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Soap woke up feeling like he’d been near an IED explosion. Followed immediately by a truck falling directly on top of him and flattening him into a pancake. Then maybe a bear attack.
In less descriptive words, he felt like shit. He shifted in his bed, groaning at the soreness that emanated from his joints, muscles, and back. Unexpected pain stung at the small of his back when it brushed against his sheets, pulling a hiss out of him.
“Ow,” he rasped, blinking his swollen eyes open sluggishly.
The stupid sun was shining, and a ray that filtered between two of his blinds struck him directly in the face. Soap winced and squeezed his eyes shut once more, twisting around in bed so that his back faced the windows and shielded his poor face from the violent star.
As bad as it probably sounded, Soap was pretty sure he had gotten blackout drunk the night before. He scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to recall when or how he’d gotten home to no avail.
Squinting cautiously, Soap peeked over at Gaz’s bed in search of his fellow sergeant, but there was no sign of him. There were still a couple different shirts thrown across his bed from his process of choosing an outfit, but the bed was otherwise made tidily. Soap doubted Gaz had slept there.
Soap buried his face into his pillow and groaned. Rather than heading straight out to look for Gaz, Soap decided it was in everyone’s best interest for him to drag himself into their shared shower. Gaz could hold his own until Soap didn’t smell like he was dragged across the floor of a dive bar.
With an embarrassing amount of effort required, Soap dragged himself out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. He grimaced at the aches protesting his movement, especially the sharp stinging on the small of his back he was still wracking his brain to figure out the cause of.
Soap turned their shower on first to let the water warm up before doing anything else. Groggily, he reached behind the curtain and twisted the nozzle a few centimeters shy of the highest heat setting. The sound of running water made him long for the water to heat up quickly so he could step under the—
“Fuck!”
Soap recoiled at the shout that did not come from him. From inside of the tub, he heard the sound of clambering as the curtain was disturbed with movement. Seconds after he’d turned the water on, it was turned off with a sigh of relief.
For a moment, silence settled around him. Then, tentatively, he rasped, “Gaz?”
“Soap?” his roommate shot back, sounding equally fucked up and confused.
Hooking two fingers on the edge of the curtain, Soap pulled it back to reveal a more than damp, but not quite soaked Gaz sitting in the tub with his head in his hands. So they’d both made it back safely to their room, but, for whatever reason, Gaz decided to sleep in their bathtub.
A choked sound of laughter escaped Soap before he could help it, and it only worsened when Gaz whipped his head up to glower at him.
“Why the fuck are you sleeping in the tub?” Soap got out through wheezes, his hangover suddenly feeling less intense in the wake of seeing his friend doing something completely stupid.
Gaz rubbed his eyes with a grimace, still pouting as Soap laughed at him. “No fuckin’ clue. All I know is that I was trying to prove something to you.”
His admission made Soap laugh a little harder, earning him a wet smack to his stomach in retaliation.
“I hope your back appreciated your stubborn idea,” Soap cackled. As if his words brought Gaz some clarity, he straightened his back with a pained wince, reaching behind himself to rub his spine to ease the ache.
“Fuck me,” he whined, dropping the glare to blink up at Soap hopefully. “Can you get me a towel, please?”
Soap rolled his eyes. It was the least he could do for him after inadvertently drenching the man, he supposed.
“Want me to get a walker for your back too, old man?” Soap teased as he backed away from the tub.
The glare returned at that. “You’re older than me, you Scottish fuck. Matter fact, I’m surprised someone of your age can still—”
Gaz’s words cut off suddenly with a noisy gasp just as Soap had turned to grab a towel from their rack. He glanced at Gaz over his shoulder, finding his counterpart with his mouth wide open in shock.
“Are you seizing up?” Soap groused worriedly as he returned with a dry towel, throwing it in Gaz’s face to pull him out of his reverie.
“I just remembered what I was trying to prove to you,” Gaz breathed, obviously trying to smother a smile.
Soap narrowed his eyes defensively. “What?”
“You don’t remember?” Gaz asked him, his smile breaking free and nearly splitting his face in two. “Think about it; we left the bar shitfaced, and we were arguing because I said you weren’t serious about your little crush,” he baited Soap.
The memory struck him suddenly. He did remember that now that Gaz had brought it up.
“The fuck d’ya mean ‘m nae serious about him?” Soap had slurred, shoving Gaz with building irritation.
They’d decided to walk back to base together seeing how close in proximity the pub was, and their route was familiar by then. Truly, it wasn’t that late judging by the quick look at the clock he’d taken before they’d left the pub, and he knew their bodies would appreciate the opportunity to sleep it off throughout the night.
“I’m not saying you don’t like him! I know you do, ‘s just… If I liked someone as much as you liked him, I would’a put myself out there a long time ago,” Gaz sighed, shrugging apologetically at Soap.
Soap huffed. Gaz didn’t know what the hell he was talking about because—
“I dinnae like him,” Soap grumbled, “‘M in love with him, and tha’s fuckin’ scary.”
“You should tell him! I know he feels the same, I can feel it ‘cause I’m an Aquarius,” he said sagely, grabbing Soap by both of his shoulders and shaking him.
Soap laughed freely, the alcohol warming his veins and making his stomach feel like and fluttery despite the somewhat grim conversation they were having. Gaz’s hands had turned him in the process of grabbing him, and the new angle brought a familiar neon sign into view. “I can prove it,” he breathed with a smile, nodding to the establishment behind Gaz.
Gaz whooped excitedly when he followed Soap’s eyeline, wrapping his arm around Soap’s neck as both of them, alight with laughter, drunkenly stumbled towards the building.
“Oh, god. Oh, god, no. Gaz, tell me I didn’t,” Soap whispered, horrified.
Gaz at least had the good grace to cover his mouth to muffle his laughter. “You absolutely fucking did, mate. Right above your ass,” Gaz informed him, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
Right above his…
No. No, no, no, no, no. There was no fucking way.
In absolute horror, Soap dashed back to the mirror and turned his back to it. It would be fine. When he looked back at his skin in the mirror, it’d be fine. Nothing would be out of place. There would be absolutely nothing wrong with anything.
Soap’s jaw fell to the ground with a panicked whimper when he’d turned his head over his shoulder. Gaz hadn’t been lying in the slightest about the placement of the tattoo, but the tattoo itself was—well, he wasn’t sure what was worse.
Smack in the center of the small of his back, a freshly inked tattoo casually decorated his previously untouched skin. It was two words, each having its own line so that one was laid out above the other, and Soap took a minimal amount of relief in the knowledge that at least it wasn’t huge.
But really, it did nothing to calm his rising dread.
Because, right above his fucking ass like Gaz had said, the name “Simon Riley” was tattooed in neat, mediumly thick letters. Bleeding fucking Christ. He’d gotten a tattoo of Ghost’s name. Above his ass.
He’d gotten a fucking tramp stamp of Ghost’s name. A tattoo, a permanent marking of ink that could only be removed by thousands of dollars worth of painful sessions that he couldn’t easily play off without raising the suspicion of his team.
Well, everyone but Gaz on the team, at least. Since the fucker was currently out of breath from laughing in their goddamn bathtub.
And then, Soap remembered what Gaz had remembered as well.
“Fuck, that hurts,” Soap whined. His lower back ached with sensitivity when he’d fallen onto his bed. Without opening his eyes, he blindly fumbled to yank his shirt over his head in the hopes that the lack of cotton on his skin would cease the discomfort.
“Wait—what if you jus’ sleep in the bathtub?” Gaz gasped with his idea of the century.
“”M nae sleepin’ in a fucking tub, ye fuckin’ bawbag,” Soap scoffed, fighting his way out of his shirt.
“It would be comfortable ‘cause of the porcelain! Look, I’ll prove it to ya,” he stated, kicking his shoes off carelessly and confidently, yet unsteadily, striding into the bathroom.
“Why didn’t you stop me,” Soap whispered in a snarl to Gaz.
“I was as drunk as you were!” Gaz defended himself, not making an attempt to dodge the small bottle of hand soap that Soap lobbed at him in anger.
“Fuck,” Soap whispered in terror to himself, looking back at the tattoo again.
He was unbelievably fucked.
Here was the thing: Soap was in the two most dichotomous predicaments of his life.
The first was obvious. Soap was scrambling to keep his tattoo hidden. It wasn’t as if he spent his days on or off base shirtless, but he had suddenly become hyper aware of how often a shirt could ride up his hips and waist to reveal the damn thing.
A rough breeze taking his shirt with it could reveal it, standing on the tips of his toes to reach for something up high revealed it (and if he resorted to batting his eyes at Ghost and asking him to retrieve anything up high, that was his own damn business), moving too damn fast could reveal it. Soap felt frozen in the days after he got the tattoo, like he had to keep himself from moving an inch to hide his secret.
Sparring was a fucking nightmare the first time after he’d gotten inked. Ghost had him running drills with a handful of new recruits, observing their staged fights from beside the mat. Soap thanked whatever gods may be out there that he was facing Ghost when he felt the breeze caress his skin.
He shoved himself off of the recruit immediately, pulling his shirt down in the least frantic way he could manage as he backed away.
“Everything alright, Sergeant?” Ghost voiced from across the mats.
Soap did his best to hide his flinch from his lieutenant, ducking his head and nodding sharply. The recruits fell into silence around them, regarding their superiors curiously. He could feel Ghost’s stare even if he couldn’t see it, and after a few tense moments of being regarded by a man who knew him too well, Ghost simply ordered, “Dismissed.”
He was relatively sure that Ghost had only directed his order to the recruits, but Soap was slinking out the door before a single newbie had made it out. Ghost let him, though Soap was subjected to the man barging into his room a mere hour later to check on him.
“Is everything alright?” Ghost questioned him, skipping any and all other pleasantries.
Again, thank fucking God that Soap wasn’t shirtless when the jackass walked in like he owned the place.
“I’m fine, L.t.. Cross my heart,” he lied, sporting a faux grin that he hoped Ghost would let slide.
Ghost’s eyes were expressive as all hell, Soap had learned, and he could tell by the way they squinted fractionally that Ghost didn’t believe a word out of his mouth.
“Take the rest of the day off, Johnny. If you do a single work-related task, I’ll know,” he warned, turning on his heel and exiting Soap’s room as quickly as he’d entered. Leaving him warm and guilty at once.
That day, Soap took Ghost’s order of rest up to wander off base to buy skin tone colored fashion tape from a local pharmacy store chain. He hadn’t gone a single day since without carefully placing a cut of the tape over the tattoo marring his lower back.
Publicly, Soap relaxed with that fix. He didn’t worry about moving around too much after that, and although sparring still made him uneasy, the tape had proven reliable despite movement and sweat testing its durability.
The second predicament was… different. He felt horribly guilty about the tattoo he’d gotten; guilty for feeling like he’d somehow taken advantage of Ghost against his will or unknowingly, guilty for making Gaz keep his secret, guilty for lying through his teeth whenever he was around Ghost nowadays.
Guilty for how much he liked it. It was fucked up—he knew it was—but that couldn’t stop his one-track mind. For fucks sake, Ghost’s name was permanently written out on his skin, an undeniable claim of ownership even though Soap wasn’t owned. Not really.
The thing was, Soap felt like he was owned. He’d never shied away from healthy sexual activity before he met Ghost years ago, but he’d become fucking celibate since meeting the man. It didn’t matter if Ghost knew or not, if he felt the same way or not, because Soap was his and his alone at the end of the day.
Soap had tried once since he’d fallen for Ghost, which was immediately for all intents and purposes, and it had gone about as well as he thought it might have. He had to drink his weight in alcohol before getting the courage to accept a random man’s advances, only to be comparing the guy to Ghost the entire time they spoke.
When he’d leaned in to kiss Soap, all he could think about was Ghost. He couldn’t get the disappointed look on his face if he by chance did feel the same way out of his head. If Ghost felt the same, maybe he’d even be disgusted by Soap and not want him anymore. The mere thought of Ghost letting someone else touch him made Soap sick, and even though he didn’t have enough pride to hide the fact that he’d still go crawling back to Ghost even if he fucked other people, he just couldn’t.
He’d reared back, not allowing their lips to brush against one another’s, and hurriedly apologized before rushing out of the pub.
It took days for Soap to feel like he hadn’t betrayed Ghost, worrying himself sick over his ridiculous infatuation with a man who didn’t spare anyone a second glance. When he’d gotten back from the pub, he’d scrubbed his skin red and raw until the running water was washing tears away from his face.
Ultimately, he only felt better after sneaking into Ghost’s room to steal a small amount of his body wash and a knife he knew Ghost wouldn’t miss for a few days. Soap had lathered himself with Ghost’s body wash until the scent was cloying the air, nearly choking him, then retreated to his bed smelling like the man he wanted and fucked himself with the thick, sturdy hilt of Ghost’s knife.
Like he said, he knew it was fucked, but that didn’t change anything. Ghost’s name had already been carved into his heart, and he’d belong to the older man until his dying day whether Ghost liked it or not.
So, really, if you thought about it hard enough, it wasn’t Soap’s fault that it made him rock hard to think about how the proof of his adoration for Ghost was burned into his skin. If Ghost wanted, Soap would’ve happily let him actually burn or slice his name into Soap’s skin.
There was something heady and wildly intoxicating knowing that he was branded with Ghost’s name only for him to know, and recently, it was hard for him to spend less than ten minutes alone without one hand trailing over the small of his back and the other hand inching towards his cock simultaneously.
Catching sight of it in the mirror got him instantly half hard, which was pretty unfortunate considering Soap found himself utterly enamored with the ink and spent at least five minutes each morning staring at it adoringly in the bathroom mirror.
Over the past three weeks since Soap had first gotten the damn thing, it had healed over nicely. He took almost worshipful care of it, making sure to clean and moisturize it at least twice a day or more if needed.
The skin around it was no longer red, and he’d luckily breezed through the uncomfortably itchy stage of healing. With the healing process complete or at least close to it, all that was left over was Ghost’s name delicately etched into his tan skin. The contrast between his skin tone and the raven colored ink was beautiful, and the only way Soap thought it could get prettier was if Ghost made blood drip over the markings.
Christ, Soap hadn’t come this much in his life ever. He wasn’t a fucking prude before getting his first and only tattoo, but it was as if the ink he burrowed past his skin and sunk into his bloodstream and became intertwined with his DNA.
Worst of all, being around Ghost had become borderline intolerable. Soap was struggling to resist bending himself over and showing off his tattoo to Ghost anytime they were in the same room. He wanted Ghost to see how loyal he was and reward him for it, preferably with his cock lodged anywhere he pleased in Soap’s body.
The change in his demeanor was noticeable. To be fair, he suffered through most days wanting to and being unable to sink to his knees in front of Ghost and offer himself up for anything the lieutenant may want. He was just usually better at hiding how badly his body begged him to react to Ghost’s proximity.
It didn’t help that Ghost knew he was lying every time he brushed off his odd behavior. Soap had been too focused on his own trials and tribulations to notice that it started to piss Ghost off.
Halfway through the third week, Soap had begun to beg Gaz to sit in between him and Ghost during briefs and debriefs. Gaz’s eyes had shot wide at first, rejecting him on the grounds of “not wanting to piss off the man who likes knives more than people other than you, Soap.”
But Gaz was his friend, one of his closest friends, and he could tell Soap was getting desperate. He’d long grown suspicious of the ample amount of time Soap suddenly needed in their bathroom every morning. And night. And sometimes midday, like the days where Soap sparred with Ghost and ended up on his knees in the shower with his own fingers up his ass, reminiscing on the feeling of Ghost pinning his arm behind his back with his knee digging into Soap’s back—his fucking tattoo—to keep him down until he came with Ghost’s name on his lips.
So he agreed, skittering past Ghost as he was deep in conversation with Price that Wednesday and dropping in the chair next to Soap. With Soap sitting in the chair closest to Price, he only had one side to be occupied and Gaz filled the spot so that Ghost wasn’t able to.
Not having Ghost sit next to him like he usually did made him feel… odd. Soap had to dig his own nails into his palms or his thighs to keep his eyes from trailing over to Ghost. It was so fucking hard. He could feel the annoyance radiating from Ghost, but he didn’t say anything to Gaz or Soap for the rest of the briefing, nor did he come anywhere near Soap.
The next morning, Gaz and Soap repeated their actions, but Soap could tell the air around Ghost had shifted from annoyed to mad. It was so thick in the air that he was surprised no one asked to crack a window, but maybe that was because he was the only one so in tune with Ghost’s emotions.
Briefs and debriefs were really the only times where Soap had to sit idly by Ghost, which is why it was the only thing he needed to avoid desperately. When he and Ghost sat together for meals, his mind was able to center on eating or their casual conversation more than simply their closeness. When he and Ghost spent time together in the rec room, it was usually so Soap could show Ghost some classic childhood movie or show that Ghost had missed out on as a kid, and he always talked through them. Ghost let him, he always did, so again, Soap didn’t need a distraction there like he did in briefs.
Spending an hour once or twice a day couldn’t hurt, Soap rationalized.
But then Ghost didn’t show up for lunch or dinner on Thursday night. He did show up for breakfast on Friday morning, and Soap had sagged in relief when he saw Ghost walk into the cafeteria—only for his alleviated smile to be wiped clean off his face when Ghost sat on the opposite side of the table from him.
There was only a small group of them sitting, and realistically, Soap could have gotten up and taken his ass right over to where Ghost was sitting. He’d done it before when he found Ghost sitting by himself, and Ghost hadn’t ever shoved him away before.
But this was different. The message was clear as day, emphasized by the singular, cold look that Soap got from him over the table. Ghost didn’t look in his direction for the rest of the day.
The part of Soap that had been unearthed by Ghost years ago, a part of him that hadn’t existed until Ghost fit himself into his life, shattered onto the floor helplessly at Ghost’s rejection. Soap couldn’t imagine it was brought on by anything other than his behavior in the briefing room, and the thought that he may have accidentally given the same message to Ghost brought tears to his eyes.
During drills, Ghost picked a sergeant Soap had never even heard the fucking name of to run the recruits. He decidedly did not stand anywhere near Soap even though Soap hopelessly lingered, wordlessly begging for a scrap of attention from Ghost.
Soap’s chest ached hollowly for the remainder of the day. He had to withhold himself from knocking on Ghost’s door with his tail between his legs to beg for forgiveness, worried that he might only anger Ghost further if he did so.
The next morning, he told Gaz to leave for briefing without him so he could fight the anxiety-ridden nausea building in him. He could make it up to Ghost, if he let Soap do so, and Soap just wept a silent prayer in favor of his redemption at Ghost’s hand before he forced himself out of his and Gaz’s shared barracks.
Soap entered the briefing room as quietly as possible, knowing Price had already begun. He slipped through a crack in the door and squinted in the semi-low lighting to see better. His eyes immediately went to where Ghost was leaning against the wall parallel with the rectangular table in the middle of the room. He chose the side further away from the screen at the front of the room because no one else stood or sat there, Soap knew that was why.
Devastatingly, Ghost didn’t pay him nor his entrance any mind. His usual seat next to Gaz was open, but Soap’s feet hesitated to take him there. He slowly dragged his eyes back to Ghost, weighing his options. On one hand, he could take the safe option and sit next to Gaz and likely only fuel Ghost’s anger.
On the other hand, he could swallow what little pride he had when it came to Ghost, admit defeat, and slink over to his lieutenant like a scolded dog. Knowing Ghost, he’d probably make him work a little harder than just returning to his side to make it up to him, but Soap had let Ghost put him through the wringer before. He could take it for Ghost.
Soap dragged his feet in Ghost’s direction, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as he eased his back against the wall a few meters away from where Ghost stood. He felt Ghost tense, but when no other reaction came, he pushed his luck. Slowly, Soap inched closer to Ghost until his shoulder was mere centimeters away from brushing Ghost’s upper arm.
“Thought you found it more appealing to sit next to your mate, Mactavish,” Ghost remarked quietly, his voice frigidly cold.
Suppressing a needy whine, Soap risked a glance over at Ghost. The man still wasn’t looking at him, but he hadn’t pulled a knife on Soap, so their interaction was promising so far.
“I like sittin’ next to you, L.t.,” Soap whispered timidly, shuffling closer unsurely.
It felt like the sun shined directly on Soap when Ghost finally inclined his head in Soap’s direction, eyes locking with his own and dragging down his body with an unfamiliar amount of judgment.
“Don’t look like you’re sitting from here, Johnny,” Ghost tutted.
A shiver zapped straight down Soap’s spine. Something suggestive laid within Ghost’s inflection, subtle enough to go straight over Soap’s head without issue if he hadn’t been listening so closely. Soap didn’t understand the purpose of his tone, though, and he felt uneasiness creep back into him.
But then, Ghost’s eyes dropped down to the floor Soap was standing on and stayed there for a meaningful few seconds before he looked back up. Soap followed his gaze downwards with a frown when the puzzle pieces fell into place.
His head shot back up, wide eyes silently questioning Ghost, though Ghost only stared back flatly. Soap glanced around the briefing room nervously, but no one was looking at the two of them. Against the wall opposite of them, two men had taken to sitting on the ground with their back flat against the wall and their knees drawn up close to their chests for the comfort of sitting over standing.
In other words, the likelihood of someone in the room looking at Soap sideways for taking a seat on the floor was law. The probability of that happening was simultaneously decreased with Ghost’s intimidating form standing over him.
Swallowing heavily, Soap willed his racing heart to slow before Ghost caught wind of the sound. With one last apprehensive look to Ghost, Soap slowly sank to the ground beside Ghost and crossed his legs over one another once he was sitting. Neither he nor Ghost broke eye contact as he did so, but once he was seated, Ghost’s eyes drifted from his face and down his legs.
The look in Ghost’s eyes was, dare he say it, pleased. His shoulders relaxed, feet spreading a little wider apart so that his black, worn-in fatigues faintly rubbed against Soap’s arm. Tentatively, Soap scooted a bit closer and relaxed into Ghost’s leg.
Soap felt the sigh that came from Ghost in his fucking bones. His eyes fluttered, a soft breath slipping from him at the approval of his lieutenant that, if he had been more unexpecting, could have easily turned into a quiet whine.
A cloud of fog descended on his mind after that, everything outside of him and Ghost sounding like distant buzzing until it fell away completely. All he could think about was Ghost—the smell of his detergent and soap, the way the material of his pants had become softer over time from usage and repeated washing, his solidness beside Soap. Soap didn’t have to worry about staying up right as he slipped away from himself, because Ghost was right there and he would never let Soap fall.
Any amount of time could have passed when Ghost’s hand landed on Soap’s shoulder to bring him back to Earth, uttering a soft, “Up, Sergeant.”
Soap made a confused, slurred sound that, for the most part, sounded like a tired, “Huh?” as he roused out of the trance he’d fallen into. He lifted his head from Ghost’s leg and blinked at the steadily emptying room, only filled with some soldiers making their way out the door and others staying to speak to Price.
If Soap hadn’t been blushing before from realizing he’d basically zoned the fuck out on Ghost’s leg, he certainly would have flushed about twenty shades deeper when Ghost’s hand came into view as an offering. Soap took his hand gratefully, and a little selfishly, and stifled any new, embarrassing noises clawing to get out of his traitorous throat as Ghost helped him to his feet.
Respectfully albeit regretfully, Soap moved to retract his hand from Ghost’s. He positively froze when Ghost held him tighter, swiping his thumb… gently over Soap’s knuckles a few times before slowly releasing the younger man. Soap stared, wide-eyed and unable to control the emotions crossing his face at the action, but Ghost had no other facial reaction.
He did, however, scratch under Soap’s chin with his index finger as if he was endeared, then left without another word. Which was fine, Soap didn’t need anything else. He understood Ghost’s actions.
He was forgiven. Somehow, regardless of the possibility of Ghost’s actions being mean yet platonic, something in Soap implored him to think otherwise. The heated look in Ghost’s eyes, the intimate touches he’d never given Soap before, all of it. Soap very well may have been crazy for thinking it, but he swore it was fully over the platonic friendship line.
Ghost returned to their regular schedule that afternoon, trailing beside Soap and entertaining the sergeant’s every hyperactive whim, and Soap was so over the moon that he could have burst from the pressure.
The ink on his back burned brightly, an ever-present reminder of how far gone he was.
The next morning, Soap punctually walked into briefing with Gaz and somewhat expected to find Ghost in his regular seat after they’d made up. He was wrong, and upon entering the room he was unable to not notice how Ghost stood in the same position as the day before.
Gaz shot him a roguish look as he separated from Soap knowing damn well his fellow sergeant wouldn’t be following him.
“Looking bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning, sir,” Soap teased lightly as he came to rest beside Ghost.
Unlike the day before, Soap didn’t hesitate to enter Ghost’s personal space. He stood close to Ghost, happily basking in the proximity that Ghost let him, only him, take.
“That’s ironic coming from you,” Ghost returned drily, much to Soap’s confusion. Before Soap could get another word out, Ghost looked over at him with an expectant look. “Shouldn’t you be taking a seat, Sergeant?”
Soap heated from the inside out. A tremor ran through his body, and he’d sunk to his knees beside Ghost before he comprehended his actions. Soap’s eyes shot wide, looking away from the stunned look on Ghost’s face as he rearranged himself into a comfortable position that was not on his fucking knees at his superior’s feet.
When he kept from leaning against Ghost out of embarrassment, the lieutenant reached down to grab him by the back of his neck and forcefully tugged him to his side. Soap’s teeth dug painfully into his lip as he went, his cock giving a hearty throb from Ghost’s rude handling of him.
Still, Soap did as Ghost wanted. He sat closer to Ghost than he had yesterday, his side flush with Ghost’s leg. In the hopes of pleasing Ghost, Soap subtly wrapped his arm around Ghost’s leg to hold him close.
The hand on Soap’s neck loosened, fingers toying with the ends of his grown out mohawk absently as Soap made himself comfortable. No one glanced in their direction, thankfully, and Price began speaking moments later, redirecting all the attention in the room to his booming, accented voice.
“Good dog,” Ghost praised softly, only loud enough for the two of them, as he carded his fingers through Soap’s hair. His touch, so welcomed and so coveted, felt condescendingly similar to how owners pet their well-behaved animals.
Soap hid his face in Ghost’s jeans, his face burning. He was slowly shifting from half hard to full mast in his own fatigues, and all Soap could think about was how excited he was to dash back to his barracks after their meeting to make himself cum until he was stupid from it.
He was so frightfully, humiliatingly, immensely fucked.
Ghost was deployed for a two week long solo recon mission the following week, leaving Soap high and dry in his wake. Soap had seen him off before the sun had risen on the morning he left, making a conscious effort to cloak his bitterness over his departure for Ghost’s sake.
The feeling of Ghost’s hand, firm yet tender, on the back of his neck as he’d said his goodbyes to Soap haunted him even after Ghost’s aircraft had taken him away.
“Be good, Johnny,” Ghost had told him as his thumb massaged circles under Soap’s ear, and Soap hoped there was a silent for me tagged onto the end of that sentence.
It took plenty out of him to not sway weakly under Ghost’s affection, though he had allowed himself to lean back into the touch. His eyelids had drooped low, and a low sound reverberated in his throat. He had answered his lieutenant with a dutiful, “Yes, sir,” and meant it.
It was later, after Soap had trudged back to his barracks dejectedly and spent hours in bed missing Ghost, that he realized he wasn’t exactly sure what Ghost had meant by telling him to be good.
Soap mentally went down the list of the obvious inferences. Don’t get himself killed or injured, don’t do anything that could ultimately bring him or the team any harm, don’t skip meals or forget to drink water, don’t be more reckless than he could handle. Those were the standard issues Ghost got on him about, but he’d never held Soap like that while giving him that type of warning.
Don’t let anyone touch you, Soap found himself adding to the list, imagining Ghost was murmuring the words into his ear. Don’t spar with anyone if it can’t be with me, don’t stop thinking about how much you miss me, don’t forget who you belong to.
A whine was buried into Soap’s pillow as he traced the memories of Ghost’s low tone of voice in his mind, the strands of his voice’s cadence curling around the depths of Soap’s chest. He wished Ghost had told him all that. He wished Ghost had pressed him into his mattress as he did so, hands wandering across the expanse of skin that he’d forcefully bared and dipping downwards—
“Goddamnit,” Soap whispered into his pillow, shaking his head ruefully.
Two hours of wallowing was enough, Soap supposed, so he hauled himself out of bed and locked himself in the bathroom to shower before getting an actual start on his day. Once the water was turned on and his shirt was tossed to the floor carelessly, Soap turned to the mirror with a dreamy sigh.
Gently, he trailed his fingers back and forth across the letters on his skin, delighting in the shiver that skated up his spine at the touch. At least Ghost could never be fully gone with his mark on Soap’s skin.
The shower beat some of the tension out of Soap’s bones (as did the orgasm ripped out of him with Ghost’s name on his tongue), and he felt somewhat normal once he was heading towards the training fields.
His day passed quickly otherwise, some parts dragging on and others speeding by. By the time he and Gaz had retired to their barracks, something unnerved had built in him. There was nothing mysterious about it—he just missed the absolute hell out of Ghost. Gaz was out within ten minutes of retiring to his bed, and Soap spent about thirty extra minutes debating throwing a book at Gaz’s head just to punish him for being able to sleep so easily.
Soap growled in frustration as he tossed for the umpteenth time that night, the late hour on his digital clock practically mocking him. Fed up, Soap shoved his blanket off of him and made his bed hastily. He snagged a small kit he kept on his desk, pulled a pair of sweatpants on, and crept out of their room.
With a few quick strides and turns, Soap was standing outside of Ghost’s door. He nearly raised his hand to knock instinctively, but the kit clenched in his fist reminded him that he couldn’t do that. Soap kept a keen ear out for anyone potentially walking up on him as he knelt in front of Ghost’s door and pulled two picks from his kit. Simple manual locks were easy to pick, and Soap was squeezing himself into Ghost’s vacant room in under a minute.
The smell of Ghost hit him in the face immediately—his laundry had clearly been done before he left, and his ajar bathroom door still wafted the faint scent of his soap into his bedroom. Burnt wax lingered in the air, and Soap realized with a smile that Ghost had been burning a candle before he left.
Cute motherfucker, Soap thought with a small smile.
A normal person would probably feel bad about breaking into someone’s room without permission, but Soap had long grown accustomed to the crossed wires in his brain. He didn’t feel an ounce of guilt as he launched himself onto Ghost’s bed, wiggling his way under the duvet and breathing in heavily. He’d spent plenty of time in Ghost’s room, but he’d never been able to indulge himself so inappropriately under Ghost’s watchful eye.
Ghost’s room was warm and comfortable, just like his bed. Soap could feel it melting into his skin, drowsiness quickly rearing its head as he sank into Ghost’s mattress. He nosed at Ghost’s pillow, inhaling more of the hypnotizing aroma of Ghost as he was lulled to sleep by the memory of his lieutenant.
On Soap’s list of bad ideas turned bad habits, picking Ghost’s lock late at night to sleep in his bed had to be one of, if not the worst one. In his defense, Ghost was gone for two whole weeks, so it wasn’t like he was robbing him of something. He was sure Ghost would appreciate him keeping his bed warm while he was away.
Be good, he’d told Soap, and Soap was doing just that.
It was just sleeping, it wasn’t like he was really doing anything wrong. For the first few nights, at least.
Things went downhill when Soap started snooping. Ghost couldn’t sue him for being curious by nature.
A few nights in, Soap was feeling particularly restless. Ghost’s absence was felt drastically, and Soap felt like a lovesick fucking teenager with how much he longed for his lieutenant’s return. It pissed him off just a little, that someone could have such a substantial amount of unconscious power over him. But that person was Ghost, and he didn’t exactly have the ability to be mad at Ghost for that.
With the door shut and locked behind him, Soap’s eyes were drawn to Ghost’s desk. He’d watched Ghost sit at that desk and do paperwork while Soap talked his ear off so many times he’d lost count, but he’d never gotten a very good look at it.
Curiously, Soap roamed over and ran his eyes over the surface of the desk, then the shelves hanging above it. The desk itself was tidy, with Ghost’s laptop closed and plugged in at the center, some manila folders stacked neatly beside his lamp, and a pencil cup with a few pens and highlighters thrown in it.
The shelves, though, were more personal. Ghost kept a candle Soap had gifted him for his birthday that year on the lower shelf surrounded by other scattered trinkets he’d been given by Soap or their team. A decorative switchblade Kate had given him after she and her wife returned from a vacation, a tattered patch from his and Price’s earlier days in the military, a skull-shaped shot glass that Gaz had given him like it was the funniest thing in the world, an old pair of dog tags, and several other items. Such a sentimental bastard he was.
Soap’s eyes lit up when he zeroed in on the picture frames decorating the top shelf. He had to rise up on his tip-toes to look at them properly, but it was plenty worth it when he saw the numerous pictures Ghost had framed carefully. There were a couple pictures of their team as a whole, and Soap lovingly observed that he and Ghost were always side by side with the distance between them slowly shrinking over the years. A picture of a younger looking Ghost and Price, likely taken by Kate, stood beside the group pictures.
Those few took up a little less than half of the shelf, and the other half was…
A burning sensation overtook Soap’s gut as he leaned in closer to view the other pictures. They were all of him and Ghost, some looking candid and others Soap recalled posing for.
The first in line was, ironically, the first picture he and Ghost had ever taken together. It was taken after a tense mission in Europe that left Ghost with a wound from a grazed bullet. Soap had felt something for him at that point, and when he’d seen Ghost get hit, all he saw was red. In the end, Ghost had to pull Soap off of the corpse he’d stabbed a couple dozen times and sternly remind him of their mission. When they’d landed and Gaz snapped the picture of them, Soap swore he was smiling at the camera, but Gaz had to have taken it a few seconds after Soap had thought he did.
Rather than smiling in the direction of Gaz’s phone, Soap was looking up at Ghost with a reverent expression. Ghost was facing forward properly, but Soap remembered how he’d turned and given Soap a look so warm he could’ve fought off hypothermia with it as soon as Gaz lowered the phone.
Smiling widely and a little bashfully, Soap scanned the other pictures eagerly. There was one of him and Ghost subconsciously leaning into one another with both of their elbows resting on a bar top, clearly having caught Soap in the middle of one-sided animated talking as Ghost listened to his every word.
A quiet laugh burst out of Soap’s when he saw the begrudging picture Ghost had allowed Price to take when Soap leapt onto his back after running drills with some recruits.
“You fuckin’ smell, Johnny,” Ghost had grumbled.
Soap had only tightened his thighs around Ghost’s torso and slung his arms around his neck with a teasing quip of, “Sucks to suck, sir. Smile like you love me.”
The very last picture was one taken by Gaz, Soap knew, and had to be one of Soap’s own favorite pictures. Before the picture had been taken, Soap had dragged Ghost to the rec room late at night to watch a movie with him, stating that it would help cure Ghost of the nasty mood he’d been sporting all day. Soap had been quite sure that Ghost was going to bite someone out of irritation that day, and he just wanted to help.
Ghost obliged his request stonily, not saying a word as Soap covered them both with a blanket and snuggled in just a smidge closer than what could have been considered platonic. In classic fashion, Soap fell asleep halfway through the movie and ended up with his head tucked into Ghost’s neck. He wasn’t sure when, but Ghost had dozed off as well and leaned into Soap similarly with his head resting on top of Soap’s.
The movie had long been over by the time Gaz shook him and Ghost awake with an amused smirk, ushering both men to their rooms. Right as Ghost had been about to separate himself from the other two, he’d placed his hand on Soap’s elbow and quietly thanked him. Soap had blushed from head to toe, stuttering out a polite “you’re welcome,” before ducking into his room.
Unbeknownst to him until the next morning, Gaz had snuck a picture of the pair before he’d made a move to wake them up. He showed Soap the next day, agreeing to Soap’s sheepish request for Gaz to send him the picture with a smug smile.
Soap hadn’t realized, or even thought about, Gaz sending the picture to Ghost as well, and the knowledge that Ghost not only had it, but framed the damn thing made him flush hotly. His cock hardened in his pants without his permission, the tattoo on his back throbbing.
“Fuck,” he whined, breaking eye contact with the pictures to bury his face in his hands.
He rubbed his fingers into his closed eyelids, and mentally kicked himself for thinking that spending time alone in Ghost’s room would be a good idea. Determined to curb his reaction to Ghost’s endearing sentimentality, he wandered into the bathroom reproachfully. It was probably crossing a line to use Ghost’s shower, but it was either that or rut against Ghost’s sheets like a bitch in heat.
Soap staunchly avoided touching Ghost’s belongings in the shower no matter how badly he wanted to. He even chose a clean, folded towel rather than the one hanging on the back of Ghost’s door which he assumed was used.
The water was scaldingly hot, turning his skin red and sensitive in a way that Soap found relaxing. Turning the water to its coldest setting would’ve only made his tension worse, but the warmth and comfort of being surrounded by Ghost made him feel much better than he had the entire day.
It also makes it much, much worse. He’s so pent up and empty, he just needs—he needs—
For whatever reason, Ghost keeps his lotion on the edge of his bathtub, behind the clear shower liner that keeps water from escaping the confines of his shower. And it shouldn’t tempt Soap, it shouldn’t. None of it should.
But it did. Magnetically, it did. It drew Soap in and begged him to toss aside any morals or reservations just for a few moments of blinding pleasure.
Soap had never been known for his ability to resist acting on his impulses nor for his patience. Though Ghost would never admit it, Soap was sure he found his impulsivity endearing as it made up such a significant part of his personality. He reassured himself with that thought as he sank to his knees, pumped some of Ghost’s fragrant lotion onto his fingers, and spread the slippery substance over his neglected hole.
Clouds of steam built up around him. He’d angled the spray towards the wall so the water couldn’t wash away the lotion before it did its job, but it was still close enough for Soap to feel the heat emitting from the downpour.
Soap rested the forearm not being used on the edge of the tub to hold himself up when his upper body wavered at the first finger sinking home. His cock throbbed where it rested on the ceramic floor, teased by flowing water making its way down to the drain. After days of not touching himself, a single finger felt like a fucking dream, and it wasn’t long before Soap was pushing a second finger into himself a little too early.
His mouth was wide open, spilling breathy sighs and moans as he fucked himself. If Ghost were there, without a doubt he would have mocked Soap’s desperation.
“I didn’t take you for a common whore,” Soap imagined his rumbling voice admonishing him. He bit back a loud whimper at the thought of Ghost standing above him, watching him frantically fuck himself using something belonging to Ghost as lube.
“That all for me, Sergeant?” his apparition of Ghost asked casually.
“Yes, sir,” Soap answered weakly, curling his fingers until they nudged against his prostate. His hips jerked forward on a pitched moan. “Please—Simon, please.”
“Please what? Do you really need me to do everything for you? Are you that fucking stupid, Johnny?” his voice taunted.
Soap sobbed, nodding frantically as he rode his duo in a frenzy. He tilted his head back between his shoulders, almost being able to feel the whisper of Ghost’s fingers trailing across his throat delicately before anchoring a firm grip like he’d done previously with the back of Soap’s neck.
“Stupid fucking dog,” Ghost’s voice spit venomously, leaning over Soap’s body and looking down at him with a mix of disgust and pity. Soap’s cock kicked heartily at the thought, his stomach twisting and tightening in pleasure.
His eyelids fell shut, utterly and completely lost in the fantasy. He imagined cold, sharp metal pressing against his throat as a warning and nearly lost the last of his balance. It was palpable, the way he could feel the phantom of Ghost’s steady hands dragging his blade across the vulnerable skin of his throat.
“Go on, Johnny. Prove that you’re not useless for me. I don’t have any reason to keep a worthless pet around,” Ghost said, digging the blade into his skin with just enough pressure to draw small beads of blood.
Soap came on a wail, untouched and completely ruined. He collapsed forward onto his arm as he worked himself through the aftershocks, only pulling his cramping fingers out of himself when he began to twitch in overstimulation.
It took a handful of minutes for Soap to even out his breathing. He stood on trembling legs and directed the slowly cooling stream of water back towards himself. Both of his palms were placed flat on the tiles of the shower to hold himself upright as the water washed away sins that he was entirely unable to regret.
Just ten more days before Ghost returned, and Soap could go back to performing his more shameful acts in the privacy of his own room.
On autopilot, Soap’s brain flared to life in an instant when he felt an unknown force wrapping around his throat. He fought against the hold as best he could, but he had just woken up and his movements were detestably sluggish.
His wrists were captured and pinned above his head, but before he got the chance to wrap his legs around his assailant to flip their positions, the man leaned in close and sighed in what sounded like disappointment.
“Johnny,” Ghost chided, either for the fact that Johnny failed in his defense or that he tried to defend himself at all.
Soap blinked rapidly, speeding up the process of his vision clearing up and adjusting to the almost complete lack of light in the room. Through the shadows, Soap was able to make out the familiar form of Ghost arching over him. Soap went lax when the understanding sank in, blowing out an exasperated breath.
“Steamin’ Christ, L.t., you scared the absolute shit out of me. The fuck are you doing in my room?” Soap grumbled, easing his eyes shut once more and hoping that Ghost would just let him go back to bed.
Oddly, Ghost didn’t remove his hands from Soap’s throat or wrists, but Soap wasn’t stupid enough to complain about that. Instead, he swallowed heavily just to feel the way his Adam’s apple struggled to move underneath Ghost’s weighted palm.
“I’m not in your room, Johnny,” he corrected, and what the fuck was he talking about? He’d just attacked Soap in his sleep even though he was supposed to be deployed still, where the fuck else would they be?
Soap’s eyes shot wide open. He must've gotten back from his mission early, and Soap was, literally, caught with his fucking pants down. Despite his attempt to spring out of the bed in shock, Ghost shoved him right back down and held him there by his throat. The amount of force it took to restrain Soap had him prohibiting the necessary amount of oxygen to reach Soap’s head. Immediately, blood rushed southbound towards his cock, but enough remained to bring a guilty flush to his cheeks.
Above him, Ghost regarded him coolly, acting like the effort he was putting into choking Soap freshly out of his sleep had no effect on him.
Hell, maybe it didn’t have an effect on him. Or maybe the effect it had on him was the complete opposite effect it had on Soap.
“Would you mind explaining to me how you found your way into my bed?” Ghost mused, loosening up on Soap’s neck in search of a response.
Soap inhaled sharply, panting shallowly and considering which of his options would be least likely for this to end with a knife in his gut.
“I was having trouble sleeping,” he settled on, which wasn’t a lie. “I just thought I’d sleep better in here,” he admitted vaguely.
Ghost was quiet for a moment, and when he released Soap’s wrists, he thought maybe he was in the clear. With his newly freed hand, Ghost reached into the darkness and flicked on the lamp beside his bed.
Christ. Soap winced at the brightness, wondering where the fuck Ghost got a lamp that mirrored the sun.
“Does you being half naked have anything to do with that?” Ghost questioned flatly, massaging his thumb into one of Soap’s pulse points.
Thank fucking God Soap had been smart enough to throw on his pair of briefs after he came the night before. Explaining why he was shirtless and missing his pants in Ghost’s bed would be much breezier than explaining why he was as naked as the day he was born.
“I was hot?” Soap squeaked out under Ghost’s demanding hand.
“Are you asking me or telling me, Sergeant?” Ghost snapped, not sounding very happy.
With the light turned on, Soap was finally able to see Ghost, and he could only let himself be glad that Ghost’s duvet was still covering most of his lap to obscure his growing erection. Ghost looked like a fucking sleep paralysis demon, like something that haunted normal people as they slept soundly in bed. He was still sporting the hard shell in the shape of a skull, and though he’d rid himself of his tactical gear, he was still clearly armed. He had a holster on each thigh, one of which sported a sidearm while the other carried several of Ghost’s favorite knives.
He looked downright sinister, and Soap was leaking into his briefs just thinking about how at Ghost’s mercy he was.
“Telling you, sir,” Soap said with more conviction.
Ghost leaned closer, so much so that Soap was dizzy with the drying smell of blood somewhere on Ghost’s body.
“I don’t believe you,” Ghost told him lowly, shoving Soap into the bed one last time before letting go of him.
Against his will, Soap whimpered at the loss, and it didn’t seem to get past Ghost’s attention.
“Sir, I’m—”
“Quiet, Johnny,” Ghost silenced him.
Soap’s jaw obediently snapped shut at the order. It remained shut even when Ghost slid his gloves off of his hands, followed by his hoodie, then his belt. Soap was going to faint. Or he was already dead and his heaven consisted of being choked then watching Ghost undress. Ghost was, sadly, wearing a shirt underneath his hoodie, robbing Soap of the chance to see the defined muscles, whitish scars, and black tattoos that danced across his skin.
“Turn over, Johnny,” Ghost told him without sparing a glance in Soap’s direction.
God, he was going to come just from Ghost speaking to him.
“What?” he whispered unsurely.
Ghost did look up from his undone belt then, tossing the wretched thing to the side. “I’m not a little spoon,” he joked lightly, giving Soap a serious case of whiplash. “I’m tired, Johnny. We’re going to bed.”
“Oh,” Soap deflated. “You’re gonna sleep in jeans?”
“I was waiting for you to turn around. Unless you want to watch me?” Ghost proposed, still teasing, with an amused tilt of his head.
If possible, Soap’s cheeks got redder. He was too tired and overwhelmed to say fuck yes, he wanted to watch. He sat up and scooted backwards, moving to turn himself around and rest on his side when—
Oh, fuck. Soap’s stomach sank in horror. The duvet had fallen to his waist, which wasn’t a problem until the prospect of turning over came into play. Unless he lifted the sheets up over his shoulders, he risked Ghost somehow spotting the fucking tattoo on his back. Knowing Ghost, he’d watch Soap’s every move and demand anything he wanted if Soap didn’t automatically do it.
Forgoing the current issue of keeping Ghost from seeing it when he turned, that still left the entirely realistic possibility of the duvet coming down in their sleep and therefore revealing the ink. He couldn’t even be sure Ghost actually wanted to sleep and not observe Soap while he was defenselessly unconscious.
Soap sent a prayer to the heavens above before clearing his throat. “Can you hand me my shirt?” he requested meekly. His voice didn’t shake, which was honestly the best outcome he could have asked for.
Ghost, who’d been watching him like a hawk the entire time, silently pondered his question. “I thought you were hot, Johnny,” he mused, taking a step closer to the bed.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with me being shirtless, sir,” he tried again, backing away from Ghost’s ominous approach.
He hadn’t had high hopes for his attempts, but it was still somewhat dejecting to see how quickly Ghost saw through him. “I won’t be. Turn over,” he commanded him again, his tone tight with suspicion.
“Please, Ghost. One of your shirts, please,” he pleaded softly, slowly preparing himself for what felt like the inevitable outcome of obeying Ghost and outing himself while doing so.
Skepticism had already taken hold of Ghost, though, and he was locked in on Soap doing exactly as he’d asked.
“Turn over, Johnny,” Ghost instructed him, no longer sounding playful or amenable.
“Ghost,” he whined nervously, begging Ghost with his eyes to let it go.
“Either you turn over, or you get the fuck out,” Ghost threatened.
Soap flinched, his eyes burning with a fearful emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time. The thought of being rejected and tossed aside made him feel sick, but he didn’t want to leave on his own. If he was going to leave, it’d be because Ghost kicked him out, not because he hadn’t been good for Ghost.
“Yes, sir,” Soap whispered, barely audible.
Severing the eye contact between them didn’t make Soap feel any better. He could feel Ghost’s fiery gaze locked on him as he garnered enough courage to turn over. Soap’s whole body was shaking anxiously when he shifted onto his stomach, lying flat on his stomach with his lower legs still hanging off of the bed.
It was easy to tell when Ghost saw it. Soap blew out a shaky breath into the sheets below him, taking two fistfuls of the duvet to hide the tremors in his hands. Soap felt the tears burning at his eyes well up from humiliation and fright. His ridiculously fucked up cock didn’t get the memo, and it dug into the mattress, unfulfilled.
Blood roared through Soap’s ears, droning out anything but the sound of his pounding heart and his uneven breathing. When the first touch, fleeting and light, caressed the small of his back, directly over his tattoo, Soap arched with a violent gasp.
“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny,” Ghost snarled, abandoning the delicate touches for a more forceful one. He palmed Johnny’s clothed ass, squeezing so rough that Soap wondered if it’d bruise. “When the fuck did you get this?” Ghost asked him, tortured.
“Weeks ago,” Soap gasped, wracking his brain for the answer. More accurately, it was more than a month ago, but Soap couldn’t form all of those words. “Got drunk with Gaz ‘n got the idea then,” he explained.
Something smooth, blunt, and heated came into contact with his tattoo, smearing a wet substance across his skin. Then, the slick sound of skin moving on skin hit his ears, and yeah, Soap was positive he was going to come.
“Had my name on you this whole fucking time, Johnny?” Ghost growled, one hand coming down to rest beside Soap’s head as he hovered above Soap’s body.
“Yes, sir,” Soap moaned a little too loudly. He squirmed, spreading his legs apart obscenely as an offer.
Ghost breathed heavily in his ear, small, strained grunts and moans falling from his mouth as he jacked off on Soap’s tattoo. Soap’s hips rutted into the sheets in a desperate need to come.
“Why’re you really in my room?” Ghost asked him, dragging his teeth down the side of Soap’s neck.
Soap whimpered, hips twitching wildly. “Missed you so bad,” he admitted tearfully. “Just wanted to be close to you, ‘m sorry.”
Teeth sank into his skin as a reward for his honesty, which only prompted more shameful truths to pour out of him unprompted. “Tried to be good ‘n just sleep, but I wanted you so bad. Came thinking of you so much, sir,” he slurred.
“Fuck me, Johnny. Did you fuck yourself on my bed?” Ghost groaned, his hand speeding up.
Soap’s own hips moved faster and faster, circling and grinding into the sheets as everything began to overwhelm his senses. He was so, so close.
“Yes,” he confessed willingly.
Ghost groaned loudly, the sound shaking the whole damn room. “Christ, I can’t wait to see your sweet little hole, Johnny. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about watching you struggle to take my cock all the way? I’ve wanted to bend you over and fuck you like that so many fucking times,” he spoke almost mindlessly, sounding closer to a wild animal than a human.
Soap sobbed so violently that it made his throat ache. His cock twitched uncontrollably, soiling his briefs with pulse after pulse of his cum. The orgasm hit him so hard that supernovas exploded behind his eyelids, sending tingles of stardust down his body and causing his mind to blank.
Time had passed when he came back to himself. Not much, he guessed, because he was still in the same position and Ghost was now kneeling behind him massaging his fingers over Soap’s tattoo.
The slide of his fingers felt slick, and even after coming his fucking brains out, Soap had the wherewithal to understand that Ghost had come on his tattoo.
And was rubbing it into the fucking ink.
“Simon,” he mewled, sniffling through the last of his tears.
Ghost shushed him, peppering kisses across Soap’s back. Kisses, Soap realized delightedly, with his bare lips. He hoped he tossed the whole damn mask off so that his face would be that last thing Soap saw before falling back into blissful sleep.
“So good for me, aren’t you, Johnny? Making sure everyone knew who you belonged to before I’d even touched you,” Ghost whispered in awe.
“Always yours, sir,” he swore.
Ghost made a dark, pleased sound at that.
Losing Ghost’s body heat a few minutes later was devastating, but Ghost soothed his whines by placing a kiss over his cum-stained tattoo. Ghost undressed quickly and turned the lamp back off, returning to bed to effortlessly move Soap’s body so that he was lying properly in bed with his back to Ghost’s chest.
His fingers met soft, curly strands when he reached behind him to pull Ghost’s head over his shoulder. Soap hummed contently, nuzzling back into Ghost.
“Love you so much, Si,” he breathed, the tempting allure of sleep weaving into his bones.
Ghost’s hands held him tighter, like he was scared Soap would slip away. “I love you,” Ghost mouthed against his skin in return.