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It starts on the third round of drinks. Soap is jostling Ghost with every wild gesture of his arms, but his thigh is hot against Ghost’s so he doesn’t complain. Ghost blocks out the specifics of Soap and Gaz’s chatter and lets his eyes wander the room instead of hyper focusing on each inch of Soap pressed against him.
The officer’s lounge on base isn’t what Ghost would call “nice”, but it’s far from what he would consider unpleasant. They’re allowed to drink, there’s a pool table, and there’s even a somewhat decent sound system that Soap commandeers the second they get there; Ghost will never admit to it for even for a second but Soap has pretty good taste in music.
Soap is laughing, Gaz is smiling, and the quiet rumble of Price’s voice soaks into his bones like the warmth of the sun coming out from behind the clouds. As much as he’d like to resist it, the Wolf in Ghost is urged to curl up and rest, like a farm dog on a porch. The work is done, his pack is safe, it’s time for him to relax. He sighs and shifts, just a little. His thigh presses even tighter against Soap’s and he can feel the bony ridges of their hips wedged together. Soap doesn’t even pause in his current spiel, just flicks his eyes sideways. Ghost knows what he’s doing. He does the same thing.
Ghost moves, Soap watches. Soap moves, Ghost watches.
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a guard dog, do I? Just bad luck,” Gaz gripes.
“Guard dog?” Soap queries, head tilted curiously.
“Yeah,” Gaz sighs. He locks eyes with Ghost as he continues. “A guard dog. Guard Wolf.” The last words are huffed quieter than any human ears would be able to pick up and Ghost knows they’re for him.
He forces himself not to scowl, just meets Gaz’s eyes with as much ire as he can muster. The other man doesn’t even flinch, just stares back coolly and shoots him a grin before turning his gaze back to Soap.
Ghost fumes.
His eye twitches and Price raises an eyebrow. Ghost shakes his head minutely and Price’s other eyebrow joins the first. Ghost shakes his head again and looks away.
“You know, if you can’t get laid, and I can’t get laid, there seems to be an easy solution here, MacTavish.” Gaz’s voice brings Ghost’s irritation from a bubble to a simmer. “I’m generous and benevolent; I’ll take one for the team and sleep with you.”
Soap guffaws and Ghost’s gut churns.
They both realise Gaz is serious at the same time.
“You would?” They speak in unison and then gape at each other. Ghost scowls and throws back the last of his bourbon before hauling himself to his feet.
“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean,” Soap continues as Ghost ambles to the bar. “” Taking one for the team. Anyone would be lucky to have me.””
Ghost doesn’t see what Gaz does, but he does hear the resulting slap he receives. Both Gaz and Soap break into laughter and when he glances over, even Price’s lips are pursed together in suppressed amusement. He sighs and pours himself another drink.
“No, really, I’d do it, Soap,” Gaz says with a shrug. Ghost leans against the bar instead of sitting back down. He watches Gaz leer at Soap and sighs.
“Not anything serious, of course. You’re not my type, but we can have a bit of fun, no?”
Relief and disbelief war inside him. Relief that Gaz doesn’t want Soap the same way Ghost does, and disbelief at the notion that someone doesn’t want Soap the way he does. He cannot fathom being able to resist Soap’s casual charm.
Ghost can’t see Soap’s face from his new vantage point, but he sees the considering tilt of his head all the same. Watches the muscles of his broad shoulders ripple under his thin shirt as he shrugs.
“Not opposed,” Soap starts, and Ghost struggles not to gape. Is Soap actually considering it? Sleeping with a teammate? Ghost cuts off the train of thought before it can go further. He’s many things but he refuses to be a hypocrite. He’s just surprised, is all. Soap’s a relentless flirt but Ghost had never considered he might be serious.
“But you better not be into any freaky shit, Garrick.” Soap finished and Price huffs a laugh, obscuring himself in a cloud of smoke.
“That’s a hard ask in the military, MacTavish,” he wheezes. “Don’t think you boys have a single clue what civvies think of as “freaky.”"
He’s right, Ghost concedes. Fraternisation might be against the rules but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, and Ghost has seen for himself the lingering tells of such trysts; finger-shaped bruises ringing throats, soldiers opting to stand through meetings instead of sitting.
“Listen, I’m only into normal stuff,” Soap gesticulates. “Getting manhandled– don’t worry, Garrick, I know you’re too small for that– getting my hair pulled, that type of shit.”
Ghost takes a long, slow sip of his bourbon, refusing to acknowledge Gaz’s pointed stare.
“Bondage?” Gaz questions.
“Sure, why not. Gonna let me fuck you, Kyle? Got a pretty blue cock with your name on it,” Soap leans forward with a leer.
Gaz doesn’t even blink.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bottomed,” he says with a smirk. “Feet?”
“Hard pass. Spanking?”
Price and Ghost groan in unison.
“Must you?” Price demands.
“We must. Spanking is fine with me.” Gaz grins at Soap for a split second before his gaze flicks over to Ghost again. He feels like he’s being road hauled as Gaz looks him over. “Biting?”
Ghost tenses. Soap hums, considering.
“Yeah, why not. S’nice, isn’t it? To have some sort of claim made on ye?”
Ghost can’t do this. He sets his glass on the bar and stalks towards the door.
“Going for a fag,” he barks.
No one says a word as he leaves the room, and he barely stops himself from slamming the door behind him. His breath rasps through his teeth and his skin prickles with the urge to Shift. Jesus fuck. Bit of teenage banter and he’s back to acting like a fucking pup that can barely control himself. He fumbles in his pocket for his lighter, rubbing his thumb along the strike wheel to soothe his ragged nerves.
He hears the door open behind him and he knows without looking that it’s Soap.
“Ghost!” he calls and Ghost stops. He doesn’t turn around, but lets Soap catch up to him before moving again. “What are you running away from, huh?”
“M’not running away,” Ghost grouses, tone flat and unamused. Soap snorts.
“Yeah, that’s why you’re leaving before we even get to the good stuff, is it?” When Ghost doesn’t respond, Soap continues. “Did I make ye uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Then wh– are you scared?”
“I’m not scared, Soap, Jesus Christ. And why do you assume everything has to do with you?”
It’s not a lie. Ghost isn’t scared; he’s fucking terrified. Terrified of Soap and his fucking knife edge smile and siren song laugh. Terrified of the way he can’t ever seem to stop himself from giving Soap whatever he wants. It’s not even a fucking question anymore, is the trouble. Soap could ask for his heart right out his chest and Ghost would wield the knife himself if that’s what it took.
Ghost is no stranger to want; he’s just a man mostly like any other man. He wants food when he’s hungry, wants a quiet place to sleep when he’s tired. He wants entertainment when he’s bored and peace and quiet when the world gets too loud. He knows, intimately, what it’s like to want.
But he doesn’t just want Soap. He wants to fucking own him, wants everyone to know that Soap is his without question. Ghost might be the Canine but he wants Soap collared, marked, claimed. It’s not enough to be his friend, his superior; Ghost doesn’t even know if being his lover would be enough. And to make matters worse, he knows Soap wants him. Knows the syrup sweet smell of his arousal, catches Soap looking at him with hungry, lustful eyes. His hands never wander but they certainly linger enough for Ghost to feel the heat of him even through the thick material of his clothes.
“I know you don’t like socialising, but come the fuck on. Even you need to get out and have a few drinks every now and then. Gaz and Price weren’t happy when you left– without a fucking word, I might add. Not sure on the logistics of trying to do an Irish goodbye when you’re English, mate,” Soap shoots back, angry and accusing.
“I said I was going for a smoke,”
Soap’s brows shoot up and he opens his mouth.
“You–” Ghost starts. Stops. Glares at Soap. His hands twitch with barely controlled rage.
“Me, what , Ghost? Fucking speak your mind, mate, my ears are wide open.”
“You are getting on my last fucking nerve, Sergeant. Drop it. That’s an order.”
Soap rears back in shock and Ghost pauses, stunned at his own audacity. He rarely pulls rank on Soap, even in the field, and he has never done it like this: for his own selfish gain. He needs to start thinking before he speaks, but Soap hollows out every last vestige of self control he has by sheer proximity.
“Oh, so it’s a fucking order now?”
“MacTavish…”
“Riley.” Soap mimics and Ghost moves before he’s thinking. He pins Soap to the wall with his hips, one hand hitting the bricks beside his head as the other presses across his throat.
Soap gasps and cranes his neck away from Ghost’s grip. It bares his vulnerable throat to Ghost’s hungry gaze. Reactionary saliva pools in his mouth and he swallows thickly. He’s acutely aware of his bones under his skin, aching and stretching as he struggles to control the Shift. Arousal and aggravation war within him, his stomach churning unhappily, his blood running hot and southbound.
“Johnny, please. I can’t do this. Not with you.”
“So, it is me, then? Is that it? It’s not that you’re not interested, you’re just not interested in me,” Soap says, his lip curling in disdain. “I never took you for a fucking coward, Simon.”
“MacTavish–”
“Stop it,” Soap snaps, cutting him off. He sneers, vicious, for just a moment before his face flattens out into unhappy resignation.
“Stop what?” Ghost demands, confused by Soap’s sudden mood change.
“You only call me that when you’re trying to get away from me. If you don’t want me, you can just say so, Lt. I’m a big boy, I can take it.” He presses against Ghost’s hold. He’s not really trying to get away, Ghost can tell, but he’s pushing the boundaries of the space between them.
“Just say it, Ghost. Fucking say you don’t want me if that’s it. Or are you too scared to tell your sergeant that you don’t want him? So much for the big bad wolf.”
Ghost closes his eyes against the swell of rage and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes to see Soap’s face, thunderous, as he pushes pathetically at Ghost’s hand on his shoulder.The weak struggle stirs up his prey drive and he swallows back the urge to bite Soap and tear into him until the fight bleeds out of him. Instead, he grabs Soap’s hand and drags it to cup his aching cock. Soap flinches away but Ghost holds him steady, squeezing his hand against his undeniable erection. Soap’s eyes widen in shock and his hand trembles in Ghost’s harsh grip.
“Does this feel like I’m not interested, Sergeant?” he hisses, leaning in close. The urge to rut against the friction, such as it is, is overwhelming. He can smell sticky sweet arousal all over Soap, can hear his jackrabbit heart going ballistic in his chest.
“Then what is it? Why won’t you fuck me? It doesn’t have to be that serious, Ghost. I know how to keep my feelings from getting involved.”
“Maybe I don’t!” Ghost snaps. “It won’t be just fucking you, Johnny. I want to fucking own you. There won’t be anything left of you for anyone else. I want you to be mine completely.”
Soap knows now, just how badly Ghost wants him. Not just to have but to fucking own, like he’s nothing but an extension of Ghost himself. If he had it his way, he’d carve out his dead fucking heart and tuck Soap into the void left there, safe behind his ribs, his flesh, his very being.
“Ghost–” Soap is silent for a beat. “I’ve fucking been yours.”
Not in the way Ghost wants. Not in the way that matters, but Johnny isn’t wrong; he does belong to Ghost and it seems like everyone but him has been aware of it. Somewhere along the way Ghost and Soap became GhostandSoap and he never stopped to question it. Never stopped to question why people assume he will know where Soap is when they can’t find him– of course he does, he’s Johnny’s CO, it’s only right he knows his schedule.
Sure, Ghost could sniff him out without really trying, knows Soap’s scent instinctively, like he knows the smell of approaching rain, but it doesn’t mean anything. He could track down Gaz and Price too and probably even some of the base staff. It’s not that serious.
But Soap’s scent is the only one that gets his blood running hot, heart racing, palms sweaty. Soap seeks him out, freshly showered and sweet smelling, and Ghost’s mouth waters. He’s never hated being a Wolf more than when the Shift tugs at his skin when he’s around Soap. He’s fucking dangerous when he can’t control himself and Soap seems to have a knack for getting under his skin, heedless of the monster that lurks there.
You can protect him, the monster purrs. You’re not just some pathetic human too weak to protect his mate.
Can’t protect him from myself, Ghost counters, irritation rippling through him. He’s never been at war with his instincts like this. Price trained him to trust his gut and it’s never led him astray, but the urge to protect Soap is deeply at odds with the urge to maul, bite, claim. He wants to scoop Soap into his arms and secret him away somewhere far from prying eyes. Keep him…
Yes, keep him safe, the monster hisses triumphantly.
Ghost’s resolve snaps the same second logic and instinct click into place.
“You ever fucked a wolf, Johnny?” Ghost’s voice is hoarse, wrung dry.
Soap squeezes where his hand is still on Ghost’s cock and Ghost hisses. Soap’s eyes flick up to meet Ghost’s and his stomach lurches at the hot lust he sees there. The corner of Soap’s mouth is lifted in an attractive smirk and he all but purrs when he speaks.
“No, but it can’t be that different, hey?”
This man is going to be the end of him. Ever cocky, ever present, ever a balm to Ghost’s ragged nerves. The urge to Shift ripples under his skin and he shivers; his body so taut it wracks them both and Soap smirks even wider.
“You know I don’t always get to control when I Shift… Fucking hell, can barely control myself around you at the best of times.”
“Well, don’t hold yourself back on my account, Lieutenant,” Soap says with a smirk. Cocky as ever. The white gleam of his teeth in the gloom is like a hot knife through the butter of Ghost’s resolve.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Johnny…” Ghost has to at least try to stop Soap from making a stupid decision. God fucking knows he’s too weak to stop this from happening.
“Then show me. Don’t make me beg.”
Ghost says nothing. Just breathes heavily where he’s towering over Soap. He can smell him, all sticky arousal and sour beer. He’s looming in a way that he normally wouldn’t, attempting to cow Soap into submission. The human looks so silly and fragile where he’s slouched against the wall, eyes blank and dreamy as he blinks up at Ghost. Ghost watches as Soap searches his face for something, praying futilely that he doesn’t find it. He’s never been able to hide anything from Soap, mask or no mask. His cheeks burn under the scrutiny.
“Unless…” Soap starts, fingers coming up to toy with Ghost’s ID disks, rattling Ghost’s tooth in its case. “You’d like that? You want me to tell you how much I want you? Want your cock inside me, want you to claim me?”
A jolt of heat shoots through Ghost. He’d managed up until this point to staunchly avoid thinking of claiming Soap but at his soft words, the idea digs its claws into his psyche immediately, ripping and tearing. The idea of Soap beneath him, sprawled, bleeding, stuffed to the brim with cock and come. He bristles in agitation; even if he refuses, the idea has made its home in him.
“‘Cause I will beg. For you.”
“Stop talking,” Ghost snaps, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to steady himself. He pulls away from Soap, ignoring how every fibre of his being screams in protest, and starts stalking his way down the corridor.
He has to get them out of here, has to get Soap away from everyone else before it causes him to snap. He can hear Soap trailing after him, the human’s steps nearly at a jog to keep up with him.
“Where are we going?” Soap asks, breathless.
“You wanna fuck a Wolf, Johnny? We’re gonna do this one my way,” Ghost says, gaze cutting sideways at Soap. He’s flushed prettily, eyes wide and shining as he struggles to keep pace with Ghost’s ridiculous strides. He grins when Ghost catches his gaze and Ghost grabs his arm, tugging him along that much faster.
They break out into the cold night air and Ghost uses his grip on Soap to spin him around, pinning him to the wall again. He towers over him, dropping his face into the crook of Soap’s neck and inhaling deeply.
“Smell so fucking good, Johnny,” he groans, laving his tongue across the delicate skin. Soap tastes like sweat, arousal, and the bitter tang of his aftershave. Ghost wants to lick and nip at him until there’s nothing left on his skin but the scent of them both.
Soap huffs a little laugh, arms worming their way into Ghost’s jacket, pulling him close.
“You said something about doing this your way… What’s your way, Simon?”
Ghost growls, his grip tightening. The sharp ache in his fingertips tells him that his claws are creeping out, and when he pulls back to look Soap in the face, his delicate gasp tells Ghost that his eyes have shifted to an inhuman yellow.
“You any good at hide and seek, Johnny?” He growls around a mouthful of sharpening teeth. His mouth fills with saliva at the quickening of Soap’s heart. Soap feels flushed warm in his arms.
“Si– Are you… Do you want me to try and run from you?” Soap queries. His head tilts to the side and he mindlessly tugs at Ghost’s lip with one hand, pulling it down to show off sharp teeth.
“Gotta earn my mate,” Ghost tells him. He presses Soap against the wall with one hand, pinning him effortlessly. His clothes feel hot and tight and he knows he’s not going to be in control much longer, not with the sticky sweet smell of Soap’s slick muddling his senses.
“Earn me? Reckon you earned me when you saved my fucking life, Ghost,” Soap breathes. His fingers circle Ghost’s wrist, burning where they slip between his glove and jacket. He pulls slowly and Ghost goes without complaint as his hand is dragged up Soap’s chest to his throat. His hand settles, broad and monstrous, over the delicate skin there. Claws dig in, just a little, leaving pinpricks of white where they press into flushed skin, hot under the bare tips of his fingers.
“You can have whatever you want from me.”
Soap presses forward and Ghost can feel him swallow. His grip tightens and Soap closes his eyes, nodding to himself. His head lolls to the side and Ghost uses his hold to yank him upright. Soap jolts, eyes shooting open. His gaze is messy and unfocused until he zeroes in on Ghost’s face and then he smiles dopily.
“Need me to do everything for you, little human?” Ghost growls. He presses close to Soap. “Even choose when you breathe, hm?”
Soap nods dreamily, heavy lashes throwing long shadows onto his cheeks. Ghost huffs and squeezes, tighter and tighter until Soap shudders in his grip. He releases his hand, can hear the rush of blood returning to Soap’s brain. He smirks when Soap gasps, mouth open and wet. He can see saliva pooling on his tongue and wants to lick it out of his mouth.
“Still with me, Johnny?” he murmurs, hand slipping down to press over Soap’s heart. His fingers twitch, digging into the thin fabric of Soap’s t-shirt and he knows he doesn’t have long left before he loses control.
“M’here, Simon…” Soap says with another vague nod. Ghost pushes him into the wall, propping him up before he pulls back and drops to his knees. Soap gasps and Ghost shoots him a smirk with a raised eyebrow before he attacks his laces, ripping at the knots. Soap looks vaguely disappointed and more than a little confused.
“Wha- What are you doing?” he asks, reaching out to run his fingers through Ghost’s hair. Ghost snatches his wrist out of the air and uses it to yank him close. Soap teeters, ass stuck out as he’s basically folded in half. Ghost tucks his aching, crowded jaw close to his ear before growling.
“Since you’re just human, I’m being generous and giving you a head start, Sergeant. You have until I get my clothes off.”
“Until you get your clothes off? To what?” Soap whispers, barely more than a breath. He’s already panting and the smell of his arousal has Ghost all but drooling.
“To run,” he growls, pushing Soap’s arm back into his own chest. “Go on. Run.”
Soap steps back, one shocked step, then another. He meets Ghost’s gaze and grins before pivoting on one foot and tearing down the footpath. He’s heading for the woods, Ghost thinks idly as his hands work at his belt, thinking he can lose me in the trees. Silly human.
He sheds his clothes, taking his time. He lines his boots up against the wall, folds his shirt and trousers neatly and piles them next to his shoes. He casts a wistful eye at the moon, mourning its crescent smile for a change; hunting is so much more fun when he’s at his most primal. His gloves are deposited on the pile of clothing, belt coiled up and tucked into his left boot. He glances at his watch before he takes it off; Soap is a record-holding sprinter and there’s no way he’s not reached the woods by now. He slips off his tags and shakes his tooth out into his palm. The solid weight of it is comforting and it’s cold when he presses it into the hollow of his gum. His lip bulges out around it; his human mouth is not made for a full size werewolf canine. He throws his tags into his boot along with his belt.
A quick glance around and Ghost slips off his boxers, tucking them between his shirt and pants. He sighs in anticipation and steps out of the shadows into the weak moonlight. It’s no full moon but it still invigorates him, makes his blood run hot and thick.
Despite having done this more times than he could possibly count, the Shift still leaves Ghost nauseous with its physicality.
It starts with a stomach-churning writhing under his skin; bone, muscle, and sinew sliding along each other with a mind of their own, rearranging, snapping into and out of place with a force that leaves him hissing through gritted teeth.
His ankles shove up unceremoniously with a dizzying lurch, sending him to elbows and knees as his legs take form, but the rough scrape of the pavement is nothing but relief against the burning flesh of his forearms. The thinning skin catches and tears on contact, oozing blood and revealing fresh fur underneath.
It hurts. It fucking hurts like scratching at a rash hurts. Burning, searing pain with just enough relief that Ghost hardly thinks before dragging his face against the concrete, scraping off the nearly-dead skin on his cheeks and easing the pressure of his unwilling jaw be reshaped to make room for too many teeth. The lengthening of his face sends shooting pain up behind his eyes, worse than any sinus infection imaginable.
His spine stretches like someone's yanking on it, splitting the skin all along his back as his tail forces its way through him. His hands fly up to his own shoulders, pulling at loose skin to get it offoffoff, to scratch the itch. They fumble and slip as claws like bone-shards tear through his nail beds, and he finds himself breathing heavily, open mouthed, clawing at the back of his own neck as he tries to resist the urge to scrape his itching gums against the ground to fight the emerging teeth. They cut at his still human tongue and the iron tang of blood fills his mouth. The taste of it sets the beast in his chest snarling with the urge to hunt.
The skin of his palms stays on the pavement as he pushes himself to his feet, head reeling when he keeps going up up up, well past his usual height. The back of his hands itch and he rips off the last of the skin lingering there.
Moonlight hits his pale fur and some vain part of Ghost can’t help but preen at how he almost glows with it. He brushes off stray pieces of skin, lip curling with distaste at the gruesome pile of it at his feet. He knows it’ll be gone by morning; some magical vestige he doesn’t care to understand in its entirety. His tongue pokes at the golden tooth in his mouth; he’s always shocked at how well it fits despite it being made for him. Clawed hands run through the thick ruff of fur that starts atop his head and cascades down his back– not a mohawk– and the last remnants of his human form float away, short blonde hairs caught in the wind.
The moon smiles at him, coaxing, and he can’t help but answer her call.
The howl that escapes him is loud, rolling down walkways, across the empty, moonlit fields, and rattling the windows closest to him. Dimly, it occurs to him that there will be hell to pay this tomorrow. Rumours to dispel, paperwork to sign; Price is gonna have his head for it, but right now the sweet, heady scent of his mate is beckoning him.
The lack of moonlight is no problem for Ghost. His eyes are made for this and he would know Soap blind. In spite of the bulk of him, his footsteps are basically silent as he follows Soap’s mouthwatering scent. The still air next to the building holds it captive, making it effortless to follow him. Even when he reaches the end of the path, breaks out into the open field they use for training, he can see the trodden path Soap took, scent mingled with the wet grass.
Despite the head start he gave Soap, he can smell the trail getting fresher and fresher as he gains on the human. His blood quickens in anticipation when he steps into the welcoming, shadowy embrace of the woods at the edge of their base. The base is quiet at night but there’s still a stark difference once the trees close around him. He can hear small creatures scurrying around in the underbrush, can smell the damp soil and rotting leaf litter. Straining his ears, he hears nothing that sounds like Soap so he sniffs along the ground instead, dropping his front paws to catch any whiff of scent he can. Soap definitely came this way.
Soap is good. He is. If Ghost was human, he knows he would have trouble with this. There’s not a leaf out of place, not a broken stick to be seen. Only the intoxicating scent of Soap gives Ghost any idea where he’s gone. He follows the trail slowly, pausing where the scent thickens briefly. He scours the ground for a reason and sees smeared hand prints in the dirt. Soap must've gone arse over tit. He rumbles a laugh to himself and continues moving. Doesn’t take long for him to catch up to Soap, ears pricking at the sound of quiet footsteps and quick, measured breaths.
There. He catches sight of Soap hauling himself over a fallen log and struggles to contain his excitement. He moves as quickly and silently as he can, getting as close to the human as possible without being spotted. Now for some real fun.
He howls. Loud. Soap freezes immediately as the howl echoes around the trees. It bounces off rocks, sticks and leaves, growing louder and more directionless as it continues. Ghost knows from experience the terror Soap is currently feeling. Like his very guts are being torn from his body and shoved into ice cold water.
Something twists inside him at the shake of fear in Soap’s voice when he asks, “That you, Lt?”
He’s stumbled into a small clearing, and moonlight turns him luminous where it hits his skin. He turns his face up to squint at it before scanning the tree line. God, he’s fucking beautiful.
“Simon? I hope te fuck that’s you or you can hear me at least. If you can, I really gotta tell ye, I’m a one-wolf kind of man and this isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to be eaten…”
Ghost huffs as close to a laugh as he can with his stretched out vocal cords.
“You made it further than I thought you would, little one,” Ghost admits, weaving between the trees. Soap spins on the spot, weak human eyes seeking out Ghost’s hulking frame amongst the shadows.
“You know me, a regular Bear Grylls. Improvise, adapt, overcome, all those things,” Soap says. He’s throwing his voice like he does in the field and Ghost huffs in amusement at the implication that he wouldn’t be able to place him if he spoke normally.
Ghost hums with a low rumble and he smirks internally at the way Soap freezes, silly human instincts getting the better of him. He brushes against a tree deliberately, raking his claws across the bark just to watch Soap squirm.
“Johnny…” he purrs. “Too tired to keep running, pretty thing?”
“Tired isn’t the word I would use,” Soap mutters. He’s still scanning the treeline hoping to catch a glimpse of Ghost. “Where are you hiding, Ghostie?” he asks, louder.
Ghost doesn’t respond, circling behind Soap instead. He watches him twitch for a minute, enjoying each little jolt the sounds of the forest elicit from his mate.
His mate.
Something rumbles within him and a growl slips out between his teeth before he can stop it. Soap gasps and whirls to face him. His pretty face scrunches up as he squints into the darkness.
“Simon?”
The plea tugs at his heart and Ghost sinks deeper into the shadows, low on his haunches; a hunting crouch. Soap sighs and Ghost leaps.
Soap doesn’t even have time to make a sound before Ghost grabs him.
Huge, furred arms circle the human, caging him safe against Ghost’s body as they tumble through the undergrowth and roll to a stop. Soap is straddling Ghost’s body when they stop and he shoves himself to sitting, grinning down at Ghost.
“Simon,” he purrs, all growled consonants and elongated vowels, and buries his face in the furry expanse of Ghost’s chest. His legs are spread wide over the bulk of Ghost’s body and something base in him snarls at how small Johnny is.
He runs a few claws through Soap’s dishevelled hair, enamoured with how his paw is bigger than Soap’s entire head.
“Johnny….” he rumbles. He scoops the human into his arms and yanks him higher up his body. The small, fragile warmth of him has Ghost fucking dizzy with the desire to wreck and ruin and ravish. He buries his muzzle in the crook of Soap’s neck and breathes deeply, the heady scent of him filling his lungs to bursting.
He’s caught whiffs of Soap before, vanilla and gunpowder, even the mouthwatering tang of sweat, but he’s never smelt it like this; thick with sweet arousal. Soap gasps and Ghost realises his jaws have inched open, the sharp points of his teeth pricking at delicate skin. He freezes, fights the urge to bite down. He licks at the skin instead and Soap moans.
“Fuck, Lt, what sharp teeth you have. What a big tongue,” Soap says, breathy and weak.
Ghost rolls his eyes and shoves Soap off him. He lands in the leaf litter and lays there, stunned, as Ghost gets to his feet. He towers over Soap like this; he’s never short, but set high on digitigrade legs, he easily clears seven feet. Soap looks good like this. Flushed and vulnerable beneath him. The urge to flip him and take him like a bitch in heat burns in him but Soap deserves better than the forest floor.
“On your feet, soldier,” he barks and watches as Soap scrambles to obey. He brushes the leaf litter off himself and throws a sloppy salute before falling into standing at attention. Ghost can see him practically vibrating.
They assess each other in silence for a few moments. Soap has seen him Shifted before but Ghost is always moving in the field, never giving Soap the chance to get more than a passing glance at him. Soap’s face is flushed, eyes wide and shiny with wonder. Ghost can see the bob of his throat when Soap swallows and can’t help but lick his own chops. Soap gasps when he sees Ghost’s fangs, white tombstones in the grave of his mouth, a flash of opulent gold.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty, Simon. Pretty pup,” Soap’s voice is breathy and he reaches up for Ghost before realising he can’t reach his goal. “C’mere. Lemme touch ‘em.”
Ghost huffs in amusement and settles low on his haunches. His mouth opens an obedient few inches and Soap smiles, sunny and wide, at him.
He stands by what he said before. Soap is fucking terrifying. Here he is, hand willingly venturing into the mouth of a monster, and he’s not doing anything but slicking up his pants. Ghost huffs and Soap leans back to meet his gaze.
“Big bad wolf, huh?” He coos. He wraps a finger ‘round one thick canine and uses it to shake Ghost’s head gently. Ghost tries to swallow past the torrent of saliva pooling in his mouth but he struggles with his mouth open. His throat convulses and he drools all over Soap’s hand. Soap doesn’t even flinch, just coos at him again.
“Messy pup, aren’t you? Poor thing… I bet you want a taste real bad, huh? C’mere, pup.” Soap pulls him down by his tooth and Ghost folds in on himself to put his massive head level with Soap’s. He can’t see it, but he feels and hears the kiss that Soap presses to his golden tooth.
Ghost, god help him, whines. His tail brushes through the undergrowth and he wants to die of embarrassment when Soap leans around to look for the source of the rustling.
“Oh! Wagging your tail for me? You’re such a good puppy, aren’t you?” Soap laughs. He shakes Ghost’s head a little more, presses another kiss to his tooth, before dropping him and stepping back. “You know, for something so big, you really aren’t that scary.”
“No. I’m worse.” Ghost snarls, exasperation bubbling in his chest.
“Yeah?” Soap says, hopeful.
Ghost hooks a claw into the hem of Soap’s thin t-shirt. He tugs gently, considering.
“You particularly attached to this one?”
Soap shoves his hand away and yanks his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side. “You’re supposed to be ruining my hole, not my clothes.” He leans back against the tree as he undoes his jeans and shoves them down. He fumbles, trying to get them off past his boots. “I dunno about fucking against this tree, Simon. I don’t feel like splinters. You want me on my knees like a proper bitch?”
Bloody fucking Hell , Soap is going to be the death of him. Ghost reaches for him and yanks , hauling Soap into his arms effortlessly. He growls happily when Soap’s legs wrap around him reflexively and he clings to Ghost like a lifeline. He’s so soft and small in Ghost’s arms that it’s fucking intoxicating, and he barely resists the urge to dig his claws in until Soap is bleeding. He wants to see it, wants it all over him, wants to be marked as Soap’s.
“I guess this will do fine,” Soap laughs breathlessly.
Ghost still remembers the first time Soap saw him Shifted. He was expecting terror but Soap levelled him with a look, hot and interested. He remembers his skin crawling, itching with the urge to Shift back for once. To be human. To be able to have and hold Soap like he deserved. He choked the idea out as soon as it formed, tossed its corpse aside with the rest of his pathetic, useless urges.
“I- I never let myself imagine this,” He confesses to the crook of Soap’s neck, rubbing the flat edges of his teeth along the pulse point. His jaws ache with the urge to bite, to claim, to draw blood and drink him down.
“I did,” Soap’s voice is weak and breathy as he tilts his head to the side to give Ghost more room. “Thought about it every fucking night, Simon. Been wanting this… It’s better than I expected, better than I could have dreamed. I’m so fucking wet for you, reckon you could just fill me up in one go,”
“I can fucking smell you,” Ghost groans. His hips jerk uncontrollably and he moans at the wet slide of Soap’s cunt against him.
“I reckon I taste even better, hey?” Soap purrs, fingers curling into the thicker fur at the base Ghost’s neck. Ghost snarls, mouth watering at the thought of it.
“Good idea, little one,” he growls, curling his hands under Soap’s thighs. He pulls Soap up effortlessly to his shoulders. Soap flails in his grip but quietens when sharp claws dig into the delicate skin on his inner thighs. Soap’s cunt ends up inches from the end of his muzzle, pretty and leaking. He nearly goes fucking cross-eyed trying to see it past the length of his jaw, and he groans at the intoxicating scent clouding his senses.
He lets his tongue snake out and lick across the skin of one thigh and feels Soap shudder at the touch.
“Gonna fucking devour you, Johnny,” he growls before laving his tongue, flat and wide, from Soap’s dripping hole to his cute twitching cock. Soap wails and Ghost’s heart sings. He sounds even better than Ghost could have imagined, his dulcet voice turned into something otherworldly. Ghost licks over him to hear the sound again and can’t help but groan at the taste of him. His tongue presses, soft and blunt, at Soap’s hole and Soap keens.
“Yeah, fucking do it,” he pants. “Please.”
Who is Ghost to resist such pretty pleas? He pushes his tongue forward and growls when more of Soap’s sweet slick coats his tongue. He chases the taste further and further until Soap’s cute little cock presses against the ridged plane of his teeth. His nose is buried in the beautiful dark curls of Soap’s mound and he inhales until his lungs are full to bursting.
Soap smells sweet, and masculine, and heady. Ghost’s clawed hands shake as he resists the urge to tear Soap to shreds. Instead he pushes the flats of his teeth against Soap’s cock, coaxing the silly human to grind against them. Soap is all but limp in his arms, moaning pathetically.
He pulls back for a moment, licking up all the slick he can, groaning at the taste.
“C’mon, lazy thing. Ride my face, yeah? Wanna make you come,” he huffs out against a thigh. He runs his nose along the soft flesh and can’t help but nip; not hard enough to draw blood but certainly hard enough to bruise. Soap yelps and writhes in his grip and Ghost can’t help but growl something like a laugh.
He fucks his tongue back into Soap’s sweet hole, pushing himself deeper and deeper until his nose is buried back in the cute little curls of Soap’s mound. He opens his jaw millimetre by millimetre until the ridges of his top teeth are pressed against Soap’s cock. Careful not to dig in with his claws, he tightens his grip on Soap and uses the leverage to rock his slim hips. Soap wails as the ridges of Ghost’s teeth slide against his cock and Ghost can feel the fur under his chin become damp with slick and drool.
Soap is fucking wild, hips bucking roughly against Ghost’s muzzle, hands pulling fruitlessly at whatever fur he can reach. It’s not enough to hurt him, but Ghost luxuriates in it, holding Soap tight and letting him do the work. He fucks his tongue in deep, swallowing whatever thick, sweet slick he can.
“Fuck, Simon, yes, like that, like that-” Johnny whines, pretty as anything. His hands tighten in Ghost’s fur, his whole body going rigid. His hips buck and Ghost’s nose presses firmly against his cock. Soap convulses, and Ghost shudders against the urge to suck the sensitive nub into his mouth. Sharp teeth and pretty cocks aren’t a good mix.
He growls in frustration and Soap tenses, a broken moan leaking out of him.
“Fuck, do that again, do that again, pleasepleaseplease,” Soap begs . He sounds so fucking sweet that Ghost growls again, not in frustration, but a low, pleased hum. Soap keens, body tensing, and Ghost can feel his cunt clenching down around his tongue. He groans in unison with Soap as he shakes himself apart in Ghost’s arms. His muzzle is fucking soaked and he pulls his tongue out despite Soap whine of protest to lap at him.
Soap is thick and sweet and Ghost takes his time, licking every drop he can from each pretty fold of Soap’s cunt. Soap twitches in his hold, barely able to hold himself up, and Ghost rumbles in anticipation.
Soap is no virgin, he is well aware, but taking a knot is no mean feat. He needs him to be as open and relaxed as possible. He lets his tongue linger against the furled muscle of Soap’s ass, groaning at the musky taste of him. Soap makes a small mewl of protest that Ghost ignores, pressing his tongue forward to get more of the rich tang of him. He doesn’t push his tongue inside, just licks and presses at him until Soap is completely limp in his arms. He licks one long stripe from Soap’s hole all the way to his clit before pulling away reluctantly.
He lowers Soap a little, keeping his knees hooked over his elbows, and gazes down at him. Soap is a fucking mess . Flushed and sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead, and Ghost doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so shaken. Something bestial purrs with satisfaction at the sight.
“Too much for you, Johnny?” he rumbles. He can’t help but rub his aching length between Soap’s pert cheeks. The urge to rut against him like a fucking animal is an irritating itch in the back of his brain that Ghost ignores in favour of hauling Soap close to nose at him again. The scent of his aftershave is almost gone, leaving nothing behind but clean sweat and the sticky sweet scent of his arousal.
“Mmm…” Johnny gurgles, and Ghost’s lip curls in amusement.
“I’m not nearly finished with you yet, sweet thing,” he purrs, lifting Soap back to his mouth. Soap clings to his arms, fingers twisting into pale fur as he tries to maintain his bearings. A thin whine escapes him when Ghost noses at his swollen cock, tongue snaking out to lap at it gently.
The sound Soap makes when Ghost pushes his tongue back into his lax hole is going to stay with him forever. Satisfaction burns hot and fierce in his chest as he takes Soap apart with his mouth. Fleetingly, he thinks of how good it’s going to be to go down on Soap properly, soft human mouth on him. He laps at his little cock desperately, whining in frustration when he can’t get it in his mouth to suck on.
It doesn’t take long for Soap to start tensing in his arms again, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Ghost fucks his tongue back inside him, jamming in as deep as he can. He huffs out hot breath over Soap’s clit and Soap moans weakly.
“Please– Simon, I’m gonna come, f-fuck–”
Yes, Ghost crows internally, come on my face.
Soap tenses, clenching down on Ghost’s tongue so hard he can feel each pulse of his orgasm. He growls and pulls Soap even tighter against his face as the human bucks and writhes in his grip. He doesn’t stop until Soap goes limp and pliant in his arms, nosing and licking until Soap pushes at his head.
“Get off,” Soap laughs, shoving at him weakly.
Ghost bares his teeth, the closest to a grin he can manage.
“I intend to.”
He shuffles Soap around in his grip until he’s cradled in his arms. Soap goes without complaint, barely able to hold himself up, fucked out as he is. God, Ghost can’t wait to see what he looks like when he’s been properly fucked.
“Gonna fuck you now, Johnny,” he simpers, rutting his cock between Soap’s cheeks again. Soap’s cunt is open and wet and Ghost trembles with how badly he wants to bury every inch of himself into it, until he’s made a fucking home for himself there. Can’t imagine a better place to be than living, warm and sated, in Soap forever.
Soap just nods. Ghost lifts him up and pauses, letting the fat head of his cock pillow against Soap’s puffy, wet lips. Soap opens his eyes and they lock gazes. Ghost doesn’t look away as he lowers Soap onto his cock, even as Soap’s eyelids flutter at the sensation. He shakes him, just a little, and Soap’s pretty eyes open again.
Soap is fucking tight around him but yields without complaint at the insistent press of his cock. Ghost moans, low and guttural. It’s hot, hotter than he’d ever imagined. His chest tightens, already addicted to the intoxicating burn of it. He’s never giving this up.
Fuck the collar, fuck the leash, fuck the goddamn tag with Ghost’s own name on it. He’s claimed Soap from the inside out with this. He bottoms out too soon, can’t help but fuck his hips forward anyway, tiny little thrusts that have Soap’s mouth dropping open with a wordless cry.
That’s it. That’s what he fucking wanted. Soap’s head lolls back, his pretty pale throat on show for Ghost. He wonders if Soap knows the kind of offer he’s making. An unmarked throat presented like that during mating. It’s as good as a fucking ring as far as Ghost is concerned as he hunches over, teeth bared.
Soap gasps at the sharp press of teeth against the thin skin over his pulse. Ghost’s mouth fucking waters, hot saliva running out between his teeth and over Soap’s neck.
He breathes deeply; so deeply he jostles Soap with it. The human makes an unhappy sound and Ghost sighs.
Not yet.
Soap can barely hold himself up when Ghost lifts him, just clutches at whatever he can reach. His eyes are closed, pretty lashes like ink smudges across his cheekbones. His brows pinch together, his chest heaving in the appealing pant of terrified prey.
Ghost drops Soap onto his cock and he nearly whites out. He feels like he’s been fucking flash banged, ears ringing, vision blurring as Soap clenches around him. His hips twitch uncontrollably. He rasps through his teeth, a harsh breath as he struggles to control himself. He glances up at Soap who’s staring back at him through heavy, lidded eyes.
“Please,” he croaks. Something in Ghost snaps, the taut wire of his control unspooling in a rush.
He ruts into Soap’s hot cunt, millennia of instinct coming to a screeching chorus as it urges him faster, deeper, harder into his mate.
“Fucking mine, ” he snarls, pressing his head close to Soap. Each little sound he fucks out of Soap hits his ears like a note of a symphony, the slick slap of his cunt becomes a pulsating rhythm.
“Yours,” Soap agrees. He’s barely audible, voice weak and broken. “Been yours.”
Ghost loses himself in the rhythm of it. He can already feel his knot forming, each pass of Soap’s slick rim coaxing him to fullness. Soap is all but limp in his arms, relying entirely on Ghost’s strength to keep him up. He feels so small , cradled in Ghost’s embrace like this, and Ghost can’t help but fuck up harder into the hot, wet clutch of him. Soap jolts with every thrust, a staccato ah, ah, ah escaping him.
“Useless. Needy. Little. Thing.” Simon snarls in his ear and Soap gurgles in response, unable to form proper words. His cunt clenches around Ghost and they moan in unison at the feel of Ghost’s swelling knot.
“Ever taken a knot before, Johnny?” Ghost asks, breath huffing out of him in time with his thrusts.
Soap moans deliriously, head lolling on his shoulders as he tries to focus his dopey gaze on Ghost’s snarling muzzle. He doesn’t look like he’s capable of processing what Ghost said, let alone responding coherently. Ghost slows until he’s barely rocking in and out of Soap’s tight hole. He glances down between, moaning at the sight of Soap’s wrecked cunt.
His cock is red and swollen, twitching with each beat of Soap’s rabbit-like heart. Ghost’s cock spreads him wide, the rim of Soap’s hole stretched tight around his fat length. Ghost wonders idly if Soap is even capable of taking his knot right now but when he presses forward, just a little, Soap wails, scrambling at him and Ghost can feel the intoxicating give of him. It’ll fit, or Ghost will make it fit.
“Johnny, look at me,” he commands. Soap blinks, long and slow, before he manages to lock gaze with Ghost. Pretty thing, Ghost thinks as he buries himself in Soap agonisingly slowly, inch by inch filling him until the start of his knot catches on Soap’s hole. “Feel that? That’s my knot, little one. You want it? Want me to fill you up and knot you good?”
Soap whines, head bobbing in a jerky nod.
“Good fucking boy,” Ghost growls, shoving himself in until his knot catches on Soap’s hole. They groan in unison at the feel of Soap tightening around him and Ghost can’t help but look down to see Soap’s already wrecked pussy stretching to accommodate him even further.
The feeling is bewildering. Coherent thought escapes him more and more with every centimetre he sinks into Johnny’s hot cunt. The pressure on his knot is almost unbearable, and he feels like his orgasm is about to be squeezed out of him by force. Looking at Soap’s straining cunt, he wonders how he’s not torn yet, stretched thin and white as he is.
He glances up at Johnny’s face and he’s not surprised to find his eyes closed. His face is pale and he’s biting his lip, pathetic whimpers choking out of him.
Ghost pauses and Johnny screams.
“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Simon Riley! I will end your fucking bloodline if you stop right now!” Johnny’s voice breaks and he sobs. “Please, don’t stop.”
His pleas tug at something raw in Ghost’s chest; something primal that’s deeply unhappy with hearing his mate so distressed.
“Shhh, I’m not gonna stop, pretty baby. Not gonna stop until you’re stuffed full of my knot,” he growls. He presses forward agonisingly slowly, fighting every urge he has to just bury himself balls deep, Johnny’s comfort be damned.
They moan in unison when he bottoms out. Soap is panting, taking the brief reprieve of Ghost’s knot being fully seated; Ghost isn’t faring much better. Trembles wrack his body and he’s never felt so fucking wrecked and sated and he hasn’t even come yet.
“Move.” It’s not a request but a demand. Ghost huffs and peers down at the puny human in his arms. Stuffed so full of cock– fuck -- stuffed so full of cock Ghost sees it bulging out the skin of his tanned stomach.
“F-fuck, Johnny. Look. Can fucking see me in you,” Ghost slurs.
Soap looks down and gasps in wonder. He slides a hand down and presses on the bulge, and Ghost’s world slips sideways momentarily.
“Fuck–” He thrusts in and out roughly once , can’t help himself, and Soap wails. “Fucking hell, Johnny,”
He feels like the epicentre of an earthquake with the way he’s trembling. Soap is trembling along with him and Ghost can’t tell if it’s because of him or if Soap is similarly overwhelmed.
“I need- Fuck, Johnny, I need to move,” he begs. “I need, I need-”
“Move, then. Fuck me, Simon,” Soap whispers.
Soap keens when Ghost moves. He savours every inch of the wet slide out of Soap’s cunt, the whimper Soap lets out as his knot slips from him. Ghost pauses, holding nothing but the tip inside before he thrusts back in hotly. Soap cries out and Ghost licks at the tears that leak from his scrunched eyes.
It doesn’t take long for him to lose himself in the rhythm of it, rocking into the hot, wet tightness. Soap’s pretty sounds punctuate every thrust and it pulls the hot metal coil tighter and tighter in Ghost’s gut as his orgasm appears on the horizon.
“Gonna fucking breed you, Johnny. Stuff you full of my cum until there’s no chance it doesn’t take. Wanna see you fat with my pups.” Simon’s rambling, spilling pure filth as he ruts into Soap like a desperate mutt. Soap’s eyebrows are drawn together, eyes squeezed shut, and if it wasn’t for his hands kneading Ghost’s biceps, he would think Johnny’s in pain.
Little breaths are punched out of him with each thrust and the pathetic ah, ah, ah escaping him is going to feature in every wank session Ghost has for the rest of his life.
He looks at Soap, his pretty mouth open as he jolts with every one of Ghost’s monstrous thrusts. Their eyes lock briefly before Soap’s roll back into his skull and he moans long and loud. His throat shines with sweat, and Ghost burns with the urge to lick him clean.
He shifts on his haunches, sitting low on his legs, hauling Soap up to lean against his chest. He lowers Soap slowly onto his cock and his vision blurs as he sinks even deeper into that intoxicating cunt. He can feel the hot drip of Soap’s arousal as it runs down over his full balls. He grinds up, head spinning as Soap’s puffy cunt covers every inch of him.
“Johnny…” he growls and Soap shakes his head.
“Just– Let me….” he trails off and Ghost noses at him. Lets his teeth slide along the thin skin of Johnny’s neck, laves his tongue over the prey-like pulse there. His blood runs hot and vicious, urging him to bite. Soap just takes it. Lies there, limp and overwhelmed. Good fucking boy.
“Wanna come, Johnny,” he whines and Soap shivers. “Want me to fill you up, little thing?”
Soap nods weakly, hands blindly fumbling for Ghost’s chest. He gets two handfuls of fur and uses them to pull himself upright.
“Simon Riley. If you don’t come in me in the next minute, I think I will have to reconsider this whole thing.”
It’s more words than he’s managed in a long while and who is Ghost to ignore him. Soap cries out as he’s gathered roughly into Ghost’s embrace. Ghost wraps his arms around Soap, rasping a laugh at how tiny the human is. He hunches low over himself, practically folding Johnny in half and pressing himself as deep as he can.
“Hold on,” he growls breathlessly before giving over to the beast.
It’s fucking primal. Ghost is the first to admit when he’s out of his depth and this is well out of his depth. His brain lags further and further behind with each thrust.
Hot.
Slick.
Tight.
Mine. My mate.
The squelch of Soap’s slick leaking out around him is obscene in the dark forest, fighting to be heard over the huffed growls punched from Ghost’s chest with each thrust. He thrusts himself as deep as he can with each movement, pressing his knot inside Soap over and over. He’s drooling, hot saliva dripping out onto Soap’s belly, right over where his cock bulges the skin out.
Bloody fucking hell .
He pants hot and fast, his orgasm approaching with a speed that leaves him almost terrified.
“Johnny-” he gasps, emotion swelling his throat, threatening to choke him.
Soap looks up at him, tears leaking from his pretty eyes, and begs.
“Please? Simon, please, mark me. Knot me up, bite me, claim me, I want it, pleasepleaseplease– ” His voice is thin, reedy, barely a warble over the white noise of desire screaming in Ghost’s head.
He barely thinks as he drags his tongue over every inch of Soap he can reach. The salt tang of sweat leaves him delirious and he pauses, mouth parted over the freckled skin of Soap’s shoulder. The hot clench of Soap around him pulses with every beat of his jackrabbit heart and Ghost shatters.
His teeth break skin and Soap screams. Hot metallic blood rushes over his tongue, soothing the parched burn of his throat. He swallows gratefully, a vile mix of sweat, spit, and blood. The punctures of his teeth are unmistakable when he runs his tongue over them, and he knows this is permanent. Johnny is his now, as sure as he’s the moon’s.
Mine, the beast in his chest snarls.
Mine, Ghost agrees, lapping at the claim he’s made. All mine .
The pathetic mewl Soap lets out sends him hurtling over the edge. It’s less a rope snapping, more a dam breaking. He buries himself deep in Soap’s cunt as white-hot pleasure hits him like a lightning strike; zinging up his spine and shooting along every nerve ending. His vision flashes red and white behind his eyelids as he ruts, deeper and deeper, barely even thrusting anymore. The high pitched whining escaping him barely registers as he pours himself into Soap, pumping pulse after pulse of hot come deep into him. It goes on, and on, and on, leaving Ghost quaking and weak as he paints Soap’s insides.
He barely registers Soap falling apart in his arms, going limp and pliant as he’s filled to the brim. Ghost scrambles to hold him, clutching his mate to his chest, one hand coming to press Soap’s head to his furry chest, right over his heart.
Can you hear it, he wonders blearily, how my heart beats to the rhythm of your name?
Aftershocks wrack them both for a long time, and Soap whines each time Ghost so much as twitches inside him, each bolt of painful pleasure bordering on just this side of too much.
Soap comes back in pieces. His breathing evens out into something resembling an even rhythm, his pulses slows to be less jackrabbit, more human. Ghost can’t stop staring; has never been able to, if he’s honest with himself. The appealing flush of his chest, the wide, earnest look of his eyes when they blink open.
Ghost finds himself lost at sea as Soap blinks slowly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He knows he must make a gruesome sight, teeth bared, the fur of his muzzle matted with slick and blood, but Soap smiles, one hand coming up to touch the teeth marks on his neck.
“Reckon that’ll do it, Lt,” he whispers. “I’m all yours now, hey?”
Ghost can’t help but groan, burying his face back into the crook of Soap’s neck. Soap laughs and Ghost feels something hot and burning in his chest. He wheezes, the closest to a laugh he can manage and Soap laughs even harder. It’s not long before they’re in shambles, clinging to each other and weak with laughter.
“Fucking hell,” Ghost growls. “I reckon it does, Johnny.”
He peers down at the limp, happy human in his grip;
“I love you,” he murmurs and Soap’s face cracks open and sunshine pours out.
Ghost might belong to the moon but he thinks it would be okay to bask in the sun too, even if just for a little while.