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Absolutely nothing on this mission has gone right, Ghost thinks, with the cold stealing the breath from his lungs. The mask on his face is the only thing keeping him from seeing it on the air.
First they lost their Marine air support, hidden S.A.M.s in the mountains forcing them to land far back from their original drop position. It left just the four of them, Gaz, Soap, Price, and himself, to assault forward. Which would have been fine, they’re a good team and really the Marines were more of a formality. But then Gaz is asked to fall back to cover the Marines when their position gets overwhelmed, leaving him, Soap, and Price to scale the cliffside alone. Not ideal, but doable. Price and Soap are fine operators, and Ghost is- well Ghost- if he had to do this by himself he probably could.
Still, they should probably fall back, regroup and replan. Price is looking less and less confident as the minutes tick on, mustache flicking in his irritation, but their intel says that there’s a fucking nuke on this island, somewhere deep in the forrest and it’s supposedly going to be targeting Parliment.
Soap had made an off-color comment about saving the Queen and Ghost had socked him so hard he actually bruised. Scottish asshole.
With the threat of innocent lives, however, he got his ass in gear pretty quick, and now he’s as mission focused as he ever is. Blue eyes turned icy in their focus. They only have a few hours to either disarm the warhead, reroute it, or set it to self destruct, and with every minute that passes their time grows shorter and shorter.
They crest over the top of the cliffside, keeping their heads down as they low-crawl towards their objective. It’s cold, ground hard but not quite frozen underneath them. It’s not winter, but the last few days have been unusually lacking in warmth and Ghost can feel the way the dirt is harder than it should be as he slides on his stomach towards their objective.
Price directs them. “Ghost, find yourself a good vantage point. Soap, on me.”
Ghost starts to scan the horizon, eyes landing on a hill with a perfect overlook of his teammates entry and exit points. He whispers out a monotone, “roger that, Cap’n,” before separating from the group.
It takes him no time at all to build his long rifle and settle back into the dirt, eyes narrowed in focus as he watches for anyone or anything that could be an issue. Price and Soap makes their infil quietly. Ghost gets a front row view to the way Soap slits a man’s throat, catching his body so it doesn’t make noise as it falls, wiping the bloody knife on his thigh before it get re-strapped to his chest.
It’s a hell of a thing, to see his Sergeant use a move he taught him, something hot striking through him. Ghost bites the side of his cheek to refocus on the task at hand. Feeling himself come back into his skin when that stupid mohawk disappears into the building.
And since absolutely nothing on this mission has gone right, Ghost isn’t even surprised when it continues to go to shit. He’s listening over the comms, providing overwatch, when the gunfire starts.
“Goddamn it,” Price’s voice is loud in his ear as he rotates bac kand forth to watch for reinforcements. “Soap get on those bloody controls!” More shots but this time from a more familiar rifle, Price is returning fire. “Ghost we’re about to have to make a hasty retreat, meet us by the river for secondary exfil. The boats are on their way.”
By the time he tosses off his response he’s already half-way down from his position, rifle raised and sniper secured back into his pack. Three men go down in one spray as he pushes forward, securing their rendezvous point. In a matter of minutes he spots Price and Soap sprinting towards his position. Over the rush of the river he can hear the Soldiers behind them shooting and he drops to one knee, balancing his rifle before taking out the Russians before they can get to his team.
Price grabs the handle on the back of his vest as he pushes past, ripping him on his feet and into a run. It’s a tactical maneuver to get everyone on the same pace, and it works surprisingly well, as long as it doesn't knock you on your ass. But it’s been a long time since Price has knocked him over for real and Ghost’s feet follow with no issues, moving right behind the Captain as he races along the water’s edge.
“There’s supposed to be a ladder by the waterfall, keep your eyes peeled, we might have to cross to the other side.” Price tells them, eyes already scanning the river for their escape.
The idea of getting in the what has to be ice-cold water isn’t appealing to Ghost in the slightest, but if the other option is being killed or captured by Russians he’ll just have to get a little wet.
Hearts pounding and breathing hard the three men find themselves at the river’s edge in no time at all. Ghost’s eyes dart from point to point, looking for the ladder that will allow them to easily descend to sea level.
He can’t find it, and suddenly Soap’s spitting out a sentence he hardly understands. “The pumpin' ladder is goosed.”
Ghost can’t help the eyeroll. “English, MacTavish.”
Soap points to an outcropping of rocks at the edge of the cliff. “The ladder is broken.”
“Shit.” Price curses as he approaches, taking in the frayed edges of what might have been sturdy way down twenty years ago but is now just cut rope that wouldn’t hold a child, let alone three full size men with their gear.
Shouting from behind them draws their attention and both Ghost and Soap swing up their weapons, ready to fight.
Price, however, has a different idea. “On me,” he calls to them and they go, confused, until Price spins around to face the open air in front of him. “Hope you lads are ready for a swim!” And then he’s jumping off the side of the cliff, plummeting into the water below.
Ghost waits just long enough to make sure Soap has jumped too, since it’s his responsibility to pull up the rear, before following the Captain.
It feels exactly like it did in Mexico, wind whistling in his ear, stomach swooping with the free fall, muscles tensing against his will as they prepare for the plunge.
In no time at all he’s slamming into the water, breath forced out of him as the cold seeps into his clothes. The liquid bleeds into his bones and starts to weigh down his pack and he pulls the release, letting it wash away in the current as he swims up to the surface. The cotton of his mask sticks to his face uncomfortably, but he pushes past the sensation, hands scrambling for purchase on the shoreline as the water tries to wash him away.
He’s out of the river as quick as he can, knees scraping the rocky surface as he spits out water, gagging and coughing as it pours out of his mouth. Price is doing something similar next to him and Soap… Soap is- he’s not there. Ghost whips his head to the water, eyes scanning for dark hair or movement or evidence of his pack, anything that will tell him where the fuck his Sergeant is. The water is clear, choppy in its movements, but still easy to see through. So it takes him no time at all to spot Soap’s body, still under the surface.
“Price, I’m going back in!” That’s all the warning he manages to give before he’s diving back into the water, kicking hard to fight the current.
As soon as he gets under he sees the problem: Soap’s pack is caught on a large tree limb and he can’t get to his emergency release. Lungs already pounding with lack of oxygen Ghost forces himself further under the waves. Soap’s not moving, not fighting, eyes shut and body still, but Ghost can’t let himself think about it. His knife slices through the straps at Soap’s shoulders with ease and then he’s launching them both upwards, boots springing off the muddy riverbed.
Price is on the shore, reaching down to help Ghost drag Soap out of the water, face pinched in concern. Ghost is still on his knees so he goes right to Soap’s side, head dropping down to Soap’s chest to listen for a heartbeat and feel for the air that should be filling and emptying from his lungs. Neither of those things is present and Ghost jerks away, hands flying to Soap’s chest as quick as he can.
“He’s not fucking breathing, get me a bloody ventaliation bag.” Ghost isn’t supposed to be the one giving orders, but Price jumps to comply. Rank doesn’t mean shit when a life is on the line. He starts chest compressions right away, wincing as he feels Soap’s ribs crack under the weight. That’s something most people don’t know: for CPR to be effective, you’ll have to break a rib or two. Better that than death though. Price is still ripping open their medical pack when he hits the count of thirty.
Following the instincts and training that’s been drilled into him for years he pinches Soap’s nose and tilts his head back with one hand while lifting the bottom of his balaclava to rest above his mouth. Then he leans down to meet Soap’s parted lips, sending air into his unmoving lungs. Twice more he does that before going back to the compressions.
Price is standing there with the ventilator and if Ghost can’t get Soap breathing in the next ten seconds he’s gonna have to try and use it. He’ll just have to fucking hope it works, they don’t have a plan C.
Luckily, on his third round of CPR Soap’s body jerks, water splashing out of his mouth. His hands go straight to Ghost’s FLC, digging into the magazine pouches there like a lifeline. Ghost has never seen Soap look so terrified, eyes wide and bloodshot, face pale and splotchy, but as Soap takes in his surroundings he seems to calm. Then he drops his hold on Ghost and curls onto his side to cough onto the floor. Ghost’s hands go to his back, rubbing the wet shirt in what he hopes is a comforting motion. “Let it out, Johnny. That’s good, just breathe.”
The coughing ripping out of Soap’s throat is so intense it makes Ghost’s own hurt in sympathy. Suddenly, Price is there. “C’mon MacTavish. On your feet we have to go.”
Part of Ghost wants to argue, fight for Soap to have a few more seconds to get his bearings back, but then he hears the shouting in Russian and it’s far too close for his liking. Soap just nods, probably doesn't have his voice back yet, and lets Price get him off the ground.
Lucky for them Soap’s rifle is still strapped to him, long sling wrapped around his hips instead of his shoulder, and the Sergeant swings it up to check it. He nods, face finally starting to get its color back before falling in line behind Price.
They make it to exfil by the seat of their pants, boat rushing them to safety just as the edge of the island is swarmed with Soldiers, many with rocket launchers.
“Good thing they can’t aim for shit, ay Lt.?” Ghost meets Soap’s comment with a simple head nod. His voice is wrecked from his violent coughing from earlier, but the jokes are good. It means he’s probably fine.
The debriefing back at base goes about as well as one expected. General Shepard’s replacement hasn’t dipped his toes into betrayal yet, but he’s not one for mincing his words. Ghost bites his tongue against the mounting anger he can feel inside of him. Yes, mistakes were made, but no one died, they stopped the nuke, and they even got more intel on the next echelon of leadership responsibility for the threat itself. So, overall he’s giving the mission a 7/10, still a passing grade.
Even Gaz, normally neutral and understanding of all sides, rolls his eyes when the video feed finally cuts off. “Man, if he yelled any harder I thought he was gonna have an aneurysm.”
Price just shakes his head. “Shepard may have turned on us to save his own back, but at least the man had some semblance of tact.”
Ghost agrees, but stays silent. Soap is next to him, eyes downcast and unfocused. It’s very unlike the Scotsman and he makes a note to keep an eye on him. Nearly dying is something they experience all the time, but they’re trained for explosions and bullets, not necessarily something as intense as drowning.
Soap will have to get the medics to look at his ribs, and he’ll certainly be on light duty for a few weeks, but physically he’s alive and mostly whole. Mentally, Ghost isn’t sure yet.
As his leadership, Ghost should probably recommend he see the base psychologist, but Soap’s a proud man, a suggestion like that might send him spiraling. Better to see how he acts first, make sure it’s actually an issue before blowing anything out of proportion.
It takes three days for Ghost to realize that he’s made a mistake in waiting.
It’s pushing two in the morning and he’s finally hitting the perfect amount of sleep deprivation that will force his body to shut down and grace him with a few blissful hours of shitty sleep, when the screaming starts.
He’s out of bed and onto his feet in less than a second, hand ripping his pistol out from under his pillow. Ghost moves on instinct, clearing the hallway before rushing across the hall to Soap’s room.
Ghost rips open the door, pistol already at the ready as he scans Soap’s room for threats. There’s no one in the room except for Soap himself. The man in question is thrashing in his bed, hands at his throat like he’s choking, legs kicking like he’s trying to swim- and shit, he’s having a nightmare. Clicking the safety back on Ghost goes to the side of the bed, hand dropping to Soap’s shoulder.
“Soap, wake up. Can you hear me?” There’s no response aside from more jerking. Ghost can see Soap’s eyes moving rapidly under his eyelids, lost to the dream. If he keeps thrashing like that he’s going to hurt himself. Ghost has seen it before, has done it himself, and it’s never pretty. Moving quickly he slides onto the cot behind Soap, arms wrapping around the Scotsman to keep him secured and in place. He lowers his voice as he places his mouth to the shell of Soap’s ear.
“Easy, Johnny. It’s okay, you’re okay.” Slowly, so so slowly, the thrashing begins to calm until there’s nothing left but harsh breathing and sweat soaked skin. “That’s it. You’re doing fine.”
A sudden sharp inhale and Soap’s jerking against his hold, now awake mind reacting to the fear of being held down.
“It’s just me, Johnny. It’s just me.”
At his voice Soap stills, immediately going limp in his arms. Something protective and instinctual snaps in his brain at that, but he forces it down. “I’m gonna let you go now, okay?”
“No-” Soap cuts himself off like he didn’t mean to speak, and fuck he probably didn’t. His voice is small and hesitant, so quiet Ghost almost didn’t hear it.
Ghost knows what it’s like to be alone with yourself after a nightmare, has seen and done too many things to not be affected even if it’s only in his subconscious. He knows that vulnerability and wishes he could take that pain away.
“Okay, I’ll stay. Tell me what you need.” Because everyone is different. Sure they get trained on how to process the things that they see, tips and tricks for convincing yourself that you’re okay, putting Soldiers back together just enough to get them back in the field. But those trainings forget that they’re real people, not machines or tools that can be fixed with a simple line of code or a few turns of a wrench. The human mind is complex, and what might help one person will destroy another.
“I- I need..” Soap trials off and Ghost can sense the hesitation to show weakness running through him.
“In here, Johnny, you are safe with me.” He swears it. “Nothing you say or do leaves this room. I promise.”
It must be the encouragement he needs because Soap lets out a shuddering breath and answers him. “I wanna face yah, need to see yer face.”
Ghost knows he doesn’t mean his actual face, just the mask that he wears anytime anyone else is around, so he doesn’t bother to correct him. Instead he simply loosens his grip enough to rotate Soap in his arms so they’re practically nose to nose.
Soap’s hands fly to his waist, holding them only a few inches apart. This close he can see his own face reflected in Johnny’s eyes even in the low light of the room.
“Talk to me, walk me through what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“It’s cold,” he admits, and Ghost knows he doesn’t mean the room. “It’s cold and I can’t breathe and no matter how hard I kick and pull I can’t get my head above the water.”
He’s so close that his breath is ghosting over the material covering Ghost’s mask. Almost like he can taste the confession as it spills out of Soap.
“Sometimes I’ll break the surface just to have a wave crash over me, sending me back down into the water. I try to scream and it fills my lungs and-” He stops talking, closing his eyes.
On pure instinct Ghost moves his hands to rub at Soap’s back, hoping the slightly awkward angle is doing something to help. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything else.” Soap just nods, leaning forward to press his face into Ghost’s chest and all he can do is lay there, trying to give Johnny the comfort he needs.
After a few long moments his breathing calms, and Ghost chances a look down. Soap’s out like a light, face slack with sleep.
He should probably go back to his bunk, but he doesn’t. At first he stays to make sure that Soap doesn’t wake again, concerned that if he leaves he’ll just have to return a few minutes later. Then, he stays because he’s comfy and Soap is warm and if he gets up he’s never going to find this kind of warmth in his own cot.
Also, it’s kind of nice to hold someone like this, someone Ghost knows is safe and he can trust not to gut him in the middle of the night. He hasn’t had that in a while, and who better to trust than the man in his arms who’s saved his life on more than one occasion?
And before Ghost knows it, he’s drifting off, lulled by the steady inhale and exhale of Soap’s breathing.
It becomes routine.
Ghost reacts to Soap’s screams, and he’s on his feet just long enough to walk the distance between their beds before he’s waking Soap with gentle words and steady arms. After a week, Ghost doesn’t even bother with his own bed. One night he just shows up at lights out, his own blanket tucked under his arm.
Soap eyes him for a second before nodding his head, shifting forward so he’s against the wall, with just enough space for Ghost to slip in behind him. That night Soap doesn’t startle him awake, and Ghost finds that he himself slept through the entire night. Only waking when Soap’s alarm forces him.
Ghost tries not to think about how much he enjoys it, convincing himself that it’s just him doing what he needs to do to help Soap. It doesn’t work. Even though he’s sleeping better than before it still takes him time to relax. To wind down after a full day of training. So some nights he just watches Soap breathe, his fingers trailing over the Sergeant’s side in a touch so gentle Ghost can’t believe it’s his own hand doing it.
His brain runs with the closeness, and the feelings he’s been suppressing since Las Almas come bubbling back up to the surface. He tried to distance himself after Graves was dead and they started their hunt for Shepard, but he couldn’t go far, always just a truck or a room away as the tight knit group hunted down their former General.
It’s not like he doesn’t try to maintain some level of professionalism. Ghost makes sure they always fall asleep with Ghost’s arms wrapped around Soap, his covered face tucked into the shorter man’s neck. Makes sure they’re not facing each other as sleep consumes them, but his traitorous body knows what he really wants, and they always greet the morning face to face.
Which means Ghost gets to see Soap as he blinks his eyes quickly, grumbling under the rude awakening provided by the screaming alarm clock. It’s stupidly cute the way his nose wrinkles as he processes the fact that they have to leave the bed, and it does things to Ghost’s heart that he really do not want to analyze.
It’s probably not healthy, this arrangement, Soap really should talk to someone to work through his problem and the artificial closeness is making Ghost’s brain all haywire anytime he’s in proximity to Soap. But Ghost can’t lie to himself: he likes falling asleep with someone, their warmth melding with his own in a way that blankets and pillows can’t replicate. It’s good, better than anything Ghost has let himself have in a long time. And if he has to pretend that it’s purely unselfish on his part, just a good Lieutenant helping his Sergeant, well, it’s not like he’s not gonna sleep at night.
Then, Ghost goes on a solo mission for a week.
The intel led them to a General Artyom Sokolov, leader of a subgroup of Russian PMCs. He and Price go it alone to take him out, a bonafide assassination, since Soap is still recovering from his broken ribs and Gaz is tasked with aerial coverage with cameras. They spend half their mission working through the layers and layers of security that the man has wrapped himself in. He’s so deep into his paranoia that Ghost finds himself annoyed.
Yes, they really are out to get him, but he shouldn’t know that. Can’t the guy just leave his safehouse for thirty seconds? Just long enough for a positive ID and one pull of Ghost’s trigger? The answer is apparently no, and on the sixth day they get the go-ahead to infiltrate.
It’s immensely satisfying putting the silenced round into Sokolov’s head as he sleeps.
After, on the ride home, all he can think about is getting back to base. He’s ready to sleep for about 36 hours straight and would like to do as much of it as he can pressed tightly up against his Sergeant.
It’s late when they make it back and Ghost feels like his feet are dragging. He’s conquered his own demons to the point where nightmares don’t affect him as much anymore, but sleeping alone on the ground after weeks of sharing warmth and a bed with someone else made it very hard to fall and stay asleep.
So, Ghost doesn’t even hesitate to find his way to Soap’s, only swinging by his room long enough to drop his gear into a sad pile on the floor.
It’s perfect timing it seems, as just as he enters Soap is already jerking wildly, breathing coming in harsh. Ghost goes to him, dropping onto the bed and pulling Soap into his arms, tucking his face to his chest.
The reaction is immediate, Soap jerks back from his embrace, immediately awake but brain not quite caught up to the situation.
Soap’s eyes are wide and before he has a chance to do anything else the Sergeant is pushing forward, pressing his lips to where Ghost’s are hidden behind his mask. It’s only for a second before he pulls back, stuttering out an apology.
“Sorry, Sir, I don’t- I don’t know why I did that. Please, forget it happened.”
Ghost is quiet as he processes the last fifteen seconds before he’s digging into Soap’s hips to keep him from pulling away. This is what he wants, and he may never have a better opportunity than this. “Is that what you need, Johnny?”
And Soap goes still, eyes squinting in confusion. “Sir?”
“I said, ‘is that what you need’? Physical comfort?” His blood is running hot at the idea, but he stays calm. Sometimes the best way to work out overwhelming emotions is to, well, work it out.
Soap is looking at him with wide eyes, most likely searching to see if this is some cruel joke. Ghost takes that time to lean in, pressing his covered mouth to the shell of Soap’s ear. “I’ll help you, make sure all you can think of is me. I’ll chase the bad thoughts out and leave you too tired to dream, let alone be afraid.”
Ghost feels Soap’s shudder, hears his exhale of breath at the words. But he still doesn’t speak.
Making sure he’s not crossing a line that isn’t meant to be crossed, Ghost pulls back. “Or we can stay here like this, like usual. Nothing has to change, not unless you say yes.”
He can see the flush on Johnny’s cheek, and it’s too dark to be residual embarrassment from his attempt to kiss him, and his pupils are blown wide covering the blue that Ghost can usually see.
There’s silence as he waits for Soap to work out what he wants in his head. Ghost is more patient than he thinks he’s ever been, not wanting to overstep. The kiss could have been a relief, a way for Soap’s panicked brain to throw his gratitude and thanks for Ghost saving him from both the river and his own mind, and if that’s the case then Ghost will back off. It’ll kill him, but he’ll do it.
“S’gonna break a lotta regs, Lt.” Soap says quietly.
“Is that a problem?” It wasn’t a flat out rejection, but it also wasn’t a yes.
“Nah, never been much for following the rules when it comes to you.” And the admission does more to Ghost’s ego than any medal or award he’s ever gotten in his life. Soap shifts, bringing his leg closer so it hits Ghost’s knee. “So, we doing this?”
Instead of answering, Ghost slides his hand off of Soap’s hip to hook into the base of his mask, pulling it up just far enough to expose his mouth. Soap follows the motion with his eyes, inhaling sharply, but Ghost’s too busy pushing forward to kiss him properly to wait for a response.
The reaction is immediate.
Soap kisses him like he’s back under the water and Ghost is the air he needs to live. It’s all consuming, playing at the possessive parts of Ghost’s mind as he meets that intensity with his own. It’s teeth biting into lower lips and soothed by tongues. It’s Johnny groaning against his mouth and his hand digging into Ghost’s shoulder to pull him closer. It’s Ghost grabbing Soap by the back of the neck to keep them pressed together even when his lungs scream for a break.
They only pull back far enough to pant against each other’s mouths, sharing the same air, before Ghost is dragging him back. It’s not enough, and Ghost throws his leg over Soap’s hip, twisting him so he’s pinned to the mattress below, never once breaking their heated kiss.
Soap groans into it, hands flying to Ghost’s waist to steady him as he leans up to devour him. Ghost’s already half hard, and he ruts against Soap, chasing the friction he knows he can get. Biting down hard onto Soap’s bottom lip when he finds it.
There’s nothing soft or sweet about this, it’s fast and hard and fucking perfect. Before long they’re both shirtless and Soap is writhing beneath him, hips rising and falling as he tries to get Ghost to do something.
“C’mon- fuck, touch me .”
Ghost tsks at him, deliberately pulling back to avoid giving Soap what he wants. He’s desperate and hard and ready to just get on with it , but he’s also a little shit and refuses to let Soap rush him. “Steady there, Sergeant. Ever heard of hurry up and wait?”
Soap glares at him, fingers digging into his hips hard. “Fuck that, Lt., you wanna hurry up and wait s’fine, but I ain’t.” And then, in a move Ghost will deny until his last breath, Soap hooks him by the leg and twists them so that their positions are switched.
It’s a move that Ghost himself taught the man above him and he refuses to admit that it was hotter than fuck. He goes to fight back, go for the upper hand, but then Soap’s sneaking his calloused fingers under the band of his sweatpants and wrapping around him and the first word cuts off as he chokes out a moan at the contact.
“Cat got yer tongue, Sir?” Soap teases as he starts up a brutal pace, hand moving fast and hard.
“Fuck you,” Ghost counters, but it’s damn near breathless, hardly any intimidation at all. His hands have flown to hold Johnny’s arms, feeling the muscle there as he strokes and jerks into the touch.
“Aye, Simon, that’s the plan- ain’t it?” Soap asks him, a wild gleam in his eyes. It reminds Ghost of when he’s holding a grenade, a twinkling that betrays just how excited he is about something.
Ghost drops his head back against the pillow, eyes sliding shut on a groan. “You’re a menace.”
He pulls Soap down into another kiss, sliding his hands over the exposed skin of his chest, sliding down until he can slip his hand into Soap’s pants. Soap’s cock is hard and leaking already and Ghost uses his thumb to tease over the head, gathering the drops there and using them to ease the slide of his hand.
“Fuck- just like that,” Soap groans, deepening their kiss and thrusting his hips forward into Ghost’s grip. Ghost keeps going until Soap is panting against his mouth, too turned on to do anything but feel, even his hand has stopped on Ghost’s cock. “Keep going like that and m’not gonna last long.”
Ghost stops, pulling his hand out of Soap’s sweats and then pushing his shoulders gently. Soap rolls onto his back and Ghost follows him down, slipping his hands along the waistband of Soap’s last article of clothing. “Can I?” Soap nods his head, almost frantically, and Ghost slips the pants down and off, tossing them carelessly onto the floor.
Before Soap can do anything but lay there Ghost throws the man’s leg over his shoulder and ducks down, licking a hot strip over Soap’s cock. The Scotsman makes a noise that’s pure sin, hands fisting into the sheets under him. Ghost keeps going, sucking down Soap’s cock until his nose is pressed to the man’s stomach, throat full. He holds there as Soap squirms, whining out desperate little sounds before finally pulling back, spit trailing down his chin. Ghost dips down lower, dragging his tongue over Soap’s hole, fucking into the tight ring of muscle.
Soap’s reaction is beautiful. He keens, voice going high and breathy as he fucks back down onto Ghost’s tongue. “Steamin’ jesus, Lt., fuck-” Ghost presses in harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Soap’s thighs, hard enough to leave bruises, marks, evidence that he was there.
He spends a long minute there, licking into him, memorizing the way Soap begs and squirms and whines. Ghost pulls back, biting into the meat of Soap’s thigh. “Lube?” There’s a bit of a scramble, Soap stretching backwards to dig into his bedside table before handing a small bottle to Ghost. He doesn’t waste any more time, drizzling the cool liquid onto his fingers before pressing two into him. Soap gasps, clenching around Ghost’s fingers.
“Easy Johnny, relax. I’ll take care of you.” Soap whimpers a bit, eyes closed and face flushed. Slowly, Soap calms, body releasing it’s tension. “There you good, be a good boy now and touch yourself while I prep you.” Hazy blue eyes open, confused. Ghost smirks, curling his two fingers up to press against Soap’s prostate. “Stroke that pretty cock of yours, Sergeant. That’s an order.”
The moan that tears out of Soap is filthy, loud and unbridled, and makes Ghost’s cock twitch where it’s still trapped in his own sleep pants, untouched for too long. Soap complies, wrapping a hand around himself and starting to stroke as Ghost preps him. Ghost leans in on occasion, licking over the base of Soap’s cock, teasing him with his tongue as well as his fingers, working him up from two to three.
“You ready?” Ghost asks. His voice is husky, gravely, Soap’s sounds and movements are perfect, each of them sending a sharp stab of want down his spine. He needs to be inside of him- now.
“M’ready,” Soap pants, hand slowing as he spreads his legs wider.
Ghost grabs the lube again, then looks down to meet Soap’s eye. “You got any condoms in here?”
Soap shakes his head. “Don’t need ‘em. S’long as you’re clean. I am, too.”
With a wicked smirk Ghost slips off the bed just long enough to remove his sweats and spread lube over his cock. Soap watches him, eyes lidded with lust, taking in every movement that Ghost makes as he resituates himself between the Sergeant’s spread legs. With his clean hand Ghost grabs Soap’s knee, pulling one leg up to wrap around his hip, and then slides forward. He pushes in slowly, watching Soap’s face for any discomfort or pain. Three fingers is good, standard prep, but Ghost isn’t small and Soap is still so fucking tight.
He’s breathless by the time he’s full seated, taking a moment to enjoy the view but also give Soap time to adjust.
“Fuck Johnny , look at you- taking me so well.” Soap’s head is thrown back, neck on full display and Ghost leans in to bite at it. He won’t leave marks where they can be seen, as much as he wants to, and he morphs the press of teeth into a kiss to avoid any accidents. “Feel fucking perfect, so good for me.”
Soap makes a little whimpering sound in Ghost’s ear, and then the leg digging into Ghost’s back kicks down just a bit. “Move- please-”
Ghost shushes Soap, pulling back just far enough for leverage before pushing back in, making doubly sure that Soap is actually ready. The reedy little noise Soap makes when he bottoms out again is almost too much. Ghost’s next thrust is harder, faster, setting them up at a steady and firm pace. Soap tilts his head just enough to capture Ghost’s mouth in a searing kiss, biting down on his lower lip as Ghost pushes them both higher and higher.
One of Ghost’s hands had moved to support his weight and he now moves the other to wrap around Soap’s cock again, stroking him in time with his thrusts. He wants- needs Soap to come, wants the feeling of his clamping down on Ghost’s cock to be the thing that sends him over the edge. He’s chasing the end far too fast but the way Soap is digging his nails into Ghost’s shoulder, cock leaking over his hand and stomach, betrays how close they both are. Next time- and fuck please let there be a next time- he’ll try and last longer. For now, he’s too close to even try and draw it out.
“Want you to come on my cock, Soap. Think you can do that?”
“Yes,” Soap all but sobs. “Fuck I’m so close- shit -“ it doesn’t take much more, Ghost’s hand moving at a maddening pace, twisting around the head on every stroke. Before he knows it Soap is choking out his name, body tensing as he comes, painting Ghost’s hand and his own stomach.
Ghost follows him over the edge, biting down hard onto Soap’s shoulder as his hips stutter. Soap moans loudly, clenching down on him just that much tighter and Ghost groans against sweaty and now-bruised skin. Breathing hard, Ghost pulls back, tipping his head to capture Soap’s mouth in a final kiss. It’s softer, sweeter, than anything they’ve done so far, and Ghost doesn’t let himself think about how badly he wants more of them. More of that softness from Soap.
He chases those thoughts away as he pulls out, shuddering in oversensitivity as he grabs Soap’s discarded shirt to help clean up the mess. They’re quiet as they clean up, dressing once more before climbing under the sheets, still disgusting and sweaty. Soap doesn’t have an attached shower like Ghost does, one of the perks of rank, but neither of them want to go. Ghost wraps his arms around Soap like he does every night, tucking his once more covered face into the back of Soap’s neck.
“Ghost-”
“Sleep, Johnny.”
Soap does, drifting off within minutes, and Ghost follows, tired and satiated in a way he hasn’t been in years.
It happens again. Ghost is barely in Soap’s room the next night before he’s being pressed against the wall and Johnny’s teeth are at his neck, clever fingers already having lifted his balaclava to expose the skin there. He’s got Soap bent over the bed, ass up and ready in less than five minutes. Digs his fingers into the bruises on his thighs that he left the night before.
And again. Soap actually manages to pin him to the training mat and he gets hard so fast it makes him dizzy. The door to the training room storage is barely closed before Ghost’s on his knees. Soap’s looking down at him like he’s offering the world and he shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see. Just lets the Sergeant fuck his throat as a reward.
And again. In the middle of a mission where Ghost is supposed to be providing overwatch. Soap slips in between his legs where he’s seated by the window, parting his lips and swallowing Ghost’s cock all the way to the base. He makes the kill and before the body has even dropped he’s let go of his rifle and fisted the back of Soap’s head hard so he can come directly down his throat.
Ghost learns new things about Soap through this process. Learns that he’s a very giving lover, always trying to make sure that Ghost is satisfied before he is. And that the stamina from training translates directly to the bedroom. Learns that he’s got an even filthier mouth than Ghost thought, unashamed to tell Ghost just how good it feels, how often he’s going to think about their fucking durning missions, asking for bruises and bites, asking Ghost to claim him. Finds out that he babbles nearly incoherent sentences in his thick accent every time Ghost bottoms out, cock so deep Soap can probably taste it. Discovers that Soap likes when his mask is partially up, just exposing his mouth and nose, but that he prefers when it’s all the way off.
Learns new things about himself, too. Finds that he doesn’t mind being called Simon when it’s released on a groan, or fucked out of Soap on a breathless whimper. Finds out that he prefers when Soap calls him ‘love’. The first time it happened he froze for a second, Soap’s eyes going wide with shame for the first time since this all started, and then Ghost fucked him so hard he cried and it became a thing. Learns that he’s a possessive fucker, leaving bruises and marks across Soap’s skin so that he can’t even think to take off his shirt without having to explain things. Which means Ghost is the only one who gets to see that now, to drag eyes over exposed skin and muscle. The only one who gets to see Soap like that anymore.
Mostly he learns that his crush isn’t going anywhere, and that by fucking Johnny he’s fucking himself. But Ghost is letting himself be greedy for once, taking this little bit of happiness and mentally preparing for the day it ruins him. Will take every moment that Soap will give him until it’s taken away.
As the weeks pass, they don’t talk about it, just like they didn’t talk about the cuddling and the closeness that got them to this point, and they’re careful, so fucking careful that no one catches them.
Ghost’s not worried about getting in trouble, they’re both far too good at their jobs and important pieces of 141 to really be reprimanded, but they’ll make them stop. Might even pull one of them to another team for a while while tensions cool, and the thought of losing Johnny by his side is like a knife to the heart.
It should tell him something, but he very pointedly ignores it. Living in denial as long as he can.
Everything comes to a breaking point eventually.
Three months of fast and dirty, as much as they can get it, wherever they can get it, finds Ghost in a very familiar position. He’s up against the wall, pressed there by Soap’s body, both of them with undone pants and hard cocks. Rutting against each other like fucking teenagers. Soap’s hands digging into Ghost’s arms and Ghost’s fingers searing bruises onto Soap’s hips. Ghost’s mask is half off his face, Soap’s face is pressed into the curve of his neck, and Ghost is about three seconds from throwing them both onto the bed.
And then Soap is shuddering against him and growling, “fuck, I love you.”
Everything stops.
Neither of them move, and Ghost doesn’t even think he’s fucking breathing. Then Soap rips away from him, mouth covered by his own hand like he can shove the words back into his lungs. In two quick steps he’s away from Ghost, eyes shut. Soap’s pants are still undone, the barest hint of his Scottish flag boxers peeking out, and Ghost still can’t breathe.
“I didn’t-” Soap jerks himself back again, eyes now darting towards the door, towards his escape.
Ghost finds his voice. “Didn’t what? Didn’t mean it, or didn’t mean to say it?”
“Ghost-” Not Simon, not love, not any of the other names that Soap’s slipped up and called him over the last few weeks, but Ghost. Like he’s already building a wall between them.
“Because,” he cuts Soap off. “Those two things are very different.”
Soap doesn’t answer, his hands doing that weird twisty thing that they do when he’s teetering on the edge of panic.
“Johnny, did you fucking mean it ?”
“I don’t know.” He admits and Ghost is searching his eyes and his face and his body language to try and figure it the fuck out because he needs to know if Johnny meant it. If he’s fallen just as fucking hard as Ghost has, if he’s drowning in it .
But the wall is up and Soap is looking at him like he’s a bomb or a gun or an EMP ready to explode and take them both down with it, and Ghost refuses to let this break him.
He pulls forward from where he’s still leaning against the wall, smoothing down his own wrinkled clothes, quickly re-looping his belt. The whole time he’s holding Soap’s eye, making sure he never loses focus. Then he’s taking a breath, releasing it heavily, and pushing out the door.
“Figure it the fuck out, Segeant.” Are his parting words as he leaves Soap there, feeling much like he’s just ripped out his own heart.
He goes to bed alone, stuck in his own fucking head. Ghost knew this was going to come to an end eventually, all good things in his life do. And Johnny, Johnny is so good , so it makes sense. Makes sense that he’s not allowed to have him, to have this thing they’ve built together. Because even if it was just sex to Soap, it turned into so much more for Ghost. That was okay, he was willing to swallow what he felt and just give Soap release, but then the fucking idiot had to ruin it. Had to almost offer him something even better just to rip it away again. Had to break his heart.
No.
Ghost doesn’t have a fucking heart. He can’t .
Angry now, at himself, at this situation he allowed himself to be in, and maybe a little at Soap for not loving him back, he struggles with the emotions of it all. Because as much as he wants to deny it, he loves the man. He can admit that here in the relative safety of his own mind. Can admit that the confession made him want to melt until Soap pulled away and looked so- so horrified , nearly disgusted with himself. Like he couldn’t believe he would ever say those things about the man he had had up against the wall not five seconds earlier.
You can’t kill a ghost, apparently you can’t love one either.
A small part of him lets himself hope, laying in bed waiting for a knock on the door. Wants to open it to apologetic eyes and hands, can almost hear Soap tell him that he’s sorry, that he really did mean it and was just shocked he let it slip. That knock never comes, and by the time his alarm is ringing for him to wake, Ghost hasn’t slept a single wink.
They don’t talk about it. Just like they didn’t talk about it starting, the end of it all comes just as silently. They train and they do missions and Ghost and Soap both ignore the questions on why they don’t hang out anymore. Price looks concerned but when it doesn’t affect the missions he drops it. Gaz, cares a little more. Ghost constantly finds him with Soap, asking questions and sending sad looks over to wherever he happens to be standing. Gaz never approaches him, though, probably for the best. He likes the guy, but they’re not close enough for him to even entertain the idea of sharing something so personal with him.
Sometimes he’ll catch Soap staring at him with sad eyes, but he never approaches, and Ghost won’t do it himself.
At night, though, he listens. He waits for the screams that will have him up and back in Soap’s room like nothing has ever changed. Because even if Johnny doesn’t love him back, he won’t let him suffer, won’t allow him to hurt if Ghost can help. The screams never come, and every night Ghost waits, on edge, and is only met by the sound of nothing, of silence. Either Soap isn’t having the nightmares anymore, or he’s found a different way to cope. Maybe he’s found someone else to hold him.
That thought makes him sick, makes him angry. The idea of some other person wrapping their arms around his Sergeant , holding him as he shakes and cries and tries so hard to be strong. It’s enough to set his teeth on edge, grinding down so hard he swears he can hear them creaking.
It sets him on edge, mind rolling with the pain of it all, dragging up more hurt than just the lack of reciprocation. His own nightmares given a ladder built up to the surface of his mind, fueled by his grief.
When the dreams start, he knows what’s coming. He knows what’s coming and he can’t stop it. Can’t fight it. Can only lay there, trapped in unconsciousness as he fails them again . His teammates, his subordinates, his leadership, his family, Johnny .
Even in this fake world he’s too slow, knife swiping out but missing targets. Hands closing around nothing but air. Screams fill his ears, words telling him he’s not good enough, not fast enough, not strong enough. Because he wasn’t. Couldn’t stop them from killing the people he loved, couldn’t stop them from burying him alive, couldn’t stop them from shooting Soap, couldn’t stop his teams from getting ripped apart at every opportunity.
There’s someone in front of him, trying to kill him. Their hands are on his shoulders and they’re screaming in his face. Calling his name, telling him to- telling him to wake up?
“Ghost? Simon? Wake up, please?”
His eyes open in a snap, body jerking forward and nearly colliding with Soap who’s holding him down with his entire body weight. Who doesn’t pull back even once Ghost is clearly awake.
“What the fuck?” He’s shaking, entire body trembling. Inside his brain the events of his dream, his nightmare, begin to slide away leaving him feeling cold and empty.
“You were shouting,” Soap explains, his eyes are wide in concern but his voice is steady and comforting. “I came in here to make sure you were alright.” He leans back, pulling away so he’s not crushing Ghost back into the mattress anymore, but he doesn’t leave. Soap stays, one thigh between Ghost’s own, a weight he’s all too familiar with, a weight he lost.
Neither of them say anything as Ghost regains control of his breathing, of his mind. Settling back into the sheets of his bed, not relaxed, but a million miles away from where he was when he woke up. Soap is just staring at him, eyes full of concern and wry little twist to his lips that makes Ghost want to lean up and kiss him. Instead he just lays there, spread out under Soap’s gaze like an offering.
Finally, the silence is too much, especially with Soap’s thigh is still pressed against his own. He hasn’t left even though Ghost is okay now, hasn’t even made a move to try. It emboldens him and Ghost shifts, just a bit, to turn up towards him. “Did you mean it, Johnny?” It comes out on a whisper, soft, almost pleading.
Soap doesn’t look at him, eyes shifting to focus hard on the floor. “Aye, I did.” And Ghost feels the breath leave him on a sharp exhale.
Neither of them move. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
Soap snaps to look at him, face morphing into disbelief. “Are yah serious? I know you, Simon,” Simon, not Ghost, Simon . “You don’t do feelings- you don’t do relationships. I thought I was crossing a line we had silently agreed on. I thought you reacted that way because you were mad.”
Ghost sits up, taking Johnny with him so they’re face to face, one leg still resting on the mattress between Ghost’s thighs. “I reacted that way because I wanted it to be true so badly it hurt .” The admission stings, a reminder of what he lost, but Soap sucks in a breath like he can’t belive it. “You looked like you didn’t mean it and that killed me.” He brings his hands up, sliding along Soap’s covered ribs, something he thought he’d never get to do again, then leans in to press his mask covered face to Soap’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“What’re you saying, Simon?” And he’s so close to the Sergeant, Ghost feels the rumbling question on his face. Feels the increases pulse against his cheek.
“I’m saying, that I love you, Johnny.”
A hand grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back, throws him so he’s laying down again. Ghost doesn't fight it, at this point Soap could gut him with his own knife and he’d let him. Ghost has never been this far gone for another human being before, and if Soap wants his life as a sacrifice then he can have it.
Instead of the end greeting him, instead of Soap pulling off of his body and leaving, he leans down. Ghost’s mask gets yanked up to his nose and then soft lips are crashing into his own. He moans into it, reaching up with his own hands to fist into Soap’s mohawk, the other sliding up under his shirt to touch heated skin.
“Fuckin’ hell, Simon. Been in love with you since you shot Hassan in the fucking face.” At those words, Ghost’s blood shifts from a simmer to a boil. That fucking long? Johnny’s loved him all this time?
He kisses back harder, throwing everything he can’t say into the embrace. It’s I’m sorry and please don’t leave again and I’m yours . Soap meets him with the same frantic energy, shifting to get his shirt off, tearing Ghost’s in his enthusiasm, stripping them both down to nothing.
Later, hot skin cooling and Soap’s face tucked back where it belongs in Ghost’s neck, he feels the last lingering hurt fade. Can’t feel it anymore, not when Soap’s speaking his love right into Ghost’s chest.
“I love you, Simon.”
“I love you, too, Johnny.”