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Considering their uniquely, less than healthy relationship dynamic, Soap felt like he had a right to be pissed. Ghost wasn’t stupid, that was for sure, but Soap had never seen him act so fucking dense in all the time they’d known one another.
Ghost had a goddamn admirer. A new recruit that had first and foremost sniffed out Ghost’s sexuality, which already had Soap on edge, before moving straight to looking at Ghost like he hung the damn moon.
It just wasn’t fair. Soap was used to being the one in their relationship that got more outside attention—really, there hadn’t been a time before this that anyone had approached Ghost with interest. Soap understood, more than anyone ever could, how deserving Ghost was of being enamored with. Everything about the other man drew Soap in like a man starved stumbling upon a decadent feast.
That didn’t mean Soap wanted to share. Ghost, while deserving more good in the world than Soap would ever be able to offer him, belonged to him. Something feral and irate snarled in his chest every time the recruit bounced over to Ghost and bat his eyelashes at him, begging for Soap to break his fucking jaw for having the audacity to speak low and sugary to Ghost.
Blessed Virgin Mary bless him, though, but Ghost was a fucking idiot when it came to being come onto. It was different between the two of them, the way they were connected with one another, but even then, Ghost hadn’t made a real move on Soap until he’d seen Soap’s tattoo. He hadn’t even tried anything when he found Soap sleeping in his bed, it was the undeniably suggestive tattoo that had done it.
With this recruit, young and desperate for approval from anyone above him, Ghost was downright oblivious. He was as gruff as he always was with clingy recruits that attempted to latch onto him before coming out of that endeavor bloodied from Ghost’s prickly personality. Soap couldn’t remember the amount of times he’d snapped at the recruit, turned his back on him, dismissed him, shoved him away, yet he didn’t give up.
(“He’s as bad as you, mate,” Gaz had snorted several days prior, chuckling next to a fuming Soap as they watched the barely legal recruit follow Ghost around like a lost puppy. Soap had punched him in the stomach for that.)
Soap stubbornly refused to remember the recruit’s name, because he was assaulted with thoughts of Ghost’s low voice uttering his name every bloody time Soap heard it.
Not that Ghost ever even spoke the kid’s name. Official titles, Ghost respected, but recruits? They were lucky if they got addressed by their last name after months of hard work spent proving themselves. Ghost was an absolute asshole like that, and Soap had never loved him more for that before.
Plus, things between him and Ghost had been a little… odd recently. Ghost hadn’t let Soap face him during sex for about a week, nor had he allowed Soap to see him shirtless in the same time period. It wasn’t out of bounds for Ghost to cave in on himself on occasion if he was having a flare up of his past, but he usually told Soap in one way or another when that happened. This time, he hadn’t spoken a single word that would have indicated to his lover that he was feeling plagued by his own thoughts. And he’d only brushed Soap off the one time he’d brought the recent behavior up.
Ghost hated people, and Soap used that information to soothe him when the unwarranted thought of Ghost being tired of Soap struck him. It wouldn’t be so subtle if Ghost wanted to get rid of him, if he wanted to search for attention outside of their relationship.
Soap felt sick to his stomach when he considered that. But he trusted Ghost, so he forced the spiral out of his mind.
His point stood, though. Soap fucking hated the kid for wanting what was his, and he felt anger bubble up in his chest every time his affection went sailing over Ghost’s pretty head.
“You should just tell him,” Gaz sighed with an eye roll, not even taking his eyes off of the television.
Without a glance, Gaz caught the pillow Soap hurled in the direction of his head. He did turn to Soap then, if only to glare and toss the pillow back before he was locked back onto his reality show.
“Don’t start,” Gaz grumbled. “He’d do anything for you in a heartbeat. If you just tell him that the kid is into him, he’ll be more forward about turning the kid down. Just talk to him.”
“I don’t want to mess with his training,” Soap huffed, settling further into the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. He was not pouting.
Gaz leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Fuck off, then.”
“Does your mam know you talk—”
“My who?” Gaz interjected.
“—to your friends like that?” Soap carried on, louder than he started out so as to be heard over Gaz.
“Your mum likes it when I talk to her like that,” Gaz sneered petulantly.
“Oi!” Soap snapped, falling into easy bickering with his former bunkmate.
The two only calmed down when Soap stole the remote and threatened to change the channel if Gaz didn’t surrender, which he did so, albeit grumpily. Gaz snatched the remote back from him and cradled it against his chest defensively, grumbling to himself as he lowered back onto the couch several feet away from Soap’s resumed seat.
“You’re being over dramatic. I mean, you’re crazy, sure, but this is Ghost we’re talking about. He’s not known for being sane, especially when it comes to you,” Gaz told Soap. “Just talk to him, John. He loves you and he’s a big boy, he knows how to be professional sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Soap scoffed, pulling a snicker out of Gaz. “I’ll talk to him,” Soap conceded warily, not sure if he would follow through with his words to Gaz.
Hours later, Soap had officially run out his clock of avoidance and the usual time he carted himself over to Ghost’s room came around. He’d psyched himself up for almost an hour beforehand, and really the only reason he dragged his ass out the door was because if he hadn’t, Ghost would have come looking.
Preferably, he’d like to tell Ghost to make the recruit back off and then rewardingly let Ghost fuck him stupid without Gaz present.
Shaky hands be damned, Soap managed to get the spare key he’d been gifted into Ghost’s lock. He could hear the shower running, so after he’d kicked the door shut behind him, he moved to settle onto Ghost’s bed to wait for him. He quickly fell into scribbling in his journal, both words and sketches flowing onto the pages effortlessly with his swarming thoughts.
“Johnny,” Ghost called, pulling him out of his reverie.
How Ghost had exited the shower and rounded the bed to stand beside Soap’s side of the bed was beyond him. Soap startled a bit, softening when he laid eyes on Ghost’s bare face.
“You mind?” Ghost questioned with a tilt of his head, placing a few products on the bedside drawer.
“‘Course not,” Soap mumbled. He shut his journal and tossed it onto the bed, turning so that his feet were planted on the floor for Ghost to fit between. Once sitting cross-legged on the floor, his broad figure forced Soap’s legs a little wider, and, with affectionate tug to Ghost’s soaking wet curls, Soap grumbled, “Big bastard.”
Ghost’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter, melting Soap’s heart until it was a warm, sticky mess dripping down his ribcage.
“Is something wrong?” Soap whispered gently, spreading a leave-in conditioner across his palms and fingers before dipping them into Ghost’s hair and spreading the conditioner throughout the strands. It wasn’t a daily occurrence that Ghost outright asked for Soap to care for him like that, so the request had Soap a bit on edge.
“No,” Ghost responded, nothing more than a hum as he leaned up into Soap’s hands. Soap couldn’t help his eyes from drifting to Ghost’s shoulders, covered by a regular black shirt that at least left most of his arms exposed.
Liar, Soap’s mind accused against his will, offended by the clothing covering Ghost’s body. Thinking back on the times he’d done this for Ghost, Soap couldn’t remember a single time that Ghost had left a shirt on. In fact, Ghost usually sneered at wearing a shirt while tending to his curly hair, the thought of water dripping onto the cotton and being absorbed to rub against his sensitive skin annoying him.
He seemed to have no issue with it then, though. Ghost never did anything without reason, and Soap was suddenly beginning to feel nauseous.
“I can hear you thinking up there, Johnny,” Ghost mused as Soap massaged the last of the product on his hands into Ghost’s hair.
“Just thinking you should’ve been a model with all this hair of yours. People like natural blondes, you know,” Soap deflected, squeezing Ghost gently with his legs bracketing the other man.
Ghost tilted his head up to glower at Soap as he reached for the next product, a curl smoothie cream that smelled of mint leaves and lavender. “You shouldn’t glare at the man generously doing your hair for you,” he laughed, tunneling his fingers through Ghost’s curls with the new product once more.
“Do one,” Ghost huffed with a tangible eye roll.
“Sorry, was that English?” Soap teased him for his Mancunian slang, purposely thickening his own accent as he spoke.
“You’re exhausting,” Ghost snorted, and Soap could feel the smile radiating off of him.
See, he doesn’t act like this with anyone else. You’re being paranoid, Soap told his own anxiety. The angered emotion calmed for a few moments, basking in the ability to tend to Ghost like no one else could. Then, it piped up and reminded Soap that if someone tried replacing Soap in Ghost’s life, he’d probably just kill them for it anyways.
Several more minutes of comfortable silence passed as Soap worked more product into Ghost’s hair, twirling strands of golden, honeyed hair around his index fingers after he was finished with each product.
“You need a haircut,” Soap commented with a smile as he slid his fingertips over Ghost’s scalp, massaging small circles into the skin.
“Like it longer,” Ghost muttered, coming close to a slur as his head went a little weak underneath Soap’s hands. A soft smile overtook Soap’s mouth as he doted on Ghost. He liked it a little longer on Ghost too, soft waves of blonde falling over his forehead and curling at the nape of his neck. It made him look as soft as Soap knew his heart to be and a little younger, less jaded perhaps.
“Me too,” Soap told him, leaning down to drop a sweet kiss on a deep purple and black bruise on Ghost’s neck, the day-old result of Soap’s overeager and possessive mouth attempting to stake claim where he could.
Before Soap could straighten up, Ghost leaned into his head and lifted his hand to tangle his fingers in Soap’s mohawk. Soap made a small, appreciative sound and looped both of his arms around Ghost’s neck, nuzzling into him with Ghost’s hand encouraging him to do so.
Stray drops of water fell from the ends of Ghost’s hair and onto Soap’s skin, but Soap didn’t mind the odd feeling when Ghost was relaxing in his embrace like he was meant to stay there forever.
Not wanting to shatter their peace, Soap nosed at his jawline and whispered, almost inaudibly, “I love you,” to Ghost.
Soap felt the way Ghost’s cheeks lifted with his smile. He could imagine the way the whitened scars on his face pulled tighter with the movement and made him look more beautiful than he looked normally.
“I know. I love you,” Ghost returned warmly, the grit of his accent sounding almost soft with the way he whispered his own words back to Soap.
The matter of anyone else intruding on their little bubble felt insignificant then, and Soap’s mind fizzled into sunlit lovesickness for the rest of the night.
Gaz had definitely been right, he should have spoken to Ghost about his problem days ago. He should’ve talked about it as soon as he’d realized what was happening, if he was being completely honest with himself. Maybe if he’d talked to him sooner, Soap wouldn’t have found himself staring down a fresh-faced recruit who looked about ready to cry in the face of Soap’s wrath.
Training had started off easily that morning, with Ghost having to bark out less reprimands than usual as the recruits ran their drills. All in all, Soap would have considered it a great day until the last ten minutes.
Soap’s eyes never left the recruit had trudged over to Ghost, sweaty and clearly exhausted from their rigorous activities, and struck up a conversation. Ghost didn’t look at the kid, but Soap had vaguely overheard him returning a couple words.
As frustrating as it was to watch someone else soak up Ghost’s attention, Soap hadn’t felt his anger rise before the kid clearly decided it was in his best interest to make his feelings obvious.
An inch had kept the recruit from landing a tempted hand on his bicep, pure circumstance causing Ghost to turn in the direction of a shout and missing the kid’s reach by just a hair. Soap had bristled when he saw the bold gesture on the recruit’s part, then had downright fumed as he watched Ghost tense in realization.
Ghost had taken a step back immediately, pinning the recruit with a warning look that had him simpering away obediently.
Crisis averted. No physical contact was had, and although Soap knew the attempt would likely have Ghost on edge for several hours, it’d be nowhere near as bad if he’d actually been touched. There was nothing to fret over.
Except Soap couldn’t kick his rage. Flashes of the almost innocent interaction haunted him for the next hour, and it was close to involuntary how his body moved to drag the recruit into Ghost’s office before dinner.
Close to involuntary, not quite though. A part of Soap glowed at the opportunity to scare the fuck out of the kid—scare him off, hopefully for good.
Soap had told him to take a seat in front of Ghost’s desk, which he had scrambled to do. His eyes darted across the room and back to Soap nervously, his spine seeming to resist the urge to sink into the seat.
Rather than take Ghost’s seat, Soap perched himself on the edge of Ghost’s desk directly in front of the recruit. He leaned over, wanting to purr satisfactorily when the kid backed away from him, until he was almost nose to nose with the younger soldier.
“What about your training made you think it was appropriate to follow your superior officer around like an orphaned dog?” Soap asked him evenly, maintaining eye contact while he did so.
The recruit’s eyes widened before they left Soap’s, his head ducking in embarrassment. “Nothing, sir,” he muttered, fisting his hands atop his knees.
“Really? Nothing? That’s not what it looked like today,” Soap mused. The irritation in his voice wasn’t veiled, even though he knew it should have been. Anger makes it seem personal, and he shouldn’t be letting an outsider get a feel for how personal it was for him. But Soap had reached a threshold he hadn’t known the existence of before this whole ordeal.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant Mactavish,” the recruit apologized quietly, eyes still locked on his own lap.
“No, you’re not. You’re humiliated for now, but you’ll be sorry if it happens again and I send you up for trial with a court-martial for attempting fraternization,” Soap corrected him, standing from the desk and taking a step closer to the recruit.
At his superior officer’s threatening proximity, the recruit’s head shot up to stare, wide-eyed and wary, at Soap. “Sir, I—”
“Quiet,” Soap snarled. “I’m going to give you this order once, and if you disobey, a court-martial will be the least of your fucking worries. Keep your distance from Lieutenant Riley. He’s not your friend or your boyfriend, nor does he want to be. He’s your commanding officer. I’ll see to it that your record is nothing but a smear on government documents if you don’t stay the fuck away from him. Have I made myself clear?” Soap asked through gritted teeth, barely keeping himself from baring his teeth like a wild animal defending its own.
The recruit nodded vehemently, eyes looking suspiciously watery. “Yes, Sergeant Mactavish. I promise you don’t have to worry about anything else happening again,” he swore with a trembling voice.
“Perfect. Now fuck off,” Soap ordered him, straightening his spine and giving the kid ample room to stand and leave.
Which he did, panicked movements nearly knocking the chair over with how quickly he moved. He ducked his head and saluted respectfully at Soap before he retreated to the door.
Once he’d thrown the door open, he nearly jumped ten feet in the air. A frightened look was directed in Soap’s direction before he squeaked out a meager, “Excuse me, sir,” and scurried in the direction of the barracks.
Soap’s frown eased up once Ghost stepped through the doorway, eyes locked on the direction the recruit had run towards.
“What did you do?” was all Ghost asked him, flat and suspicious.
The dam was already cracked, and Soap couldn’t find the strength to keep the wood from splintering further at that point.
“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Soap retorted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
Ghost let the door slide shut behind him, mirroring Soap’s stance with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest. Against his will, Soap’s mouth watered at the sight of him. In a perfect world, Ghost would reward Soap for defending what was his and let him sink to his knees in front of his superior to be taken care of.
“He deserved being threatened by a sergeant?” Ghost shot back, sounding a bit irritated, and this was certainly not a perfect world.
“That’s not what I—”
“But it’s what you did, isn’t it?” Ghost severed his thought, taking a couple steps closer to him.
“Yes,” Soap snipped, his patience thinning. “Of course I did, you know what he did today.”
At the mention of the incident, tension returned to Ghost’s shoulders. Soap’s expression flattened into a glower at the reaction, one of his hands untucking itself to gesture at Ghost.
“Just mentioning it makes you upset! What was I supposed to do, act like I never saw it?” Soap seethed.
Unbothered at Soap’s outburst, Ghost continued to close the distance between them. He kicked the chair the recruit had been sitting in out of the way without breaking the potent eye contact between them.
“If you have a concern about another soldier, you bring it to your CO. You don’t threaten a recruit, Soap. Have you lost your fucking mind?” Ghost scolded him. Clear hints of aggravation laced through Ghost’s voice, but Soap refused to wince.
Why did Ghost get to push the limits, only to turn around and get upset with Soap for doing the same?
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Soap snapped. “Simon, the kid’s got hearts in his eyes every time he looks at you, and nothing was discouraging him. If I didn’t say anything, he would have kept—”
“Why wouldn’t you say something to me?” Ghost cut him off once more, taking an offended step back. He sounded less angry, a little more upset that time, and Soap felt his heart squeeze guiltily.
“I didn’t want to upset you!” Soap huffed in his defense, shrinking back into the desk self-consciously.
“I’m not the one upset right now, Johnny,” Ghost stated.
“You’re lecturing me like I’m a stupid bairn, forgive me for not being over the fucking moon,” Soap lashed out, hearing his accent thickening with emotion. “I know exactly what I did, I don’t need you to tell me that it wasn’t professional.”
Some of the tension deflated from Ghost’s shoulders, but he didn’t loosen up whatsoever. For whatever reason, it made Soap angrier.
“What if he tells someone—”
“He won’t.”
“Johnny, he could—”
“He won’t. I’m sure of it,” Soap asserted firmly.
Ghost rolled his shoulders and growled in frustration. “You can’t be sure. If someone finds out, you could be—”
“This is the least of our fucking worries, Simon!” Soap exploded, shoving away from the desk and throwing his arms outwards as he reached his limit. “What if someone finds out about us? Our relationship isn’t exactly professional. What if someone finds out about all the rules we’ve broken for the sake of our relationship?”
“Johnny,” Ghost warned, giving a slow shake of his head which Soap knew meant to quit while he was ahead.
Unfortunately for them both, the floodgates had broken. Soap couldn’t keep a single thing he was thinking from leaving his mouth, weeks of built up distress twisting into something uglier and meaner.
“What if someone finds out that you threatened my old force? You threatened a captain, Simon! They’ll care a hell of a lot more about that than me telling some recruit to mind his fucking business,” he snarled.
“Johnny—” Ghost tried again, firmer than the last time, but Soap steamrolled right over his interjection.
“No, I know something’s up with you, Simon. You won’t let me fucking see you! I’m nae sayin’ it’s because of him, but it’s not fucking normal for us,” Soap admonished.
A look of shock flitted through Ghost’s eyes at that. “That has nothing to do with this,” he denied, but Soap was too overwhelmed to believe him. “We can talk about that after we settle this first.”
“You’re not playing fair,” Soap snipped, panting from how much he was ranting. “I don’t want to settle this first. There’s nothing to settle. You don’t get to be mad at me for doing the same shit you’ve done, and you don’t get to be mad at me for doing what I have to so I can protect you either. If you care so much about what that fucking kid thinks, you should go fuck him instead,” Soap seethed.
Regret hit instantly, but Soap wasn’t sure if it was simply his conscience or if it was because Ghost surged forward and wrapped a hand tight around his throat. The inability to breathe hit him hard and fast, a disgruntled glare crossing his features as he wrapped his hand around Ghost’s wrist.
“I need you to stop fucking talking, Johnny,” Ghost growled low in his throat, squeezing his hand unnecessarily tighter around Soap’s throat. “You think I’d fuck someone else? You think I could want someone else?” he accused furiously.
Soap did wince then, a pained sound falling flat in his throat where Ghost was blocking its exit. Tears sprung to the corners of his eyes out of instinct, and he shifted on his feet as if standing a little taller would grant him some reprieve.
“Stop moving,” Ghost ordered him. Damp eyes shot back open, and Soap hadn’t realized they’d furrowed shut in his discomfort. Soap blinked up at Ghost and did his best to push down his fight or flight response. “There you go,” Ghost praised him, and suddenly it wasn’t so hard to force himself to relax into Ghost’s hold despite his life being at risk.
The sudden influx of breath into his lungs almost hurt when Ghost finally let up on his windpipe. His hand remained as Soap gasped for breath, his thumb swiping over one of his pulse points delicately as he held Soap steady. When he’d finally calmed his breathing, his simultaneously light and heavy head lolling forward onto Ghost’s chest, Ghost used his grip to angle Soap’s face upwards. He backed Soap up until he was resting against the desk again, this time with Ghost’s front brushing against his own.
Whiskey had become darker brown, half of Ghost’s irises giving way to his black pupils and exhausted temper. “Is this why you’ve been acting weird?” Ghost grunted.
“Have no’ been acting weird,” Soap argued, swallowing a few times to alleviate some of the soreness in his tender throat.
Ghost’s hand tightened again instantaneously, smothering a whine that shot out of Soap’s mouth. His lips parted in an attempt to take a breath in preparation, but Ghost moved too fast and Soap was already feeling lightheaded again.
“Stop lying to me,” Ghost cautioned him, an unspoken threat glinting in his eyes. “I want you to be honest with me if I let you breathe again, and I want you to think long and hard about how easy it’d be for me to have you unconscious in less than a minute,” he told Soap, hanging a more dire punishment over his head.
Soap choked on a sob when he was released, the sound viciously reverberating within his bruised larynx. Several tears had escaped from his eyes and run down his face, and Soap really didn’t want to focus on how fucked up it was that he couldn’t be sure who was enjoying this more: Ghost or him.
Surprisingly, Ghost allowed Soap to fall into him again, even lifting a hand to thread through Soap’s mohawk briefly as a show of comfort.
“Sorry, sir,” Soap rasped honestly against Ghost’s chest. His brain, lacking both oxygen that Ghost had stolen and blood that Ghost had directed southward, couldn’t form a more substantial apology than that.
“For what?” Ghost pushed him.
Soap heaved a few more breaths as he searched for the words reaching out to him. “Not telling you about him, an’ for yelling,” he listed his transgressions ruefully.
A pitiful whine fell from his lips when Ghost sighed, clearly unhappy with the answer he was given. Soap clawed helplessly at Ghost’s chest when he lost the ability to breathe again, black and white spotting in his vision. Once more, his head was forced back so he could look Ghost in the eye as his aforementioned lover choked him.
“You should be sorry for keeping things from me,” Ghost corrected him. Soap made a mental note to tell Ghost that was what Soap had said, in less words.
But Ghost carried on, and Soap felt more and more sheepish with each word. “You should be sorry for telling me to go fuck someone else, and for putting your position here, with me, at risk before discussing it with me first.”
As he spoke, Soap nodded vehemently. The oxygen deprivation was getting to him, his legs going weak and unstable as his sight faded in and out. He should have listened to Gaz and said something sooner. He should have believed Ghost when he said he’d choke him unconscious, because Soap was right there, and he was pretty sure his cock had never been harder in his life.
Then, Ghost let up. Soap’s legs did fail him then, letting him crumple into Ghost where he was easily caught. Ghost lifted him onto the desk and shoved himself between Soap’s useless legs, urging Soap to sink into him. Without thought, Soap did so eagerly.
Gentle fingers carded through his mohawk as he returned to the land of the living, a pleasant tingle spreading through his every bone. Soap’s tears were a mix of instinct and denied pleasure, his mind begging for air while the rest of his body begged for it to be taken away again, just until he tipped over that crest.
The pads of Ghost’s fingers massaged gingerly at the forming ring of bruises around his throat, a collar branded on him by way of Ghost’s deadly hands. Hands that Soap had watched spill so much blood, some of his own and much more of their enemies. Hands that were made to kill, yet held him with care and consideration that Ghost hadn’t thought himself capable of just a year ago.
Soap’s cock throbbed dully in his pants, the pool of heat in his stomach simmering with an unmet need. He shifted closer, nuzzling into Ghost’s shoulder and trying to subtly nudge his neck further into Ghost’s hand. Ghost had no reaction, much to Soap’s dismay, as he continued to run his fingers through Soap’s hair.
Once Soap regained his composure, he’d beg Ghost to keep going. To make good on his promise and choke him until he passed out, maybe even fuck Soap after he lost consciousness.
Direct pressure on his sore throat lit up Soap’s groggy responses, but they were still too slow to process what was happening until he found himself unable to inhale. Soap lifted himself away from Ghost’s chest, his only intention being to lay eyes on the man mistreating his throat.
In spite of the fact that Soap knew the act would be futile, he let his mouth fall open a bit wider as he clung to Ghost. Ghost’s eyes drifted to his mouth, and thankfully Soap’s vision hadn’t been too hindered as of yet to keep him from seeing the way Ghost’s pupils blew out further, almost completely overtaking the warm brown Soap loved so much.
“You’re better like this, Johnny. So quiet and behaved when I’m hurting you, aren’t you?”
Ghost’s mouth was moving underneath his mask, and although he was pretty sure Ghost was speaking to him, the sound of his voice and the clarity of his words all felt too fuzzy and distant. He was right in front of Soap, but he was too far away. Everything was too far away—his release was too fucking close, skittering underneath his skin yet somehow avoiding him.
The sluggish shape of Ghost neared him, the softer fabric of one of his favorite balaclavas dragging across the wet, sensitive skin of Soap’s lower lip.
“I should shut you up more often,” Ghost commented casually, like Soap wasn’t seconds away from passing out, dragging a leather-clad finger across Soap’s temple. “That’s it, good dog. I know you can come for me like this, Johnny, just from having my hand wrapped around your throat like a collar. Such a good boy for wanting your collar so badly, aren’t you?”
White slithered into the corners of Soap’s vision, though not from the lack of oxygen that time. Blunt fingernails were dragged down Ghost’s clothed chest as Soap scrambled for a purchase, his vision sparking and then fading as he came. His hips twitched, his back arched into Ghost, his throat fought to make a sound, any sound, to prove his pleasure.
Pleasure flooded through him, leaving behind a soft hum of ecstasy that rendered him dead to the world.
Soap was on his back and, sadly, breathing again shortly after he’d cum. Whispered words of praise were spoken to him and Soap keened or whined in response to each one, but he was unable to truly process what was being said. His boots and cargos were removed, and a weak hiss was pulled out when his briefs dragged over the sensitive skin of his cock.
Distantly, Soap felt Ghost’s prodding fingers spread him open one by one. Lips and teeth scraped across his damaged neck, his cheeks, his collarbones, his mouth. Hands guided Soap’s arms around Ghost’s neck, and Soap happily tucked his face into the crook of the offered neck in front of him.
All he knew was that it was Ghost, and he loved Ghost. He trusted Ghost. Ghost would take care of him, he always knew how to. Better than anyone else.
“Better than anyone else?” Ghost hummed in his ear and, without giving Soap a second to come to the humbling realization that he was so fucked out he’d been speaking aloud, bottomed out in one thrust.
Soap’s voice cracked on a cry, his legs and arms trembling where they were locked around Ghost.
“Si,” Soap whimpered, trying to blink the tears and blurry haze out of his eyes.
Wordlessly, Ghost dipped down to meld their lips together as he began thrusting in and out of Soap. He started out slowly, though not gentle. Each thrust jostled Soap against the desk from its force, but a displeased whine of Ghost’s name had him picking up speed.
“So demanding, even when you’re too stupid to talk,” Ghost scoffed, leaning up and placing one hand flat on Soap’s sternum, the other on one of Soap’s thighs to hold him open.
Any watered down retort forming in Soap’s head went soaring out the window when Ghost truly began to fuck him. Soap moaned, unabashed and throaty, as Ghost held him down and fucked into him as if he was nothing more than a hole to satisfy him. His thigh was pushed back until it brushed against his own chest with every unforgiving thrust, providing more space for Ghost to do as he pleased.
Oversensitive as he was, Soap shook with how badly he needed more. His cock was full and leaking against his stomach, a pool of precum no doubt leaving a darkened spot on his shirt.
“S’good, Simon,” he slurred, voice pitched higher than he was proud of.
Ghost groaned, his fingers sliding up Soap’s chest so that he could nudge them against the bruises blooming on Soap’s neck. Instinctively, Soap jerked and cried out, but he still craned his head back as best he could to give Ghost room to toy with his markings.
“Fuck,” Ghost snarled, his hips stuttering.
“Please, Si,” Soap begged, tugging at his curls desperately. “Want it so bad.”
“Want what?” Ghost panted, ordering him to say what they both knew he meant.
An unmitigated assault was currently being launched on Soap’s swollen prostate, the thick head of Ghost’s cock nailing it every goddamn time he sank inside of Soap’s hole, so the words floating around his head took a little longer to get out.
“Want—” Soap sobbed when Ghost’s hand wrapped around his cock. His eyes squeezed shut as the all too familiar sensation of warmth pulling tight in his stomach began to form. “Want you to come in me, Si. Wan’ it so fuckin’ bad, an’ I want that fucking recruit to know you fill me up every night,” he whined, feeling all too hot at the idea of Ghost telling the kid that he only wanted Soap like that and no one else had the chance of replacing him.
“That’s right, Johnny. He should know it’ll only ever be you for me, shouldn’t he?”
“Aye, aye, yes, Simon—please, Simon,” Soap babbled, tears streaming down his face from the sheer amount of pleasure and reassurance Ghost was giving him.
Ghost’s hand sped up on his cock, and he tilted his head to—
“Fuck!” Soap gasped wetly, the back of his head hitting the desk with a thud as Ghost bit down cruelly on his bruised neck. His incessant pace, the hand on Soap’s cock, the way Ghost was deeper than anyone had ever been—Soap was gone.
Cum splattered between them, Ghost’s hand milking him dry despite Soap’s sobs. Seconds later, Soap felt Ghost tense with his hips pressed flush against Soap’s ass. He gave a loud groan of Soap’s name as he came inside of Soap, his breath coming out in uneven pants and grunts against Soap’s neck.
Ghost at least made a conscious effort to not crush Soap with his weight when he sagged atop of him. Content with their closeness, Soap wrapped himself around Ghost like a koala and pulled him impossibly closer.
As always, Ghost was the voice of reason when it came to untangling themselves and cleaning up. Soap whined as he was tugged to his feet and redressed (with Ghost’s assistance, naturally), but his complaining was quieted when Ghost hefted him into his side as they made their way back to Ghost’s barracks.
“Quiet,” Ghost huffed out laughingly when he tossed a cleaned up Soap into his bed, earning himself some grumbling from his lover. “Let me look at your neck.”
Soap let him do as he pleased, putting pressure on certain spots to gauge Soap’s pain and spreading menthol across the bruises to soothe them.
“‘M sorry,” Soap uttered as Ghost massaged the minty ointment into his skin with delicate care.
His mask was ridded once again when they’d returned to his room, and Soap was thankful for the deeper glance into Ghost’s emotions. He gave Soap a pointed look before turning back to his work.
“You can tell me things like this, Johnny. You think I’m gonna get upset because you’re possessive over me?” he chided.
Shaking his head, Soap said, “Didn’t want to upset you.”
Ghost’s stern expression softened somewhat, a small smile quirking his lips upwards. “Did your mum never teach you about healthy communication?” Ghost teased lightly.
“Dinnae bring my mam into this,” Soap snorted, making the sign of the cross to ensure that his poor mam wasn’t cursed by their inappropriate behavior.
“Fuckin’ Catholics,” Ghost grumbled under his breath.
Supplies were put away once Soap was as fixed up as he could be. He’d still be sporting the bruises and soreness for a couple weeks, but he was more than looking forward to waking up to those marks every morning.
Ghost sat on the edge of the bed beside Soap, ruffling his mohawk gently. From where he was sprawled across the duvet, Soap swatted at his hand.
Smiling, Ghost relented and settled for twisting a few strands around his finger. “I don’t want your ridiculous little mind running wild with conspiracy theories again, so just know you’re to blame for ruining the surprise,” Ghost commented, reaching to pull his shirt over his head.
Soap frowned, wondering if he had actually suffered some brain damage from being choked because of how lost he was.
Miles of pale, scarred skin was revealed to him, and Soap immediately sat up to reach as much of Ghost as he possibly could. His palms landed flat on Ghost’s shoulder and his back with a sigh of content. He peppered several fleeting kisses across Ghost’s shoulder blade, happy to have this part of Ghost back for his taking.
“Handsy,” Ghost remarked smugly. He took one of Soap’s hands and splayed it across his heart, and Soap took the opportunity to relish in the slow, steady beat thumping underneath his skin and muscles.
Ghost angled himself to face Soap better, then dragged Soap’s hand lower. But he was the handsy one? Soap chuckled to himself as his hand slipped off of Ghost’s pec, assumedly towards his cock.
An unfamiliar flash of black ink had Soap’s wandering eyes shooting back up to Ghost’s chest. He knew Ghost’s tattoos like the back of his hand, and Ghost did not have a tattoo on his chest. But there it was, black ink marking—
“Holy fuck,” Soap muttered in awe, swiping his fingertips over the new tattoo as if it would wipe away. He tore his eyes away from it to lock eyes with Ghost, utterly frozen in shock. “Is that real?”
Ghost rolled his eyes, exasperated. “No, Johnny, it’s fake,” he deadpanned. “‘Course it’s real. It was supposed to be for our six month anniversary.”
Was there tear gas in the room? Was that why Soap’s eyes suddenly burned with fresh tears?
There, on Ghost’s previously unmarked chest, was a new tattoo directly across where his heart laid. Similar thin, precise letters just like the tattoo Soap was sporting on his lower back, except instead of reading Ghost’s name, “Johnny” was permanently inked into his skin.
Bewildered, Soap traced his fingers over his own name on Ghost’s skin one, two, three times before he was stopped by a smothered laugh coming from his boyfriend. A splitting smile crossed Soap’s face, happiness and feral possessiveness radiating off of him in tangible waves.
Soap launched himself at Ghost, attacking his mouth vigorously as he pushed Ghost back on the bed. “I hope you’re not tired,” Soap mumbled once he pulled away, grinding his ass down on Ghost’s growing erection.
All he got was an eager moan in return as he flattened his tongue against the new tattoo reverently.
Soap’s bruises were harder to hide with his lack of a mask and all, but he liked displaying Ghost’s marks anyways, so he didn’t mind it.
Drills began smoothly, even with Gaz sighing heavily and shooting a disdainful glare at Soap’s neck as soon as he laid eyes on him. “I hate you both so much,” he grumbled, avoiding Soap’s friendly hip bump with a loud, melodramatic sigh.
His bruises were impossible to miss, but most soldiers knew better than to comment or gawk.
The one person he desperately wanted to see had the most blatant reaction to Soap’s bruises than anyone else. He tripped over his own feet when he saw Soap’s neck, the purpling skin that had just been unblemished less than twelve hours ago when they last saw one another.
“Move, Private,” Ghost grunted, coming up behind the kid. He stumbled away from them, but not without getting one last, good look at the way Ghost didn’t hesitate to stand close enough to Soap for their arms to press against one another’s.
Nor did he miss the brief flash of Ghost’s skin when he pulled up his balaclava to take a swig of water, hints of Soap’s many brutal bite marks peaking above his collar. Soap flushed from head to toe at the intentional show, and if he let Ghost choke him on his cock in a storage closet ten minutes later, that was his business.