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“Woah, hey Soap, you’re looking submissive and breedable tonight.”
Just when Ghost thinks the other members of 141 can’t surprise him with anymore shit than they already have, they go and say things like this. He really should be used to Gaz’s out of pocket humor when it comes to Soap by now, but the way his bourbon is siphoning up through his nose tells him he’s anything but.
Gaz, who’d clasped Soap’s hand in his, turns toward Ghost with a mortified smile on his face while Soap grins at them both, “Lieutenant, didn’t see you there.”
“That’s the point, Gaz.”
It had been Price of all people to suggest a night out at a pub he trusts. Their last mission had been a little hairy, left them with new faces to add to their lists, and aches and pains that could be glossed over with a little liquid luck. They’d all been more than a little eager to drink their sorrows away, even Ghost, and had been looking forward to their late night rendezvous since the group text had gone out.
Ghost and Soap had ridden together in an Uber to get a head start on Price and Gaz, who’d had some sort of meeting for an upcoming operation they were working on together. By the time Gaz was hugging Soap, Johnny’s cheeks were ruddy and his smile even larger than normal. Even Ghost felt the effects of whatever sour flavored shots Soap had ordered for them both. The bourbon in his second glass also didn’t help the warmth in his belly.
“Seriously, though,” Gaz looks away and does a jokingly obnoxious sweep of Soap’s body, who holds his arms out and nods at the implication, “what’s the occasion, Soap?”
“What? A guy canna wear jeans and a t-shirt without havin’ some sor’a ulterior motives?” Soap asks accusatorially, while still grinning.
“Soap.” Price glides in, slipping out of his jacket to hang it on the back of his chair, “You look…good tonight.”
Gaz snaps his fingers and motions to Price, “See? Even the Captain agrees!”
“What do I agree with?”
“Soap dressed to impress. He’s totally looking to get laid tonight.”
Price lets out a long-suffering sigh, “I haven’t even had a drink yet to deal with this, Gaz.”
“Get me a beer, yeah?” Gaz calls, and Price waves in acknowledgment on his way to the bar, “The ladies are gonna eat that cut on your eye up.”
Soap rolls his eyes, the cut from his eyebrow to the corner of his left eye barely crusted over, “I dinnae even know if I’m leavin’ with a lass yet, Gaz. I just picked out the first thing in my drawer.”
Ghost’s ears twitch at that, honing in on it, and piquing a suspicion he’d had for a while now. A suspicion that maybe it wasn’t just women Soap liked to go home with. Maybe, he leaned a little in both ways. Maybe, the gut wrenching disgust Ghost felt with himself for looking a little bit too much at his duty partner, wasn’t so filthy after all.
“Right, the tightest shirt you own. Sure.” Gaz wrinkles his nose, “You’re not subtle, Soap. Everyone here can tell.”
“What can I say? I’m just a man.” Soap looks wistfully off into the distance, “Adrenaline dumps really get me. Gotta get it out somehow.”
“Don’t I know it.” Gaz shakes his head, “Nothing a little me time in the shower won’t fix.”
“Ah, I feel ye there. But sometimes after the close ops, I get a little extra amped up.” Soap shrugs, “Hand just doesn’t cut it, I need a good fuck.”
Price returns in the middle of the Soap’s sentence, has enough time to pass Gaz’s drink over, and then sighs again before downing his whole beer, “Oh look, I need another.” And off he goes back to the bar.
“What about you, LT?”
Ghost peels his eyes away from Price’s retreating back to turn his gaze to Soap’s, tipping his head in question.
“What’s got ye relieving stress? Gaz’s shower trick, or are ye goin’ on a trip tonight too?” Soap slips back into their booth next to him, Gaz taking opposite.
“I’ll see where the night takes me.” Is his answer.
When Price returns with another beer and a tray of shots for everyone, they cheers to another mission accomplished, before dissolving into more talks about work. Ghost listens tracing his fingers up and down his glass, coming up with things to offer up to the conversation, but keeping them to himself.
Instead, he lets his mind wander to Soap next to him, all smiles and jokes as he razzes Gaz for drinking “some piss water of a beer”. The other Sergeant hadn’t been wrong about the way Soap had dressed, he looked almost provocatively good, but in the most modest way possible. The jeans he wore hugged nice and tight to his thighs, curving over his ass like they were tailored for it. His long-sleeve shirt, while a plain dry-fit material, was practically molded to him, showing off every flexing muscle and ab Soap had. The cut on his eye also didn’t help matters in Ghost’s pants any. He’s lucky he’s even functioning at all with the way Soap’s thigh presses to his under the table, much like it does on exfil.
To keep his already compromised thoughts from getting anymore out of control, he selfishly attempts to come up with a reason to keep Soap from leaving the bar with anyone but him. Ghost knows it isn’t fair, knows he had every right to go home with whoever he pleased, but if Ghost said he’d never been the jealous type, he’d be lying.
It’s not even like he has a right to be jealous. He’d never told Soap how crazy he makes him. How, when he’s breathing hard after pushing forward during a firefight, sweat tracking across the grime on his face, Ghost finds himself getting hot under the collar. How, when Soap is creating a new explosive—or defusing one for that matter—he gets such a fond look on his face that it makes Ghost actually smile. How, when Soap smiles, Ghost’s long-thought-dead heart does a little jump. How, when they’re holed up in a safe house together for days on end, Ghost jerks himself off to the sound of Soap doing the same when he thinks he’s the only one awake.
But it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Ghost that Soap’s gaze lingered on him just a little longer than everyone else. He was naturally a handsy person, loved touching the people he trusted, but it was different with Ghost. It was evident in the way his shoulder was nearly glued to Ghost’s on flights home, or the way his head would eventually come to rest on Ghost’s when he’d nod off after a particularly grueling mission, or the way he’d seek out Ghost’s companionship, and no one else’s, after returning on an op they weren’t teamed up for. Soap was always noticeably more at ease when Ghost was by his side, both in the field and on base, and he doesn’t think it’s for nothing. All of those points added up had summed Ghost’s suspicion in the first place, but he had nothing to act on.
So no, he doesn’t have a right to be jealous, but he is nonetheless.
He watches Soap’s eyes suddenly flick across the room and then track right, before his lips press together in a smirk, and he gets to his feet, “Anyone need another?”
“I’ll take one.” Ghost says instantly, despite the half glass of bourbon in his hand, “A beer if you would, Johnny.”
“Aye, ye got it, LT.” Soap says without looking away from whoever had caught his eye.
Ghost watches him cut his way to the bar, while Price and Gaz dissolve into a discussion on their upcoming mission. Soap seamlessly slides himself up in between a pretty blonde, and a lean man with dark hair and tattoos on both arms, that had just sat down. The blonde tips her head to him and says something that Soap grins about, but then he turns toward the man with tattoos and smiles.
The man says something, and Soap laughs before stretching languidly to the side, across the bartop, to flag down the bartender. Ghost watches as the other’s eyes traverse Soap’s body, catching on where his shirt rides up with his outstretched arm, exposing his toned midriff and the peppering of dark hair leading from his navel to below the waistband of his jeans. He visibly swallows before looking back up at Soap, who’d been eyeing him the whole time with a pleased look on his face.
Ghost swallows hard, blinking to try and make sure he’s not seeing things. But he isn’t, he can see the way Soap’s mouth curls to the side as he talks, kicking a foot up onto the wrung of the stool the other man is sitting in, or the way mystery man leans in to the Scot, tipping his head back as he meets Soap’s undoubted banter with some of his own.
Bitter and inky black jealousy bleeds into Ghost’s chest, but before he can do something so stupid as to get up and interrupt them, the bartender is setting three drinks in front of Soap, who pays her. He slides one to the mystery man, leans forward to say something in his ear that has him smirking, and then picks the other two up to saunter back to the booth.
“Beer, as requested.” Soap says, sliding in and bumping Ghost’s shoulder with his own. He takes a drink from his glass, immediately pitching in to the conversation happening in front of them, while Ghost trains his eye on the man at the bar.
Intermittently, he turns away from his friends to throw looks at Soap, who pretends not to see. But when he’s not looking, Soap’s gaze falls to him. A game of cat and mouse, Ghost realizes, and while the other man thinks he’s the cat, Soap has him right where he wants like the mouse he is.
“Let’s go for a smoke, Johnny.” Ghost says abruptly, nudging him out of the booth with his knee.
“I dinnae smoke, LT, ye know that.” He says with a smile and furrowed eyebrows.
“I want to pick your brain about something.” Ghost offers, in turn wracking his own to figure out what he’s supposed to be so interested in.
Soap slides out of his seat and diligently follows Ghost out the back, leaving Price and Gaz in their own little world.
The outside air is chilly, spring finally deciding to roll around but being a cold bitch about it.
Ghost lights up a cigarette, pulling his mask forward off his face enough to fit his cigarette without removing it, and breathes in the nicotine.
“What’s up, LT?” Soap asks, leaning against the wall next to him, “Everything okay?”
“You said you don’t smoke.”
“Aye, I don’t.”
“But you do.”
Soap frowns, “I dinnae ken what ye mean?”
“My room is right next to yours on base, Johnny. I can smell it.” Ghost takes another inhale, “You and Gaz smoke weed all the time.”
Soap swallows, “I…it helps. With anxiety, ye know?”
Ghost grunts in acknowledgment.
Soap must take this as something different, because he turns toward him with an unapologetic look, going on the defensive even when Ghost hadn’t been on the opposing side to begin with, “Fine, okay, I smoke a little here and there, mostly just after bad ops. It’s weed, not heroin, it’s not tha’ big of a deal. I only told Gaz because he needed to relax one time.”
“No need to get defensive, Johnny, I don’t give a fuck if you smoke it. Just thought it was funny you said you didn’t smoke.” Ghost says with a simple shrug.
“Oh.” Soap’s shoulders relax, and an embarrassed smile crosses his lips, “For a second I thought ye were going all high and mighty on me.”
“Never.” Ghost huffs, “Whatever gets you through the shit, Johnny.”
“Aye.”
That’s when it clicks, and things slide right into place.
“I was going to ask you about it.” Ghost continues, “If it works. Sometimes when we get home, my hands shake. Can’t get ‘em to stop for shit.”
Soap hums, “Works real good for me. I can actually sleep at night.”
“You think maybe I could try some?” Ghost asks, laying it all out right there for Soap to stare at, “Never done it before.”
“Sure.” He says instantly, his penchant for wanting to help making Ghost even more enamored with him, “Just let me know when you want some. I got plenty.”
“Tonight.”
At that, Soap’s lips press into a line, and his eyes flick to the door undoubtedly at the promise of having mystery man in the palm of his hand, “Ah, I dinnae ken about tonight, LT. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Forget it, then.” Ghost says, not harshly, but he knows it still sounds bitchy, “I’m only asking now because I’m drunk anyway.”
“Well.” He can see Soap warring with himself, going home with mystery guy to satisfy himself vs helping his lieutenant relax for once battling in his head. He can see the moment when one side wins, because Soap sighs and nods, “I suppose we could do it tonight.”
And now Ghost starts to feel guilty about it, “Don't worry about it, Johnny.”
“Nah, I already done made up my mind.” Soap waves him off with a grin, “Smokin’ a little weed with my LT, what else would I wanna do with my night, eh?”
Ghost tries to ignore the sheer amount of satisfaction at hearing my LT leave Soap’s mouth, “I could think of at least one thing.”
“Don't listen to Gaz, that dobber.” Soap wrinkles his nose, and Ghost pretends to know what a dobber is, “He really likes to get under my skin sometimes.”
“I’m serious, Johnny.” Ghost says, and after all that work he’d put in, too, “If you have plans—”
“Only plans I have are with you.”
“Right.” Ghost says, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it under his boot, chest swelling with victory, “Then it’s settled.”
“Wanna head out now? I think Gaz and the Captain are just doing a drunk version of the debrief for their mission coming up. We can just say we’re headed back and they probably won’t even pay attention.” Soap says, and Ghost nods his approval.
Indeed, the other half of 141 barely nods as Soap and Ghost say goodbye. The man at the bar turns as Soap shrugs into his jacket, eyes questioning whether or not he should get up and approach him.
Ghost steps into his line of sight while Soap claps a glossy-eyed Gaz on the shoulder, and tips his head. Mystery man finally looks up at him, and Ghost squares his shoulders, using every ounce of his size to his advantage. He lifts his chin, laying claim, challenging mystery man to even breathe in Soap’s direction again.
They stare at each other for only a few moments, but Ghost would have done it all night. Years of hiding his face had made him exceptional at expressing what he wanted to through his eyes, especially intimidation. He watches the man swallow, and then nod once before turning back to his friends.
“Ready, LT?” Soap asks, looking up at him expectantly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gaz and Price share a glance, the younger man badly hiding a smirk and an arched eyebrow, tipping his head as if in challenge. Price sighs and nods.
Ghost ignores them and motions to the door, “On you.”
And if he doesn’t feel the smug satisfaction of knowing mystery man watches them leave together, he’d be lying.
“Okay, it’s just like smokin’ a cigarette, ye just hold it in longer.” Soap explains, holding the joint between his fingers to light it. He demonstrates, taking a deep inhale before slowly letting it out a few moments later. They’re lounging on his bed, backs to the wall, Soap’s leg pressed to Ghost’s in his usual display of familiarity.
Ghost nods, “I know how to smoke, Johnny. Been doing it for years.”
“It burns the first few times, be warned.”
On the ride back to base, Ghost had slipped a plain balaclava back on, so he tugs the fabric up over his mouth to rest over his nose as he takes the joint from Soap. He pulls in a deep breath like Soap had, and immediately gets a lungful of hot ash, leaving him coughing and sputtering, eyes watering.
“What the fuck.” He chokes.
Soap is snickering from his side of the bed, “I told ye it burns the first time, why’d ye go so hard?”
“I don’t know if you know this, Johnny, but you tend to exaggerate.” Ghost says, trying to clear his throat.
“Do it more gently this time, yeah? Only a little one.” Soap holds up his thumb and index finger, barely not touching.
Ghost attempts again, only a little one as Soap had said, but the damage was already done. He coughs up more and curses himself for failing at doing something so mundane, when it was only a ploy to get Soap to himself in the first place.
“I don’t know if this is my thing, Johnny.” Ghost says, with more annoyance in himself than he means to, dragging his balaclava back over his nose.
“Ah, Christ, LT, give it here.” Soap says, taking the joint back, “I’ll help ye out just this one time.”
“What are you-”
And, like he’d seen straight into Ghost’s fantasies, Soap rises to his knees and throws a leg over Ghost’s lap to settle into it. They’re facing each other, Ghost staring up at him in surprise as Soap straddles him, resting on his thighs, lips wrapped around the joint as he gazes back. The air in the room suddenly turns thick, at least in Ghost’s lungs.
Soap’s fingers softly trace over the hem of Ghost’s balaclava where it rests across the bridge of his nose, “Can I?”
Ghost can only nod, swallowing harshly as Soap pulls it down to his chin, revealing more of his face than anyone had seen in a very long time. His hands brush against Soap’s knees, and his mind blanks on where to put them, because they come to rest on his thighs.
“Open your mouth.” Soap mumbles with the joint between his lips, inhaling smoke into his own lungs. Ghost does as he’s told, and thinks he may have an out of body experience as Soap leans down, hovering their mouths together by a fraction of an inch. He slowly exhales, and Ghost can taste the smoke on his tongue as he breathes it in.
“Better?” Soap asks, not moving away.
“Yeah.” Ghost says stupidly, and then watches Soap sit up straight to put the joint back in his mouth.
They stare at each other for a few more moments, the charge in the room sparking. Soap makes no moves to extricate himself from Ghost’s lap, and Ghost doesn’t want him to. He feels good there, his body solid and weighing him down into the bed. His hands rest on Ghost’s shoulders, maybe gripping a little tighter than what’s normal, and those blue eyes seem to be a darker shade than usual, half lidded and heavy with something Ghost can’t track. It makes his mouth water, craving something further than a look and a body he’s not sure he can touch.
“Can I ask you something, Johnny?” He finds himself asking, without really knowing he was going to. Maybe the weed was doing something after all.
“Anything, LT.”
“Do you ever think about—”
Me? Us?
“Other men?” He settles on, feeling stupid about it.
One side of Soap’s mouth slowly curls into a smile, and his eyebrows furrow as he says, “Are ye askin’ if I swing both ways?”
“If that’s how you want to put it.”
“Why’re ye askin’ that, LT?” Soap asks, but he sounds like he already knows. Like he can see right through Ghost.
“I saw you talking to that bloke at the bar.” Ghost offers as simple explanation, but he can’t help the tinge of bitterness in the undertone.
“Oh?” Soap tilts his head, “Do I hear jealousy, LT?”
Ghost scoffs, glancing over that, “I was just curious, is all.”
“Just curious.” Soap repeats, nodding to himself before taking another drag from the joint. He then sets it down on the table next to his bed, freeing up his hands to take Ghost’s face between them, fingers slipping under the sides of his balaclava as they track back to thread through his hair.
If Ghost didn’t want to remember every single second of this moment, his eyes would have fluttered closed at the touch. How long had it been since someone had run their hands through his hair? Since someone had touched him so gently at all?
Soap’s thumbs find his lips, tracing them softly before running down to his chin, pulling his mouth open just slightly. With that, he leans down, lips parting as his tongue curls Ghost’s upper lip between his teeth. With Ghost’s mouth still open, Soap breathes more smoke into it, before pressing their lips together, deep and unyielding, hands holding his head firm. His tongue finds Ghost’s, sliding against it before curling at his teeth. He’s warm and soft and sweet against Ghost’s mouth, tasting of smoke and whiskey and Soap, and Ghost is nearly drunk off it by the time Soap sits back up.
“That answer yer question?” He asks, pupils blown.
“Sure, but now I have more.” Ghost says, head spinning.
Soap hums, “I can answer those too, if ye want.”
That goes straight between Ghost’s legs, where he’s admittedly already half hard. He peels a hand away from Soap’s thigh, wrapping it around the back of his head to pull him down, “Yeah, I fucking want, Johnny.”
Their mouths slot back together, a lot less coordinated and a lot more sloppy. Soap’s hands tip Ghost’s head up toward him, while Ghost’s fingers feather through the thick hair of Soap’s mohawk. His other arm wraps tightly around his waist, pulling their bodies flush, and he sits up straighter to press his mouth more firmly to Soap’s. The other man moans softly, breathing heavily against him as their tongues slide sweet and hot together.
“I canna believe ye asked me if I thought about men.” Soap mumbles against Ghost’s lips, his own pulled into a grin.
“Are you trying to ruin the moment, because—?”
Soap nips at his lower lip, “Eejit. All I ever think about is you. Since Las Almas.”
“What?” Ghost pulls away to look at his face, to make sure Soap’s not just cracking another joke. He looks serious, though, despite the small smile curling his lips, “But what about the wanker at the bar?”
Soap shrugs, “So I hook up with people every now and then, it never goes anywhere because I don’t want it to. This,” he motions between them, “has always been what I wanted. I dinnae think I was bein’ very subtle about it either.”
“You never said…”
“You never hinted at it.” Soap tips his head, “I was screamin’ right at ye, and ye never heard. I thought it was just cause ye didn’t have any interest.”
“Fucking hell, Johnny.” Ghost pulls him down again, “I wanted to tear that fucker’s throat out for even looking at you. Talking about no fucking interest.”
Soap sighs in contentment, “You have such a way with words, LT.”
Their mouths are back together before he’s done talking, and Ghost can feel the way Soap’s shoulders bunch as he trails the hand in his hair down his spine. It reaches his waist, fingers slipping below the hem of his shirt to trace lightly at his skin. Tentatively, he takes hold of it and pushes it up, a silent request given a silent answer as Soap leans away from his lips to pull it up and over his head. He watches as Ghost’s eyes drink him in, nothing he hadn’t seen before, but everything in a new light. Every bruise, every scrape, every cut, every scar, Ghost wanted to wipe them away, to erase the hurt they’d ever done. But while they marred the perfect tan of Soap’s skin, he can’t help but think they’re supposed to be there. Every one had a story. Every one declared who Soap was and what purpose he had.
Ghost leans forward to press a kiss to Soap’s sternum, trailing his mouth up to his clavicle, where his tongue swirls in the dip of his throat. He rumbles in satisfaction as Soap’s hands find his shoulders, fingers digging their way into the muscle. Ghost’s own hands slide down the panes of his back, middle finger following the divet of his spine, until they reach the dimples just above the waistband of his jeans.
His teeth nip at Soap’s collarbone, and the other man hums in amusement even as his hips tip into Ghost’s. He can feel him, then, thick and straining against his jeans as he rubs against Ghost’s own hardness. The hands tracing Soap’s lower back move to his waist, and when they find purchase there, pull him forward in one long, slow stroke of his hips. He can hear the breath leave Soap’s mouth as he does it, letting him rock back before pulling him forward again. Soap gets the hint, keeps grinding himself into Ghost’s lap, and he leans down as his hands tip Ghost’s chin up, pressing their foreheads together.
“Come on, LT.” Soap says, a little breathless, and his fingers leave his chin to rustle the fabric of Ghost’s shirt, “Let me have ye without so much in the way.”
“Nothing you haven’t seen, Johnny.”
“Aye, but I don’t remember tastin’ ye like I want.” Soap’s tongue curls out to lick at Ghost’s lips, “Cause I really fuckin’ want te. In every way.”
Ghost hums, letting go of Soap’s hips to lift his shirt, and to his delight, he keeps slowly grinding himself in his lap. When he has it off and thrown to the floor, he meets Soap’s blue gaze as fingers brush the hem of his balaclava.
“This too?” Soap asks softly, hesitantly.
It’s not like Ghost’s full face wasn’t currently already on display, but the thought of baring himself whole, relinquishing that one part of him that he got to control to someone made his mouth go dry. He hadn’t trusted anyone like this in his life, not even the time he’d done similar with Los Vaqueros, when he’d pulled off his mask for the first time since he’d put it on. This was different. While he’d done it then to further the trust between Los Vaqueros and 141, it had been for the mission. His duty. Here and now, with Soap warm and wanting in his lap, it would be purely on trust, for mutual respect.
And out of everyone in Ghost’s life, there was no one he trusted more.
Gaze trained on Soap’s, he gives a slow nod. Soap doesn’t look away as he pulls the balaclava over his face, sliding it from his head to set it gently next to them. Soap’s eyes roam over his bare face inch by inch, flitting back and forth and catching on things that have him feeling oddly self conscious of. It had been easy to hide behind the Ghost, falling into his persona so well that it sometimes became hard to differentiate between it and himself. For a long while he thought maybe that was all he was now, that Simon had all but faded out in the darkest parts of Ghost. But every second that passed with Soap’s wide, enraptured gaze on him, hands drifting up to thread through his hair, he thought maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe, Simon called to Soap just as much as Soap called to him.
“Quite the opposite.” Soap says quietly.
“Hmm?”
“That’s what you said.” Soap answers, “I asked if you were ugly, and you said ‘quite the opposite’.”
“Well?” Ghost asks, leaning his head back against the wall, reveling in the air on his bare skin, “What’s the verdict? Was I right? Or am I a lying bastard?”
Soap’s lips crack in a smile that has Ghost’s stomach twisting, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Like a dream.”
“Except I’m real, Johnny.” Ghost says, lost in the reverence in Soap’s voice, “All yours.”
“All mine.” Soap breathes, kissing him once before huffing, “Bleedin’ Christ, LT, where ye been?”
“Lost.” He says, and then Soap is mashing their lips together in a searing, blinding kiss. His arms are winding their way around Ghost’s head, breath heavy and sweet as he pants against him, lips wet and soft and everything as they assure him that he’s here now, found the place he’s supposed to be. He’s not lost, not anymore.
With a little nip to Ghost’s lower lip, Soap pulls away with a smirk, and shimmies down his lap to reach between them, working at the button of Ghost’s pants with eagerly shaking fingers. When he finally gets it undone, Ghost holds himself up to allow Soap to pull his pants and briefs from around his waist. He has to get out of bed to get them off from around his ankles, and while up, makes quick work of his own.
In the low light of Soap’s base room, illuminated by only a lamp in the corner, Ghost watches the lithe, deadly form that is John MacTavish, sink to his knees between his own. Soap peers at him through dark lashes, lips quirking into a smile as he takes hold of Ghost’s filled cock and spits down onto it, slicking it with his fist as he gives him a few pumps.
“Been waitin’ for this.” Soap says absently, watching his hand slide slow and tight around Ghost, “Jerked off thinkin’ about it.”
This makes Ghost hum in pleasure, swallowing hard as Soap leans forward, mouth agape, “You come a lot, thinking about me?”
“Every time.” Soap says with a wink, and elbows Ghost’s legs wider for him to settle between. Sparks skitter under his skin, fire erupting low in his stomach at the sight of Soap between his legs, face flushed and eyes half-lidded. His mohawk, usually neatly swept back, is wild and loose, little strands falling forward to hang in his eyes as his hand curls around Ghost’s cock, tongue lolling out to curl around the flushed head of it.
It’s something strange to finally get the thing he wanted most—Soap wanting and needy with his tongue on his dick. It’s like an out of body experience, like Ghost knows it’s happening but can’t wrap his head around the fact that it’s actually happening. Something he thought would only ever happen in his fondest dreams, was currently unfolding right there in front of him.
It’s jarring to him just how much desire flares to life in his body as Soap opens his mouth wide, settling it around Ghost’s cock nice and tight. It’s just as warm and wet as it is in his fantasies, but better. Soap’s eyes flick up and hold his own as he hollows out his cheeks and sucks, dragging his lips slow and suctioned, borderline torturous, along the length of him.
Ghost tries, and fails, to stop his eyes from rolling back in his head, letting it tip back as the slow drag of Soap’s mouth turns to short bobs of his head. One of his big hands fists the base of Ghost’s cock to jerk it in time with his mouth, filthy wet slurps bouncing off the concrete walls. It threatens to coax soft moans from low in Ghost’s chest, his stomach muscles tightening as euphoria spreads through his limbs.
He wants to know how far he can take this, how dirty or rough he could be before Soap got put off by his insatiable desire for him. He wants to devour him whole, to taste every part of him until it’s imprinted in his brain. He wants to make Soap cry, scream, beg for him until his throat is raw. He wants to leave bruises and marks along Soap’s already mottled skin, so when he looked in the mirror he would remember exactly who he belonged to.
But his lust runs deeper than most, and he’s not sure where to draw the line, where to tamp down on his desire. He’s not sure where Soap’s own wants lie.
Not to be so easily undone by Soap’s mouth, and to gauge just how far he can go, Ghost reaches forward to wind his fist in the top of Soap’s mohawk, yanking his head back and off his cock. Soap’s lips make a lewd slurping sound when he pulls off, and he smirks up at Ghost, who leans forward to loom over him.
Ghost is just a little breathless as he gazes down at Soap, eyes trained on where his tongue is lapping up the saliva on his chin. He decides to say fuck it and go in for the kill, “I don’t think my dick’s wet enough for your hand, Johnny.”
“Aye.” Soap says, lips curling, and Ghost watches his pupils blow wide, “Ye think ye can help me out here, LT?”
Ghost hums, mouth twisting into a grin that maybe looks a little more manic than it should, but as he gazes down at him, Soap grins and opens his mouth wide, tongue curling down his chin, and tips his head back and up at Ghost. All at once he has his answer, and his blood burns.
Roughly, Ghost wrenches Soap’s head back, angling it even sharper until he whimpers, and spits a long line of saliva down into his waiting mouth. Soap swallows it, eyes trained on Ghost’s, before taking his cock back into his mouth and shoving all the way down until he’s at the back of his throat. Ghost’s hips jolt up into Soap as his cock gets pushed deeper, sliding into tight, wet heat.
“Fuck, Johnny.” Ghost chokes, his fist balling Soap’s hair tighter as his throat wraps around him.
Soap gags on his cock, but continues to bob his head with Ghost’s dick buried in his throat, and it sends an explosion of stars reeling behind Ghost’s eyes. While he deepthroats him, one of Soap’s hands reaches between Ghost’s legs to fondle his balls, and there’s no possible way for him to bite back the moan that cuts through his lips.
This seems to do something for Soap, because he also lets out a gargled sound that Ghost expects is a moan of his own, but is smothered by the dick in his throat. As it is, the sound is a vibration that hums around Ghost, and he gasps at the feel. Soap flicks his tear-rimmed eyes up to him, burying his nose up to Ghost’s short pubic hair before pulling off of him with a gasp.
There are tears streaming down his face, snot leaking down onto his lips, and saliva is obscenely smeared across his chin. His lips are red and glistening, pulling into a grin as he says, “You sound so pretty with ye’re cock in my mouth, LT.”
“Wasn’t expecting you to take me that far.” Ghost admits, squeezing his eyes shut at the threat of coming on Soap’s face as it nuzzles against his thigh.
“Never been deepthroated before?”
“Negative.”
Soap scoffs, “What kinda dobbers have ye been fuckin’ round with, then? Never had a proper suck-off if ye ask me.”
“Just did.” Ghost says and smiles at the triumph in Soap’s eyes.
“Not yet ye didn’t.” Soap says, “A proper one woulda had ye coming in my mouth. I did say I wanted te taste all of ye.”
Ghost hums, “I’d rather come somewhere else tonight.”
Soap leans forward, licks a lewd line up Ghost’s cock, to his abdomen, up his chest, his throat, until his lips are on Ghost’s, teeth nipping, “Where exactly?”
Soap settles back into his lap again, straddling him and pressing their cocks together with just enough friction to make Ghost’s head spin. The feel of Soap’s body, warm and bare against his, is nothing short of euphoric, and he runs his hands up his thighs until they grip his waist.
“Where do you think, Johnny?”
“I can go both ways, LT.” Soap answers, and he realizes he wants him to say it out loud, “Fucked or fucker, take ye’re pick.”
“I should have known you’re impossible even when I have you naked in my lap.” Ghost gazes up at him, enjoying the feel of his breath unfiltered against his lips, “Inside you, Johnny. I want to come so far inside you, my come will be leaking for days.”
“Fuck.” Soap mutters under his breath, “Yeah, alright. Fuck, LT, give me that.”
Ghost surges up to shove his tongue into Soap’s mouth as his arms wrap around his waist, and he flips them both down onto the mattress. He pins Soap underneath him, one of the hands at his back trailing down his ass to his thigh, moving it up to curl around Ghost’s waist. Soap sighs against his mouth, arms winding around his shoulders as he mashes their lips together.
“Never thought I’d get ye like this.” He breathes, “Thought I was filthy for thinkin’ about ye like I do.”
Ghost trails his lips across Soap’s jaw, pressing a kiss to the soft spot below his ear, “You are filthy, Johnny.”
Soap huffs a laugh, “Well yes, but. I though’ I was out of line for wantin’ ye, bein’ my Lieutenant and all. Never mind the fact that I dinnae ken if ye were into me like I wanted ye to be.”
“I’ll be into you like you want me to be in just a few minutes.” Ghost says, grinning to himself as he skims his teeth down Soap’s throat.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Soap mumbles, but there’s a smile to his voice, “I’m tryin’ te be serious, here.”
“Johnny,” Ghost pushes himself up onto his forearms to peer down at him, “you’ve had me since you saved a fucking seat on infil for me on our first mission. If you’re filthy for wanting me, I’m downright fucking disgusting. Thing is, we can be nasty together.”
“Is that what ye want? Nasty?” Soap asks, blue eyes dark.
“I want everything with you.” Ghost answers, “But right now, I’d really like to fuck you until the only thing you can think about is how my cock feels. If you’re walking straight tomorrow, I didn’t do it right.”
“I’d like to see ye try.” Soap says, and Ghost takes that personally.
“Roll over, then.” He orders, and Soap complies. Ghost takes a moment to admire the panes of his back, rippled with muscle and riddled by scars. If he’d thought Soap was perfect before, he was damn near celestial now, naked and Ghost’s to ruin.
He runs his hands over Soap’s ass, squeezing it and saying, “And here I thought your ass couldn’t get better than it looks in tac pants.”
“Ye stare at my ass on ops a lot, LT?”
“You’d be surprised how far my scope can zoom.”
“I’ll be sure to wear my tighter pair next time.”
“The grey ones.”
“Cheeky fuck.” Soap laughs, the tips of his ears tinged red, “Ye really have been lookin’, eh?”
“Can’t help myself.” Ghost says, biting his left cheek before his hands spread him apart. Soap props himself up on his forearms, facing forward as Ghost gazes down at his hole, “Never done this part before, Johnny. You’ll have to excuse me if it’s not to your standards.”
Soap chuckles, “Ye’d be surprised how easy I am fer ye, LT. Cock’s rock hard already.”
Ghost hums, and then he’s leaning down to bury his face between Soap. His tongue flicks out to lick from his balls to his hole, then swirls around it nice and sweet. He enjoys the way Soap’s shoulders tense and release as he does, eliciting a soft groan on his behalf. Ghost buries his face deep, pressing his tongue in, in, in, and one of Soap’s hands slaps against the concrete block wall in front of him.
His mind replays his fantasies over and over again, showing him what he used to imagine doing to Soap when he jerked off to him. One particular thought comes to mind, and he sucks at the pucker of his hole.
Soap lurches forward with a choked, surprised moan, rolling his hips back into Ghost’s face, “Fuck. Bloody—fuck.” He whimpers, “Do that again, please.”
Ghost obliges, Soap’s moans going straight to his dick. He can feel himself throb against the bed, face buried between Soap’s cheeks while his palms spread him apart.
Soap collapses onto his pillow, burying his face in it, and cradles it in his arms. His hips rock back into Ghost’s face in short strokes, moans muffled by the pillow. Ghost slaps his ass hard, and Soap gasps upright, lifting his head in surprise.
“Don’t fucking hide your face.” Ghost grumbles, “I don’t want to be the only one to hear you, Johnny. I want the entire fucking base to know how easy you are for me.”
Soap nods slowly, his shoulders rising and falling with his pants, and Ghost mouths at his ass. He licks another path from his balls to his hole to slick him up, before abruptly slipping a finger inside him. Soap grunts, back arching, and he tips his forehead to the pillow, but keeps his mouth free just as Ghost told him to.
He watches, enraptured, as his finger sinks into Soap, body clamping down around it. He thrusts it a couple times, smirking at the way Soap starts to fidget, groaning and balling his fists into the sheets. His hips rock into Ghost’s finger much like they did his face, and he enjoys the way the muscles of his back ripple with every move.
“You’re fucking beautiful like this, Johnny.” Ghost murmurs, “Just fucking gorgeous.”
“Yeah?” Soap asks, tipping his head to look back at him for confirmation.
“Yeah.” Ghost answers, “So fucking good for me, taking my finger like that.”
“Mm.” Soap hums, eyes squeezed shut, mumbling “—good for you, LT. I wanna be good for ye.”
Ghost slips his middle finger in on the next thrust, and Soap’s hips grind down into the bed as he groans. A slew of curses spill from his lips as Ghost picks up his pace, and he wraps a hand around his own throbbing cock.
“Fuck, LT.” Soap rasps out, grinding his cock back down against the bed, “Your fingers feel so fucking—so fucking good.”
A third finger works its way in, and Ghost spits down onto his hole to make sure the friction stays pure pleasure. The wet sounds they make as they thrust into Soap is nothing short of obscene, and Ghost files it away into the back of his mind, keeping it sealed for nights alone at a far away safe house.
“What do you think, Johnny? You want my cock?” Ghost offers, his desire to watch Soap fall apart in front of him finally satiated just enough.
“Yes.” Soap breathes, “Bleedin’ Christ. Fuck yeah, LT.”
“What do you say?”
Soap looks back at him, eyes half lidded and hair fucked all to hell, “Please, LT. Give me ye’re cock. Fill me up. I’m beggin’ fer it. Need ye so bad.”
“Bloody hell, Johnny.” Ghost says, slipping his fingers out of Soap’s ass and slapping his dick there instead, “When you ask like that. You want a condom?”
“No. I wanna feel ye raw.” Soap’s eyes sober up for just a moment as he adds, “I trust ye.”
Ghost’s hands pull Soap’s lower half up to rest on his knees, and then he’s pushing his cock into him nice and slow. He has to stop and bite his knuckles at the feel of him, warm and tight, hugging around him so sweetly he could come right then and there. He grips his hips bruisingly, swallowing down the satisfaction that his fingers would be imprinted on them for the next few days.
“Fuck, LT, keep going.” Soap is saying, “Give me fucking more.”
And Ghost really isn’t going to last that long if Soap keeps talking like that, but despite himself, he pushes more of his cock inside Soap’s heat. He wraps around him like a glove, stretching and yielding so perfectly for him, it was like his body was made just for Ghost’s.
“Jesus, Johnny, you’re so tight.” Ghost says, nails digging into his hips, “It’s driving me bloody crazy.”
“How do ye think I feel?” Soap grunts, bites his arm, and then moans, “Ye’re cock. So big. Feels so goddamn good.”
Ghost sighs out a soft, pleased, moan at that, and works himself back and forth in short little bursts to help Soap get used to his stretch, to help him take more of his cock. When he’s finally sunk all the way in, Ghost pauses to give them both a moment to breathe.
It’s extremely short lived, though, when he pulls all the way out, only to shove back inside in one solid thrust, rocking Soap’s body forward. Soap cries out, bracing himself better against the onslaught of Ghost’s thrusts. He sets a good pace, pulling Soap back into his strokes by his hips.
Soap’s moans bounce off the cement walls, voice quivering with every slap of Ghost’s thighs on his. He has a hand up on the wall in front of him as Ghost pounds into him from behind, whining and whimpering and moaning to Ghost’s satisfaction.
“Yeah, Johnny?” Ghost breathes, “You like that?”
Soap nods, legs spreading apart wider to sink lower into Ghost, “Fuckin’ love it, LT.”
“Love my cock deep inside you, stretching you open?”
“Deeper.” Soap sighs, “Harder. Make me hurt, LT. Want to feel ye the rest o’ the week.”
Ghost huffs out a chuckle and leans forward to grind further into him, pressing a hand between his shoulder blades to shove his upper half down into the mattress, “You’re doing so good taking my cock, Johnny. So good. Like a good fucking boy.”
“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap moans, “I could get off just to ye talkin’ like this, LT. Holy fuck.”
“I’m going to make you someday.”
When he leans back up to take Soap’s hips back into his hands, his cock twitches inside him at the sight of Soap. His back is arched downward, hands weakly trying to find something to hold onto, filled to the brim with Ghost’s cock. He was sex incarnate, every dirty thought Ghost had ever had, and it catapults him into sharp, blinding pleasure.
This, too, he burns into his memory. The time he had John MacTavish unraveled and begging for him.
“Ghost.” Soap chokes, a thin sheen of sweat glistening across his back, “Don’t stop. ‘M so fucking close.”
Ghost bends down again, jackrabbiting his hips into him, and finally wraps a hand around Soap’s swollen dick. He jerks him roughly, unsure if it even feels good as his mind begins to narrow around the feel of his cock spearing and stretching Soap open, the feel of him tight and hot around him.
Suddenly, everything about their lives slowly fades to the background. Their ranks, their missions, the harsh reality that their lives are on the clock. None of it matters.
What matters is the way Soap feels around him, how warm and soft he is. The way Ghost’s body rocks into his, in tune with the way Soap moves back in sync with him, much like being in tune with each other in the field. Aware of each other’s moves and very presence, even in the pitch black of night, among the vast number of bodies during a firefight. The noises he elicits out of Soap, sounding so filthy but so wonderful at the same time.
His mind goes quiet around the thought of Johnny, Johnny, Johnny—
“Johnny.” He moans as he thrusts himself in one last time. White hot pleasure floods from his belly to the rest of his limbs as he comes, trembles his body and makes his grip heavy on Soap’s hips. He tips forward, draping himself across Soap’s back as his hips hump little stutters with each pump of his cock.
In turn, he can feel Soap coming from inside him, hole clenching and unclenching around him, his come spilling down Ghost’s fingers where they’re still jerking him off. He’s crying out, words Ghost can’t understand pouring out of his mouth until they turn into his name over and over again. His true name. Simon. And Ghost doesn’t think he’d ever heard it uttered so reverently.
“Fucking hell, Johnny.” He says as they slump down on the mattress, panting.
“Fuckin’ hell, Ghost.” Soap agrees, limp and exhausted under him.
After a moment, Ghost gingerly pulls out, sitting back on the bed to watch his come drip down Soap’s balls, “Now seems like a bad time to remember you don’t have an attached bathroom.”
“Thought ye wanted ye’re come to stay in me for a while.” Soap says, lazily rolling over and bending his leg to rest it against the wall, “Smellin’ like sex is the best part.”
He looks half in a daze, his mohawk absolutely fucked, face flushed red, lips swollen, eyes rimmed with tears. Ghost feels his stomach drop at the sight of them, “Fuck, Johnny, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“What?” Soap asks, brows furrowing in confusion as he props his head up with his arm.
“Your eyes.” Ghost says, scooting closer to cup his cheek in his palm, “It looks like you were crying.”
“Yeah I was.” Soap smirks, running his tongue across his lower lip, “That’s how good your dick was.”
“Fucking hell.” Ghost says, the theme of the night.
“I’m also really fuckin’ high.”
“Explains the light headedness.” Ghost uses as an excuse for almost passing out balls-deep in Soap’s ass. He doesn’t say that he forgot the whole reason they were here in the first place, the joint sitting long-abandoned on Soap’s nightstand.
Soap reaches up to pull him down, and they kiss long and lazy into the night. Their hands roam, skimming along each other’s balmy, sticky skin, and he whispers, “Stay” against Ghost’s lips. As if Ghost would ever leave again.
Ghost complies, falling onto his side to face Soap. They fall asleep like that, naked and content in each other’s arms. Ghost sleeps the best he has in a long time.
And if Soap wakes him in the morning with a “proper” blowjob, before getting bent over his own desk, that’s between them.
Price and Gaz sit in the rec room, looking for all the world like they were on their deathbeds with the hangovers they were nursing.
They perk up, however, when Soap and Ghost come strutting in like they’d just won the lottery together, Soap all smiles and Ghost with soft eyes behind his mask. They fill up on coffee and tea respectively, greet Price and Gaz, and head off to their morning instruction. The warm looks they give each other before they do isn’t lost to the Captain and his Sergeant, and neither is the dark bruise hidden just underneath Soap’s jaw, or the slight limp in his walk.
They leave, and Gaz snorts, holding out his hand as Price begrudgingly slaps a hundred dollar bill into his palm.