Archive of Our Own

The air inside the train car was oppressive and stifling, made worse by the hot air flowing through the open windows. London was plagued by another raging summer heatwave, making everything unbearable. Not like Ghost wasn’t used to it. He’d been subjected to harsher conditions. But still, he preferred to have some comfort, especially since they weren’t on a mission. They were on the way to a briefing for one, though.

Ghost had been partnered with Soap, and this mission was some clandestine two-man job, completely off the books. Ghost figured it would be an assassination. So it annoyed him when he found out he was partnered with someone when everybody and their mother knew he could perfectly do the job on his own. It annoyed him even more when he found out it was Soap who was going with him.

Sergeant John MacFuckingTavish.

He found the lad somewhat annoying, extremely mouthy, and just a little too optimistic about life for his liking. Granted, Soap was a lot younger than him and probably needed more bullets to dodge and kill counts to add to his dossier before he truly understood what being in the military was like. This mission would be a field exercise for him, then.

But what really bothered Ghost—something that he wouldn’t ever tell another living soul—was that he knew about the sergeant’s infatuation with him. Of all people, MacTavish, Ghost thought wryly.

Did Ghost reciprocate? Of course not. But he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t like the attention. Soap was attractive, could have anybody he wanted, and yet chose Ghost to be the subject of his flagrant desires. The man wasn’t subtle, and Ghost didn’t know how long he could play off acting disinterested. That fact made him irrationally angry. He wasn’t supposed to be dicking around while on the job, especially with his subordinate. But there was a ticking bomb inside him that would explode one day if Soap kept his persistence. How Ghost longed to put the fucker in his place, show him exactly who he belonged to.

Soap was installed on a seat nearby Ghost, who stood like a sentinel on the back wall by the doors. He preferred to have an unobstructed view of their surroundings, just in case things went awry. He was also avoiding a lengthy chatter from Soap, who looked bored, tapping his trainers on the floor and fiddling with his phone. His sly glances at Ghost didn’t go unnoticed, though, even if Ghost pretended not to see them.

More people piled inside the cramped space, bodies further radiating heat. Of course, it was rush hour. Of course, Price deemed it a sensible time for them to meet. Ghost regretted not taking a car instead. But here they were, too late to change route.

A jolt as the train began to move. Ghost’s back slammed on the wall behind him. He steadied himself and leaned his head back, a relieved exhale escaped his nostrils, knowing that they were finally on their way. Time deducted from this hellish trip.

It was as uncomfortable as it could be; the heat was practically boiling them alive. Sweat pooled in Ghost’s armpits. His t-shirt underneath his hoodie stuck to his wet chest and back. So it might have been ridiculous that Ghost still wore a black hoodie in the middle of a heatwave, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice his anonymity for comfort. He did forgo the skull-print balaclava in favor of a nondescript black surgical mask. They were in public, and he didn’t want to have to deal with the authorities because he looked suspicious.

He glanced over at Soap, who was dressed a little more in line with the weather. It wasn’t something appropriate; the bastard arrived wearing a muscle tee and sweatpants. The large armholes revealed the muscles on his ribs, his toned arms, and prominent biceps. If Soap leaned forward, Ghost could catch a peep of his chest or a hint of a nipple. His skin was covered in a thin film of sweat. Ghost wondered what it would taste like.

Fucking hell.

He shook his head to make himself snap out of it. This bloody heat was already affecting his cognitive reasoning. Maybe he was finally going crazy.

How long until this fucking train ride ends? Ghost thought irritably.

The train halted to a stop. People piled out and people piled in. In the midst of it, Soap had decided to get up from the luxury of his seat and stand next to the pole near Ghost, one arm up, hand clutching the handrail. It offered Ghost an optimal view of his armpit. The thick, dark hair glistened with perspiration, along with rivulets that trickled down his sides. It was mesmerizing to watch.

The little show abruptly ended when a tired-looking woman stood in between them, oblivious to the pantomime she had just interrupted. Which, to Ghost, offered relief. If he stared any longer, he would’ve sported a half-mast. Not the ideal place to get a hard on—there were too many people and it was too bright. Was he seriously considering doing something lewd with Soap inside this damn train if it ever came to it? Ghost stifled a laugh. The heat was surely messing up his thinking. That and the fact that it had been forever since…

…since he had gotten laid. 

Too long that he could barely remember. And here was his sergeant flaunting his body, practically screaming for Ghost to take advantage of it.

But no. Ghost had decided he wouldn’t give in too easily. He wanted to watch Soap squirm. Beg out of desperation. He wanted to see just how far the lad would go for his attention.

And so he did nothing. Stood stock still as the train began to move, back to the wall, watching people get jostled by the inertia. Soap especially. He nearly crashed into the woman between them before catching himself. This time, he had two arms up, one on the handrail, another on the pole.

The hot air from the windows blew a whiff of scent over to Ghost’s direction. It stank of bodies, diesel fuel, dust, and fumes, but there was one scent most notable. A combination of sweat, musk, and Soap’s three-day-old cologne that had marinated on his skin. Ghost would recognize that smell anywhere. Did the bastard forget to shower?

Suppressing the rush of heat about to go down his groin, Ghost looked upward, hoping the dull beige of the roof would calm his atomic nerves. His back pressed even further into the wall, sweat permeating from his soaked shirt and hoodie into the fiber-reinforced plastic. Any more, and he might have broken it, but Soap needed to stop flaunting around. Almost as if he were doing it on purpose. Was he doing it on purpose?

After getting himself together, Ghost’s eyes instinctively went in Soap’s direction the moment he looked down. The sergeant was already looking at him. The jovial expression on his fucking face made Ghost’s blood boil. Still, he didn’t budge. Just stared at Soap, hoping his eyes conveyed enough displeasure for the lad to turn away, to go look at something else.

It only made matters worse. For some reason, Soap took that as an invitation for conversation.

“Holding up alright. Lt.?”

Ghost grunted.

Soap nodded and then smiled. Flashing his pearly whites in full force like Ghost’s response was the most reassuring thing he’d heard. The smile was nearly blinding, and it took everything in Ghost not to blink.

The air blasted over his direction again, carrying the same smell with it. Ghost was unable to help himself. He inhaled slowly, allowing every particle of the scent to glaze his nostrils and shoot straight into his brain. Soap’s sweaty fucking armpits. It made him short-circuit. That awful combination of days-old cologne and body odor that was uniquely Soap’s. Ghost blanked out for a hot minute.

“You good, Lt.?” Soap’s gruff voice brought him back to the present.

“Yeah. Why?” Ghost responded dryly. If he acted like nothing was wrong, then nothing was wrong.

“Thought you passed out there for a minute. Was about to get ready to catch you in case you fell.”

Ghost looked at the poor woman in front of him, who eyed them both warily. She looked like she was contemplating moving away. It was fair, who would want a hundred-kilogram epitome of the Grim Reaper to crush them to death when all they wanted was to get home on a busy Thursday evening?

“I’m fine, Soap,” Ghost said quietly before turning his head to look out the window, watching everything flash by in blurry diagonal lines.

The train halted once more. Another stop, but still far from theirs. Of course, Price had to pick the fuck middle of nowhere for this meeting. Ghost wondered how he would’ve fared if they had driven there instead. Stuck inside a vehicle with Soap smelling like that in the passenger seat? Probably worse.

The woman had removed herself from between them and was making her way out of the car. Good for her, then. But before someone else managed to get ahold of the free space, Soap wrangled himself into the spot the woman had vacated. Which put him right in front of Ghost. His body was leaning on the pole, and one arm was still up holding onto the rail. An armpit in full view of Ghost.

Ghost’s eyes trailed from it slowly to Soap’s bicep, then his shoulder, then his sweaty neck, and finally, to those cold ocean blues. They held eyes. Even though he was caught ogling, Ghost refused to stir. The pleased expression on Soap’s face conveyed that he wanted to be ogled. That he wanted to catch Ghost at it.

Wordlessly, Soap adjusted his position so that he was facing Ghost directly. Parallel. And made matters worse by lifting his arm higher on the pole, so there were not one, but two hairy, sweaty armpits in Ghost’s line of vision.

The searing, muggy air intensified. How Ghost was dying to remove the goddamned hoodie. He was drenched in sweat underneath, but pride held him back. He just stood there, like a sentry with his expressionless eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, dangerously reaching his eyebrow. He still resolved to stay put, not to let Soap have it. The worst thing would be the bastard confirming that he did have an effect on Ghost.

Drip, drip, drip.
Down, down, down.

The bead of sweat made it past Ghost’s eyebrow, now on his eyelid. A little more and it would go straight into his eye.

“Pretty hot in here, huh, Lt.? Wonder how you survive with that jacket on.”

“What?”

Soap subtly pointed at his forehead. “You’re sweating like a racehorse, sir.”

Ghost huffed and wiped off his eye before the sweat got in and did its damage. “I’m used to this, Johnny.”

“Well, am not. So obviously I opted to wear something more appropriate.”

Unbelievable. He did not just slyly invite Ghost to look at his arms and the sides of his torso again. The fucking tease.

“Good for you, then, Johnny,” Ghost said plainly and looked away. Lead me not into temptation, or whatever that prayer said.

It only lasted so long. The train paused once more at another stop. Inertia in full force had Soap falling onto him. Soap’s soaked t-shirt against his own, his nose against Ghost’s collarbones, the smell of his hair gel. He could’ve sworn Soap lingered on the spot longer than he had to. He could’ve sworn he felt Soap inhale deeply against his shoulder. The torturous seconds ticked by, and soon enough, Soap pried himself off Ghost, sporting a sheepish look on his face.

“Sorry, Lt.,” Soap smiled, trying to appear embarrassed but failing. There was a hint of victory in his eyes. Ghost figured this wouldn’t be the only time Soap would shoot his shot. He had to brace himself for an assault.

“It’s fine, Soap,” Ghost assured him.

Passengers moved in and out. The train car was perpetually full. Once the doors closed, it lurched violently, this time causing Soap to slam full-body onto Ghost—chest to chest, groin to groin, thigh to thigh. Muscle memory had Ghost spread his legs just wide enough to accommodate Soap’s thigh in between them.

Well fuck, guess they were doing this now.

The temperature rose with Soap’s body heat on him. It was so cramped that there was nowhere else to move. They were stuck like this.

Soap had his right arm braced on the wall just by the side of Ghost’s head. Neither looked at each other, but Ghost could feel Soap pressing his body further as the speed picked up, practically leaning his entire body weight on Ghost.

A few moments later, Ghost felt it. It was subtle, almost imaginary, but it was there—the friction of Soap’s crotch rubbing against his. Possibly testing his reaction. He could’ve sworn Soap was hard. Because he was starting to stiffen up.

Ghost did nothing, said nothing. And that seemed to make Soap more brazen because he did it again, but with more force this time, clearly grinding against him. Making Ghost feel his hard cock.

This horny fucking bastard, Ghost thought. But he was also too fired up to let Soap stop.

So he still said nothing. 

And without Ghost uttering a word to stop him, Soap just got bolder and bolder, rubbing against him with more pressure, breath panting as he practically straddled Ghost’s thigh. He was discreet, though, and knew how to move where it hit just the right spot in a way that wasn’t obvious. Ghost could only hope nobody dared to look their way.

A huff of breath against Ghost’s neck as their bulges rubbed against each other. The friction of Ghost’s jeans against Soap’s sweats was pure delirium. Ghost adjusted so Soap could get full access. He still kept silent, but he hoped MacTavish got the hint.

MacTavish did get the hint because he slowly gyrated his hips, hitting that angle perfectly. It made Ghost shiver beneath the torrent of perspiration. 

Cold sweat and the deep musk in the stifling air.

Pushing his boundaries further, Soap pressed his body heavily onto Ghost, moving along with his hips. Ensured that his scent attached itself to Ghost. Marking him up.

Tsk tsk, you’re playing a dangerous game here, Johnny.

The arm moved higher and closer to Ghost’s face, glistening tanned skin with dark hair and hints of scars. This time, Ghost was unable to help it. He turned his head, nose near Soap’s armpit, and inhaled deeply. He stank of body odor, but to Ghost, it smelled divine. How he wanted to bury his face into the crook of Soap’s armpit and stay there, but he settled for subtly dragging his cheek against his bicep instead. The unwashed musk plus the remnants of his cologne smelled so utterly manly, Ghost felt like he was about to lose his sanity. Right there in the garish glare of fluorescent lights and a crowd full of civilians. Who would’ve thought this was where Ghost would be finally brought down?

The train careened to a stop again, pushing Soap fully against him, their cocks pressing hard against one another’s. Soap let out a grunt.

“Ssh,” Ghost whispered as the people around them moved while they remained static. “Keep it down.”

Then he cupped his large palm on Soap’s ass cheek and squeezed. Another grunt. Ghost pushed Soap’s ass further into him as he watched people file in and out and take their places inside the train.

“Steady,” he said.

Soap looked like he was about to lose it. He leaned his forehead against Ghost’s neck, hot breath on the small patch of exposed skin.

Ghost kept his hand firm on Soap’s ass, static, just keeping their groins compressed.

Something warm and wet caressed his neck. Ghost realized it was Soap’s tongue, sneaking a lick. Goosebumps rose all over his skin, and he could hear a low, satisfied chuckle. The bastard was proud of himself.

Ghost wanted to retaliate, but his choices were limited due to their situation. Instead, he let himself bask in it. He squeezed Soap’s ass again, more sensuously, kneading the meat of his butt. He could tell Soap wasn’t wearing any underwear. Ghost wondered how good their chances were to go unnoticed if he slipped a hand inside the waistband.

His racy thoughts were disrupted by the train moving. Physics did them both a favor by forcefully shoving their groins against each other once more, both hard as rocks and begging for the pressure. Soap let out a sharp exhale as his lips rested on Ghost’s shoulder. Out came his tongue again, licking the salt off his neck.

The car was jam-packed now more than earlier. They were like crushed sardines, impossible to move. Ghost surveyed the nearby area. Everyone else seemed busy looking at their phones, nodding off, staring blankly into space, anything but focusing on them.

Ghost decided to take a risk.

Gingerly, he trailed the tips of his fingers alongside Soap’s moist ribs, slowly, making sure to feel every taut muscle, the ridges along his sides, the planes of his abdomen, and up, up, up until he reached Soap’s chest. He ran a finger under his pectoral and then found the nipple. He began his vicious attack. Thumb and forefinger squeezed the nipple softly, plucking it over and over until it was tender.

Soap was now quivering against him, breath hitched, and struggling to compose himself. But that was where the fun was—suppressing their bodily reactions, the sly exhibitionism, the secret unfolding amid unsuspecting people, the thrill of getting away with it. Pleasure constrained, withheld, controlled. Like slowly descending into madness.

At that moment, it was all hazy heat and lost inhibitions. The need to push things further. It simply wasn’t enough. Soap took another shot, letting go of the pole and bracing his left hand on the other side of Ghost’s head. He tilted his arm so that his armpit faced Ghost, inviting him again for a whiff.

Ghost would never deny himself that. He closed in and huffed. Fuck me, he thought. He held on to the scent for as long as he could. If only he could bottle it up. Soap definitely did not shower; deliberately made himself steep in his own stink for days. For what? Ghost didn’t know, but it was obvious Soap had an agenda.

And the agenda was fucking working. Soap’s stink and sweat melded into Ghost’s own. He pressed closer, and Ghost’s breath hitched, still gyrating in those minuscule, nearly imperceptible movements, grinding their cocks harder, the friction more tangible. Ghost savored it all. This was practically worship; he knew how much Soap had longed for this moment. It felt only right to indulge the lad.

And Soap took. He took what he could. His bare arm hooked around Ghost’s shoulder and neck, the hollow of his armpit directly on Ghost’s chest. And the bastard rubbed hard. Armpit grazing his nipple through the drenched clothing. Soap rubbed it some more, and more, and more until all that occupied Ghost’s brain was the feeling of Soap on him and his stench.

Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he was this turned on.

“Marking me up, Johnny?” Ghost murmured while his right hand trailed down Soap’s abdomen and then his hip, fingers playing with the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Had to stake a claim on what’s mine,” Soap replied, confidence off the roof.

Ghost huffed, fingers now slowly breaching the waistband, immediately meeting coarse hair.

“Really now?” Ghost teased as his fingers eased down, down, down…

Until they met Soap’s hard shaft, wet and leaking. The movement made Soap swallow a grunt.

“Fuck, Lt.”

A devilish look sparked in Ghost’s brown eyes. How he wanted to see Soap lose control. In public. Finish what he started.

“Come closer,” Ghost instructed.

Soap obeyed and pressed his body against Ghost’s until he couldn’t go any further. They appeared to be one entity now. Any more and they would have absorbed one another.

“Don’t make a sound. Can you do that?” Ghost whispered into Soap’s neck.

A loud gulp, followed by a nod.

“I can’t hear you, sergeant.”

Soap inhaled sharply through his nose.

“Yes, sir,” he affirmed on the exhale, his voice all ragged.

The effect I have on you, Ghost thought smugly, with a hint of affection. How he wanted to take Soap down. How he wanted to teach him a lesson. Claim what’s his? Did he not know? Did he not have an inkling whatsoever? Soap was owned long before he even knew it. The moment he first started looking at Ghost in that way, it was over. Soap had lost. They both had lost.

Now was the time to finally let go and take what’s rightfully theirs. The feeling was mutual. So what the hell were they waiting for?

The heat made everything hazy, dreamlike, surreal. Like Ghost wasn’t a hundred percent sure if what was happening was actually happening. He felt high, without even having taken his pain medication. The claustrophobic space and suffocating air, plus the crushing proximity of Soap and his fucking days-old stench, felt like a drug that assaulted his brain. This was it. No time to waste.

He firmly grasped Soap’s hard, aching cock in his hand, thumb spreading the wetness from the tip, and began slow, jerking movements.

Up, down. Up, down. Up, down.

Just a tease, nothing full on yet. They were still in public, and he wanted to draw it out as long as possible. Soap just about collapsed against him, one hand crawling to Ghost’s head for purchase, breaths heavy and sweating fervently. Oh, he was fucking gone, Ghost figured. He knew he had to take charge. Remind Soap who really belonged to whom. For him to fold this easily after being so cocksure was truly amusing.

Ghost grabbed Soap’s left wrist from the side of his head and slowly put it under his t-shirt, allowing Soap to feel the skin and scars, and hard muscles underneath a layer of fat. Subtly, he murmured, “Touch whatever you want.”

Soap’s hand wasted no time. Slowly roving against the skin he had now been permitted to touch. His fingers squeezed and felt every ridge of Ghost’s ribs, the grooves of his abs, the soft tummy, the trail of hair on his belly button, up his sternum, then to his chest, and the muscles of his pecs. Soap gave a hard squeeze, then another, and another.

“Jesus,” Soap breathed.

Ghost responded by moving his hand inside Soap’s sweatpants. The jerking was more consistent now, with longer strokes, but still at that brutal, slow pace to avoid attracting obvious attention. They were caught in their own little bubble, impervious to the world around them, and Ghost would like to keep it that way.

Soap’s hand snaked up even further after having his way with his chest. Up and to the right, fingers digging in the crook, wanting access to his coveted prize. Ghost raised his arm slightly to give the wriggly hand what it wanted—his armpit. Soap immediately clasped his hand on the hollow of Ghost’s armpit, rough hand spread to cover the entire area, fingers fiddling with the sweat-drenched hair. He let Soap have his way with him, knowing that’s what he wanted badly.

Truth be told, it made Ghost smug to see just how wrecked Johnny was over him. He knew this would complicate things. A lot. He wasn’t even sure if he could rightly reciprocate the feelings. Feelings—bloody hell, that was a good one. Unfortunately for both of them, Ghost had an extremely complicated, practically nonexistent relationship with it. It had taken him years to remove it from his system, and he didn’t think he was about to start now.

But Ghost was also a selfish man and thought he deserved a few nice things once in a while. Sex and pleasures of the flesh? That he couldn’t say no to. Why the fuck would he? It would be just that between him and Soap—just sex. What could go wrong? Besides, he was pretty sure that’s all Soap wanted from him anyway. To get his seemingly unattainable lieutenant to fuck his brains out. Wreck him. And Ghost would be mad to deny them both that.

Soft light filtered through the windows, and Ghost was on fire. Especially with the low, discreet moans Johnny was spewing as he continued to jerk him off. Right there in public, the thrill of possibly getting caught. The train car was still cramped, though Ghost noticed the people around them had changed. When had they stopped? He couldn’t remember, nor did he care.

All he wanted was this—his and Soap’s bodies pressed together tightly in a corner, close enough to be as one. Johnny’s humid breaths on his neck, the wet slap of his tongue on his skin, his hand gripping his armpit like his life depended on it. Ghost’s hand was moving masochistically on Soap’s cock, his precum smeared all over his hand. If they couldn’t physically be joined together, if they couldn’t fuck right at this moment, then this was the closest they could get to sex. Perhaps this was even more intimate. The thought made Ghost’s cock throb.

He wanted more, and he could tell from the look in Soap’s eyes that the lad did too.

Suddenly, Ghost removed his hand from Soap’s sweatpants, pulled down his mask, and spat on his hand while pretending to cough. Soap looked betrayed for a millisecond before he figured out what Ghost was doing. He then pulls out a shit-eating grin along with mischievous eyes. Ghost smirked back at him.

If Soap wanted to play, then they would play. Once his palm was soaked enough, he quickly shoved it back inside Soap’s sweats and resumed jerking him off, with no warning, a move so smooth not even Soap noticed until his hips twitched of their own volition and his knees gave out. Luckily, Ghost was there to catch him. He began letting out moans that were getting a little too loud for comfort.

“Ssh, keep it down, Soap,” Ghost ordered, low and raspy as he squeezed the head of Soap’s cock just so, watching his eyes roll backward and mouth fall open. He saw his chance. Ghost leaned slightly forward, pulled down the mask once more, and dribbled spit inside Soap’s waiting mouth, resumed jerking his dick like it was nothing while the once loudmouth of a sergeant was practically quivering against him.

More precum oozed from the tip along with Ghost’s saliva, making the slide up and down wet and perfect. The union of their bodily fluids felt akin to actual sex—Ghost’s spit and Soap’s precum. Anytime soon, and it would be his hot, sticky cum.

Ghost’s brain buzzed, now dead set on one track—to make Soap come. Eyes hard on his sergeant, he pumped his fist fast and reckless. Soap inched closer and bracketed his thigh against Ghost’s to hide the mischief going on inside his sweats. His hips jerked erratically, and Ghost had to hold him still. “Stay put,” he commanded. Soap whimpered in response. Fucking hell, if he knew Soap would lose it, he wouldn’t have indulged him. Well, not here at least. Somewhere private. But the man was ballsy, flirting first, advancing first, only for him to be reduced to putty in Ghost’s hands. He couldn’t say he didn’t find it highly exhilarating.

The blissed-out look on Soap’s face was a marvel quite like no other. Half-lidded eyes, blinking furiously, mouth slightly ajar, letting out huffs of breath, beads of sweat all over his forehead, down his neck. Ghost wanted to devour him. Tear him apart. Wreck him so good that he’d want nobody else but Ghost.

But Soap was getting sloppy, sagging against Ghost and trembling. They could not be found out. They were lucky the people squished next to them were looking elsewhere, or were too tired to pay attention. But Ghost didn’t want to risk it. He had to control the situation, just so they could keep doing what they were doing in secret. There was something intolerably erotic about getting away with fornicating in public.

A man on a mission, Ghost hoisted Soap up so he was standing properly, the hand inside his sweats not wavering, still keeping its brutal pace. Soap looked at him with pleading eyes—end the torture and grant him bliss—and muttered, “Please.”

Ghost’s only response was an imperceptible nod, brown eyes warming up to the idea of making Soap lose it. Of getting to witness Soap lose it.

After this, you’re mine.

His hand quickened, and Soap’s face slumped against his neck, mouth open and drooling on the neckline of his t-shirt. He tapped Soap on the bicep, signaling to adjust the arm around his neck so that Ghost could get full access to his armpit. It was glistening with sweat, hit by the soft sunlight through the train window, the strong odor assailing Ghost’s olfactory senses, even with the mask on. He felt like passing out, but he managed to control himself. Then, he positioned Soap’s thigh smack in the middle of his groin, pressure uncannily perfect. His hand slowed down, but it still had Soap gasping on his neck.

Then, without warning, he sped up his strokes, brutal and incessant, and shoved his face into the crook of Soap’s sweaty, smelly armpit, breathing long and hard. Ghost felt like he ascended to another plane of existence as Soap trembled against him, warm and moist cum spurting from his cock all over Ghost’s hand. The thigh pressed hard, and soon enough, Ghost was spilling all over inside his jeans, with Soap’s muscular thigh rubbing back and forth until it hurt.

They both stayed that way for some time. Who knew how long had passed? Ghost didn’t have it in him to care. Not when his face was shoved in his sergeant’s armpit, not when they were both shaking, coming down from what was a mind-blowing orgasm. Not when Soap was spent and pressed against his chest, huffing erratically on his neck. This was a moment that neither wanted to kill by being too aware of the reality around them.

But Ghost was not satisfied. He tried to clamp down the feeling, but it kept rising like an evil, antagonistic snake. He knew he needed to figure something out.

When they finally got their bearings, Soap slowly peeled away from him, disbelieving, and at the same time, impressed at what they just pulled off. He gave Ghost a snicker with those devious blue eyes.

That was it, then, Ghost decided. Price can fucking wait.

Each man surreptitiously fixed themselves up. Straightening their shirts, their jeans, and sweatpants, Ghost licking Soap’s cum off his fingers before adjusting his mask. Soap stared wide-eyed at him while he did it.

Bloody hell, MacTavish, it’s just some cum.

Ghost just shot him a knowing look.

Looking around, they both noticed the passengers next to them were now different people, and that the space was wider now. They must have stopped at a station and changed passengers, and neither of them had any clue.

The light was different now, too. That warm glow just before the sun began to descend. It brought on an unsettling strangeness. Ghost felt more alert, more awake, like anything was possible. The fluorescent lighting was even brighter, nearly blinding. Of course, that could just be his wildly beating heart and his brain all out of sorts. Still reeling from coming in his pants like a schoolboy. Fucking Soap.

The lad was still sweating buckets. Breathing out through his mouth, panting and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He tried to act indifferent through the rest of the ride, but the glances he kept stealing at Ghost said otherwise.

Oh. So Soap wasn’t done yet either. Glad they came to a consensus with that.

Eventually, they reached their stop. The people around them were scarcer. Ghost motioned for Soap to exit the car. Soap followed obediently.

They walked inside the clinical-looking train station. White tiles with bright overhead lights, people coming in and out, walking like mindless zombies, desperate to get to where they needed to go.

Turning a corner, Ghost saw a sign for the toilets. He quickly grabbed Soap’s hand and pulled him along. 

Hurriedly, they barged into the toilets. One person was just about to leave, saw Ghost’s expression and hurried off.

They were alone now. Good.

Ghost locked the door and then hastily pulled Soap inside one of the cubicles.

A confused look graced his face. Silently asking a question.

Ghost refrained from answering. Soap could figure it out. First, he removed the suffocating hoodie, allowing Soap to see more of his skin—the tattoos on his left arm, his neck, his wet, dirty blond hair. He then unbuckled his belt, followed by the sound of his jeans unzipping. Soap stood behind him, fidgeting, the unsteady energy radiating hard enough that Ghost could feel it permeate through his skin.

With one hand on his cock, he aimed it at the toilet bowl and let go. The loud torrent of piss he’d been holding for the latter part of the train ride was finally released. The relief he got from it was palpable. Leaning his head back, Ghost groaned. He could feel Soap’s eyes boring on the back of his neck. He took pity on the poor fuck—end his misery and give him something to do.

With his free hand, Ghost reached behind and felt for Soap’s hand, immediately finding it. He then guided it toward his groin and clasped it over his dick. The motion brought Soap closer, chest on his back, short, heavy gasps right by his cheek. The temperature inside the cubicle rose several degrees. It was hot, fevered. Soap’s hand was trembling, but he didn’t let go.

“That’s it, Johnny,” Ghost murmured as he leaned his head back to rest on Soap’s shoulder and continued to piss.

Soap just huffed a short laugh.

An impulsive thought crossed Ghost’s mind, and he was already in motion before time ran out or he changed his mind.

The struggle to control his bladder and hold in his piss was monumental. He knew he had to be quick.

Ghost grabbed Soap and maneuvered him to sit on the toilet. Before Soap figured out what was happening, Ghost had one large hand on his jaw, the fuzz of his five o’clock shadow was electric, sending shivers up Ghost’s spine. He then pried Soap’s mouth open and shoved his cock inside before he could protest.

The way Soap’s eyes widened when Ghost let go and resumed pissing inside his mouth was memorable. Soap couldn’t budge. Ghost’s hand was unyielding on his jaw, holding it firm.

The warm liquid filling up Soap’s hot mouth felt unreal, and the lad had no choice but to swallow unless he wanted to choke. Some piss dribbled off the side of Soap’s mouth, and it just sent Ghost on overdrive. How he wanted to fuck his throat silly. His sergeant looked beautiful, debauched like that. How Ghost didn’t want to stop.

He had emptied his bladder, but Soap lapping his tongue on the underside of Ghost’s cock seemed like a signal that Soap didn’t want to stop either.

That was when Ghost lost all semblance of control. He grabbed Soap’s mohawk with his free hand and began pumping his hips. Slow and hard at first, wanting to feel the wet drag of Soap’s mouth and bruising his throat going back in. He did it with extra force, hard enough that Soap gurgled each time his tip made contact with Soap’s throat. It went on that way for several moments, and then Ghost unleashed his brutality.

He quickened his pace, steady, and controlled, fast and hard, making sure to batter Soap’s throat. No mercy shown. Soap’s eyes were near bulging, and his face was turning scarlet.

“You can keep up, soldier,” Ghost reassured him, then thrust hard once more, causing Soap to lurch forward and grab his ass for support.

From there, it was madness. Soap’s nails dug hard into the meat of Ghost’s ass while he relentlessly fucked Soap’s face, groaning loudly inside the locked bathroom.

Soap, the cheeky fuck, had half a mind to sneakily crawl one hand between his ass crack, finger caressing his hole, before going further underneath to press on his taint. Ghost’s vision whitened out for a split second from the pressure, then the hand was fondling his balls.

“You bastard,” was all he could say as he fucked Soap’s throat harder. His sergeant might lose his voice, but he didn’t care. The fucker’s blue eyes squinted in what appeared to be a self-assured smirk, at least that was all he could do to let Ghost know that he was proud of his antic while his face was stuffed full of cock.

“Keep at it,” Ghost ordered.

He was close. Try as he might, he knew he wouldn’t last long with the way Soap was reciprocating. Several hard thrusts, Soap’s hand jostling from the force and going back to bury his fingers on his crack, one crisp ‘fuck you,’ out of Ghost’s mouth, and he comes undone. Coming violently inside Soap’s mouth, spray painting his bruised throat with his viscous cum. Ghost groaned throughout it all, nearly blacking out from the sensation.

He had to brace himself on the walls of the toilet once he was done, once he’d emptied his balls inside Soap’s pliant mouth. It felt like landing back from a different dimension. He was panting heavily. Ghost realized he hadn’t come that good nor that long in… well, he couldn’t remember. A very long time ago, perhaps. Maybe never. Maybe this was the first time. Maybe only Soap could ever elicit this feeling from him.

Ghost reeled from the revelation but still attempted to keep a semblance of control. He released Johnny and watched him swallow. That made Ghost’s heart skip a beat. Some of the cum dribbled on his chin, and Ghost unthinkingly swiped it with his finger and brought it to Soap’s fucked out lips. He didn’t hesitate to suck Ghost’s finger, tongue lingering longer than it needed to.

Ghost caressed his cheek when he pulled his finger out, lost for words to say. So he said nothing, hoping his eyes conveyed enough.

They both quietly sort themselves out. Making sure they were presentable. Soap washed his mouth on the sink while Ghost had had enough and ripped off his mask, then splashed water on his face.

He caught Soap staring at him in the mirror. It made him feel disquieted. He didn’t like being watched, though it seemed absurd considering what they had just done. It still didn’t stop Ghost from mumbling a ‘what?’

A snicker and a shake of the head was all the answer he got. Then followed by a look that could only be described as sultry, wanting. Like Soap was seducing him for more. The insatiable bastard.

Before Ghost could retort, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Price. He hurriedly answered the call and informed Price of their current whereabouts, and ‘yes, yes, we’re on the way.’

Ghost rolled his eyes as he hung up and put his phone in his pocket. Both men did final checks to make sure they looked somewhat normal, and totally did nothing sexual with one another, despite being drenched in sweat and now body odor. But they could blame that on the weather and on Price for choosing such a far location to meet.

Soap kept giving him sinful looks on their way out of the bathroom, and as Ghost unlocked the door, he turned around and faced Soap, leaned down and whispered in his ear, breath hot, “You just wait until this bloody meeting is over.”

Soap’s breath hitched.

Ghost continued, “I’m going to fuck you up.”