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It has been proven, time and time again, that between Ghost and Soap, Ghost is the level-headed and reasonable one. You’d never know just by looking at them – people are quick to assume that the guy who wears a skull mask more often than not can’t be anything but an unhinged weirdo – but it’s the truth. And sure, Soap is kind, loyal, and funny, checks all the boxes for ‘normal, decent human being’. He’s the type of guy you bring back home for Christmas so he can charm the living hell out of your extended family.
But Ghost knows now that hidden underneath all that nice fluffy stuff is an insatiable little freak that can’t not think with his dick, to the point that he’s willing to put his physical well-being aside in order to indulge in his horny impulses.
This isn’t a problem, usually, because Ghost is there to bring some balance, and tell him that ‘no, Johnny, we’re not going to have sex on the shooting range,’ or ‘actually, Johnny, fucking yourself with the hilt of a knife is a stupid fucking idea;’ repeat ad nauseam until Ghost is ready to throttle him. Which he never does, because he knows in his heart that Soap would enjoy it.
Both are fairly tame things that can be carried out safely with some careful planning.
There is one idea that has been lodged into Soap’s brain since they first got together, that Ghost has vetoed multiple times.
Soap gets in these moods where the only thing he wants to do is go down on Ghost. He’ll gladly shove his entire face into his cunt wherever, whenever, and eat him out like a starving dog. Growls like one too, if Ghost tries to pull him off. And as it turns out, not even a mouthful of pussy is enough to shut Soap up.
“Want you to fucking drown me,” he gasped one night, as he was lapping orgasm after orgasm out of Ghost.
Later – much, much later, when Soap had finally had his fill, still lying on his stomach between Ghost’s legs with his head resting against Ghost’s thigh, he explained that he was being literal.
Something about an old recording of Ghost torturing someone, about a pillowcase and a water jug. Ghost had to stop him there before his fucked out brain launched itself into orbit.
For the longest time, the answer was a staunch ‘no’. He was not going to potentially give Soap brain damage just so he could get off. That would be irresponsible, and as has been established since they first met, Ghost is the responsible one.
But there are these... moments, when everything lines up just right, where Ghost gets caught up in his own horny impulses that tell him to give Soap whatever he wants, even if the request is detrimental to his health. Because as much as he sometimes wishes he didn’t, Ghost does care about him, and he wants to make Soap happy as much as Soap makes him happy.
And if that means that he has to let himself be a little irresponsible, then so be it.
—
They are moving through a compound of warehouses in the search for a set of shipping manifestos that, according to their informant, will give them the location of Makarov’s right hand man. It’s a small, off-the-books thing, so they’ve gone in without any support, aside from the pilot that’s circling somewhere off the coast, waiting to bring them back home.
Not that they need any help. They clear room after room with brutal efficiency, leaving behind a trail of scattered paperwork and dead bodies.
Ghost goes to kick down a door that’s supposed to lead into the office where the promised manifestos are stored, when said door flies open and rams into him with enough force to knock him off his feet. There’s yelling, part Soap and part russian. He sits back up just in time to see the man behind the door pull out a gun and fire it somewhere behind Ghost.
Soap cries out, then there’s a thud.
Ghost sees red. He’s on the man in seconds, shoving a knife into his throat, twisting it around for good measure. He throws him off to the side, leaving him to choke on his own blood, and then he rushes over to Soap.
A quick pat down reveals no obvious bullet holes. Soap is hyperventilating, and very much alive. Ghost sighs in relief. He doesn’t resist the urge to cup Soap’s rapidly paling cheeks in his hands, tilting his head a bit so their eyes meet.
“You hit?” he asks, needing to make sure that he’s not going to have to dig a bullet out of Soap again. Or worse.
Soap shakes his head. Other than that, he makes no effort to get up. He just pants wildly, clutching onto the place where his plate got hit with one hand, and latching onto Ghost’s wrist with the other one. He feels Soap slide his thumb underneath his glove and pet the spot where his pulse is racing.
“Johnny, you have to get up,” Ghost says.
Soap doesn’t answer him. He’s looking straight through Ghost, towards the now convulsing man by the door. Soap’s breath hitches so hard it has to hurt.
Ghost wants to wrap himself around Soap and hold him until he recovers from the shock, but there is no time. They stuck to knives and silenced pistols so as to not alert anyone to their presence, and although it’s a good sign that their location hasn’t immediately been swarmed, there is no guarantee that the commotion hasn’t drawn anyone’s attention.
They need somewhere to hide, at least until Soap calms down a bit. They’re on the warehouse floor, fully out in the open with no cover and no overwatch. Ghost needs to act before any potential backup arrives.
He leans down and nudges his nose against Soap’s temple. “I’m sorry, love, but I’m going to have to move you,” he whispers. He reaches a hand behind Soap’s back, grabbing onto the bitch strap with a firm hand, before he gets up and starts bodily dragging him into the office, kicking the now dead shooter in the head as he goes. Soap yelps, and tries to fight back. He doesn’t relax until Ghost has him crumpled into the furthest corner from the door. A firm hand on his chest, and a growled 'stay' freezes him in place.
Ghost sets about barricading the place. He blocks the only way in by stacking two arm chairs on top of each other and pushing them in front of the door. There’s a big oak desk in the middle of the room that he flips on his side to give them some cover, should they need it.
As he’s taking stock of his weapons and ammo, he hears a giggle. He gives Soap the benefit of the doubt, and assumes he’s hearing shit, but then there’s another giggle, and soon Soap is full-on laughing behind him.
“What’s so fucking funny?” Ghost asks.
The question only makes Soap laugh harder.
Ghost whips around, and he can’t keep the frown off his face when he sees the tears. Soap has never reacted like this after taking a bullet to his plate. In fact, Ghost has never seen him react like this to anything.
He goes over to Soap, and delivers a light kick to his shoulder. That puts a stop to the laughter, but he remains flat on his back, crying silently.
“Pull yourself together, sergeant!” Ghost barks, snapping into his role as Soap’s superior.
Soap groans. It’s a noise that Ghost knows well, and he knows it’s not from pain; it’s one of the many noises that Ghost has dragged out of him when they’re curled up in bed, sweat-slicked bodies twined together.
Huh. Just for fun, Ghost lifts his foot and plants it firmly on Soap’s chest, taking care to rest most of his weight on his other leg.
This time Soap whimpers, and his hands rush to cover up his crotch.
That won’t do.
“Move your hands,” Ghost says.
Soap stays still, ever defiant, a flush rising on his face as Ghost stares him down.
He puts more weight on the foot that’s pinning Soap to the floor, and watches as the blue of his eyes gets swallowed whole by pure void.
Soap’s hands fly out to grab onto Ghost’s leg, revealing the tent in his jeans.
“You can’t be serious. Jesus fucking christ, MacTavish…” Ghost mutters, shaking his head, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” The question comes out more teasing than he means to, a subconscious response to Soap’s arousal that makes Ghost relax a little. They are safe, for now, safe enough that Ghost can take some time to give Soap his full attention.
“I-I don’t know. ‘m sorry. I got hit, and I can’t– I’m so fucking hard it hurts,” Soap whines, voice going thin as the air is pushed out of him.
Ghost knows what he’s referring to, knows it all too well. Adrenaline bursts are useful, necessary even, but they're not very accurate. The body shoves as much blood as it can towards your legs and hopes for the best. When you don’t need to run or fight, that additional blood flow easily turns into arousal.
Which is why Soap is decked out on the floor, hard and wanting.
The way Ghost sees it, there’s two options. Option one: Ghost calls for evac, and then he gets to sit and listen to Soap complain about his hard-on while they wait. Option two: Ghost calls for evac, and makes Soap cum his brains out before the heli arrives.
He tells Soap as much, grinning when he rolls his hips up into nothing in search of friction. The grip on his shin tightens.
“Which one is it going to be, Johnny?”
“Cum. Wanna cum…” Soap mumbles.
“Good boy.” Ghost calls the pilot, and they give him an eta of 40 minutes. That’s plenty of time to rough Soap up a bit. “You know what, I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll let you choose how you want to cum. Want me to suck your cock? Or would you prefer that I ride you?”
Soap’s face gets impossibly redder. “Simon,” he whimpers.
“I could put you on your hands and knees and eat you out. That always gets you moaning like a little bitch.”
“Please… don’t talk like that. I can’t take it.” Soap is curling in on himself, trying to hug onto Ghost’s leg. The rise and fall of his chest is uneven against the sole of his boot.
Ghost takes mercy on him and lightens the pressure on his chest, but Soap digs his nails into his shin to stop him, and pushes up into it, like he wants Ghost to cave his ribs in.
Some sadistic part of Ghost wants to do it, but it feels wrong to be mean to Soap when he’s curled up on the floor and actively making himself look smaller.
Ghost sighs. “What do you want, Johnny?”
“Can we– the thing? With the mask?” Soap’s voice is so quiet that Ghost genuinely struggles to understand him.
Of course. Give Soap a chance to choose freely, and the first thing on his mind is getting Ghost off in the most insane way his cum-addled brain can conjure up.
“We are on duty and in the middle of a hot zone, and you want me to drop everything and sit on your face. You’re fucking unbelievable,” he says, as if he’s about to deny him, like the idea of it hasn’t settled down in the cradle of his hips, white-hot and pulsing.
If Soap is stupid enough to ask for it, then Ghost will be brutal enough to give it to him.
He drags the sole of his boot over Soap’s chest and down to his crotch, and he pushes down, hard enough to make Soap whimper in fear, but not enough to actually hurt him.
“Please!” he cries out, way too loud. Ghost shushes him.
“You have to stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”
Soap nods, and he seems to have regained some of his usual sense of bravery as he says, “I can, if you give me your mask.” He lets go of Ghost’s leg, and reaches up to remove his helmet, which is then thrown to the side, clattering to a stop somewhere behind them. An expectant hand is held up to Ghost, and Soap is looking at him with the biggest puppy eyes he can manage.
Ghost stands up straight with both feet planted on the ground, and he’s about to get his mask off when starts feeling slightly hesitant. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Aye, sir.”
“It’s going to feel awful.”
“That’s kind of part of the appeal.”
“You could get seriously hurt.” That’s the crux of it, now that Ghost thinks about it. He’s not sure how he feels about the Johnny-shaped weak spot that’s been blooming in his chest. It’s going to get him in trouble some day.
The haze in Soap’s eyes clears for a moment. He gently tugs at one of Ghost’s shirt sleeves, trying to coax him into moving. “I know that. Still, I want it. I– I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since we first… I just, I trust you,” he says.
“Alright,” Ghost sighs, “Don’t be a fucking idiot. If it starts feeling like too much, you’re telling me to stop. Immediately. That’s an order.” He softens a bit. “It will be really awkward if I have to tell Price that you drowned on land.”
Soap chuckles. “I swear I’m not being literal when I say I want to suffocate between your thighs. Now, you said I could pick, so I’m picking. Give me your fucking mask!”
Ghost’s helmet flies off into the office, together with his gloves, and he pulls the balaclava off, happy that he chose to wear one of the simple soft-shells today. He forgoes Soap’s open palm and kneels down next to him. His fingers slide into Soap’s matted down hair, feeling sweat and hair wax stick to his skin. “Lift your head up a bit,” Ghost says.
He does, and Ghost slips the mask over Soap’s face, leaving only his eyes visible. A small tuft of his mohawk is poking out, and Ghost tucks it underneath the cloth with the rest of it.
It’s a weird thing to see Soap masked up and out of combat. It’s slightly too big for his head, and it doesn’t quite fit him as a person. Being so reliant on Soap’s eyes, and only his eyes, to tell what’s happening with him makes Ghost wonder why the hell anyone puts up with it if this is what it’s like to be on the receiving end.
He leans down and places a kiss on each eyelid, and then he’s back on his feet, fumbling with his gear. It takes a moment to figure out which pieces he needs to unbuckle, but he eventually manages to pull his pants down. He leaves them dangling halfway down his shins, keeping his boots on in case all hell breaks loose and they need to move quickly.
Turns out that the warehouse is really cold, as Ghost has goosebumps breaking out on his bare legs. Soap looks warm, though.
Ghost drags two fingers through his slit, gathering up some of his slick and giving his dick a cursory rub, smiling wide when the action makes Soap groan.
He awkwardly shuffles himself around until he’s kneeling over Soap’s masked face. Soap wraps his arms around Ghost’s thighs, letting their fingers tangle together, and Ghost squeezes, waiting for Soap to squeeze back. He does, after a second or two.
Hooded eyes stare up at him expectantly. The excitement that’s thrumming though Soap is palpable enough that Ghost thinks he can feel it, and he’s surprised that Soap is able to be as still as he is.
Without further ado, Ghost lets his hamstrings relax and sinks down, resting as much of his weight as he dares on Soap’s face.
He wriggles his hips until he’s as spread out as he can be, the entirety of his cunt pushed onto Soap. He gives an experimental thrust. The material of the mask feels rough, almost unpleasant against his skin, and he worries that he might not be able to get off like this. But then his dick bumps up against Soap’s nose, and he lets out a sharp gasp.
In the middle of everything, Ghost had somehow failed to notice how turned on he is. His legs try to snap shut at the light touch, hindering his movements for a second as he rides out a violent shudder.
A tight squeeze to his hands is all the encouragement that he needs.
Ghost sets a fast pace. It doesn’t take long until the mask is covered in his slick, easing the slide until it feels weirdly similar to a tongue. A really big and rough tongue. Soap is making a steady stream of noise that gets muffled by the cloth, and sends delicious vibrations through Ghost’s cunt, making him clench up. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, focusing on the tingle that is building up in his stomach, until it suddenly sparks out of control and sends him over the edge. He turns his face into his arm and bites down to hold his scream back.
Soap is doing what he can to help Ghost through his orgasm, trying to suck at his fluttering hole through the mask, and squeezing their hands together in even pulses, until Ghost slumps forward against the wall.
“So fucking good for me, Johnny,” he gasps.
Ghost lifts his hips up just a bit, to see the viscous strings of his cum bridging the gap between their bodies. Soap looks completely gone, lashes clumped together in a mix of Ghost’s slick and his own overwhelmed tears. Out of pure curiosity, Ghost reaches behind him and paws at his cock. He finds it still hard, dry aside from a small wet spot, twitching up into his touch.Soap moans like he’s in pain.
Ghost could keep riding Soap’s face and wring a few more orgasms out of himself until Soap cums in his pants.
But that's not what Soap wants.
“Are you ready for it, Sergeant?”
Soap nods eagerly.
Ghost pulls his right hand from Soap’s grasp – he lets out a heart-breaking whine at the loss, despite his other hand still being kept safe in Soap’s death grip – and slides two fingers into his cunt. It’s his non-dominant hand, so his movements are somewhat janky, but he eventually manages to get a good rhythm going. The wet squelching is loud enough that Ghost’s starting to worry about attracting unwanted attention.
He shuts his eyes, letting himself sink into the sensation of his fingers sliding against his walls. He finds a spot that has his abs clenching up, and he hones in on it, slowly but surely building up to an explosive finish, riding that feeling where he can’t quite tell if he’s about to cum or piss himself.
There is a pressure against his dick that wasn’ there a second ago, but he separately recognizes the feeling of his mask, and the feeling of a tongue. The pressure becomes more persistent, and surrounds his cock, Soap doing everything he can to push him along so he can get his reward.
The pleasure peaks, and Ghost’s grip on Soap’s hand turns crushing to hold back the onslaught of noise that wants to seep out of him. He forces his fingers to keep moving and drag his orgasm out until he gets himself to gush, each thrust forcing more and more out of him. It slides down his wrist and soaks into the mask, gets it saturated enough that the cloth physically can’t hold anymore liquid and starts dripping onto the floor.
He rips his fingers out, when the overstimulation has him clenching up so much that it starts to hurt, and wipes his hand off on a mostly dry part of the mask up by Soap’s forehead.
Ghost feels all nice and lax, and wants to bask in the afterglow, but he needs to move fast if he’s going to be able to give Soap what he wants.
He uses his free hand to tilt Soap’s head back a bit, and pulls the mask away from his mouth.
“Take a deep breath, baby. It’s all you get,” Ghost croons. Soap follows orders, bulging his cheeks out to a comedic extent, and Ghost can’t help the fond look in his face. He slides the mask back into place, squeezes their hands together, and when he gets a responding clench, he sits back down. He readjusts his position until he’s sure that both Soap’s nose and mouth are being blocked off by the soaked mask that is being kept in place by Ghost’s cunt.
And then he waits.
Soap is still at first. It takes about thirty seconds before he starts squirming, and about twenty seconds later, Ghost feels the air burst out of Soap’s lungs. It’s cooled down by the wet fabric between them, and it soothes the reddened skin where is cunt has been rubbed raw.
Ghost starts rocking back and forth, sliding his dick against Soap’s nose every now and then. He’s not really looking to cum again, he’s not sure he can – he’s more interested in observing Soap’s reactions.
Soap’s eyes fly open, staring up at Ghost with an obscene mixture of fear and adoration. His free hand claws at Ghost's stomach, and Ghost growls at him when Soap tries to push him off. When it’s clear that he won’t stop on his own accord, Ghost grabs his wrist hard enough to bruise, pulls it up in the air and twists it until Soap shouts under him. His feet are scraping uselessly against the floor, and all that jostling only serves to create a tighter seal between Ghost’s cunt and the mask, and it’s not long before Soap’s nervous system forces him to take a breath.
The croaking gasp that comes out of Soap as he tries and fails to breathe is almost bad enough to make Ghost pull away, but a squeeze from Soap stops him.
He’s starting to thrash around in desperation, trying to get a shoulder wedge between Ghost’s legs to get the leverage he needs to throw him off. Soap doesn’t stand a chance against Ghost in a normal situation; now, weakened as he is by oxygen desperation, it’s completely pointless. There’s a sickening sense of pride to it all for Ghost; that in the face of certain death, his boy still refuses to give up and fights back. Even when the panicked movements will only kill him faster.
Soap’s body forces another breath, and this time Ghost can hear the wet rattle of liquid being dragged down his throat with it. What little air he might have left is used up in trying to get the water back out.
He seizes up, and his eyes roll back, flashing pure white under those fluttering eyelids. His head tilts back, straightening his throat out and accidentally making it easier for the liquid to drip down his trachea. Soon thereafter, his grip on Ghost’s hand disappears.
Ghost scrambles to get off of him, pulling the mask with him and throwing it away. It lands on the desk with a wet ‘splat’ as he pushes Soap onto his side. Soap starts coughing and dry heaving without any control, sending rivulets of spit dribbling down his chin.
“There you go, get it all out,” Ghost murmurs. He rubs soothing circles over Soap’s back, wracked with nerves as he listens to Soap’s hacking and rattling. His airways aren’t totally blocked up, otherwise he’d be dead by now, but there is no way of knowing the full extent of any damages until later.
Soap drags Ghost’s body into his own as soon as he regains control of his limbs, and he starts pounding his fists into his chest, so weak that it barely feels like anything. “I was just about to cum, you fucking asshole!” he sobs. His voice sounds terrible. His lower register is completely gone, like he’d been screaming the entire time, and there is no way that talking doesn’t hurt. The gasping sobs can only make it worse.
Soap is humping up against his thigh with uncoordinated movements, jeans scraping uncomfortably against Ghost’s sore cunt, and Ghost really wants to let him cum, but he needs to get Soap’s pants out of the way before they get ruined.
The cries he lets out when Ghost wrestles him onto his back are gut-wrenching. The lack of oxygen has left him needy and incoherent, like he’s not all there, and he can’t interpret Ghost’s actions as anything but rejection. He clings onto Ghost as if he’s going to walk out the door and never come back if he lets go.
They’re making far too much noise. If they’re found now, Soap will be completely defenseless. The smart thing to do would be to gag Soap and wait him out, and Ghost knows that he should, before they both get mowed down. But it would be beyond cruel to do that to Soap when he’s shaking apart in arms.
He cups Soap’s cheeks, ignoring the spit that sticks to his palms, and pushes their foreheads together, forcing Soap to look at him. “Hey, Johnny, I need you to listen to me. I don’t want you to make a mess, so you need to be good and let me take your pants off, and then you can cum, okay?”
Soap nods weakly. “‘m good,” he whispers, and relaxes.
“You’re perfect,” Ghost confirms. He rests his lips against a spot behind Soap’s ear as he makes quick work of his belt and zipper. “Now lift your hips for me, baby.”
Together they work Soap’s cock free from its confines, still hard despite everything, and Ghost moves them around so that Soap is lying half on top of him, with one of his legs trapped between Soap’s. His movement is restricted by his pants around his thighs, but Soap starts rutting as best he can, soaking patches of pre-cum into the hairs on Ghost’s thigh.
Soap mewls, mewls again, and Ghost guides his face into his neck, careful to not push too hard and potentially hinder his breathing. The endless stream of noises is muffled against his throat. Ghost can’t make out much of it; sobs, and thank you, and feels so good, and love you. Ghost nuzzles into Soap’s shoulder, whispers his own words of devotion and seals them into his skin with kisses.
When Soap cums, it’s explosive, like someone has reached inside of him and is now tugging it directly out of his cock in one long pull. It has him seizing up worse than when he was being choked.
They cling onto each other as he comes down, uncaring of the mess that’s smeared between their bodies. Soap actively makes it worse whenever another shudder wrings through him, and he wriggles up against Ghost to try and stop it.
For the first time in a while, Ghost listens in on their surroundings. He finds that they’re still alone, aside from the very distant sound of a helicopter. He’s clearly not the only one who hears, as Soap is pushing himself up and pressing a kiss to the corner of Ghost’s lips before he gets on his feet.
While Soap looks around the room in search of something to wipe away the worst of the mess with, Ghost sits back against the wall and stares at his ass, completely shameless. He chuckles when Soap starts swaying his hips.
“Does watching me stumble around with my pants around my ankle do it for ya, Lt?” he asks, and his voice is so fucking ruined it’s almost unreal.
“Not really. I think I just like you,” Ghost replies.
After cleaning himself and fixing his clothes, Soap returns triumphant to Ghost's side with some sort of table cloth in hand. He uses a clean corner to wipe down Ghost’s thighs. Most of the cum has already dried into the leg hair, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Thank you for letting me have that,” Soap mumbles as he fruitlessly tries to clean Ghost up, eyes firmly locked on his hands. “I know I can be… a lot sometimes, and–”
Ghost sighs, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. “Johnny, I didn’t just do that to you out of the good of my heart, y’know? I liked it, so stop acting like this was some grand act of self-sacrifice on my part, because it really wasn’t.” He carefully butts their heads together.
The action makes Soap smile a little, and he shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, we’re both freaks. I get it.”
—
They’re getting ready to leave again. As they gather up their gear and ensure that the shipping manifestos they came here for are safely tucked away, Ghost turns around and finds Soap holding his ruined mask. There’s a wild look in his eyes that Ghost feels the need to put a stop to, before whatever is building up inside Soap’s head gets out of hand.
“Hey, what should we do with this?” Soap asks, holding it up to Ghost’s face.
“Leave it.”
“But–”
“I said leave it.”
“C’mon, Simon…”
“If I let you bring it back, am I going to end up finding it in your room later, with even more stains on it?”
Soap has nothing to say. The flush on his cheeks is enough of an answer.
Ghost smirks, and pats Soap on the shoulder. “Put it down, sergeant.”
Soap lets it drop back to the floor with a disappointed sigh.
“Good boy,” Ghost says. He thinks for a second, and then adds, “I can give you a clean one when we get back to base.”
Soap’s responding grin is incandescent.