Chapter Text
In the months that followed Soap’s confession of his feelings and the blissful reciprocation that came from Ghost, things had been nothing but peaceful between the pair. Missions came and went like normal, minor injuries causing brief panic that only cemented them further together.
Simon couldn’t remember a time he’d been happier. Every time he geared up, showered, or got ready for bed, his fingers brushed against the brand Johnny had left on his inner thigh. He was claimed. He was loved, completely and wholly. Soap had seen every dirty, cruel, fucked up part of him and chosen to care about him anyway. That kind of affection was a heady drug for Ghost– if he thought about it too long, he couldn’t focus on work at all.
If Ghost allowed it to, the mutual possession he and Johnny held over each other would get him hard in his tac pants no matter where they were. More than once, he’d pulled Soap into a dirty closet on a mission just to gnaw at the side of his neck and snake a thigh between his knees. It wasn’t his fault someone touched what was his and he needed to reaffirm his claim. Truly, it wasn’t.
Soap was no better. If Ghost was particularly brutal in the field, he’d often find himself face to face with a blushing Scotsman just staring at him. Not much had changed since their first encounter– Johnny still got hard when he saw Ghost kill someone with just his hands or a knife. The only difference was that now he could do something about it.
More often than not, the missions where Soap found himself aching for a taste of violence from someone he trusted ended with him kneeling at Ghost’s feet. Soft pleas would spill from his lips as he clawed at Simon’s thighs, desperate for anything he could get. When Ghost wore violence like jewelry and used his weapons as an artist uses their pen, Johnny was helpless to do anything but beg for that pain. Sometimes he’d get it, sometimes he wouldn’t.
That was where he was stuck now.
The last mission the 141 was sent out on got very bloody very quickly, leaving Ghost and Soap fending for themselves against a veritable army of hostiles. Just like always, they worked in tandem to get to safety, both killing with ruthless efficiency. Despite the danger he was in, the sergeant couldn’t help but keep a close eye on Simon. He needed to see every drop of blood that spilled from the edge of his knives, every chunk of bone and brain that splattered away from the barrel of his guns. Johnny knew he was fucked up. He shouldn’t get off to death, but the way Ghost seemed to spin people’s fate around his fingers was addicting.
By the time they got back to base, Soap was aching in his jeans. The straps of his thigh holster were pinching at his swollen erection uncomfortably, only serving to heighten his desperation. He needed to be at Ghost’s feet or under his boot, anything. He needed just a hint of that same rage and brutality directed at him. The way it was mixed with the sheer adoration and desire that Simon exuded now that they’d addressed their feelings only made it more potent. Soap could never get enough.
The one problem was that Ghost seemed not to notice that he needed him once they got to base. The lieutenant had gone to Price to give his report and then headed for the showers, barely acknowledging Johnny as he passed. While it wasn’t uncommon for one or both of them to be too exhausted to do anything but sleep next to each other after a mission, this was different. Soap was dying, and Ghost didn’t seem to care.
When he didn’t get what he wanted that night or the day after, Johnny came up with a plan. He and Ghost had PT in the morning with a large group of Marines who had been temporarily stationed on their base. If Simon wouldn’t give him the attention he needed, Soap could give him a bit of a push.
Johnny put on his tightest pair of running leggings with one of Simon’s hoodies over top. Everything important was covered, but the cut of the pants made him look absolutely sinful. If anyone asked, he had the excuse that he’d needed to do his laundry, and the only hoodie left was Ghost’s. With any luck, the sight of his name stitched over Johnny’s heart, right over where his initials lay, would have the lieutenant’s attention firmly fixed on him as he moved through his exercises.
He didn’t have to hope long. The second Soap walked out in the heather grey hoodie, Ghost’s eyes were glued on his back. Unlike usual, the sergeant didn’t take his place by Simon’s side, choosing instead to station himself near a group of other soldiers. They noticed him almost immediately, one of the privates dragging his gaze down Soap’s thighs.
Even from a dozen meters away, Ghost saw the way the Marine bastards were ogling his Johnny. Even worse, Soap was letting them. He was staring directly at the private who was taking in his body with a lip between his teeth, and Johnny was smiling. Ghost didn’t know what he was getting at, but he could feel a cold jealousy pool in his stomach and spread outward. Soap was his; he was branded deeper than the name on the hoodie he stole.
Soap was his, and those fuckers were treating him like he was theirs.
When the officer running PT blew her whistle, Ghost had no choice but to fall in line. He kept a close eye on Johnny from the row behind him, watching as the Marines continued to smirk and whisper to him. Even as he moved through his paces, Ghost could feel his teeth grinding in silent rage. One of the privates purposefully “tripped” during jumping jacks just to bump into Soap. The presumptuous bastard had gone from just talking to what was his to touching. If Simon didn’t do something, he was going to end up getting dishonorably discharged.
“MacTavish, with me,” he barked. “Got a message from Laswell.”
Soap stopped mid-movement and turned to follow him, questions about where they were going shot down with glares every time. Ghost pulled him past the path that led to the comms center and pushed him up against an outbuilding, the cold steel pressing into Soap’s back.
“Simon, what the fuck?” Johnny struggled against Ghost’s strong hold, hands pushing at the lieutenant’s chest as he was pinned against the building.
“Did you forget who you belong to, Johnny? Huh? I would’ve thought me carving my fucking initials into you would get it through your thick skull,” Ghost snarled, bringing one of his hands to press into the scars over Soap’s chest.
Soap hissed and bared his teeth at Ghost, eyes flashing in challenge over being previously ignored. “I’m not the one who forgot something, Simon.”
It took a minute for Johnny’s words to sink in, but once they did, Ghost let out a wry laugh, staring down at the sergeant with a mocking smile. “That’s what this little display was about? You’re pissy about not getting fucked? Are you really that much of a desperate whore?”
At the harsh words and cruel look on Ghost’s face, Johnny dipped his head, a deep blush darkening his cheeks. Even after months of sleeping together, he still felt a rush of humiliation course down his spine when Ghost insulted him like that. It felt wrong and vile and so unbelievably perfect. With that shame burning in his face, Soap nodded. He was that desperate.
Ghost let out another derisive chuckle and shoved one of his broad thighs between Johnny’s knees. The pressure was so sudden and so right that Soap yelped, hands going from pushing at Simon’s chest to grabbing at it. He clawed for purchase against the lieutenant’s shirt, frantic to get a hold of anything he could so he could handle the rush of pleasure overtaking him. Soap had been hard for what felt like years, and he was finally getting the stimulation he needed.
When his shirt was stretched down, Simon smirked beneath the mask and let go of Soap to pull it up above his mouth. It was impossible to tell who leaned in first– Ghost bit at Johnny’s lips at the same time as Soap licked between Simon’s. The kiss was frenzied and full of want, every movement laced with the paralyzing need that had been plaguing the sergeant since the mission began. Neither man could get enough.
As Ghost bit at the end of Johnny’s tongue, he whimpered in surprise and bucked his hips forward. The motion was involuntary; his entire body was a livewire, with the pleasure from the possessive kisses only directing the roll of his waist. When his cock rubbed against Ghost’s broad thigh, Soap melted into his lieutenant’s mouth even further and began to roll against him in some semblance of a rhythm. His pace was sloppy and off-beat, but each thrust of his hips against Simon’s joggers had the softest sounds escaping between them.
“Look at you,” Ghost panted, pulling back from Johnny’s mouth for a brief second, “humping my thigh like a bitch in heat.” One of his large hands came to cup Soap’s jaw, with his first two fingers sliding between his teeth and pressing down on his tongue. “You’re slobbering like a mutt too, Jesus.”
Soap keened at the words, the noise garbled around the fingers forcing their way into his mouth. He had told Ghost about that once, and the bastard had chosen now to remember it. As the hand still on Johnny’s chest slid to his hips and pulled, the sergeant felt his eyes roll back in his head. He ground his hips against Ghost’s thigh, the broad muscle hitting every part of him just right. He’d been aching in those leggings since Simon first looked at him. Getting to roll into him was heaven.
“That’s it, bitch. You’re going to get off just like this.” The statement was hissed out as Simon pulled his jaw down to force him to make eye contact, his brown eyes filled with fire. “You wanted my attention so badly, now you have it. Give me a show, Johnny.”
With his permission finally in hand, Soap grasped onto Ghost’s shoulders as hard as he could and began rocking his hips down onto his thigh quicker than he had been. Pleasure was jolting through his system, making his toes curl inside his trainers and his hands cramp in Simon’s shirt. His cock was leaking precum into his leggings, a dark wet patch forming on the front where he had tucked himself away earlier. Johnny felt messy and pathetic, and it was everything he needed.
The longer he fucked his hips down onto Ghost’s broad leg, the more desperate Soap became. Every time he felt like he was right on the edge of his orgasm, it was just barely out of reach. He would roll his hips down harder and faster, but his climax would remain within sight yet unattainable. The frustration had him tearing up, hot streaks carving their way down his cheeks as he fought to cum. Ghost took pity on him and pushed his thigh up, forcing a harsh shout out of Soap’s mouth.
“C’mon, mutt, keep your mouth shut,” he snarled before taking one final look at their surroundings and ripping his mask off with one hand. The heavy fabric was pressed between Soap’s teeth, none too gently. Soap nearly came on the spot.
“I’ll help you, but if you make a single noise, I’m leaving you here like this. Got it?”
Johnny nodded frantically, biting down on the soft fabric of Ghost’s balaclava. It smelled vaguely like cigarettes with the minty undercurrent of his shampoo. The scent was comforting as Simon looked down at him with a sadistic glint in his eye, the thigh shoved between Soap’s own pressing harshly up into his crotch.
The pained groan that muffled itself into the mask was met with a glare from Ghost, more frantic tears streaming down Johnny’s face in response. He didn’t want Simon to leave him like this. He didn’t think he could take being strung along the edge like this only to be abandoned. When Ghost moved his leg again, the shorter man nearly collapsed with sheer relief. He’d happily take his second chance.
“I’m starting to think you want people to see you like this, Johnny, eh? Do you want that private that was feeling you up to come around the corner and see you getting yourself off on my thigh?” One of Ghost’s hands snaked down behind Soap as he spoke, pulling the hoodie up and sliding into the back of his pants.
Soap could feel himself getting closer, the feeling of Simon palming the meat of his ass and directing his hips only pushing him toward the edge. He leaned into Ghost’s neck and stifled his sobs into the balaclava and warm skin there, body writhing desperately as his perfect torturer kept talking.
“Maybe I should let them see you. Maybe I should drag your pathetic ass out into the common room and fuck you there. Those Marines won’t touch you once they hear how you sound when you scream for me,” he snarled, pressing his middle finger against Soap’s entrance for an extra jolt of pleasure.
The mental image of being tossed onto his knees in front of the whole camp sent Johnny hurtling over the edge. He wailed into his gag, tears streaming into Simon’s mask as he came hard in his pants. While the fabric dampened with hot spend, Ghost continued pulling his hips back and forth, making Soap groan and tremble with the aftershocks.
The pleasure burned through him like wildfire, leaving a ruined husk of a landscape in its place. Soap was a blank slate now– anything could flourish after Simon had completely emptied his mind out. He slumped against the taller man, barely noticing when the balaclava was pulled from his mouth. Strong hands were holding him up, and that’s all that mattered.
After a few moments of breathing against Simon’s chest, Soap began to feel the discomfort of cooling cum sticking to his skin. He squirmed against the lieutenant’s hold, trying to break free and stand up straight.
“Fuck, I don’t suppose you brought a wipe or anything,” he grumbled as he was set firmly on the ground.
Ghost scoffed. “I don’t think this whole incident was my idea. I wasn’t the desperate bitch who couldn’t wait.” He drew out the end of his sentence, shooting Soap a withering look before putting his damp mask back on his head and grabbing Johnny’s hand and heading for the barracks. “Let’s go. Don’t want you to be seen like this.”
“Possessive bastard,” Johnny smirked as he followed once more, all too eager to wherever Simon led.
“Whore,” came the fond response, and it may as well have been ‘love’ for how it made Soap’s chest warm.