Chapter Text
Price has at least five different files, blueprints, and schedules up on the screen while he talks and Soap tries to pay attention and take it all in, he does, but he’s distracted by more than how close he got to giving away the game.
A different tactic, Price called it.
Great, in theory. Until he found out what that meant; no arms, no backup, and no kills. Civvies, infiltrating a party they weren’t invited to. Supposedly due to intel, but Soap’s injury is more than implied when Price mentions the way they’re not at full strength.
He isn’t wrong, Soap’s marks were still off on the shooting range, but that doesn’t mean he can’t pull his weight. The lack of trust stings more than his arm has since he got—barely—shot.
But it gives them a solid shot at Walker, and it’s the only reason Soap doesn’t protest. If they pull this off, they’ll be done with him for good. He’ll even take in stride that Price called Ray in to help out.
Just to have an extra set of hands, should things go south.
Once Price lets them go, Soap gripes to Gaz. “I can’t believe Ray is joining us. Price does know he’s a liability, right? We’re gonna be undercover. He can’t be around normal people.”
“I don’t think it was his call, Laswell wanted someone with a Russian connection,” Gaz shrugs.
“He doesn’t even speak Russian. Reckon we know more than he does,” Ghost doesn’t sound happy about it either.
“He’s a good fighter, and he knows people, but I think we can handle a party,” Gaz agrees, and glances pointedly at Ghost, “most of us, anyway.”
Ghost doesn’t respond to the dig. “I don’t like it either, but orders are orders.”
It’s directed at Soap, and he huffs out a breath. He’s not going to point out that he’s been better at following them than Ghost was, lately, anyway. Not in front of Gaz.
“I don’t see why we can’t just go in guns blazing, if Walker’s guaranteed to be there. Not like the kind of people he associates with are any better.”
Gaz frowns. “Did you hear anything Price said? It’s a fundraiser. He’ll be there, but so will half the government, influential rich people, art types, and anyone else with money to spend. It’d be a massacre to get one man.”
Right. He got all of that.
“If it’s formal, how are we gonna get this guy in?” Soap uses his thumb to point at Ghost, like he isn’t standing right next to him.
It’s Ghost who answers, calmer than Gaz looks; Soap clearly just asked something they already went over.
“They’re trying to get us in as hired security. If that doesn’t work out, we’ll go as guests. You need to get your ears checked, Sergeant.”
It’s not his ears that are the problem, but again; Gaz. Right there.
“Security means armed. That’s good.” Soap nods, warming up to the idea.
Gaz looks between them, deeming Ghost has it covered. “Right, I’m off. Duties.”
He leaves them to it, and Ghost takes enough pity on him to rehash the briefing they just sat through while they walk back.
Soap got the gist of it, after Gaz did the pre-work, but he's grateful all the same.
Even if they get in as security they won’t be armed, but it would allow them easy access to the entire building, something that’ll be difficult to pull off as guests. This is where Ray’s connections come in.
The plan is to pick Walker out of the—substantial—crowd, tail him without him noticing, and take him in alive. Flipping the script on him, finally. It sounds easy enough, and they have time to prep while awaiting word on the exact details of how they’re going in.
Soap doesn’t avoid Ghost, after, but he doesn’t allow himself to get caught up again, either. There’s too much at stake, more than getting his feelings hurt, he can’t afford to be the liability Price clearly thinks he is when they’re so close to getting Walker.
Ghost doesn’t push it. Soap wishes he would. Same as ever.
Half a week later, the team is off base and in a hotel getting ready.
The security angle hadn’t worked out, not really; Ray being the only to get in that way. But with his help, getting access would be significantly easier than without it, as long as he doesn’t decide to go off on his own. Risk and reward.
The rest of them are on the guest list after pulling some not-insignificant strings. Soap isn’t happy about it, but they’ve done similar ops in the past, if infrequently. And not usually requiring him to wear a tie. Certainly not a bow tie.
None of them got to pick their own attire, but if he’s wearing a bow tie, Soap insisted that he wear a kilt. It might get him some looks; attention they don’t need, but if things turn and he needs to fight, he’s not doing it in badly tailored tuxedo trousers.
They meet up in the lobby and Soap pauses as he approaches. Ghost looks fucking good even from a distance, but that’s not what stops him in his tracks.
He’s not wearing his mask, or even a balaclava. His face is only obscured by a black surgical mask, no black grease paint, nothing covering his hair, glinting in the hotel’s soft light.
Ghost doesn’t notice him staring, but Gaz does, and raises an eyebrow in his direction. Soap starts walking again. Tries to appear natural.
“We make a bonnie bunch, don’t we?” He greets them when he joins the team, and keeps his eyes on Price and Gaz.
Price looks uncomfortable in his suit, so dark green it’s almost black, but Gaz looks good, natural in a way the rest of them aren’t. Blue tuxedo jacket on a lighter blue shirt, same bow tie Soap is wearing. If it wouldn’t earn him another mark on Price’s shit list, he’d call him pretty.
Ray is the only one not here; already over at the venue with the rest of the people working. For the best too, if he caught the way Soap isn’t looking at Ghost, he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut.
Soap chances another look when Price starts talking, and only vaguely takes in what he’s saying.
It’s not the first time he’s seen Ghost without make-up, or even without his mask, but never at the same time, and even though his nose and mouth are safely covered up, he looks naked in a way that’s — it feels wrong, almost, to look at him like this.
His suit is plain, all black down to his tie, and slightly too tight in the shoulders, but he wears it well. Despite the size of him, he doesn’t look out of place.
Ghost meets his eyes, and raises an eyebrow Soap can actually see, pale and scarred, and it’s too much. He has to look away to avoid everything threatening to show on his face, and pretends he hears a word of what Price is saying.
It’s nothing they haven't gone over before, in depth, and away from listening ears, but all Soap is aware of is Ghost’s eyes, still on him, insistent like a knife to his throat.
“Car’s out front, everyone clear?”
Soap nods, instinctual, hopes to Christ above nothing changed in their directive since they landed; focus solely on Ghost, and acting like it isn’t.
Knows he’s putting them all in danger, hates himself for it, can’t stop no matter how hard he tries.
Price hands him another surgical mask, same as Ghost’s.
“Help him blend in.”
He puts it on without question, relishes in the way it helps hide his face almost as much as he does in matching with Ghost. Like they’re two parts of a set.
They pile into the car, too small for four men of their size, pressed too close even with Price riding shotgun, Ghost’s hand resting on his bare knee in a way that Soap could read as possessive, but doesn’t, and arrive at the fundraiser not fifteen minutes later.
Fifteen minutes of Soap trying to get Ghost to move his hand, just a little, to prove he isn’t more than a convenient spot to rest it, and of Gaz looking at him with tired judgement out of the corner of his eye before averting his gaze to stare resolutely out the window.
Price glances back in the rearview mirror occasionally, and doesn’t seem to notice the tension, or ascribes it to the calm before the storm. He’s not wrong, but it’s a different kind of storm brewing under Soap’s skin, high pressure building before the thunder rocks through.
Getting inside isn’t an issue; their invitation was real, if made to a different version of the men walking through the doors tonight.
It doesn’t sit well with Soap, how easy it had been to not only find out that Walker would be out in the open tonight, but getting invited here, amongst some of the most notable people of not just the city, but the country. Call it paranoia, but it feels like walking into a trap.
Price didn’t share his concerns when he brought it up back at the hotel, or before that, during the final briefing. Ensured Soap that Laswell set them up with a good cover, and Walker has no clue they’ll show up. They’re trusting the intel.
The fundraiser is held at a museum, massive old architecture outside, the inside modern and sleek while preserving the historical features. Gleaming floors, high ceilings, exhibitions of sculptures, paintings, and artefacts lit up with coloured lights.
It’s stunning, but so packed with people that Soap wonders how they’re ever going to pick Walker out of the crowd.
“Let’s split up. Ghost, Soap, take the east wing, we’ll take the west. Text if you spot him, text Ray too, in case we need security access. Keep your distance, he may know our faces. Act casual,” Price directs the last order to Ghost, who nods, sharp and quick, shoulders back like he's standing at attention.
Walker may know their faces, but they barely know his; grainy surveillance footage is most of what they’re working off. Not to mention that a third of the crowd is wearing masks, some plain surgical ones, others more elaborate to match their attire.
They split up, and Soap follows behind Ghost, who stalks more than walks off to possibly inspect every face he finds.
Soap slows him down with a hand on his arm.
“Blending in, remember? Take it easy.”
He doesn’t take his hand off Ghost’s arm until he nods, but his eyes still skim over the people around them.
“I don’t like this. Feels like a trap,” he focuses on Soap, “we’re too exposed.”
Even unarmed and unmasked, Ghost looks intimidating. He doesn’t need a weapon to defend himself, and people steer clear of them while they stand in the middle of the large room, talking like they’re alone. There’s no danger—not really, right now—but Ghost is less steady here than in the middle of battle.
Soap grasps his arm again, grounding himself as much as Ghost, for a different reason.
“We’re fine. It’s one man, and he’s as unarmed as we are. We just have to find him.”
To Soap’s surprise, the agitated look in Ghost’s eyes softens, and he allows Soap to pull him over to one of the exhibits, like they really are here to enjoy the party.
He only drops his hand when someone coos beside them and starts speaking to them in Russian.
The woman notices the questioning look on his face, and she switches to thickly accented English. “I was just saying, you two make a beautiful couple. I know it must not be easy, but you’re so brave.”
She smiles brightly, and Soap doesn’t want to burst her bubble, but he just got Ghost to relax.
“Oh, sorry, we’re actually —,”
Ghost cuts him off, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s kind of you to say.”
She smiles again before wandering off, and Soap turns around.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s good cover. If people think we’re together, they’ll leave us alone.”
Clearly not, but Soap doesn’t really want to argue about it when they have a job to do. No other reason at all.
They make their way through the room, glancing around, stopping and pretending to look at the art, occasionally exchanging some comments with other guests, and Ghost lays it on thick; keeps touching him, guiding him by the small of his back, hand on his elbow, on his shoulder when he leans in to talk into Soap’s ear.
It’s distracting. Soap wants him to do it more.
When Ghost pulls him into a corner to get a good vantage point, he puts Soap between himself and the rest of the crowd, facing him. It allows him to look past Soap and scan the crowd, but Soap can’t see anything past Ghost and the wall behind him.
“I don’t think this is useful to the mission, Lt.”
Ghost leans in, fingers coming up to tug at his bow tie like he’s straightening it out, and Soap swallows when his fingers brush against his throat.
“Think I got eyes on, but we may have been made,” Ghost speaks close to his ear, confidential and too intimate, “act natural.”
It’s a big ask when Ghost keeps playing with his tie, absent-minded, while he checks if the man supposed to be Walker shows a change in behaviour. Soap tries to pull his hand away from his neck, and Ghost grabs it. Holds on, interlocking their fingers while he brings it down.
“Be good, Johnny.”
His mask brushes against Soap’s ear when he talks, and he wishes he wore underwear under his kilt. He’s not hard, but he will be if Ghost keeps this up.
“I am good, can you fuckin’ move already?”
Ghost slips his finger under Soap’s bow tie, intentional now. “Just. Wait.”
Soap closes his eyes, grateful Ghost can’t see him do it, and tries to keep his breath steady.
“It’s him. Scar matches.” He presses his covered face into Soap’s neck, and speaks the next words into his skin. “We should follow, he’s leaving. Lost interest.”
Fucking finally. Soap pushes him away, more gently than he wants to, in order to avoid attracting—more—attention. He feels too hot; mind swimming, and a little breathless. It’s worse when Ghost drops his gaze from Walker to Soap’s face, and none of what he’s feeling is reflected there.
“Was that really necessary?” Soap hisses, already turning to see if he can spot their target, too, and Ghost doesn’t let go of his hand.
“No. But it helped, and we’re here to finish the job.”
Right. The job.
Ghost doesn’t release his hand, using it to pull him along when they follow Walker into the next room. Soap updates the team one-handed, thumb clumsy on his phone’s keyboard, but it gets the message across.
Walker doesn’t stop, but they do in order to avoid raising suspicion, half hiding behind a statue to keep their eyes on where he’s going. They’re standing close already, and closer when Walker glances back, Ghost pulling him into his side so casually that Soap doesn’t resist leaning against him.
Tells himself it’s for the mission, hopes Price isn’t already right behind them.
The moment passes, and Ghost speaks. “We’re clear.”
Soap stands up straight and half-heartedly tries to extract his hand from Ghost’s fingers. They only tighten, and he pulls Soap along like he’s on a leash.
He barely remembers to update Price on their status, can’t focus on anything but the way Ghost leads him through the clusters of people, hand warm in his own. They stop again in the next room, where Walker talks to a woman, motioning at the display in front of them.
He doesn’t look back, but Ghost positions them in front of another exhibit to keep a clear line of sight while they watch him. While Ghost watches him; all Soap has eyes for is the way the pink hue of the coloured lights spread over Ghost’s face, tinting his hair and shining in his eyes. Like he’s wearing rose-tinted glasses.
“Focus, Sergeant.”
Ghost finally lets go of his hand, and it feels like punishment. Soap shakes himself out of his stupor, and keeps his eyes on Walker. Tries not to feel like he’s losing his grip on the situation as much as he lost his grip on Ghost.
“How long are we gonna tail this guy before taking him in?”
“As long as it takes. We need him away from the crowd,” Ghost says just as Walker scans the room, and this time it’s Soap pulling him in close, using more force than necessary when Ghost turns into him easily.
They’re not fully out of view, but pressed chest to chest, Ghost’s hands bracketing his hips, and Soap’s still on his shoulders, like they’re about to dance. Or kiss.
His phone buzzes, and they separate. Price; asking for an update and telling him they’re getting close to their last known position. Soap shows it to Ghost, implication clear, before he answers.
Walker moves, and they follow until he disappears into a corded off area.
“Fucking finally,” Soap breathes a sigh of relief, and Ghost makes a noise beside him, but grabs his shoulder when Soap means to follow.
“Text Price. I’ll go in first, less likely to be noticed if I’m alone,” Ghost doesn’t give him time to answer before he sets off.
He updates Price—and Ray, since they’re moving into a secured area—and hurries after Ghost. It’s not that he can’t hold his own in a fight, if it comes to that, but they’re in the blind, and without comms he has no way of knowing if Ghost is in trouble.
Soap barely gets three steps inside the hallway when he’s pushed up against the wall, rough enough to make him lose his breath, Ghost speaking louder than necessary for the comparative quietness behind the door.
“There you are, thought you got lost.”
He spots the guard just before Ghost closes the distance, kissing him through their masks.
Even through the paper he can feel Ghost’s lips on his; not just putting on a show, but actually kissing him, and when he wraps his arms around Ghost’s shoulders to pull him closer, he tells himself it’s only to make this look good.
Ghost presses a leg between his thighs, and kisses him harder, opening his mouth to bite Soap’s lip despite the masks keeping them from making real contact, and Soap is so hard, so fast, that he can’t keep himself from grinding into Ghost’s thigh. Ghost groans, pushing in against him, and kisses him again.
He bites at his jaw, teeth muted by the mask, before speaking — still too loud, more so with how close he is to Soap’s ear. “I’m gonna fuck you in that skirt.”
Soap’s jaw drops, both on a moan and to protest. “It’s a kilt, you fuckin’ Brit.”
“Вам нельзя тут находиться!”
They break apart, and Ghost looks over his shoulder like he only just noticed they’re not alone.
“Sorry mate, what was that?”
The guard repeats himself, but doesn’t move closer.
“You can’t be here,” he makes a shooing motion, and Soap has to bite back a laugh, “go.”
Ghost steps back, and hooks a finger into Soap’s bow tie to pull him away from the wall.
“Going.”
It’s enough to satisfy the guard, and he turns quickly, heading down the hall and disappearing around the corner.
Soap wants to keep this going, wants Ghost pressed up against him again—wants him to make good on his promise right here—but they’ve lost sight of Walker. The only reason Ghost kissed him at all was so they have a chance of getting to him.
Another security guard rounds the corner, and Soap is half ready for a repeat performance when Ghost does push him back into the wall, by his neck and none too gently, but it’s Ray.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Are you having fun or can we get on with the mission?”
Ghost drops his hand and Soap takes a breath before straightening up.
“You see where he went?” Ghost sounds steadier than Soap feels, and he reminds himself that this was for show; kissing him didn’t mean anything or he would’ve pulled his mask down to do it.
Soap wanted to take his own off, before, but keeps it on now, grateful to hide his face even if it’s a little damp.
“Didn’t come my way, but there’s a way out from here. Might be he’s leaving early.”
It’s all they have to go on. Soap ignores it when Ray looks down at the way he’s clearly still hard, and follows him and Ghost into the opposite side of the hallway from where the other guard came.
They wait for Price and Gaz to join them after clearing the rooms lining this side of the long hall.
Ray keeps his voice low—Ghost up ahead to watch for a sign of trouble—when he breaks the silence.
“So that’s the guy, huh? Should’ve known.”
Soap shoots him a warning look. “Mind your business.”
“He’s not a bad lay, in case you haven’t yet,” Ray looks smug, like Soap didn’t already suspect he wasn’t the only one.
Still feels a stab of fiery jealousy, and he can’t keep the grimace from his face. Ghost looks over his shoulder at their continued talking, head slightly tilted in question.
“Focus on the mission, will ya,” he directs it to Ray, not bothering to keep Ghost from overhearing.
Wants him to, pathetically, seeking Ghost’s approval. None of it matters; he’s not his.
Ray looks like he wants to poke at it some more now that he found a sore spot, but footsteps ring out down the corridor, and they check behind them: Price and Gaz joining the party, finally.
They catch up to Walker outside. Or, he catches up to them. It’s a trap like Soap fucking knew it was; this was too easy to be anything but.
Price manages to duck out of the fight to chase Walker down by himself, and down a man while up against over twice their number—even unarmed—it’s a while before they come out on top. Bruised and bloodied, but looking far better than Walker’s men, who lie mostly alive but barely breathing around them.
Soap gets up from his knees and wipes the blood from his nose and mouth, the flimsy mask long since ripped off. Ghost’s isn’t, but there’s a fresh cut over his eyebrow, and somewhere in the fight he lost his suit jacket, tie loosened and barely hanging on. He looks good, but Soap can’t focus on that right now.
Gaz and Ray aren’t much better off, black eye already blooming on Gaz’s skin, Ray’s nose broken — again. All four of them are in a state, but they have to find Price before even thinking about fixing themselves up.
One of the men rises, just behind Ghost, and Soap is on him like an attack dog before the others can even turn around, wrestling for a moment to get him in a chokehold, arm around the man’s neck until he goes limp when he does.
Ghost helps him off and up, bruised knuckles mirrored in their clasped hands.
“Good boy, Johnny.”
Heat shoots straight through Soap’s arm from where they haven’t let go, adrenaline and pleasure and hunger mixing to settle, blazing hot, in his chest. Gaz groans, and they let go at the same time.
They catch up with Price—already on his way back—further into the back courtyard. He has Walker’s hands tied behind his back with his tie, still struggling, and chatting as if Price is an old pal in a bad mood. In the face of things, it’s an unsatisfyingly easy ending to months of chasing him, but at least it’s over.
HQ sends two cars to take them back to the hotel, parking out back to avoid drawing attention when they take Walker in. Ray is with Soap and Ghost in one, and it has Soap on edge for the entire ride. More, when his hand lands on his knee, inching up like they’re alone.
Soap pushes it away, and he feels Ghost’s eyes on him before he meets them in the rearview mirror. He’s trapped between Ghost looking at him from up front, and Ray trying the move again. Between being good, and pushing, just to see what—if anything—Ghost will do.
Ghost had him on a leash all night, and Soap liked being there, but.
But he wants to see something of the ache it caused reflected on Ghost’s face, even if it’s just jealousy over Ray. If he cares at all.
Ray slips his hand up under Soap's kilt when he doesn’t push him away a second time. Not far, but his fingers tease up on the inside of his knee, then his thigh, and Soap leans his leg into it. Ghost doesn’t speak up, and Soap didn’t think he would, but his eyes narrow, and that—more than Ray’s touch ever could—makes his pulse quicken.
And his dick hard, a detail Ray doesn’t miss.
He leans in to talk into Soap’s ear, and Soap keeps his eyes on Ghost’s. “That for me or him?”
Soap doesn’t answer him, just spreads his legs a little bit wider, and Ray trails his fingers up.
“Want him to fuck you that bad?” More than anything in the world right now, but Soap keeps silent.
He’s not gonna beg Ray for Ghost to fuck him. Might beg Ghost, though, if this keeps up. Might not have to, if the way he looks at him in the rearview mirror is any indication.
Fifteen minutes feel like they stretch to an hour, but their driver pulls up to the hotel’s back entrance, parking the car behind the one Gaz and Price—and Walker—just arrived in. Ray steps out first, just as Gaz does ahead of them, pulling Walker from the car.
“We need a minute. Go help them out,” Ghost directs it to the driver, some private called in from a nearby base, and he looks like he’s about to argue; he’s here to drive, nothing more, but changes his mind when it would mean defying a direct order.
He doesn’t look away from Soap.
The driver leaves, and Soap doesn’t care when Price looks back in their direction before they get Walker inside. He’ll come up with some excuse, or not; right now his mind is on Ghost, and Ghost alone.
Ghost gets out of the passenger seat, door slamming behind him so hard the car shakes from the force, and gets in the back. He slides into the seat next to Soap, and further, pushing Soap aside to settle in the middle.
“That fun for you?” He’s fuming, and Soap has never seen him like this; angry, sure, ballistic once or twice, but never directed at him. Not like this.
“You have no idea. Fuckin’ teasing me all night, two can play that game.”
Soap crawls into his lap, barely enough room in the car, and he can’t sit up straight without hitting his head on the roof, but he straddles Ghost’s lap, grinding down when he feels how hard he is.
“Already told you I was gonna fuck you, and I tend to keep my promises,” Ghost says, and he gets his hands up and under Soap’s kilt to grab at his ass.
It’s bad timing, not to mention risky to do this here, but Soap can count on one hand the times it hasn’t been; they need the sense of urgency, without it this would turn too real. Desperation gives him cover to hide behind, without it, he’s left exposed and vulnerable, at Ghost’s mercy.
He doesn’t want his mercy, not right now, when he needs Ghost to put him in his place. Needs to reign in all the things threatening to spill out of him after Ghost pretended without any issue that they were together, knowing he’ll never have that.
After Ghost kissed him, almost like he meant it. And after Soap kissed back like it wasn’t everything he wanted, and far from enough.
“Spit.”
Soap spits into the offered hand, and doesn’t bother to hold in a moan when Ghost slips a finger inside of him. No one but Ghost here to hear him, anyway, unless the guys came back to look for them.
He pushes back onto Ghost’s touch when he starts to finger him open, cock so hard he’s leaking into the fabric of his kilt where it rubs at him every time he moves.
“More, need you inside.”
Soap buries his face into Ghost’s neck when he obliges and adds a finger, too soon, normally, but the slight sting is exactly what Soap needs. Ghost doesn’t hurry through it, taking his time to make sure Soap is ready and clenching around him before he adds a third.
He’s faster about it now, Soap pushing into it and mouthing at his neck, bare flesh under his lips for the first time. Ghost hasn’t ever so much as pulled his mask up to allow him access, and Soap has to hold himself back from marking him — claiming him as his own with a set of teeth marks and bruises.
“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says, like he hasn’t been careful all this time, like he’d risk going too far, like he hasn’t been taking what Ghost has to offer without asking for more all this time.
He sinks his teeth down, low and right at Ghost’s collar—opened wide in the fight—defying the warning. The order.
Ghost moans, and then he forces his hands between them to open his trousers and get his cock out. He doesn’t have to tell Soap to spit into his hand when he holds it up, and Soap moves back enough to allow him to slick himself up, hiking his kilt up so Ghost can push between his cheeks.
He nudges at his hole, slips over it twice, a little frantic in his movements, then inside. Soap sinks down onto him, biting his lip at the stretch, settling with Ghost’s cock pressed in to the root, and tries to keep from fucking himself on Ghost before he’s ready to take more than just the adjustment.
“Wanted to do this when I saw you in the lobby,” Ghost murmurs, “make you sit on my cock for everyone to see.”
Soap groans, and Ghost’s hips twitch up underneath him, trying to hold back too. But Soap is done waiting. He bites him again, hard, and sucks at the marks his teeth leave on Ghost’s pale—now red—skin. It gets him exactly what Soap was asking for; Ghost pulls him up by grabbing his ass, and starts fucking into him.
He just takes it for a few thrusts, gasping into Ghost’s neck, before he starts riding him. With the lack of space it’s mostly rolling his hips, but it’s good and rough, cramped, but if Soap could, he would try to get even closer.
Ghost pulls him away from his neck by the back of Soap’s, then hooks his fingers into his bow tie from below—right at his throat—keeping him where he wants him. Nose to nose, almost, staring into each other’s eyes as Soap takes him deep with every roll of his hips, cock untouched and leaking under his kilt.
He wants to lean in, wants to press his mouth to Ghost’s, wants to pull his mask down, flimsy paper and self-restraint all that stands between him and Ghost’s lips.
Ghost changes the angle, guides Soap onto him, and Soap’s eyes close at the pleasure coursing through him. He winds a hand into Ghost’s hair, as soft in his fingers as it looks, and tugs his head back to press a kiss to his throat instead. Needs to use his mouth to avoid saying things Ghost doesn’t want to hear.
Ghost moans again, hips coming up sharp off the car seat to get impossibly deeper, and uses the fingers at Soap’s throat to push him away, pressing down on his windpipe until Soap goes. Thinks he’s about to get reprimanded, and almost can’t meet Ghost’s eyes, tears welling up in his own from more than how good Ghost fucks him.
It’s dark in the car, and he hopes that Ghost didn’t see before he blinks them away, no place to hide with how tight Ghost holds him right there, panting in each other’s breath.
Soap gasps on a sharp thrust, rocks back into it, and closes his eyes when they water again. It’s overwhelming, being this close and kept there whether he likes it or not, Ghost looking at him the entire time, barely blinking and intense.
It leaves him too raw; Ghost fucking him like he owns him, exactly what Soap wanted when he let Ray touch him, but dangerous now. All the moves he has left to play in this game end with him losing, no way to turn the tide in his favour.
Ghost’s fingers flex against his throat when they pick up the pace at the same time and Soap presses into it, needing more contact even though they can barely get closer, a tear sliding down his cheek.
He doesn’t wipe it away, doesn’t care that Ghost’s eyes track it down his face before it lands — not on his collar, but on Ghost’s finger, rubbing it into his skin.
“You’re mine,” Ghost growls at him, hips snapping into him, and Soap sobs.
He closes the distance, presses his mouth against Ghost’s through the mask, kisses him like it’s not there, wets the paper with more tears, and then his tongue when Ghost kisses him back, licking at his lips through it like he can taste them.
Ghost pushes him back, forcefully and rough, and Soap wants to apologise, wants to cry, wants to beg him not to stop; he’ll be good. A promise he can’t—won’t—keep.
Doesn’t have to, when Ghost pulls his mask off and crashes their mouths together, filthy the instant they slot together. He doesn’t stop thrusting up as they lick into each other’s mouths, and Soap rides him like his life depends on it, moaning around Ghost’s tongue. Finally, finally, finally.
Ghost breaks their kiss. “Say it. Say it, Johnny.”
It’s urgent, and Soap doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t need to ask what he means.
“I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours,” he ends on a gasp, kisses Ghost again, and comes when Ghost bites his lip.
Ghost fucks him through it until he’s quivering, still squirming back to get him deeper, cum soaking into his kilt and dripping down his thighs, panting into Ghost’s mouth and unwilling to pull away, cheeks wet from tears, fingers in Ghost hair, on his neck, his jaw; unable to get enough of touching him.
Closer than ever, and all he wants is more.
He’s spent, legs so tired they can barely keep him up, but he tries his best to keep rolling his hips when Ghost’s thrusts get frantic, wants this to be good for Ghost, wants Ghost to never stop, needs to feel him come inside like he needs air, more; right now he’d give up anything for Ghost to claim him like he means it.
Soap clenches around him, oversensitive but so desperate, cock still hard, and squeezes his eyes shut as he—impossibly—comes again. Ghost moans when he realises, fingers tight on Soap’s neck and his ass, and spills inside him until it leaks back out, cum slick between Soap’s cheeks, one bruised from how hard Ghost squeezes it while he fucks it back inside.
They slow down, but don’t stop kissing until they need air more than being close, than trying to crawl into the other. Soap lifts up gingerly, letting Ghost’s cock slip from him.
He moves to get up, but Ghost pulls him back down, swipes his thumb through the tear track drying on his face, and tilts his chin up; an invitation. Soap accepts, settles back into his lap, and presses his lips to Ghost’s jaw, then the corner of his mouth, before landing back on his lips.
It’s softer this time. The undercurrent of hunger is still there, but they’re sated, lips moving gently, exploring now that they aren’t hurried and clumsy with need. Soap deepens it, takes the time to taste him, to feel the shape of Ghost’s lip under his, the spots his teeth are sharper, the way Ghost sighs into it. Drinks it in, revels in it.
They separate and a string of saliva connects them, glinting in the street light before it snaps, their lips wet and swollen, and Soap looks up from where his eyes caught on the scar just above Ghost’s mouth.
Ghost’s eyes are dark, like always, but soft like he’s never seen them before and Soap isn’t a coward, but he’s afraid to ask. He swallows, feels Ghost fingers rub over his throat, before tugging his bow tie loose, and his fear loosens with it.
“Does this mean anything?”
Ghost undoes the top button to his shirt, presses a kiss into Soap throat, and leans back to look him in the face to answer.
“It means don’t fuck Ray again. And we might have to convince Price it’s in his best interest not to get between us.”
It’s the most he’s getting from Ghost, and more than anything he could ask for. It’s a confession as much as showing his face is. He says it easily, as if it doesn’t make Soap’s heart clench in his chest from relief.
Ghost kisses him again before putting his creased and slightly wet mask back on. It’s close to falling apart after the night it had. The night they had.
“Come to my room, later. Don’t clean up.”
Soap reads it as the promise it is, and he can’t keep a smile from his face. They’ll owe Gaz more than a favour, his room being between theirs, but if Soap still has a job tomorrow, he’ll figure out how to make it up to him.
Ghost goes, Soap follows.
Lets himself reach out for his hand, brushing their bruised knuckles together until they head inside, and smiles again when Ghost doesn't pull away.
Uncertain about the future, but not about this.