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Ghost_inWaiting: I want to die. I can't do it myself - I've tried, and I pull through every time. I need someone who can do this for me. Someone who makes sure I don't make it. I'm willing to sign anything, put it all into writing, and give explicit consent in advance. I want this. Please, let me die.
SoapEater: Are you willing to suffer?
Ghost_inWaiting: Whatever you want. As long as it ends. Are you willing to kill me?
SoapEater: And more.
Ghost_inWaiting: It's a date.
[THREAD HAS BEEN CLOSED BY A MODERATOR]
"Come here often?"
Ghost looks up from his spot on the park bench, eyes dragging slow over the man who approached him. Muscled, friendly-looking, a little too manic with his opening line. He tilts his head, taking in the blue of his eyes, the uneven curl of his mouth as he gives Ghost a winning smile, the subtle flex in his fingers like the jaws of a trap just waiting to snap around some poor defenseless animal's leg.
"Often enough," Ghost replies; the response they agreed on in the forums. He gestures for the man - 'Soap' - to sit across from him, idly toying with his phone as Soap slides into place easy as anything. In all his life Ghost has become very good at sniffing out bad intentions - predators have a musk, a scent they simply can't hide no matter how perfumed and primped and polite they are.
And Soap reeks of it.
He folds his hands together on the picnic bench, knee jogging restlessly up and down as he watches Ghost, and Ghost observes him. Soap tilts his head. "Why the mask?"
"When I go missing," Ghost replies, "they won't know where I was last seen."
The brightness of Soap's iris flashes, gets swallowed up by round, dark pupil. "So yer serious," he rasps, fingers flexing again, knuckles white. "About this."
Ghost has seen many a starving man, many a pitiful, whining animal, stuck in barbed wire and coils and not caring whether they get free or die, just that their suffering ends. Gaunt faces and sallow cheeks, stomachs concave with hunger. Despite his obvious physical health, the golden glow of his skin and the strength in his shoulders, Soap looks so fucking hollow. Tantalus reaching for succor he will never receive.
"Deadly," Ghost teases, smiling behind his mask.
Soap huffs, grinning off-kilter, boyishly charming. Real lady-killer, this one, probably has no issue luring people back to his home and ripping them apart from the inside out. Then, he sobers, wets his lips and casts furtive eyes around the place - the park is empty, it's near midnight and there's very little light, no stragglers, not even teens trying to get drunk or other predators searching for late-night joggers. Ghost made sure of that.
"May I ask why?" he rasps, leaning forward on his elbows, a tremor running up his arms.
Ghost tilts his head. "I've…tried," he confesses. "I've tried so many times. It never sticks. 'M thinkin' if someone else could do it for me, make sure…"
Soap nods, eager like a puppy, like it would be the highest honor to take Ghost's life. Not even a wolf in sheep's clothing, Ghost muses, but a brainless, mindless parasite, that only knows open jaws and empty stomachs.
"And you?" Ghost asks, leaning in as well, lowering his voice. "Why do you want to kill so bad, Soap? Join the military, be a hired gun; that'll scratch the itch."
Soap smiles at him, flutters his lashes and leans closer still. "Kept failing the psych evals," he says, giggling like it's an inside joke between them. "And I can't… It's not just the killin', I don't want to just kill someone."
Ghost blinks slow at him, gestures for him to continue.
"It's about the suffering," Soap explains, breathless. "My Da was a right bastard, Mam wasn't much better. Real religious types, real bigots, ye ken? Always ravin' about fire and brimstone and how we should be so lucky that Christ sacrificed himself fer us, forgave our sins. Do you know what they did to him?"
Ghost does, he knows the stories, knows the Bible well enough, but doesn't stop Soap speaking. There's something very attractive about an excited predator, a teased bear in the lockbox just waiting to be let out, the lions they'd unleash on the gladiators roaring with impending fury.
"They put nails through his hands and feet," Soap breathes, eyes bright and dazed, high on it. "They put a crown of thorns on his head, tight enough to bleed. They lanced his side and made him carry that feckin' cross all the way up that great big hill, and then they hoisted him up and left him there to die. And he let them."
Soap swallows, flexes his fingers, meets Ghost's eyes - bright and sharp and feverish. "Imagine that honor," he whispers, "to have someone willingly suffer for you. Die for you."
Ghost nods along, extends one of his gloved fingers to lightly caress Soap's folded hands, his white knuckles. Soap shivers violently, grasps his hand tightly with desperate, clutching fingers, his eyes wide and plaintive, shining in the single, orange overhead light.
"I meant what I said, on the forums," Ghost murmurs. "I'm willing to suffer for you, Soap. Willing to die. I'll write up whatever I can, protect you legally as much as I'm able." He hesitates, then asks, "But will it be enough for you? People like you tend to escalate."
Soap doesn't grimace, doesn't flinch back or look insulted. He merely smiles. "Christ only had to die once." He says it with conviction; "I just need it once. Just once."
Ghost nods. He can't exactly believe Soap, but it will be out of his hands when all's said and done. "Do you have a place?" Ghost asks.
Soap nods. "Little cabin in Scotland. Isolated, middle of nowhere. Private."
Ghost hums, pleased. His thumb brushes tenderly across Soap's white knuckles.
"Do you have any requests?" Soap asks gently. "I'll do whatever you want, Ghost. Whatever you need, I'll do it."
Ghost considers the question - truthfully, he's resigned to pretty much anything, as long as it eventually ends in his death. He never considered that Soap might want to please him in some way - but, he muses, there must be an understanding, a sweet moment when the rabbit is being crushed in the jaws of the wolf where, just for a heartbeat, they feel mutual pleasure at carrying out nature's course.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't burn me," he finally decides. "And don't… Don't let me linger. Don't try to save me."
Soap nods, smiles, bringing Ghost's hand up to place a reverential kiss on his gloved fingers. Ghost watches him do it, wonders for the briefest moment, if anyone did see them like this, what they would think is happening. Two men, finding each other in the dark, desperate for connection.
"Do you expect sex?" Ghost asks.
Soap's predatory eyes darken, lashes going low in a long, lazy blink. He really is devastatingly attractive - it's a shame he's so fucked in the head. "If it's on the table," he replies, lips curling into a sly, uneven smile, showing his teeth.
"Sure," Ghost says, shrugging. "Might as well enjoy ourselves."
Soap's grin widens. "Trust me, darlin'," he purrs, "I'll make it a night to remember."
They part from the park with a promise to keep in touch, to wait until Soap has a free weekend and Ghost has put all his affairs in order. He turns in his resignation and terminates his lease, puts all his belongings in storage and pays for two years in advance. He liquidates all his funds and donates them to a local homeless shelter anonymously, redirects his VA cheques to a continuous donation, closes out his credit card and his phone, swapping it instead for a pay-as-you-go burner that only has Soap's number.
They keep their texts innocuous, surface-level. Soap likes checking in throughout the day - probably anxious that Ghost will change his mind. Ghost has no intention of doing so, but it's nice to have that one piece of human connection as he makes his way through removing every trace of himself from the world.
Finally, it's time. Ghost uses the last of his cash to pay for a one-way train ticket to Aberdeen, per Soap's instructions. He takes a connecting line to Newmachar. Soap picks him up at the station, three streets away in a side road that he claims has no cameras. His car is a nondescript four-door, grey and lackluster.
Ghost slides in with just his backpack and the clothes he's wearing, his mask and gloves fixed firmly in place. Soap smiles at him, turns down the radio so it's just a tickle in the ear. "It'll be about an hour," he tells Ghost, who nods in acceptance. Excitement thrums through him as Soap locks the doors and drives off, navigating the streets with ease until they leave the city limits. Quickly the roads lose all their civilized scenery, turning to rolling hills and wide open fields, mountains in the distance, the far-off haze of the ocean as they drive East.
Ghost turns off his burner phone and chucks it out the window halfway through the drive, heaves a sigh and reclines in the passenger seat.
"Nervous?" Soap asks, fingers drumming restlessly on the steering wheel and gear shift.
Ghost shakes his head. "Not at all," he replies. "I'm ready." He gestures to his backpack. "Got the contract written up; just needs our signatures once you have a chance to look it over."
Soap exhales heavily, his bright eyes filmy with anticipation, the hint of tears. "Ghost…" He sucks in a breath, wipes a hand over his mouth. "Ye have no idea how much this means tae me. I'll treat ye so right, I promise."
"I believe you," Ghost says kindly, reaching out to lay his hand on Soap's bouncing leg. It settles beneath his touch, and Soap shivers, spreading his thighs a little wider in invitation. Ghost smiles. "Won't be long now."
"No," Soap whispers faintly. Ghost can see how his throat flexes, his tongue snakes out to wet his lips. Can see, also, the thick line of his cock in his jeans, how Soap's hips hitch up when Ghost runs his hand higher. Soap's lashes flutter, excited, the fire in his eyes burning bright. His foot presses harder on the gas pedal, the old engine roaring enough the vehicle rattles.
It's been a long time since Ghost felt anticipation for anything - Soap's presence is electric, floods his mouth with saliva, makes his heart kick double-time in his chest. Not from fear, he's been too numb for too long to feel fear anymore. He unfastens his seatbelt and leans over the center console, grins when Soap gasps and arcs his hips up to let Ghost undo the button and zip of his jeans, carefully fish his cock out from the hole in his underwear. Ghost lifts his mask to the bridge of his nose, taking Soap as deep into his mouth as he can at this angle. Salty precum floods his soft palate, clogs up his nose as he sucks Soap down, Soap gasping and fisting the back of his mask when Ghost hollows his cheeks and sucks with all his might.
"Fuck," Soap hisses, hurriedly flicking on the cruise control just over the speed limit, lax and regal in the driver's seat as Ghost licks feverishly around his leaking cockhead, one hand holding Soap's cock steady so he can get him in his throat. Soap's fingers flex on the nape of his neck, subtly force him further down until Ghost gags, but lets Soap slide deeper. He swallows around Soap's thick length, earning another breathy sigh.
He pulls off just briefly to say, "Eyes on the road. Only one of us is dying today." Soap's cock twitches in his grip and, with another smile, Ghost sucks him down again, wet and messy, drooling all over his cock. Soap forces his head down again, using his tight grip on Ghost's nape to work him up and down, his hips fucking up to get as deep as he can. Ghost gags, his mouth flooding with more saliva, tears beading along his lash line from the intrusion, but he dutifully keeps sucking Soap's cock until, with a muffled curse, Soap comes down his throat.
Ghost swallows all of it like wine, moaning sweetly at the taste as it clings to his molars. He pulls off slowly, wipes his mouth and tugs his mask back into place. He fixes Soap's clothes and sits upright again, pleased with the flush high on Soap's cheeks, his bitten-red lower lip, his dark and wanting eyes even as they remain on the road.
"That's a first," Soap finally says, weak and breathless.
Ghost huffs a laugh, swallowing again, his throat pleasantly sore and lips tingling from the abuse. "Consider it a down payment for your services," he teases, making Soap grin. Soap's eyes dart to him, briefly, fondly.
"Got quite a high sex drive, Ghost," he says brightly. "Hope there's more where that came from."
Ghost's lashes lower, he gives Soap a slow blink, his own smile hidden behind his mask. There's a warmth in his chest, arousal mixing with something pleasant and tingling, satisfaction that cannot be described. "Whatever you want, Soap," he promises, his voice raspy, low, fucked-out.
Soap shivers, wetting his lips, and says nothing. They drive on.
The 'cabin' Soap mentioned in their initial conversation is more like a sprawling mansion, rising up in proud white stone almost from nowhere as they drive closer. Gravel crunches beneath the tires and lush grass grows in endless swaths, stretching out into nothingness. The manor is pristinely kept, making Ghost let out a curious hum as Soap drives up and parks by the front door.
"Inherited this place from my grandparents," Soap explains. He gets out of the vehicle and circles to Ghost's side, opening the door for him like a proper gentleman. Ghost hoists his backpack over one shoulder and steps out, submitting to Soap's guiding hand laid low on his spine. "Been in my family for generations."
"Does anyone else come here?" Ghost asks, eyeing the manicured lawn that spreads before the grass gets long, the gorgeous strands of ivy in the trellises, the roof that looks brand new. The air is clean, here, crisp and wet with evening dew.
Soap shakes his head. "Nah. Just me," he promises, smiling. "Welcome to yer final resting place, Ghost."
Ghost huffs, and allows Soap to lead him inside. The walls are dark wood, the floor marble beneath his feet. There's art and damn tapestries lining the walls, the foyer grand and gleaming, smelling of fresh polish and lemon freshener. The obvious fact that Soap tidied up for his arrival makes him smile.
Soap leads the way to a smaller, more intimate study, dark and cozy with red velvet curtains pulled tightly shut, leather seating plush and inviting. There's a desk and large coffee table that shines in the low light, a fireplace like a gaping maw and a stack of firewood beside. Soap builds and lights a fire for them, casting the room in a seductive orange glow.
Ghost takes off his mask and his gloves, tucking them into his backpack. He hears Soap suck in a breath and turns to meet his eyes, finds Soap's irises big and dark, predatory gaze raking over Ghost in slow, appreciative waves like paint on a canvas.
"Aren't you gorgeous," he breathes.
Ghost smiles, blushing lightly. Odd for such a feral work of art to call him gorgeous, but the wolf must admire the rabbit's pelt just as much as a hunter, or one of its own kind. Soap steps right up into Ghost's space, his hands splaying wide on Ghost's chest, his biceps, down to his waist like he's measuring breeding stock. His touch is brazen and unapologetic; he touches Ghost's throat, his collarbones, digs his nails into the layer of fat on Ghost's belly, down between his legs to cup his cock.
"God," Soap rasps, eyes beautifully dark, worshipful. "Yer perfect, aren'tcha?"
"Glad you think so," Ghost replies. He doesn't flinch away or tense - seems silly, knowing that Soap will be doing much more intimate and grotesque things to him before long. A little casual molestation is like a drop in the ocean compared to that. He pulls his backpack off his shoulder and opens it, tugging the contract free. "Shall we?"
Soap nods, nostrils flaring as he takes the small stack of paper, stapled at the corner. He guides Ghost to sit next to the coffee table, plops himself down right next to Ghost so they're connected from their shoulders to their knees. He flicks through the pages, hunched like a beast possessive of his meal.
The only thing Ghost has outright denied consent for is to be burned. He has outlined, in great detail, his permission for Soap to cut him, to takes pieces, to gut him and bleed him dry. To fuck him however Soap desires, to be allowed to breathe his last under Soap's hands. Beyond that, his only wish is to ensure his death, and then Soap has blanket consent to do whatever he wishes with his body - to preserve it, consume it, use it for his own pleasure if he so desires.
"Ghost," Soap whispers, his throat tight. "I… This is incredible."
"Is it?" Ghost asks, tilting his head. "I wanted to cover all my bases. No one should come looking - I was very careful."
Soap shakes his head, just once, and turns to look at Ghost. "Do you…? Is there a time limit?" he asks, hopeful.
Ghost consider it, then shrugs. "I suppose not," he concedes. "But I do want to die. I won't beg otherwise. You have to promise that this ends, Soap. Please."
"Ah promise," Soap replies, nodding frantically, his fingers curling around the sheets of paper. There are tears in his eyes - relief, gratitude perhaps. Then, he smiles, cupping Ghost's face. "My own personal martyr."
Ghost nods, dips his head to kiss Soap's palm.
"We should eat," Soap declares, nodding once. "Ah want ye comfortable. Washed up and ready fer me."
"Alright," Ghost agrees, letting Soap take his hand and pull him to his feet. Soap leads the way up the stairs to a bedroom that is clearly his own, that predatory musk thick in the air, signs of life in the pile of clothes in the hamper and the damp scent of an oft-used shower lingering like smoke from a candle. Ghost sheds his clothes and heads into the large, luxurious restroom, arches a brow when Soap follows behind, stalking, breathless.
"Do ye mind?" he asks, as Ghost turns on the shower and lingers outside to let it heat up. His eyes rake over Ghost approvingly, his hand falling down to absently palm at his cock.
Ghost shrugs, and steps into the shower once it starts to steam.
"Does it excite ye?" Soap asks, creeping closer, his voice barely audible over the rush of water. "Knowin' yer gonna die?"
"In a way," Ghost tells him, slicking his wet hair back from his face. He gestures to the scars on his torso, his throat, one deep cut down the front of his left thigh. "Living hurts."
Soap's lashes go low, he bites his lower lip as he watches Ghost scrub his hands over his skin, watches as Ghost turns pink in the heat of the shower. "Use ma stuff," he commands roughly, pupils wide. "Want ye tae smell like me."
Ghost obeys him, the scents of pine and thistle clogging his throat as he uses Soap's shampoo, lathers up his hair and across his shoulders, down his torso and thighs. Soap keeps casually palming his cock, the open hunger on his face causing that same heat to gather in Ghost's chest. His stomach tenses, arousal beading like sweat under such a heavy gaze.
"Red's definitely yer color," Soap rasps, nodding to the flush on Ghost's chest and throat. "Gonna look so pretty when I'm bleedin' ye, darlin'."
Ghost has never considered himself a masochist, and truthfully, the thought of more pain doesn't excite him. But this time, he knows pain will lead to death - to that sweet release that has so-consistently alluded him. And that is terribly arousing, has his stomach tensing up, his cock twitching between his legs.
Soap notices, baring his teeth in a wild grin. Ghost rinses off and, when Soap steps back, he turns off the shower and steps out onto the plush bath mat, toes digging into the blue fabric. Soap snarls at him, wolf that he is, and yanks Ghost against his body with a mean tug on his nape.
"Gorgeous lad," he growls, freeing his cock and wrapping his fingers around it, stroking himself quickly. "Get on yer knees, baby, gonna paint that pretty face."
Ghost obeys, sinking to his knees with a shivering sigh. He tilts his head up, opens his mouth and offers his tongue, feels the mean brush of Soap's knuckles butting against his chin as Soap fists his wet hair and holds him still. Soap grunts when he comes, lashes fluttering, spurts of come comparatively cool on Ghost's flushed skin as he paints Ghost's face with thick, white threads.
Soap grabs onto his chin so Ghost can't close his mouth, can't swallow, can only let the salt-bitter taste of Soap's come marinate on his tongue, dry thick and tacky on his skin. Soap stares at him, eyes wild, and forces his softening cock deep into Ghost's mouth, sudden enough to make him choke. He closes his eyes, swallowing around the intrusion, undoubtedly smearing come all over Soap's clothes as Soap grips his head hard enough to hurt and ruts his cock over Ghost's tongue until it goes completely soft.
He pulls out just as suddenly, leaving Ghost to gasp and try to catch his unsteady breath. "Stay, jus' like that," Soap orders, smacking his palm roughly against Ghost's flushed cheek. He tucks his cock away and goes to the cabinet above the sink, opens it and pulls out a shaving kit. It's one of the old kinds, more akin to a butcher's leather case than a modern one. He pulls out a straight razor and a thick strop with a metal grip at each end.
Soap takes the strop in hand, the leather dangling in his casual grip like a belt. A fissure of fear runs down Ghost's spine, flashbacks to a time when he was much younger and smaller creeping up his skull. When physical violence was a threat instead of the norm. Soap cups his face, his eyes sharp and tender as a blade. His thumb smears through a line of come on Ghost's cheek.
"Open up," he commands. Ghost blinks, but parts his lips, grunting when Soap feeds one of the metal loops through his teeth and wordlessly demands he clamp down on it. Soap pulls it taut, making Ghost strain to keep it in his mouth, and opens the straight razor with a quiet click. "Gotta make sure it's sharp," he purrs.
Ghost stares up at him, wide-eyed, meeting Soap's unblinking gaze. Soap runs the blade of the razor down the strop, the leather catching on the metal blade, a low rushing sound as it sweeps close to Ghost's face. He flinches, bracing himself, but Soap brings the blade up before it can touch Ghost's nose - a casual flick that makes the metal catch the light. He brings it back towards himself, angled to hone the blade to its sharpest edge, his motions so casual and practiced, like he's done this thousands of times before.
Soap never cuts him, never lets the blade get close enough to kiss, but Ghost flinches every time. His shoulders tense and his chest heaves with a swirling mix of anticipation and anxiety, his eyes crossing in an attempt to follow the blade each time it slides closer to him, only to be denied a taste of his blood. Again, and again, until Ghost is sensitive and shaking, tingling all over.
His jaw aches when Soap finally closes the blade, sets it on the counter, and forces Ghost's jaw open so he can remove the strop. "Good boy," he praises quietly, petting Ghost's cheek too harshly again. "So sweet fer me, aren'tcha? Gonna let me do whatever I want so long as you get yers." He smiles, showing his teeth. "Should see yerself, darlin'. Lookin' at me like ye'd die fer me."
Ghost swallows, wets his lips, can still taste traces of Soap's come on them. "I would," he replies unsteadily. "I will."
Soap's eyes flash. "I know," he rasps, then jerks his head to the sink. "Clean yerself up. I'll fix us some food. You a coffee guy?"
Despite himself, Ghost's nose wrinkles. "Tea?"
Soap rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond. "Fuckin' Brits," he teases. "Ah'll see what I can scrounge. Run along now."
Ghost nods, getting unsteadily to his feet. Soap leaves him be, his footsteps heavy and measured like a beast in its den, whistling a cheery tune. Ghost goes to the mirror, washing his face clean, his eyes lingering on the folded strop and sharp, gleaming razor. He touches his fingers to the handle, wonders if he would have felt it if Soap had laid the blade across his nose, or sliced open his eye.
His chest pulses with heat, his flushed skin oversensitive, his gut tense. He swallows, reaches down to squeeze hard at the base of his cock, and hurriedly gets dressed so he can meet Soap downstairs.
Dinner is a plain affair, despite the tasteful opulence of the manor's dining hall, the shining silverware and plates adorned with artful swirls of vines and birds around the edges. Soap has sliced up some steak, rare and oozing bloody juice in the middle, the outside salty and black. With it, a plain salad and some mashed potatoes, and - much to Ghost's delight - he made him some tea.
"Not exactly a five star last meal," Soap teases, toying with his tumbler of whisky.
"It's delicious," Ghost says earnestly. "Thank you."
Soap smiles at him, slouches in his seat at the head of the table and regards Ghost with eyes drunk with want. Like a King in his castle, Lord of all he surveys. Devastatingly handsome and reeking of sadistic intent.
"Wish Ah could take a picture," he muses, sipping at his drink. "A little trophy, just fer me."
"I won't stop you," Ghost says, "but that's a little reckless."
"Ah ken," Soap agrees, nodding once. He sighs through his nose, breathes in again, heavy and slow. "Sorry. 'M just…excited."
"So am I," Ghost says, and means it.
"I cannae relate tae wantin' to die," Soap admits, staring at him as Ghost scoops up the last of his meal, washing it down with tea heaped with sugar, just how he likes. "But part of me thinks I ought tae. Nothin' good Ah can put into the world, not the way I'm wired."
Ghost shrugs. "Maybe you got put into the world to give me what I want," he counters. "Without you I'd be stuck in my flat, trying everything from pills to a gun to end it all."
Soap's eyes flash, intrigued. "So ye really have tried everythin'?" he asks curiously.
Ghost nods. "Gun got jammed when I tried to eat a bullet," he says. "Vomited while I was asleep so the pills didn't take. Cut myself open but my neighbor caught me." He shrugs. "Tried driving off a bridge, got rescued. Tried getting into fights with every mean-looking bastard I could, none of it took. Even when I thought it did, I'd wake up in a hospital, right as rain."
"That's kind of incredible," Soap says. "Yer like a superhero. Ghost the Undying."
Ghost snorts, setting his utensils down and gathering his mug of tea, resting it against his stomach when he sits back. "I suppose. Not worth much when I don't want to keep living."
Soap's eyes soften, a rare flash of - not pity. Perhaps understanding. "Ah'm sorry ye feel like life's not worth livin'," he murmurs, fingers flexing on his glass. "But maybe, like you said, you were put here so you could help me. Give me what I need as your last act." He shivers. "Like a real Savior."
He bites his lower lip, confesses in a whisper; "Might already be in love with ye, just a little bit. Shame I only get tae have ye once."
Ghost smiles at him, wide enough his sore jaw twinges.
"That's the greatest act of love, innit?" he muses. "Laying down one's life for a friend?"
Soap's eyes flash. "Are we friends?" he asks, tinged with eagerness.
Ghost shrugs. "Why not?"
Soap smiles, tips back his tumbler to swallow the dregs and sets the empty glass down with a sigh. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, eyes the heavy red drapes which are only slightly parted, revealing the glisten of moonlight on the lush grass.
"S'late," he murmurs, eyes sliding back to Ghost. "Spend one last night with me?"
Ghost presses his lips together, but nods his agreement. Soap gets to his feet and takes Ghost's hand once he sets his mug down, pulls him to his feet and out of the room, leaving the empty plates and cups behind.
Soap presses Ghost down onto the bed, his mouth hungry against Ghost's, powerful hands pushing Ghost's thighs apart to make room for himself between them. Their cocks rut together, hard and wanting, Ghost gasping when Soap's teeth dig harshly into the hinge of his jaw, down his throat. Soap bites down, hard enough Ghost feels blood vessels burst, skin welting, blood drawn rich and eager to the surface of his skin.
He slides his fingers into Soap's mohawk, likens it to a hyena's mane as Soap laughs, giddy, grinding hard enough against Ghost that it aches. He shoves Ghost's shirt up to bare his scarred chest, lowers his head to bite down hard around Ghost's nipple, tongue sharp and mean as he teases the stiffening bud. It hurts terribly, burns something fierce, catching alight in threads of sensation to Soap's grabbing hands, his heavy weight pressing Ghost down.
Soap rears up, shaking Ghost's hands off him, and grips his throat tightly. He squeezes, making Ghost's eyes roll back, vision quickly going black at the edges within the vicious blood choke. His breathing gets labored, consciousness clawing at his brain as he fights for air despite himself. Soap tears at the rest of his clothes, practically ripping them off his body until he's bare on Soap's sheets, shuddering and gasping when Soap finally releases his neck, allows him to breathe.
Soap grabs his cock harshly, squeezing tight and twisting until the sensitive skin burns. Ghost whimpers, tears in his eyes, pawing frantically at Soap's wrists but not doing much to actually fight him off. Soap gathers the pitiful amount of precum on his thumb, sinks it into his mouth with a groan, barely visible in the moonlight as his lashes flutter and his eyes grow dark.
Claws rake over Ghost's stinging chest, down his tense stomach, raising red lines in a crosshatch of stinging pain. He slaps Ghost's cheek, sending his head snapping to one side, yanks on his hair to make Ghost whine and leans down to bite another gnawing mark to Ghost's tender throat.
"Soap," Ghost rasps, fingers flexing. He tugs frantically on Soap's shirt, pulling it up and over his head, digs his nails into Soap's back.
Soap chuckles darkly, his own hands busy with shedding his jeans and underwear until he, too, is naked in his bed. "DNA under the nails," he taunts. "Not gonna help ye here, darlin'. Ah'll cut 'em right off."
Ghost shivers, swallowing harshly, clenches his eyes tightly shut as he groans in pain, Soap's sharp teeth sinking hard and welting into his shoulder. "Not tryin' to - sorry, I'll stop," he whispers, pain and anxiety a heady concoction, making his head feel heavy, his fingers numb.
"Tried this before, ye know," Soap tells him, pawing without rhyme or reason down Ghost's heaving chest, pinching and clawing at him seemingly at random. "She told me she liked pain, got off on it. Then when Ah got ma knife out, she changed her mind."
Ghost swallows, trying and failing to catch his breath.
"Ah didnae hurt her," Soap whispers, voice low and rough. "Put ma knife away, ate her out real sweet to get her to forgive me. Tried it again with another lad, same result." He huffs, shaking his head, his mouth trailing lazy kisses to Ghost's tender stomach. "Are ye gonna scream, Ghost? Beg me not tae hurt ye?"
"No," Ghost says immediately. He presses his hands prostrate on the pillows, spreads his legs wider. "Promise."
"Ah can be sweet," Soap tells him, like he's trying to convince himself as much as Ghost. His hand slides between Ghost's thighs again, grips the flesh there hard enough Ghost gasps, back arching. "If ye let me. Gotta let me, darlin', my perfect little martyr, aye?"
Ghost nods, not quite sure what he's agreeing to, only knowing that Soap's touch burns in the sweetest, most agonizing way. He can't even call it arousal, it's too sharp and angry for that, but he's hard and he aches all over and he might be a little addicted to the animal arch of Soap's spine, the low snarl of his voice.
When Soap shoves him onto his belly, he goes, gripping tight onto the pillows and braced for more pain. Soap grips his thighs and yanks them apart, wide enough it twinges dully all the way up Ghost's spine. Soap prowls over him, bites at the nape of his neck, slides his hands up to entwine their fingers hard enough to grind their bones together.
Soap's cock ruts against his rim, only slicked with his precum, not that Soap seems to care. Ghost moans when he feels his skin give, feels the hot rush of blood welling up around Soap's teeth. Soap spits onto the wound, rears up to smear it all over his palm and uses it to slick up his cock with a snarl.
When Soap presses in, Ghost doesn't fight him, even though it hurts and he can't help but go tense all over. Soap bites him again, lower on his shoulder, teeth scraping in a hot, agonizing line down the blade of it. He doesn't give Ghost time to adjust, just forces his cock in all the way at once, until his hips notch tight against Ghost's body. He groans, more hungry than aroused, shoves his hand against Ghost's bleeding nape tight enough to choke him again, and starts a brutal rhythm. Ghost hisses, clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt, tears welling up beneath his closed eyelids, molars grinding together with cracking pressure.
"What will ye let me do?" Soap rumbles, manic, frantic. "Gonna let me cut ye, Ghost? Peel all this pretty pale skin away from yer muscles so I can toy with them bare?"
Ghost whimpers, but nods.
Soap groans, delighted. "Gonna let me put nails in ye?" he presses, sweating and grunting into Ghost's ear. "String ye up while ye fight fer air, cut off pieces of ye one by one? Will ye scream fer me, then?" Ghost nods again, strained gasps fucked loose from his chest, his entire body on fire. Soap yanks on their hands still interlaced, pins Ghost's arm behind his back in a tight hold that threatens ripping the joint loose entirely. "Gonna fuck ye through it, too, have ma cock deep inside ye when the light leaves yer eyes. Ah'll be the last thing ye see, baby, mark my words."
Ghost shrieks as Soap wrenches his arm tighter, forcing his torso to curl up defensively, trying to save his shoulder. Soap smacks him for it, hard and echoing on his thigh. He follows up the hit with a deep rake into Ghost's skin - deep enough, Ghost is sure, to draw blood if he does it twice.
"Look at that," Soap coos, releasing Ghost's arm so he can smear his fingers through the tears on Ghost's cheek. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the taste of Ghost's agony, then reaches down to take Ghost's flagging cock in a fierce, too-tight grip, stroking him quickly. Ghost shudders at the feeling, his insides clenching, raw, his thighs and chest and throat on fire. Another pitiful whine escapes him, making Soap moan. "That's it, bonnie lad, sobbin' so sweet on my cock." His thrusts turn even more brutal, concussive and loud over Ghost's frantic cries. "Know you wanna make me feel good, baby - that's what yer here for, isn't it?"
Ghost nods, delirious and hazy, everything coming to him through a barrier of cotton. He can only feel heat - the sweltering press of Soap's hands on him, his thighs chafing Ghost's sore ones, his cock forcing its way through raw, exhausted, too-dry muscles. His burning grip on Ghost's cock, too harsh to be pleasurable but sensation nonetheless he can do nothing against.
His orgasm feels like a knife, cutting and swift. He screams raggedly as Soap works him through it, his grip never loosening as Soap grunts and goes still, filling his stinging hole with come. Soap sighs, sated and lax, his mouth soaking wet when he leans down to bite at the arch of Ghost's ear hard enough it hurts.
He pulls out too fast, makes Ghost shudder and gape, leaking come - and, most likely, blood. Soap nuzzles him, sweeps his hands up Ghost's heaving flanks, his sore shoulder, his sodden hair which he twirls around his fingers until the strands go taut and stinging, eddies of pain spreading along his scalp.
He cups Ghost's face and kisses him, sweet as honey. Ghost's mouth is so dry, his tongue heavy and dumb in his mouth as he tries to kiss back, too dazed to do much else. He feels filthy, used, every nerve ending singing with sensation he can't find pleasant, but leans into regardless.
"Get some rest, darlin'," Soap tells him, wrapping Ghost up in his arms. "Tomorrow's your last day on earth."
Ghost sighs, clinging to Soap within his embrace. He tucks his face to Soap's flushed throat, and smiles.
It's all prepared, Soap tells him over breakfast. "Spent years perfecting the cellar," he says, his eyes glowing with anticipation as Ghost sips his tea, tries to find a comfortable way to sit when every inch of him is sore and tender.
Soap eyes him, smiling. "Excited?" he purrs.
Ghost nods, throat too sore to speak much. "Very," he rasps anyway. They signed the papers this morning - soon, Ghost will meet his end. Soon, he'll be able to feel the sweet release of death. It will take suffering, it will be painful, but he'll be getting what he wants, and that's all he can ask for.
Soap cleans their plates away, ever the good host, and then leads the way down to the lower floor. It's vast, was once a wine cellar by Ghost's best estimate, covered in smooth grey stone and some of the walls still lined with wine racks, all empty.
Soap leads him through a metal door and turns on the lights. Ghost's eyes widen, a small gasp escaping when he enters the space. The floors in here are cool metal - easier to clean, he guesses. There's a pipe and hose coiled up in the corner, harsh overhead lights making everything shine. There is a table sitting in the center, adorned with straps to secure a body. One wall is lined with knives and implements of torture - claws made for tearing through meat, long thin blades that shine with eager blood lust, whips and chains and toys like one might find in a sex dungeon. The table is covered in padded leather, the straps thick and black. There's another basin filled with rubber hoses for blood letting, and a single severe hook hanging from the ceiling at the foot of the table. On a bench along one wall, he spies the straight razor, sitting separate from the rest.
Soap's eyes gleam in the harsh light, his golden skin turned flushed and ruddy with arousal. He's wearing comfortable clothes - a t-shirt and joggers and worn brown boots. Ghost is dressed the same, though he's barefoot.
He strips down and lays on the table, shifting his weight before he settles with a sigh. Soap grips and secures each limb in turn, the leather cuffs pulled taut so Ghost is laid prostrate on the table, the leather quickly warming in response to his body temperature. He closes his eyes with a sigh, tips his head back when Soap attaches another strap across his hips, just below his navel, and another that worms beneath his arms and across his chest below his collarbones.
Soap cups his face when he's done, prompting Ghost to open his eyes and look up at him. Soap smiles, adoring, and leans down to kiss him sweetly. "Thank you, Ghost," he murmurs, brushing his thumb tenderly along Ghost's cheekbone. "For everythin'."
Ghost smiles at him. "Make it count, Soap," he replies.
Soap's head tilts, considering. Then, he says, "John."
Ghost blinks up at him.
"My name is John," he explains. "I… I want ye tae know that."
Ghost presses his lips together, wets them. "Simon," he replies.
Soap grins brightly, pets over his face again. "Are ye ready tae die, Simon?" he asks - one last check-in, just to be sure.
"I am, Johnny," Ghost says, firm with conviction. "Thank you."
Soap's eyes close. He lets out a slow, shaky breath. He kisses Ghost one last time, deep and lingering enough to take Ghost's breath away.
Ghost closes his eyes, relaxes into the table, and prepares for death.
Soap's hands shake as he stares at Ghost - at Simon - prostrate and his for the taking. For the killing. Never could he have pictured a more perfect sacrifice. The desire to draw blood, to do grievous harm, burns in his palms, makes his breath catch. There's still blood at Ghost's rim, at the nape of his neck - he'd insisted Ghost didn't shower before they start.
Red is such a pretty color on him. Soap is going to bathe him in it.
He grabs the claws, first, wanting to start slow, to savor it. He grips the handles tightly and comes to Ghost's side, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest, the thrum of his pulse in his throat, the loose fall of his pretty golden hair. He's the kind of beauty all the saints would kill for. Narcissus himself would weep with jealousy at the sight of him.
He starts, first, at Ghost's thigh. The scarred one, internally snarling at the idea that someone else laid a mark on him. He digs the claws in harshly, sharpened to a vicious point, watching as each tip bites through skin and flesh. Blood wells up quickly. Ghost tenses and hisses under his breath, his bound fists clenching, leg jerking in protest.
It just makes the wound open faster. Pink, knotted scar tissue parts like wet paper under his claws, allowing Soap to rip a deeper set of holes in him and spread them apart until he can see the purple-red, fleshy insides. He releases the claws and slides his fingers into the wound, shuddering with pleasure at the heat that grips him, skin desperately trying to close. He fucks his fingers through the mess, curling around taut muscle, scraping his nails deeper than he's ever been allowed to go. He presses in until the hard line of femur greets him, wants to grip it and pull it free.
He resists, instead fetching a tourniquet and binding it at Ghost's thigh, above his wound to stem the bleeding. His fingers leave smears of red all over Ghost's perfect pale skin. He slides the claws in again, slicing through muscle and groaning at the fresh gush of blood. It drips down onto the floor like a symphony, Ghost sweating and shaking already, his head turned to one side as he fights not to struggle too much.
Soap reaches for one of his long, thin blades, his fingers slippery on the metal. He slides it into Ghost's thigh like a surgical rod, groaning lowly as it grows slick with more blood and tender meat. He leans down and laps at the wound, feels Ghost twitch and gasp at the brand of his tongue, sure to be hot and searing compared to the cold metal and claws.
He takes another long, thin blade, sharp at the point. He traces the tip of it around Ghost's knee, admiring the give of skin and cartilage when he presses. His weapon trails down, to Ghost's twitching foot, the bones stark from how tense he is. Soap cups him at the heel and fits the tip of his blade right at the apex of his arch.
He presses in, and Ghost whimpers faintly as it sinks inside. More blood wells up, stymied by the girth of the blade as it widens, grows teeth that face backwards, made to saw. He pushes the blade deeper, presses his palm to the flat nail-like base so that he can get more leverage on it, watching fervently as it slowly, slowly, sinks through Ghost's foot. It scrapes bone, tender muscle thick and fighting the piercing push, but Soap is relentless with it. He shoves the blade deeper with a grunt, moaning when it comes straight through the other side of Ghost's foot, piercing him through.
Ghost curses lowly when he drags the blade back, serrated teeth catching and tearing at flesh as Soap saws it free. Viscera clings to the blade, dripping and shining. Soap's mouth waters at the sight of it, but he resists the urge to steal a taste.
Setting the blade down, he moves around to Ghost's other side, uses his blood-slick fingers to grip Ghost's cock and stroke him, much gentler than he was the night before. Ghost jerks, eyes flaring open as he stares at Soap in disbelief. Soap grins at him, wide and sharp, and leans down to suck the blood off his cock with another delirious moan, feeling Ghost's cock give a reluctant twitch against his tongue.
There's not just implements of torture down here. He grabs a little bullet vibe and secures it around Ghost's cockhead with a thin piece of twine - it'll hurt once he's hard, and Soap relishes the reluctant screams of pleasure Ghost will gift him when it does. He switches the vibrator onto the highest setting, greedy eyes taking in the spasming arch of Ghost's back, his white knuckles and bleeding thigh as he jerks in his restraints, lets out a wounded sound.
Music to Soap's ears.
Another vibrator gets wedged inside him, turned on once again to the highest setting. Ghost's skin flushes, beading sweat as he moans and writhes, each motion surely making the blade in his thigh scrape awfully against bone.
Ghost's eyes are wide, wild-animal fear in them as he watches Soap fetch the straight razor and a pair of pliers, setting both on Ghost's heaving chest. Soap wrenches his head back with a grip on his hair, lays the razor blade in a delicate kiss along his throat. "This'll be how I kill ye," he promises, and leans down to kiss Ghost's sweaty forehead.
Ghost gasps up at him, tries to arch his neck up into the blade, but Soap moves it away before it can cut. He chuckles to himself at the pained sound Ghost lets out, grabs the pliers instead. He clicks the handles once, twice, and then fits them around Ghost's nipple and clamps down until more blood wells up.
Ghost screams, then, tossing his head as Soap twists, slowly, slowly, pulling up until skin starts to tear. He releases before it can separate entirely, watching with greedy eyes as blood leaks down Ghost's chest like a spiderweb, gorgeous and shining, fresh and bright. He does the same with the other nipple, leaving behind grotesque, mutilated flesh that's hanging on by a thread.
"Gorgeous," he rasps, petting his hands heavily over Ghost's mangled chest, relishing the weak whimpers he receives for it. He cups Ghost's skull and forces his head up, makes him look as Soap grabs the claws and digs them into his belly, raking them up in four neat, harsh lines that easily draw more blood.
Ghost shudders weakly, tears running down his face as he struggles to keep his eyes open.
"Yer beautiful," Soap soothes, petting his golden, bloodstained hair. "So fuckin' pretty, Simon, wasn't I right? Red really is your color."
He brings the claws up to Ghost's panting mouth, digs them in so delicately to carve a line into Ghost's cheek. He presses down deep enough to part more flesh, deep enough that through the thick, red wound, he can see Ghost's gums, his teeth, the curve of his lower jaw.
Ghost cries out wetly, choking on his own blood. Soap releases him so he can turn his head and spit it up, blood splayed like a halo around his face. Ghost's cock twitches in reluctant arousal, the twine tight around his cockhead, keeping the vibrator in place. It's already starting to go purple from interrupted bloodflow, leaking pitifully onto the strap restraining his carved-open belly.
Soap leans in, kissing Ghost's ruined cheek, and sets the claws down. "My Da used to say biting through a finger is like biting through a cold carrot," he says idly. "Just gotta get past the mental block, he'd say. His way of teachin' me to defend maself, Ah suppose. Shall we test it out?"
Ghost whimpers, frantically jerking his arm in the cuffs, as Soap circles around to his right hand. Those lovely long fingers, callused and scarred at the knuckles. Soap sucks his forefinger into his mouth, huffing a laugh when Ghost tries to hook his finger behind his teeth and jerk himself loose.
He bites down. Swift, hard. Hears the crunch of bone and tastes blood on his tongue.
Ghost screams, coughing up another mouthful of blood as Soap severs his finger with his teeth. He doesn't swallow, merely spits the finger out into his palm, admiring the shards of bone visible between the torn skin and tender meat. "Easier than I expected," he says, tilting his head to one side. He meets Ghost's eyes and smiles, baring bloody teeth. He offers the finger out. "Wanna try? Still got enough bone there."
Ghost jerks his head away, so Soap shrugs and, instead, shoves Ghost's finger into his open thigh.
"Johnny," Ghost cries, tears soaking his cheeks when Soap begins to idly play with his other fingers. "Hurts."
Soap nods. "Ah ken, darlin'," he soothes, kissing Ghost's palm. "Ye suffer so prettily fer me." He eyes Ghost's bleeding stomach and thigh, his mangled chest and pierced foot, the growing pool of blood beneath his face. "Gotta be feelin' dizzy by now. Losin' a lot of blood."
Ghost nods, clenching his eyes tightly shut.
"Best get on with it, then," Soap murmurs. His hands itch to do more harm, but more urgent than that is the heavy flood of arousal sitting like a stone in his belly. He circles to between Ghost's thighs, toying absently with his purpling cockhead. Ghost gasps, trembling, his entire body twitching in helpless, instinctive spasms.
Soap fishes his cock out, slicks it with blood. He doesn't bother removing the vibrator from Ghost's arse, merely shoves himself in after it. He groans loudly at the feeling of the vibrator rutting against his cockhead, at the way Ghost shrieks and shudders, trying to close his legs. His head falls back briefly, but he can't stay like that, choking on his own blood as he is. Soap reaches out to hook his fingers behind Ghost's lower teeth, forcing his head up so their eyes can meet.
"Look at me," he demands, shaking Ghost's head roughly when his lashes flutter, eyes unable to focus. He fucks in deeper, growling under his breath as Ghost spasms, trying to fight him out. In retribution he forces his free hand against the vibrator on Ghost's cock, rutting it harshly on his sensitive frenulum until Ghost sobs and screams for him. It hits Soap's ear like a siren song, the scent of blood in the air like ambrosia on his tongue. He strokes the vibrator up and down Ghost's cock, uncaring for how the twine scrapes and tears at his erection. His thumb presses hard to the underside of Ghost's jaw as Ghost bites down on his fingers.
The vibrator is powerful inside Ghost, teases Soap's cockhead relentlessly as he fucks through Ghost's too-dry insides, feels him tear and grow wet despite himself. He snarls under his breath, hips driving faster, and releases Ghost's teeth so he can grab the straight razor instead.
"You come, you get tae die," he hisses, eyes flashing when Ghost gasps, trying to arch into the blade's touch. "Come on, Simon - come on, baby. Die fer me."
Ghost screams again, raw and loud, shaking his head violently enough blood sprays from his tongue all down his torso. His chest heaves within the restraints and his cock, bloody and sore now, twitches in Soap's hand. He drives his cock deep and holds it there, vibrator shoved right up on Ghost's prostate, he's sure, from the noises Ghost is making. He digs his razor in a line between Ghost's mangled nipples, down his chest, ending in a playful little curve around his navel.
"There," he hisses, smiling, watching Ghost blink deliriously down at the 'J' carved into his skin. "All mine now, aren'tcha, martyr?"
Ghost shudders, writhing in agony, and with a single hitching breath, his cock starts spilling. It's pitiful, really, hardly visible with all the blood, but the sight of it sends Soap reeling, so much decadent power flooding him that he can't help follow along right after, staining Ghost inside and out.
He sighs, pulling out roughly, and tucks his cock away. Ghost is still coming with frantic, pained whimpers when Soap circles around to his head, cups his face and leans down to kiss his bloody, broken mouth.
"Thank you, Simon," he whispers, and lays the blade on Ghost's pulse. "You were perfect, right to the end."
He draws a line across Ghost's throat, deep enough to sever both jugular and carotid, and Ghost finally goes still with a single, beautiful spray of blood.
Ghost wakes up. He's warm, and there's no pain. He's swaddled in a blanket and there's the scent of fire in the air. He sighs quietly, light turning the backs of his eyelids orange. He's heavy and so sated, a bone-deep relief he never felt in life soothing him through his rest. He wants to keep sleeping, but awareness tugs at his senses, urging him to wake.
Is this the afterlife? Ghost has no illusions, certain that he's not bound for Heaven, but maybe Heaven and Hell are made up anyway, and the life beyond the one he knows is just like this - comfortable, and gentle, and waiting to be explored.
He opens his eyes.
He frowns.
He recognizes this space - it's the study in Soap's house. Johnny's house. He surges to his feet, frantic, almost tripping over himself as he fights his way free of the blanket that was wrapped tightly around all his limbs. He's dressed in a robe that's slightly too small for him, joggers tight around his hips and stopping too short at his ankles. The contract is still there, bearing both their signatures. There's a mug of tea beside it on a coaster that still blooms with steam.
Ghost gasps, pawing at his chest, his throat. No scars, no bite. The bite mark at his nape - gone. The wound in his thigh, like it was never there. His stomach, whole and intact. There isn't even any soreness inside him, or around his cock, that gives any indication he went through such brutal, violent torture.
He's still alive. Or else he's dreaming. Or…
He sinks to the plush sofa, tears welling up. He can't still be alive, he can't…Johnny promised…
Movement catches his attention - the door opens, revealing Soap, showered and dressed as well. He's carrying a tray of crackers and cheese and another mug of tea, his coffee beside it. He freezes when he sees Ghost is awake, then offers him a tentative smile.
"You promised," Ghost rasps, tears in his eyes. "You… You promised."
"Simon," Soap coos, setting the tray down and sinking to his knees in front of him. He takes both of Ghost's hands, kisses his trembling knuckles. His finger is back, he realizes. All ten of them, right as rain. "I kept ma promise. Ye died. Ye were dead fer…almost ten minutes, I reckon."
Ghost shakes his head, not understanding. "What happened?"
"Yer body went up in flames," Soap tells him, eyes wide and awed. "Lucky I had the hose down there. I managed to put it out, but then the ash began tae…reform." He stares up at Ghost, his voice soft, adoring. "Then you were just…there. Perfectly whole. Nothin' I'd done tae ye, or ye'd had before me. It was all gone, and you were alive." He huffs. "Like a bloody phoenix."
Ghost shakes his head, fingers curling, heart burning in his chest. He can't be alive, he can't be.
Soap stares up at him, still awestruck. "Does it still hurt?" he whispers, touching Ghost's thigh. "Does anythin' hurt?"
Ghost swallows, but has to shake his head. "No," he admits. "I feel…" Confused. Angry. Robbed of something he was owed. Better than he ever has in his life. "Incredible."
Soap smiles at him, kisses his hands. "You were incredible," he whispers. "Everything I could have asked for and more. My perfect martyr. Even the fire was gorgeous, God." He sinks further onto his knees, takes Ghost's face in his hands. "Ah'm sorry. You were so perfect, and I couldnae even give ye what ye wanted."
Ghost swallows, covers Soap's hand with his own.
"Are you…?" He hesitates, tries to think of the right word. "Satisfied?"
Soap's eyes darken, his smile uneven. "Aye," he says.
Ghost stares at him. "For good?"
A flash of teeth. That heavy, predatory scent. "Thought I could be," he confesses. "Think so. Fer others, at least. But you were just so perfect." His breath shudders out of him, fingers curling around Ghost's clean, unbroken jaw. "I'd'a been happy forever, but only because no one else could'a compared."
"But I'm not dead," Ghost rasps.
"No," Soap says darkly. "Yer not."
Ghost closes his eyes, sags forward so their foreheads touch. "It feels so good," he admits. "I feel so fucking good, Johnny. It doesn't hurt; nothing hurts. But it'll hurt again, I know it will. It always does."
"Well," Soap begins, tilting his head to nudge their noses together, fingers trailing lightly below Ghost's ear in a way that makes him shiver, "maybe, when the hurt gets too much, we can…help each other, again."
Ghost's lips twitch in a brief smile. "I was ready to die, Johnny," he says. "Got nothin' to go back to."
Soap's eyes meet his. "Then stay," he whispers, hoarse and raw with feeling. "Stay with me, Simon. Let me take the pain away, whenever ye need it. Let me break you, whenever I need it."
"In sickness and in health, is that it?"
"We're both sick." Soap grins. "Absolutely fucked in the head. But Ah'm not that mean bastard all the time, and you don't hurt all the time." His fingertips brush Ghost's throat, slide up into his hair. "Stay with me," he begs again.
Ghost huffs, swallowing harshly. "Gonna need to fireproof your cellar."
Soap's eyes flash, bright and joyous. "That a 'Yes'?" he asks.
Ghost rolls his eyes and kisses him. "Yes, you absolute demon," he mutters.
"Aye, Hellbound, I am," Soap replies, grinning. "Good thing I've always had a thing for fire."