience to do it. But he only reddens, and then looks away. “I’d. I’d rather we talk, without your dick in me.”
His coy demeanor and flushed skin make Ghost twitch inside him. But at the outraged glare sent his way, and the bitter curiosity burning in his gut, Ghost huffs. Slowly, he acquiesces, sliding himself out.
The little splurt! of come that greets them from his swollen, red cunt is almost enough to get Ghost going again. But he refrains from putting the man into another headlock and forcing his oversensitive cock back inside, instead watching as pearlescent liquid spills down into Soap’s taint, further staining the sheets below.
This time it’s Soap snapping fingers in his face, quickly closing his legs to hide the filthy view.
“Eyes up here, pervert,” He says. Ghost stares at him, deadpan and shameless.
For a moment, they’re quiet. Just taking the time to properly look at each other, now that the haze of lust and frenzied need has passed. Soap uncurls his body and sits up, moving gingerly with a few pops emanating from his back.
“Where’d you come from?” He asks, finally. He drags his poor, soiled covers closer to wipe himself down.
Ghost tries not to fixate as the cloth passes over cut abs, fat thighs, and carefully, his ruined, pretty pussy.
“The hallway.” He drawls. Pulling his leer back up, he sees Soap staring at him, unimpressed.
“Har har,” he throws the covers to Ghost. “Seriously now.”
“A mission,” Ghost takes them, cleaning the mess on his own body. “Thought I’d visit for a little late-night reunion. Just like old times.”
“Old times, huh,” Soap repeats tonelessly. When Ghost refocuses on him, watching for any signs of anger, the same resentment so deeply rooted in their interactions nowadays, he’s surprised to find him sighing instead.
“Ghost, we’re not…I thought we were past this.”
“’This?’” Ghost echoes. Instead, he’s the one who starts feeling the curdling edges of ire. Soap’s return to his callsign doesn’t escape him either, stoking the fire of his outrage. “Is that what all this is to you? Some nameless relationship?”
“Yes! What else is it supposed to be?” Soap throws a hand out between them, temper flaring, as always, when Ghost’s does. “We’re not together. We’re not lovers, we’re not—we can’t even be called friends, when we’re always at each other’s throats now. We used to sleep with each other, but that doesn’t…we haven’t even done that in a while now!”
Ghost grabs at the outstretched arm, pulling Soap to him. He cups Soap’s mound, squeezing it meanly until he can feel another pulse of cum leak through his fingers, making Soap wince. “What do you think I was doing to you just now then? Was that not sleeping with you, Johnny? I’m just trying to fall back into things, to make us like we were again.”
Soap growls, and shoves away from him. “By fucking me without consent? By strangling me until I had no choice but to take it? I never agreed to that. You can’t just sneak back in here and expect things to be the same.”
“Oh, so that’s why you got someone else to do it for you? Who was it again, König?” Ghost snaps. “Or were you already fucking the bastard behind my back, when we’d started?”
“What are you not getting? We’re not together, Ghost! We have never been together, have never called each other boyfriend, or lover, or whatever you want to name the damned thing. So even if I was sleeping with him, it shouldn’t matter to you!”
“But it does!” Ghost erupts. He grasps at Soap’s shoulders, shaking the other man, as anger bleeds into desperation in his voice. “It always has! Even if we didn’t put a fucking label on it, I always thought—I thought you were mine.”
The confession doesn’t give him the sympathy or adoration he thinks it would. Soap just looks at him with disappointment curling his mouth downwards, dimmed eyes shining greyish blue in the moonlight.
“Should’ve done something about it then,” He says, quietly. “Or maybe I should have. But it’s too late for that now.”
“Too late…? Are you sure?” Ghost brings him even closer, thumb rubbing soothing, mindless circles into his skin. Soap puts his hand on his chest before he can slot their mouths together.
He nods. “Too late. Don’t pretend that you haven’t been with other people too. And doing that to me, while having someone else…there’s no way I can accept that.”
“What? What are you talking about? Who else would I—?”
Soap gives him a scathing look. “Even before, I knew you were sleeping with other people. No one as consistently as me, maybe, but I don’t doubt that you haven’t changed that part of you since then.”
Ghost stills. He stares down at Soap unseeingly, glimpses of his past hookups flashing through his mind. Other recruits and subordinates, coyly suggesting that he release some stress before a mission, after a mission. Going down on him, bending over for him.
He’d known…?
“I thought—” He stutters, caught. “I didn’t think. You never said anything about it, so it seemed like…”
“Like it was okay?” Soap shrugs, looking away. “It was, back then. It had to be. Like you said, what we had didn’t have a label, so it seemed like it should be an okay thing to do.”
He takes a deep breath, turning back around. “But things have changed. We’re different people now. And I don’t want that for myself anymore.”
Ghost hadn’t come into this room expecting for anything more. Not really. But he’d wanted—he’d wanted, at least, an approximation of what they’d used to have.
Wanted to have Soap wrapped around him again, smiling warmly up at him in the dead of night. Wanted that low voice crooning in his ear, like before, soft kisses exchanged and laughs shared as their bodies moved together. Wanted to have this image of the other man, safe in the knowledge that no one else touched him like he did, no one else made him feel like he did.
He’d wanted Johnny. For as long as he’s known the man, has desired him carnally, passionately.
Romantically.
He breathes the other’s name in a rushed, pleading whisper. “Do you not want me?”
Soap cups the side of his neck, fingertips brushing over his jawline. He leans into the touch, turns and kisses each of them. Soap exhales.
“Not anymore,” He admits, breaking Ghost. “And you shouldn’t have done that. It didn’t…it didn’t feel like anything we used to have. I didn’t want that tainting the memory of us.”
The unspoken “and now it will” floats through the air between them, and Ghost grits his teeth. He keeps looking at Soap, keeps searching for some sign of forgiveness.
All he sees are twin pools of blue, regret and disappointment reflected back at him.
“Please, Johnny,” Ghost can’t help begging, suddenly pathetic in the face of the consequences of his actions. “Please, give me a chance. One more chance, to make things right again. I’ll do better. I won’t force you into anything, I won’t fuck anyone else. Please, just…”
His head drops, weak against the mere prospect of it. “…don’t cut me out of your life like this.”
They aren’t…really in each other’s lives anymore. Aren’t really involved, don’t really talk like they used to. Don’t keep each other updated on the separate missions they go on, beyond what was necessary for their work in the 141. By now, they’ve spent weeks apart, keeping a tenuous distance on-base, with no other interactions beyond aloof professionalism.
He almost wants to laugh, doesn’t know why he’d say that. It had just…never struck him, that, for all their bickering in the few occasions they’d meet, the scathing remarks, all for the sake of their separate ideas of duty, protection, and allies—it’d never occurred to him that Soap might just never want to see him again.
Might be capable of leaving him. And the memory of all those nights and private moments together, just like that. At the side of another, no less.
It’s an insane, toxic part of him, that never even considered it at all. He’d thought, as long as Soap still had his eyes on him, was still somehow as focused on him as he was on the other—be it in rage, hurt, or pain—everything was fine. They’d still be irrevocably stuck together, tied down by shared history, both joyful and not.
But the words, Not anymore, ring through his skull. I didn’t want that tainting the memory of us, like he’d been all too ready to let it all go.
Soap’s hand slides from his neck, and he surges at it like a lifeline, holding onto it.
“I’m sorry,” He mumbles into the skin, eyes large and beseeching when he finally has the courage to meet his again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. All of it—tonight, back then…”
He peters into silence, feeling nauseous suddenly at the remembrance of one of their first, real fights. The real ending to those soft, blissful dawns and dusks, spent together.
We should have saved them. Soap had yelled, shaking. We could’ve helped, Ghost—
When Ghost had shot him down with the reminder that they’d once lost Hassan because of Soap’s same, foolhardy concern, when he’d brought up how Soap’s kindness rarely did any good for them—
Choices have consequences, right, Soap had grit out back at him, glare hard and unforgiving. Aye, that’s what you always say.
A staggering facsimile of this moment.
Soap gazes down at him. His crestfallen expression tells him he’s remembering it all too.
With nothing else to offer, Ghost begs.
Again, softer. “Please, Johnny.”
They sit in a long, drawn silence. Despite it, Ghost’s heart aches and throbs, beating a thunderous pattern against his ribcage. Neither of them move, as they simply breathe in the suffocating air that’s shrouded them.
The seconds tick by. Ghost feels his stomach drop with encroaching dread.
A part of him doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s told right now, in his face, to go away. That he never wants to be seen again, never wants to have to interact with him beyond missions. He thinks he’ll simply slink away, lick his wounds in sullen, guarded privacy. Go back to his barracks like nothing had happened.
But another part, one that’s more honest, knows he won’t be able to do that. Knows, with infinite, terrifying wisdom, that he’ll go the extra mile, now that he’s done too many regrettable things.
Might as well go all the way, it hisses consideringly, eyeing Soap’s naked, vulnerable form.
It almost thinks it’s time for that, almost forces him to lash out, when Soap twists his hand from his grasp.
He moves so that it settles, instead, on his forearm. The same forearm that had held him down, choked him, as he was fucked to the point of pain. But the touch is gentle and warm, familiar, and not pushing at him as he thought it would.
He raises his head, hoping against hope that it means something.
Soap sighs again, and speaks, at last. “…I need to think about this.”
It’s not a yes. But neither is it an absolute no. Either way, it comes out tremulous, weak—so obviously for Ghost—that he breaks out into a smile.
Fidgeting under the intensity of his renewed stare, Soap coughs. “I said, I’ll think about it. I need time. A lot of things have changed, and we’ve…we’re just not good for each other anymore.”
Ghost knows. Has realized it since the thought of sneaking into his room first popped into his head, insidious desire running rampant through reason and morality. But he hasn’t come this far not knowing how to lie, both to Soap, and to himself.
He wants this man, even if it kills him.
“We’ll—I’ll do better,” he repeats. “I’ll show you how serious I am.”
“None of that,” Soap is quick to reprimand. “I’m not looking for proof to see if we can go back to how we were. I wasn’t asking for an apology, either. I need time to think if it’s even a good idea to be near each other. To be talking like this, even after everything we—you’ve done.”
Ghost nods, though his mind is already miles away. He slowly, carefully, brings his arms around Soap once more, pulling him until he can get the man on his lap in a hug.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes,” Relief floods him as he buries his head into his neck. “I promise. Think about it. Please.”
Joy doesn’t even begin to describe the way he feels as Soap hesitantly returns the hug around his shoulders. This man—always so weak against him. He smiles into Soap’s throat, kisses the bruised, purpling flesh.
“I’ll wait.”