Familiar Anthology
Author: queeniegalore
Date: 2022-11-21T04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: FanFiction; Bottom John "Soap" MacTavish; Dad Jokes; Dirty Talk; Exhibitionism; Flirting; Getting Together; Ghost Face Reveal; Idiots in Love; Jealousy Kink; Kinda; Light Dom/sub; M/M; Mission Fic; PWP; Porn as Plot; Post canon; Spit Kink; They are as bad as each other; Top Simon "Ghost" Riley; Voice Kink; Voyeurism; inappropriate use of military comms; mask kink
Description: Anthology containing: Familiar as a Bottle and a Glass The Spaces Between the Light
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Rights: Copyrights as per source stories

Familiar as a Bottle and a Glass by queeniegalore

Series: Familiar [1]
Fandoms: Call of Duty (Video Games)
AO3 Categories: M/M
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John “Soap” MacTavish/Simon “Ghost” Riley
Characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley
Freeform Tags: Bottom John “Soap” MacTavish, Dad Jokes, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Flirting, Getting Together, Ghost Face Reveal, Idiots in Love, Jealousy Kink, Kinda, Light Dom/sub, Mission Fic, PWP, Porn as Plot, Post canon, Spit Kink, They are as bad as each other, Top Simon “Ghost” Riley, Voice Kink, Voyeurism, inappropriate use of military comms, mask kink, soap/omc (minor), top ghost agenda
Status: Completed
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Published: 2022-11-21
Updated: 2022-11-21
Packaged: 2023-08-24 19:19:39
Summary:

He’d had Ghost’s voice pouring into his ear for hours, somehow rough and smooth and smoky all at once, like the kind of Scotch he couldn’t really afford. And that voice, combined with the fatigue, the bone deep weariness, was starting to have the same effect as good Scotch on his resolve, on his fucking impulse control

Soap makes bad choices, no one knows when banter crosses the line into flirting, and their comms definitely shouldn’t be used like that. Somehow, despite themselves, they make it work.

This is mostly porn, with feelings added for a bit of spice.

I Bookmarked Story: False

1. Chapter 1

Author’s Note:

Title is from ‘Sleeping on the Blacktop’ by Colter Wall
All the military stuff runs on video game logic, I don’t make the rules

“Good work, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice was soft and rough, a breath of air through the comms in Soap’s ear, and Soap closed his eyes for a moment, the warehouse door gently shutting behind him and leaving him in the dim light of the moon. The air outside was fresh, cool, just the kiss of a breeze touching his red cheeks. He wondered if Ghost was watching him through his scope, seeing him slumped against the door, blood dripping slowly to the ground around his dirty boots - some his, most not - and eyes closed to the night sky.

“Thanks, Lt,” he sighed, and let himself consider collapse for just a moment more before straightening. What a fucking mission. What a fucking night.

“Perimetre’s clear, Soap,” Ghost added, surprisingly patient. “In your own time.”

“Aye, I’m right fuckin’ scunnered,” Soap muttered, falling deep into the familiar softness of his accent, knowing it was so much mush to Ghost’s useless English ears.

Surprising him again, Ghost just laughed. “You and your nonsense.”

“People like Scottish accents,” Soap protested half-heartedly, starting up the alleyway that would, eventually, lead him back to his Lt. “So shut your puss.”

“Oh I bet the ladies eat it the fuck up, eh?” Ghost sounded distracted. Soap could hear him packing away his AW-50, methodically breaking it apart with what Soap knew from experience were quick, efficient movements. Scope off him, now, no longer being held in the sharp gaze of his Lt, Soap was suddenly so tired.

He’d had Ghost’s voice pouring into his ear for hours, somehow rough and smooth and smoky all at once, like the kind of Scotch he couldn’t really afford. And that voice, combined with the fatigue, the bone deep weariness, was starting to have the same effect as good Scotch on his resolve, on his fucking impulse control. They were alone on this frequency, no one monitoring their comms, and he was tired, and worn down, and feeling stupider than usual. Both vulnerable and, somehow, invincible. Drunk on Ghost.

And so, hiking his pack up a little higher on his shoulders, he shrugged and opened his dumb fucking mouth.

“Oh aye, Lt, but it’s not exactly the ladies I’m interested in, is it now?”

Only half a beat of extra silence before Ghost’s reply came, breathed out on a huff of amusement, in his ear. “Well good to know, Sergeant. Won’t make the same mistake again.”

“A-aye, well,” Soap started, and then - fucking miracle - shut his mouth for a moment, scrubbing a hand over his face. Thank sweet mother Mary, actually, that Ghost didn’t have the scope on him for this, couldn’t see what a fucking mess he was being. Hearing it was bad enough.

If Ghost didn’t know by now that Soap had caught feelings, he was way stupider than their superiors gave him credit for. This was starting to be a national security issue.

He was almost back to their recon position, having taken a ridiculously circuitous route to avoid detection in a city whose entire bad guy population was currently left in a heap of corpses on a warehouse floor, before the silence between them got to him. He’d known it would eventually. Shutting the fuck up was one thing, staying shut the fuck up was another matter entirely.

“Is it gonna be a problem, Lt?” he asked, chewing on his lower lip and staring solidly out into the night. “Wi’ us?”

Ghost gave him a soft hum. “It’s a fucking funny world, isn’t it Johnny, where I’ve seen you stab a man in the neck and watch him slowly bleed to death at your feet and then whine about how much you want a drink before he’s even cold, but you’re worried that I’m gonna get upset that you like to fuck men.”

“Well you could have just said fucking no,” Soap bitched, a helpless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a careful breath, more relieved than he’d expected, hoped to be. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Still whining. And insubordinate, my, my.”

“I’m not fucking whining,” Soap spat back, cheeky as shit, still grinning. “Sir.”

“No, it doesn’t bother me. Neither of ‘em, Johnny,” Ghost went on, ignoring him. “Christ. Be a fucking hypocrite if it did, wouldn’t I?”

Soap’s breath stuttered in his chest as those words hit him, sharp as the night air, lodging in his throat and lungs. He could see the RN point just up ahead, the shadow of the shed where they’d stashed their jeep, where they’d be stuck together for a three hour ride out of the vicinity. Be a fucking hypocrite if it did, wouldn’t I?

“Ghost.”

“Careful, Johnny.” Ghost still sounded amused, but his voice had dropped an octave, scratching along Soap’s worn nerves like sandpaper. Soap swallowed, and tried again. “Simon.”

“That’ll do.” Ghost stepped out of a shadow a few metres up the road and jerked his head, hurrying Soap along to the car. Soap was almost distracted when Ghost got in the driver’s seat (not a-fucking-gain), but his brain had lost the ability to focus on anything but what Ghost had just said. Implied.

I’d be a fucking hypocrite.

Ghost wouldn’t talk about it. Soap knew it, the bastard, the absolute cunt. He wouldn’t say a word, because he was a sadist, and his response to his friend coming out to him was going to be a hint, just the tiniest sneak peek of a look into his own personal life, and then he was going to slam his doors shut right in Soap’s face like he didn’t know -

Aye, but of course he didn’t know.

Soap kept quiet, slinging half his gear into the back along with Ghost’s, wedging the important shit into the footwell of the passenger seat and trying to get comfortable. He considered keeping his helmet on, remembering some of the other times he’d been in a car with his Lt, and then thought better of it, tossing it behind him and hearing it bounce against a window.

He turned to stare at the side of Ghost’s head, and would bet money that under the mask, Ghost was smirking. You bastard.

“Watch your sector til we’re out of the town, Johnny,” Ghost said mildly, and Soap narrowed his eyes for a moment before turning with a huff and scanning the street outside his window.

“Hey, Lt,” he said after a while, when they were on the outskirts of the town and heading into the surrounding countryside, off to their extraction point. “What did the skeleton say to the bartender?”

A beat of silence. “I don’t know, Soap, what did the skeleton say to the bartender?”

Soap bit his lip on a smile. “I’ll have one beer and a mop, thanks.”

This time, the silence stretched on for a couple of minutes. Soap grinned out into the night, hoping Ghost could see his expression in the reflection of the glass. It was clear outside, the moonlight hitting the trees and grass, bleaching everything the same off-white as Ghost’s mask.

“Do you get it? Because, like, he-”

“Fuck me,” Ghost groaned, and reached a fist across to thump Soap’s shoulder, hard. “Leave the comedy to me eh, Johnny.”

Fuck me, Soap thought, rolling his eyes at himself. If you want, Simon. Fuck me.

“You know you don’t have to tell me anything,” is what he said, eyes still firmly on the window. “But you know you-”

“I do know that Johnny, yeah,” Ghost interrupted, and smacked him again, maybe a little gentler this time. “Now shut the fuck up and get some sleep, I’m gonna make you drive in a couple of hours.”

“Aye, Lt,” Soap said softly, and finally turned away from the window, bundling up an armful of gear to make an uncomfortable pillow. He looked back at Ghost for a moment, taking up too much of the cab, skull gloves shining on the steering wheel. Terrifying and beautiful, almost mythic if Soap didn’t know about his terrible sense of humour, his terrible taste in liquor, the endearing weirdness of him. He’d never heard a peep about Ghost’s personal life, had wondered if he had a girl squirreled away somewhere, a series of one-night stands and broken hearts trailing after him, or if he just shut himself away in a cryogenic chamber between missions. I’d be a hypocrite. Idle fantasising aside, he hadn’t ever really considered the idea that Ghost would like dick.

“Roger that.”

—

The extraction point was a field outside an abandoned farmhouse, and the helo was running late so they decided to split watches and get a little extra sleep. Ghost, as usual, insisted on first watch, and if Soap were just a tiny bit more altruistic he would have protested the fact that he knew Ghost was just gonna let him sleep until the helo showed up but well, fuck. He wasn’t.

“Y’know I can’t be sure,” Soap said as he settled in the front room, a wall away from the little nest Ghost had made himself on the porch, “But I think there’s a good chance I’ve got more field experience than you, Lieutenant.”

“What exactly are you complaining about, Soap,” Ghost asked, tilting his mask at him from where he stood in the doorway. Soap was on the floor, a little nest of musty cushions and gear of his own, and he tried not to think about the way Ghost towered over him, draped in shadows, an impossible behemoth of a man.

“You don’t need to baby me, is all,” he muttered, feeling stupid for about the four hundredth time that night.

Ghost laughed, one of his rare, real ones, and knocked on the door frame a couple of times before turning to leave. “Oh, Johnny. You’d know it if I was babying you.”

Soap’s face burned. And what the fuck does that mean, Simon?

Fatigue had its hooks in him, the entire night felt like a fever dream, from the mission itself to Ghost’s teasing, the half doze in the car, Ghost’s grip warm on his shoulder to wake him, pressing into the slowly developing bruise from his punch. It had felt good, he thought sleepily, that soft pressure against the tenderness of him. He thought Ghost probably knew how to touch a partner, how to wake up those pressure points and get them panting for him, get them ready…

Holy Mary…

Being gay in the military, he’d had his share of thoughts about the men he worked with, had his share of quick fucks with them as well, sometimes. But he knew how to keep it professional. He’d never gotten hard for a superior officer, for example, while he could hear said superior officer breathing just a metre or so away, never gotten so close to rubbing one out to them. Ghost was driving him fucking mental, he made Soap feel like a puppy one minute, like his best friend the next, like…like fucking something. Something special, on the occasional, odd moment, something important. I like you alive, he’d once said, not too long ago. Like yeah, okay Ghost. I’ll stay alive for you. I’d do fucking anything for you.

He eased himself onto his stomach, trying half-heartedly to be quiet about it even though every item of gear he was still wearing seemed to clang like a fucking klaxon and give him away. His cock was half hard, kinda comfortably so, just warm and heavy in his jock, pressing into the threadbare cushions he’d pulled off the old couch. He wasn’t gonna jerk off - aside from anything else, he was too tired for that. But it felt good, in this mess of a night, to push against something as he drifted off, felt sweet to lay there with his legs ever so slightly spread, one knee drawn up, and listen to Ghost. Let his imagination run away with him a little as sleep crept up. Ghost touching him, touching his bruises, that tenderness, Ghost’s mask pressing against his face, hard plastic contrasting with the soft cotton of the balaclava underneath. You’d know it if I was babying you… would he call Soap baby? Would he say his name, as he rocked against him, rocked inside him, that voice in his ear, would he lift up the mask just enough to breathe a kiss over his neck, his jaw, would he…

“Alright Johnny, finish it up. Helo’s five mikes out.”

His eyes snapped open.

Frozen, adrenaline flushing through his body, he was suddenly wide awake and entirely aware of his hard cock, full and hot now with blood, begging for just a little release, even more aware of Ghost’s amused voice (why was he always so fucking amused) from just outside the door. Soap pushed himself up on his elbows, let his head hang down for a moment between his arms.

“I - what. I wasn’t jerking off,” he said, voice thick. How long had it been? It’d felt like a few minutes, seconds, but a glance at his watch told him he’d been half drifting between sleep and fantasy for about half an hour.

“Yeah?” Ghost sounded doubtful. “Fuckin’ waste, then. I would have been.”

Soap was actually going to kill him.

He viciously pumped his hips down once, twice, into the cushions, and then dragged himself up with a groan. “Degenerate,” he muttered, adding a string of Scottish filth that he knew Ghost wouldn’t understand, hoped it’d piss him off. He adjusted himself in his fatigues and took a few deep breaths before joining Ghost on the porch, letting the cold air knock a bit of sense into him.

Ghost turned to look at his face. Soap could hear the helo now, a dull drone in the distance, slowly getting louder, closer, ready to whisk him away from whatever the fuck this all was. Christ, as soon he was back home he was getting himself the fuck laid.

“You’re a cunt,” he informed his Lieutenant. He wanted to lick that mask, lick up the cheekbone, over the teeth, wanted to feel it gritty and dirty on his tongue. It was too dark, he thought, for Ghost to see his blush. Probably.

“What did I do?” Ghost wondered, and Soap just shook his head, adjusted his pack and his gear, kept his eyes out on the night sky, on the dim flash of the helo coming to rescue him. Yeah. Five minutes after getting leave he was gonna have a dick in him, Jesus fucking Christ.

And if the sound of Ghost’s voice followed him back, well fuck. That was just something he was gonna have to deal with.

2. Chapter 2

His name was Xavier and he was a civilian, thank god, which meant he still asked questions but at least he didn’t know the right questions to ask. It was easy to shut him down with a wink and an “it’s classified, love,” because he didn’t really care. They both knew what they were there for, and it was perfect, mindless, hot. Everything Soap had been craving.

Just a big, strong, gym-bunny body that knew how to treat him, knew how to fuck him, knew - by the third or fourth time - exactly how long to stay and bask in the afterglow, how long he was welcome in Soap’s small but cozy little Glasgow flat. About enough time to catch his breath, normally, use the bathroom and kiss Soap on the way out.

And Soap knew that he wasn’t exactly the most considerate lover, but even he was pretty sure it was breaking some kind of etiquette to answer his phone while he had a cock shoved so deep up his arse he could almost feel it in his throat. But, well.

It was Ghost.

“It’s polite to put it on silent,” Xavier panted above him as Soap scrabbled for his phone, but he was half laughing and while he’d slowed, he hadn’t stopped.

Soap, on his knees and one hand, pushed back against Xavier as he finally reached the phone, which had stopped and immediately started ringing again because Ghost was an obnoxious prick. “Sorry, love,” he said, flashing what he hoped was a charmingly apologetic grin over his shoulder. “Work.”

“You want me to stop?” Xavier asked, laughing again in surprise as Soap bit his lip for a moment and then shook his head.

“Nah, should only be a sec,” he said breathlessly, and then, with a deep, sick thrill in his gut, he answered the phone to his Lt while still gently rocking back against the man who was fucking him.

Oh, boy.

“Alright, Lt?”

Jesus wept. He sounded like he was being fucked, he was positive of it.

“You secure?” Ghost barked, which was standard when it was work stuff - and it had, admittedly, only ever been work stuff with them.

Soap took a deep breath, which turned into a gasp when Xavier swayed into him, just a little, because apparently Soap was only attracted to fucking bastards.

“N-no, sir,” he gritted out. “Not right at this moment.”

“Fucking hell. You’re needed. I’ll send the intel to the usual place, get to it as soon as you can, right?”

“Yes, sir - oh, fuck -”

Xavier, unhappy with the last reaction, had gripped both of Soap’s hips and pulled him back hard, seating him more fully on his cock. Soap tried to glare, but it wasn’t easy when he was seeing goddamn stars, and Ghost’s voice was in his fucking ear and oh, god, yeah this was hell. This had been a bad idea.

“Soap,” Ghost snapped out, a thread of worry through that growl of his. “Are you compromised?” Are you okay, he meant, and Soap’s heart melted, just a little.

“Ah,” he said, and tried to get himself together. “No sir. Not…exactly.”

He could almost hear the penny drop, the little indrawn breath on the other side of the phone. Couldn’t picture anything but Ghost’s mask, but he was pretty good at projecting emotions onto it. Like, for example, complete and utter shock.

“Jesus, Johnny. Right now?”

He sounded disbelieving but not angry, which was something. And it was sick, but hearing Ghost say his name - his real name - while he was getting fucked, while Xavier was slowly starting to pick up speed behind him, was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him in his life.

“Sorry, Lt,” he gasped out, and pressed his sweaty forehead into the pillow, let his mouth fall open as Xavier pumped into him. Not a hand on his cock, which was hanging thick and full between his legs, but he could feel it throbbing. “S-sorry, shit.”

That familiar beat of silence between them as Ghost tried to figure something out, tried to plan his next move.

“Alright, lad,” he said eventually, voice low. “As long as you can get to work I don’t give a fuck. You gonna be squared away for me?”

Lad? Oh, that was a new one.

“I’m…yeah, yeah, sir. I’ll be ready, fuck.”

“Good boy,” what the fuck, what the fuck. “Out, here.”

“Wait!”

Xavier openly laughed, this time, loud enough that Soap knew Ghost would be able to hear it through the phone. His cheeks burned. Beneath him, a little puddle of precome was forming on the bed, his untouched, leaking cock dripping and making a mess. Ghost, making a mess of him, despite it being Xavier behind him, nailing his prostate, not even pretending to try to be quiet anymore.

“Wait,” he said again, squeezing his eyes shut. He was close. He was losing his fucking mind doing this, and he was so close. “I, ah…I just wanted to…” literally no excuse for keeping Ghost on the line, and they all knew it. Christ. He just wanted to come.

“Better hurry it up then, Johnny,” Ghost rumbled, as if reading his mind. Indulging him. And oh, there’d been nights and nights with that voice, teasing him, breaking him down, and now he had never been more vulnerable.

“Yes sir,” he breathed, and Xavier, blessed by all the saints, finally dropped a hand to wrap around his cock, gave him something to thrust into.

“You being taken care of?”

Soap’s mind went white with shock, with pleasure, his wet cock jumping in Xavier’s hand. Yeah, he was being taken care of, that big, thick body behind him, inside him, that firm hold on his cock just a little cruel, that voice.

“Yeah,” he gasped, half affirmative, half just a release of all that pressure, all that pleasure building up. He rubbed his face into the pillow, squirming at it, hot and over-sensitive all over. The phone was getting slippery in his grip, shaking and clammy with sweat.

Ghost hummed, seemed pleased. “Then get on with it, Johnny,” he said, and it was low, coaxing, but still an order. Soap tensed, felt it tight in his lower back, the stuttering of his hips.

“You’d better do what he says,” Xavier murmured, leaning over him to press their feverish, sweat-slick bodies closer together. “Sounds like he means business.”

Close, close, close. His lip was sore, he realised, from being bitten, from smothering all the noises that were desperate to come out. He squeezed the sheets in one hand, the phone in the other, let out a hard breath through his nose.

Ghost chuckled, a scratchy, Scotch-rough lick of sound in his ear. “There, listen to your man, lad,” he said. “Go on, then.”

Soap at least had the sense to bite the pillow when he came, though he couldn’t stop the deep groan that rumbled up from his chest, breaking into a stifled whine that he knew was giving him away. Xavier gripped his cock, let him drive his hips into the feeling, thumb rubbing hard at the underside and coaxing the come out, and it felt good, fuck it felt good, but all of Soap’s attention was on Ghost. The tension of waiting for him to respond pushing his orgasm to a fraught, almost frenetic, climax, muscles tight with anticipation, like it wouldn’t really be finished until…

“That’s the way. Got that out of your system, now?”

“Ah, fuck,” Soap whispered, face still in the pillow. “Lt.”

“There’s a boy, Johnny.” Was Soap imagining it, in his come-drunk stupor, or did that voice sound rougher than usual? The words came on a breath, soft and approving, and Soap wanted to think that Ghost wasn’t just indulging him, laughing at him, humouring him, Wanted to believe that maybe he’d gotten something out of this fucking mess as well.

Soap couldn’t use his name, not with Xavier there. But he could put every inch of feeling he had into a long, drawn out “Lieutenant,” dropping deep into his accent, letting it slur out on the dregs of his orgasm.

Thought maybe he heard again that single, sharply drawn breath.

“Alright, Johnny, I’ll see you at work.” Ah, was there a crack in the ice or was Soap delusional, was the question. Who fucking knew. He let himself drop, Xavier was still behind him, in him, and he let himself go pleasantly boneless as his body was used. “Get to that info package asap, lad. Out, here.”

“Aye Lt.” But Ghost was gone, and Soap let the phone finally slip from his hand, stretching luxuriously as Xavier finished, the pretty, sexy noises that Soap had liked so much about him turning into so much sweet background noise.

“Didn’t realise that this was going to turn into a threesome.”

Xavier dropped down next to him, collapsing on the pillows as he caught his breath, shooting Soap an amused look.

“Sorry, love,” Soap said, this time trying for guilty. Xavier’s rolled eyes let him know how good a job of that he was doing. “It was, you know, work. Can’t ignore him.”

“Yeah, that was it,” Xavier snorted, and Soap watched as he hauled himself up, wandering towards the bathroom. “I take it you haven’t fucked him yet?”

Soap rolled himself onto his back, shivering as the sweat started cooling on his exhausted body. When Xavier left, he’d shower, then boot up the encrypted laptop that would have the intel he needed for the mission. Ghost made it sound a lot cooler than logging into his defence force email, he had to give him that.

“I have not,” he confirmed, as Xavier reappeared in the door, pants back on, and tossed Soap a washcloth. “He’s my superior.”

“Uh huh. He hot, at least?”

Was he hot?

The mask was hot. Soap had started to see it when he closed his eyes, in his dreams, the horror-movie skull as familiar and comforting to him now as breathing. He fantasised about touching it, indulging in the texture of it, the ridges and bumps, wanted to know if they’d be smooth or rough beneath his fingertips, his tongue. Fantasised about sweeping his thumbs over the cheekbones, the orbital bones, fantasised about licking at the teeth, hooking his tongue against the insides of them, feeling Ghost’s lips hot and wet through the balaclava. The mask was terrifying and sexy, and to be honest had rearranged a few things in Soap’s brain, had woken up certain things he was still coming to terms with. But it was hot, yeah, the Ghost was hot.

Was Simon hot?

Yeah. Soap could barely remember his face, if he was being honest - the glimpse he’d gotten of it had come when he was so fucking sleep-deprived and high on stimulants and painkillers that it’d felt like it was happening in a dream. He remembered thinking yes, there you are, remembered being worried that his staring was gonna give him away, because he’d already fallen by then, hadn’t he? Already been half on his way to catching the worst case of feelings he’d ever had in his sorry fucking life. But the face itself swam in and out of his memory - a sharp cupid’s bow, a long nose, cheekbones so high and wide and crisp Soap thought they might cut him, a strong jaw… He remembered pieces, but he could never seem to put them together to make a whole picture. He couldn’t remember the hair colour, but he could remember that the way Ghost’s eyeblack smeared down his cheeks was so stupidly sexy that Soap had had trouble processing it.

“Aye,” he said softly. “Aye, he’s hot.”

“You had to think about that.”

Soap shrugged, a little defensive. “I like thinking about him,” he said, and blinked as Xavier, dressed now, leaned down to kiss him on the cheek.

“You’re so fucking cute, aren’t you? Hit me up next time you’re in town, babe.”

Soap wanted to feel bad, couldn’t. They both knew what this was. It wasn’t either of their fault that Soap was so goddamn stupid.

“Aye love. You keep well.”

Xavier paused at the doorway and looked back at him, something dancing in his eyes that reminded Soap why he’d been so into him in the first place. Because he was an areshole.

“And if the two of you are looking for a real threesome, you’ve got my number.”

He laughed his way out of the flat, while Soap lay there for a while, palms pressed over his eyes, really letting it sink in that he’d let his superior officer listen on the phone while he came from being fucked in the arse.

“What the fuck, what the fuck.”

Nothing for it. He had a mission, apparently, and neither Ghost nor any of his other bosses were particularly patient men. Time to haul himself up and into the shower, and then, like a goddamn big boy, it was off to face the music.

There’s a boy, Johnny.

Fuck it. Worth it.

3. Chapter 3

It felt like only a few hours until Soap was back being held in Ghost’s scope again.

He was a professional, despite all recent evidence to the contrary, so once he got his intel he packed and headed to the base in Hamilton for pick up, as focused on the mission ahead as he could be, under the circumstances. There was a plane waiting for him, phone meetings with Price and Gaz, Ghost already in transit to the AOE. There was gear to check and recheck, maps and blueprints and dossiers to study, men to corral into order.

And then there was Ghost, barking instructions and sending everyone scurrying around in his wake as he moved like a titan through the small sea of soldiers and operatives. Soap watched him out of the corner of his eye while he attended to his own shit, watched him stalk around the place, the way he moved, the way people fell over themselves to obey him or get out of his way. Aye, he’s hot.

And then Ghost caught his eye, was stalking over to him. “Soap!” he called, and Soap froze in the middle of tightening the one bastard strap of his vest that was always coming loose and pissing him off. Time to face the music, indeed.

“Alright, Lt,” he said cautiously, eyes scanning that inscrutable mask like he could read a glimpse of emotion on it, a hint of intent. They were alone, alone as they could get, anyway, in the bustling COP. He wanted to fiddle with his strap, forced himself to stop, forced himself to lean casually against the wall behind him like he was just as cool as a fucking cucumber.

“You ready for this mission?”

Okay, actually, fuck him. “I’m always ready, Lieutenant,” Soap snapped, a little hurt. “Haven’t ever given you a reason to think otherwise.”

The mask tilted, and through it, Ghost’s eyes – those fucking eyes of his – lowered for a moment, skated off to the side.

“Point,” he said, and his voice was a little softer, lower. He leaned in, and Soap was suddenly very conscious of the position he’d put himself in, up against the wall, staring up at his lieutenant, close enough that without the mask, he thought he might be able to feel Ghost’s breath on his face.

“We…we squared away then, Ghost?”

“Hmm.” Ghost placed a hand on the wall beside Soap’s head, and to an outsider, it must have looked casual. Maybe they were going over battle plans, orders, maybe Ghost was just leaning in to be heard over the roar of the incoming helos. No reason that it wasn’t innocent.

Soap’s entire body was on high fucking alert, eyes wide and fixed on Ghost’s, mouth caught open on a shaky breath.

“It’s just that you said your lad was taking care of you and all.” Ghost’s voice barely above a whisper now, quiet just for Soap. “Don’t think I’ve ever left a partner in any shape to deal with the shit I’m gonna put you through today, Johnny.”

Oh. Soap was gonna die. He was going to fucking die, and he was going to welcome it.

“So, I was just checking in. But if you say you’re okay then hey, that’s good. Good for the mission.” He slapped Soap’s arm and turned away, before pausing, glancing over his shoulder and giving Soap a slow, thorough once over.

“Just a bit fucking disappointing for you is all.”

Yeah, Ghost wanted him dead. Soap didn’t have enough blood left in his brain to go into battle, not after that, he was going to walk in front of an enemy rifle because he was too fucking horny to comport himself. Maybe Ghost was actually a double agent and this had been his mission all along.

Fucking hell.

–

“I was going to tell you this joke about chemistry,” Ghost whispered in his ear. Soap didn’t stop rifling through papers, stepping neatly between the legs of the dead body he’d left sprawled on the floor of the office, taken out silently and painlessly with a knife to the top of the spinal column. Lists of cargo, shipping manifests, inventories; it was either what he needed, or it was going to give the intel geeks the most boring and pointless night of their careers. He shoved it all in a folder, which he shoved in his vest, which had a splash of tacky blood over it. Another day in paradise. Hours of running, firefights, breaching a warehouse to find it was the wrong warehouse, Ghost and Soap separating from the main team on a tip to go investigate this building instead, another fight. Ghost had been right, he’d been run ragged, and it all came down to this folder of papers, his aching muscles, and Ghost’s raspy voice back in his ear where it belonged.

“About chemistry,” he eventually replied. “Intel secured, by the way, if it even matters.”

“Copy that,” Ghost said. “Request closed line between me and Bravo-7-1 due to sensitive nature of potential communication, how copy?”

A slight pause, and then the radio operator monitoring the team responded, not even sounding all that put out. “Solid copy, the line is yours. Out here.”

Soap raised his eyebrows. “Must be a hell of a joke.”

“Yeah, this joke about chemistry,” Ghost continued. “But I didn’t think I’d get a reaction.”

Soap sighed, rubbed at his eyes for a moment. This idiot. This was the one he wanted.

“I’m offended, Ghost,” he said, and picked his way out of the office. The hall outside was lined with floor to ceiling windows, through which Ghost had covered his approach on his AW-50. “You don’t think we have a wee bit of chemistry?”

Oh aye, Soap, it’s all fun and games talking to him like this when he’s not actually in front of you, you numpty.

“We’ve got fucking something,” Ghost muttered darkly, and Soap glanced to his left, out the window and towards the roof where Ghost was lying in wait for him. He couldn’t see a fucking thing; they’d cut the power to the building but the back up lights provided just enough illumination to ruin his night vision. But knowing Ghost was out there was…

Yeah, it was something alright.

“Soap wait a second, hold up,” Ghost said suddenly, and then, when Soap instinctively raised his rifle, made a soft, shushing noise. “Nah, none of that, you’re good, you’re good. They just wanna check you got, uh…” a hesitation, then he rattled off a list, clearly being fed to him through his second comms line.

“Why didn’t they just ask me,” Soap muttered.

“’Cause I’m your superior, I don’t know. Just check you’ve got the shit, I’m covering you, you’re good. Everyone’s dead.”

“Ah, fuckin’ Christ,” he hissed, his brilliant strategy of grabbing every piece of paper he saw and hoping for the best coming back to bite him in the arse quicker than he’d expected. He pulled the folder back out of his vest and dropped to his knees, darting a quick look out the window again, as if to check that Ghost was watching.

“Yeah, I gotcha,” Ghost murmured, and Soap wondered If he could see the way that made him shiver. “You look good, Johnny.”

“I always look good,” Soap bit back, and pulled out his little key light, scanning as quickly as he could through the papers.

“Affirmative,” came his reply, and Soap had to ignore him, because they were on a fucking mission, and if Ghost saw him pop a boner through that bastard scope of his he was going to fling himself through the window.

“Hey, did I tell you what I learned about cowboys, recently?” he asked, instead of demanding what the fuck were they doing. Everything that was on the list or looked important was in one pile, everything that wasn’t, in another.

Ghost sighed. “What did you learn about cowboys, Johnny?”

“They’ve got three ears.” Documents back in the folder, important stuff on top, everything accounted for. He sat back on his heels and stretched his arms above his head, shook out his shoulders, and looked out to where he thought Ghost might be lurking.

“A right ear, a left ear, and a wild frontier.”

Silence. He grinned into it, staying right where he was.

“You realise I’ve got a scope on you right now,” Ghost eventually said, sounding strained. Soap grinned even wider.

“Aye, Lt.”

“You have any idea what I’m doing to you right now with this scope?”

The urge to spread his knees, just a little, took over before he could stop himself. He shifted, imagined he could feel Ghost’s crosshairs stroking up and down his body, over his mouth, along the vulnerable insides of his thighs. He wondered what he looked like, right then, on his knees, at Ghost’s mercy, practically offering himself up.

God, was this insane? He couldn’t possibly be misreading this, not at this point, but he didn’t know where the line was, didn’t know where the edges of this thing was, what veered past banter, flirtation, what was too far. Closed comms, sure, but if he said the wrong thing he’d be shot.

He took a deep breath. Opened his stupid mouth anyway.

“I guess you could do a lot to me, Ghost,” he said, and shrugged, loose limbed, trying to hide the tension in his thighs. “You could do whatever you wanted.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” For the first time, Ghost actually sounded affected, that liquor-burned scratch of his shaking a little in Soap’s ear. Soap licked his lips, tilted his head. He had to get moving, actually, get this intel back to the COP. Mission, mission, they were on a mission.

Ghost seemed to remember this at the same time Soap did.

“Alright, lad, I’m opening the comms back up in a second, right? You’re gonna get the fuck out of there and when we get back to the COP, as soon as you can get away, you’re gonna fucking find me. You got that? You copy?”

“Affirmative, Lt.”

“You fucking come to me, Johnny. That’s an order.”

Holy Mary and all her bastard saints. Soap dropped his head back for one second, two, and then forcibly wrenched it back into the game.

“Solid copy, lieutenant. Let’s fucking do this.”

He’d never moved so fast in his life.

—

A mission was never really just over.

There was debriefing, handover of the documents, checking in with the medics, jotting notes for his AAR, taking the longest piss of his life, being corralled into a meeting with Price… And Ghost there, for all of it, sticking by his side where he could, hovering in the vicinity if he couldn’t. That tower of a man, watching over him, just like he did in the field, but there was undeniable tension there, now. Sparks seemed to fly whenever he caught those dark, gunmetal eyes, whenever he looked up and saw they were on him again. Find me, Ghost had ordered. It wasn’t going to be hard.

Finally, a wee eternity later, everyone was finished with him, the men were sorted, there was nothing else to do that couldn’t be put off. The COP was quiet, and their plane wasn’t expected ‘til oh five hundred. He came out of the mess tent and caught Ghost lurking there, waiting for him.

“Lt,” he started, and Ghost shook his head, then jerked it, leading Soap away to a dark, quiet corner. Soap’s heart was in his throat. If Ghost was leading him there to kill him, that would be fine. He’d seen the way Ghost could kill a man, had come to terms with how sexy it was. That’d be okay, with him.

But he didn’t think that was it.

Up against a wall again, déjà vu, with Ghost right there with him. He smelled like sweat and dust and gunpowder, as familiar as home, by now. Soap thought about how stupid they both were, how dangerous this was. Thought about how much he didn’t care.

“You know what’s a wee bit unfair, Ghost?” Soap asked, surprising himself even as the words were coming out of his mouth. In for a penny, he supposed.

“What’s that, Johnny?”

“It’s a wee bit unfair that you know what I sound like while I’m being fucked, while I come from it, but I don’t even know if you like men.”

Ah, there it was, Soap’s new favourite sound, that tiny, indrawn breath. It was different, in person, now that he could see the way Ghost’s eyes widened behind the mask, then narrowed, see the way he tilted his head.

“If you haven’t figured out what I like by now, Johnny, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Soap smiled, remembering when he’d thought the exact same thing about Ghost. Maybe they were both too dumb to live.

“So you do like men?”

“I like you.” Ghost took a step closer, the toes of his boots knocking against Soap’s. Soap’s heart was beating too fast, sending his blood ricocheting around his body like shrapnel, making him shake. Ghost could definitely see his blush, this time. He both loved and hated that Ghost could read every reaction on his face, that it was all completely open and bare to him, while Soap only had the mask and those eyes, the heaving of that huge chest so close to his.

“Don’t you talk to me about unfair,’ Ghost went on, and there went the arm, up on the wall next to him, both shielding him and boxing him in. “Listening to you get fucked, knowing it’s someone else doin’ it, and I just had to sit there and take it? Listening to you come on someone else’s cock? Christ, Johnny, don’t you ever tell me that arsehole’s name, don’t know what I might do.”

Soap shivered, let his eyes drop closed. They didn’t have enough privacy for what he wanted to do, what he wanted Ghost to do to him. Drop to his knees right there, for a start, rub his face against the front of Ghost’s trousers, breathe in the dark, filthy scent of him, open his mouth to it, let Ghost see inside of him, let him take.

“You liked it, though,” he said, more confident than he felt. “Aye, Lieutenant? You liked it a wee bit.”

Ghost chuckled and finally, fucking finally, touched him. Just a brush of the back of his fingers down the outside of Soap’s bicep, but Soap shuddered, looked up into Ghost’s mask with as much lust as he could put in his face. His cock was throbbing, heavy and uncomfortable in his pants, that tiny hint of contact was nearly enough to make him fucking blow.

“You’re more aggressive than I was expecting,” Ghost mused, stroking up and down, raising goosebumps in his wake. Soap let his head drop back against the wall, mouth open, hips canted forward. They probably didn’t look so innocent this time. He didn’t care.

“Did you want to keep dancing around each other then, sir? Just keep up the banter, never get anywhere?”

Ghost’s hand slid down to Soap’s wrist, encircled it with just two fingers and a thumb, and squeezed.

“Mmm, didn’t say that, did I? Maybe I just enjoy making you fucking squirm.” He pushed Soap’s hand back against the wall by his hip and held it there, his arm still up on the other side of Soap’s body so that even though there was only that one, burning point of contact between them, Soap was completely caged in, surrounded by Ghost’s big body, the scent of him, the sound of his voice. Oh, it’d just take one touch. Just one fucking touch.

“Just like I’m gonna enjoy making you beg for it, making you scream my name when I finally get you alone.”

“Ah, Jesus Christ…”

“You wanna practice, Johnny?” Ghost leaned down to him, pressed his mask against the side of Soap’s flushed face, hard teeth pressing into his cheek. “You wanna say my name?”

“Ghost.”

A hard squeeze of his wrist made him gasp. Ghost pulled it away from the wall and then slammed it back, the movement sharp and short, just a hint of contained violence that made Soap’s cock drool a little precome into his briefs, twitching desperately.

“Uh uh. I said say my fucking name, Johnny.”

“Simon, Simon, fuck.”

The mask dug in hard, and Soap could feel Ghost’s harsh breaths wet against his skin. He pushed his hips further forward, seeking contact and meeting only air, a frustrated whine escaping his gritted teeth.

“Atta boy,” Ghost purred, like gravel pouring into his ear. Soap could feel his lips move through the balaclava, and it was making him dizzy with want. “Not so aggressive now, are ya?”

The entire COP could be bombed right then, Soap thought, and the only thing he’d care about would be whether it gave him enough cover to get his hand into his pants before he died. He knew Ghost would be a bastard, he knew it’d be kinda hot, but he hadn’t expected this.

“Simon, fuck, can we, we can’t, I know we can’t, but can we-”

“We can’t.” Ghost’s tone was final, if regretful, and Soap let himself whine again, let Ghost know how much he wanted it.

Ghost groaned and that was almost it, the straw on the camel’s back of Soap’s orgasm. He’d been waiting for that noise, he realised, for weeks. Rough and low, pushed out from his chest to vibrate in Soap’s very bones, it was simultaneously the sweetest and dirtiest thing Soap had ever heard in his life.

“Fuck Simon, do that again for me,” he begged, and Ghost’s grip on his wrist was going to start cutting off the circulation in his hand, soon.

“You gonna be in Glasgow?” Ghost said instead, and Soap’s head whirled for a second, as he tried to catch up with the abrupt shift in conversation.

“Uh, aye,” he slurred. “Off home after this, aye.”

Ghost’s lips moved to his ear. “I’ll find you there. Gonna fuck you in the bed he fucked you in.”

Soap turned his head, pushed his mouth to the mask, prayed that the shadows around them were being kind, that everyone else in the place had better things to do right then, that no one saw what he was about to try. He lifted his free hand, started tugging at the balaclava, and this time the noise Ghost made wasn’t a groan, it was a growl.

“No, no,” Soap soothed, despite the pain in his wrist. He didn’t stop, smoothing the material up Soap’s thick neck, up over his chin. “No, not off, I wouldn’t, Simon. Just this, please, c’mon…” Just over his mouth, hand splayed against Ghost’s cheek, thumb hooked in the bottom of the balaclava to hold it up.

Fuck, Simon’s strong chin, his wide mouth with that sharp cupid’s bow, almost absurdly pretty in contrast to the brutality of the skull. “Kiss me,” he whispered to that monster of a man, with his soft wet mouth and big eyes. “Kiss me,” and finally, finally, Ghost leaned in, dragged his mouth down Soap’s cheekbone to his lips, and did.

4. Chapter 4

It was raining in Glasgow, which was not out of the ordinary. Soap still hated it, you could live in a place your whole life, he always thought, and never get used to some things. He fantasised a lot about retiring, moving to somewhere sunny and beautiful. Mexico had been nice; apart from all the people trying to kill him, it was nice. Alejandro probably knew a place.

He’d dumped his gear in a pile when he got in, filthy rucksack in one corner, filthy clothes all shoved into another, and run himself a bath. Price swore by Epsom salts for sore muscles, and Soap thought that was a made up thing, like rubbing vapour rub on your feet for a cold, but he did it anyway. Bought packets of the stuff and poured them into the old, clawfoot tub that had been the main attraction of this flat. Price knew a lot of things about a lot of things, probably couldn’t hurt.

He’d soaked for a good long time, letting out the cold water and adding more hot, until he felt soft again, all over, soft down to his sore muscles. Could have melted to a sludge in the bottom of the tub and been happy about it, just listening to the rain outside the window and breathing in the warm steam, pulling it into his lungs and holding it there.

He missed Ghost already, and it had been, generously, hours. Not even a day.

The kiss lingered on his lips, felt bruised into his soul. Rushed, after all that, a quick press of their mouths, Ghost’s tongue swiping over his lips, between them, before wrenching away despite Soap’s fingers hooked into the hinge of his jaw. Too quick, and then over, Ghost dragging his mask down as Soap collapsed back against the wall. Not here, Ghost had said, and yeah, that was fair.

And now Ghost had to be in London and Soap got to be home. He wasn’t a patient man, hated that he was forced to wait, but wait he would, for Ghost. For Simon.

After he managed to haul himself out of the bath, he changed his sheets, remembering with a flush the last thing he’d done on that bed, self-consciously making it up again all neat and pretty. He put on a load of laundry, ordered himself a curry even though it was almost nine and he wasn’t really hungry. Just wanted the comfort of it, same as he wanted the comfort of soft, old sweats, a soft, old tee. Even after the soak, he ached, his body sore in ways he was used to but, like the rain, had never grown to love.

He was sound asleep on the couch when the knock on the door woke him, and he reached for a rifle before he’d even opened his eyes, half of him still out on the battlefield. Heart pounding he sat up, listened as the knock came again. It was after midnight, the rain still pouring down. He ran a hand over his face, stomach in knots, and opened the door.

Ghost seemed to fill the hallway, the huge, hulking mass of him. It was strange to see him out of tac gear, in what passed for civvies - just dark jeans, a black hoodie with the hood up, the balaclava with the skull face printed on it instead of the full mask, same as the one Soap had carefully tucked away in his nightstand. In this weather, he could almost get away with it. He’d scrubbed away the eyeblack, Soap noticed sleepily, or most of it. It made him look oddly vulnerable, his eyes wide and bare and open to him. He was soaking wet.

“Do you wear the mask when you’re just, like, going about your everyday business as Simon Riley?” Soap asked, leaning against the doorjamb. Ghost’s eyes crinkled in a smile.

“Nah.”

“Oh, so this is special just for me, then?”

“You seem to like it,” Ghost murmured, in that low rumble that also seemed to be special just for Soap.

Soap grinned back.

“Come in, then, it’s fucking pishin’ it doon.” He pushed off the door and made to turn around, when Ghost reached out, strong arm around his waist, hauling him into that stupid huge chest of his. Freezing cold waterdrops from Ghost’s hoodie soaked through the thin cotton of his tee, making him shiver. Didn’t even try to pull away.

“Hey, I know that one,” Ghost murmured, and dropped his face to nuzzle at Soap’s cheek, then the fine, short hairs behind his ear. “Means it’s raining.”

Soap laughed helplessly. “You’re such a cunt,” he breathed, and lifted shaking hands, for the first time, to smooth up Ghost’s body, up the hardness of him, over his stomach and chest, noting that he was strapped under the hoodie. “Thought you had to be in London.”

“Yeah, I just told them I had to go fuck the whiniest bitch in Scotland, they let me off early.”

Soap finally managed to pull him inside, getting the door shut behind them before being pushed up against it, held tight between it and Ghost’s body. No one around this time, no gear between them, nothing but the soft patter of rain outside and the hot panting of their breaths.

“God you chat a lot o’ shit, you absolute fuckin’ bawbag,” he said softly. He had his hands on Ghost’s waist, squeezing at the lean muscle there, loved the narrowness that broadened out into the wide chest, massive shoulders. Fuck, he was so hot, it was so hot, he was having trouble breathing.

“Mmm.” Ghost bent his knees so he could drop his head to Soap’s shoulder, bit him through the balaclava, the blunt pressure making Soap hiss and squirm. “So many things you could be doing with your mouth, and you’re choosing to talk nonsense at me.”

“Yeah, you know me by now, sir,” Soap gasped.

“Don’t know if I like sir or Simon better, to be honest,” Ghost groaned into his shoulder. “Let’s test a few out.”

“You’re a kinky shite, then.”

Ghost straightened and let go of Soap to start working his gloves off, dropping them one after another to the floor. Soap got distracted by the revealed skin of his hands - had he seen those hands before? There was a tattoo on one, an anchor and a compass, which was typical military bullshit but somehow so sexy that Soap wanted to drop to his knees and lick it. Stars and skulls and arrows on his knuckles, a swallow with wings curling up his thumb. Soap stared at them dumbly, stared as Ghost lifted that hand to his face, his mouth, rubbed the pads of his fingers rudely over Soap’s lips.

“I’m gonna come all over those pretty tattoos,” Soap whispered roughly, words slurred around Ghost’s probing fingers.

“Yeah? Now who’s kinky?”

“Like I said, you know me by now, sir-” Ghost shoved two fingers in, pressing down on his tongue, and Soap moaned and licked at them, wet and sloppy, loving the feel of the drool that gathered on his lips, threatening to drip down his chin.

“Yeah I know a lot about you, sweetheart,” Ghost murmured, like being called sweetheart didn’t just knock Soap the fuck out. He stepped in real close, his free arm snaking around Soap’s waist and pulling him in tight. Soap’s knees were trembling. “I know how you sound when you’re being fucked, know how you sound when you’re coming hard on a cock just cause I told you to. Know how you sound when you’re touching yourself, when you know you shouldn’t be, know how you whine.”

He pulled his wet fingers away, and smeared them down over Soap’s chin to rest against his throat. Even through the mask he looked fucking pleased with himself.

“Jesus wept,” Soap said weakly, before Ghost’s words caught up with him. “Wait, what, no you don’t, when…” then it hit him. The farmhouse, the half doze, when he’d been so horny he could have drilled through the floor, fantasies that drifted into dreams. “Fuck you, I didn’t jerk off that time.”

“The noises you were making say otherwise, Johnny.” Ghost sounded smug. “I was right fucking next to you, listening to you. Got me so hard I almost told the helo to fuck off.”

If Ghost hadn’t been holding his neck in that big hand, Soap would have rocked his head forward, buried it in Ghost’s chest. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, knew how red he was, no hiding it at all this time.

“I was half asleep, I don’t even remember,” he admitted, and watched Ghost’s eyes go dark. “Was dreamin’ about you though.”

“Yeah?” Ghost rocked his hips forward, into Soap’s body, the wet denim cold and uncomfortable against Soap’s sweats, the hardness of him a contrasting heat against his stomach. “Dreaming about this? Like I’ve been dreaming about how fucking good you look on your knees?”

“Will you shut the fuck up and take me to bed,” Soap groaned, and almost before the words were out of his mouth Ghost was kissing him, through the balaclava, hot and wet and close. It didn’t really work, but Soap let it make him weak anyway, let the wool scratch against his open mouth, let Ghost hold him still for it.

“The mask,” he managed, and Ghost pressed a laugh into the kiss.

“You want me to fuck you in the mask,” he said confidently, and Soap knew it was true, knew he did want that. But right now, he wanted this more.

“Take it off,” he said, maybe begged, not for the first time. “Ghost, Simon, please.”

Ghost pulled back slowly and gazed down at him, his eyes heavy lidded and so dark in the dim light they were almost black. “Johnny,” he said slowly, and Soap reached his trembling hands up, pushed back the hood, first, and then touched at the bottom of the balaclava.

“Please?”

Ghost’s hands came up to cover his, and as Soap watched, eyes wide, he pushed them gently away to grasp the mask himself. “Don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he muttered, seeming almost embarrassed, and then, with a quick, easy movement, he slipped the balaclava up and off, dropping it to the floor with his gloves and rubbing a hand through messy, light-brown hair.

Soap felt a part of him snap, go fucking feral.

He surged up, gripping Ghost’s face with both hands and tugging him down into the kiss he’d been dreaming about for longer than he was ever going to admit. Rough and deep, eating his way into that gorgeous, filthy mouth to taste the source of the voice that had been driving him crazy. As he kissed he pushed Ghost back, trying to tug him to the bedroom without breaking them apart, desperate for it all of a sudden, like seeing Ghost’s face again had thrown petrol on the banked embers of his desire.

“Jesus, Johnny,” Ghost gasped into it, trying to hold him steady. “Alright, sweetheart, I gotcha. Where’re we going?”

Wordlessly, all his words gone, Soap grabbed Ghost’s wrist and tugged him the couple of scant metres to his bedroom door, managing to get them through it before they were tangled up again, Ghost’s arms wrapping back around him, hauling him in close and toppling them onto the neatly made bed.

“So this is where he fucked you, huh,” Ghost whispered, planting Soap against the pillows and straddling him, those huge thighs snug on either side of Soap’s hips. “This where you were, sweetheart?”

“This is where you fucked me, Simon,” Soap confessed, staring up into Simon’s beautiful face. His eyes were too big, jaw too strong, nose too long, but somehow everything fit together perfectly. He was beautiful, he had freckles dusting over his nose, the top of his cheekbones, and they were beautiful too.

“I came listening to you. You get that, yeah? You get what your voice does to me? You get how many missions I’ve had to hide how hard you make my cock, you get how often I’ve gotten myself off thinking about the way you speak to me, the way you say my name like no one else can?”

Ghost leaned down, kissing over his jaw, down his neck. “That right, Johnny?” he murmured, voice shredded. “Been suffering for me?”

“Just want you so fuckin’ bad, sir,” Soap whispered, and gasped as Ghost bit him again, teeth digging into the bare skin of his neck.

Things moved quickly, after that.

Ghost dragged Soap up to pull off his tee, attacking the skin of his shoulders and chest with his mouth as soon as he could, leaving shiny wet smears of spit in his wake. He ignored Soap’s attempts to get him undressed, just worked his way down Soap’s body, over his abs, sinking his teeth into the meat of his side as he scrabbled at Soap’s sweats, shoving them down.

“You’re not a ghost, you’re a fucking vampire,” Soap gasped, throwing one arm over his eyes and resigning himself to letting Ghost do whatever he wanted. It’s what he’d always said, anyway, that Ghost could have anything. Apparently that meant mauling him.

“You look so good, Johnny,” Ghost replied, attacking the hard bowl of Soap’s hip bone, even as Soap lifted his arse to kick the sweats off. “Edible. Wanted to get my teeth into you for a long fucking time.”

“Come here, come here,” Soap begged, and finally Ghost allowed himself to be pulled back up, pausing to throw his hoodie off before laying himself down - all six foot four of him - over Soap’s naked body. He was still wearing his 9-mil, snug in its shoulder holster, and Soap would be a fucking liar if he said that didn’t get him even harder. He’d seen Ghost work with that piece, knew exactly what he could do with it, and it was sick how sexy it was. The leather of the holster was scraping across his heated, sensitive skin, the wet denim of Ghost’s jeans irritating the inside of his thighs. If Ghost wasn’t careful, Soap was gonna go off before they even got the show started.

“Is fucking me in your gear a fantasy of yours, or are you just an impatient shite?” he asked between kisses, grinding himself up against Ghost, feeling that answering hardness pushing back against him.

Ghost growled. “Little of both, if I’m honest,” he said, and dragged his hips up in a slow, almost brutal slide. Soap whined at the pleasure-pain of it, thighs trembling already from where they were held apart by Ghost’s sheer size. Ghost had his elbows planted on the pillow either side of Soap’s head, fingers in his hair, and he ducked his mouth down to Soap’s ear to whisper, “We fucking tonight?”

Soap twisted his neck and stared at the side of his head like he’d gone crazy. “We’d better be? What happened to makin’ me scream your name?”

Ghost’s grin was wicked. “Oh, I got plenty of ways to make you scream my name, lad, if that’s what you want.”

Soap reached between them, fumbling at Ghost’s zipper, the back of his hand rubbing across his own leaking dick and smearing sticky precome all over. “What I want is this cock inside me, Simon,” he hissed, and then had either the worst or best idea of his life. “I can still feel the last guy that fucked me, still feel where he stretched me out, why don’t you-”

He went still as Ghost reared up, slapping a palm over his mouth, fingers digging harshly into his cheeks, and glared down at him.

“Enough of that shit,” Ghost said darkly. “You got a mouth on you, huh, sweetheart.”

Soap held his gaze and raised his eyebrows. Yeah, you know it, Lt, he wanted to say, and judging from Ghost’s snort, the message was received loud and clear. Ghost looked furious and debauched, hectic spots of colour high up on his pale cheeks, brows furrowed, pretty lips all swollen and red.

The most surprising thing about Ghost, really, was that he was as pretty as he was hot. It was fucking ridiculous.

“Lube?” Ghost asked, and Soap jerked his head to the side, watching as Ghost leaned across and rummaged one handed through the drawer, watched his face change when he saw the Ghost Team balaclava folded neatly in there. “Soft,” Ghost scoffed, but leaned down to kiss him, hand sliding away from his mouth to cup the side of his cheek with more tenderness than Soap had been expecting.

“Simon,” he whined softly. “Come on.”

“I gotcha, gorgeous,” Ghost whispered into his mouth, and lifted his hips just enough to pull his cock out of his fly. Soap wanted to crane up to look, but Ghost’s body was in the way, all he could see were those shoulders in their tight black henley, the straps of his holster cutting into the muscle as it bunched and pulled with the movements of Ghost lubing himself up.

“Here, sweetheart, this what you wanted?” Ghost asked, and Soap cried out as a finger, wet and warm with lube, rubbed against his hole just a few times before pushing in, just a little, just playing with the rim of him. “You gotta ask me, Johnny.”

“Do it, do it,” Soap chanted, trying to strain up into the touch. “C’mon Simon, fuck me.”

“Atta boy.” He slipped the finger in deeper, crooked it as he dragged it out, tugging against Soap’s walls and making him cry out again, making him drool more precome out of his poor, neglected cock. “Shit, Johnny, you always this wet?” Ghost asked in wonder, propping himself up a little to look between them, staring at Soap’s leaking cock.

“Uh huh,” Soap breathed, taking advantage of the room to sit up a little himself, get a glimpse of what Ghost had waiting for him. “Holy fucking shit, Simon. You gonna get that in me?”

Ghost kissed him, adding another finger, smooth as fuck, while he did. “You gonna be able to handle it, sweetheart?”

“Keep calling me sweetheart and I’ll handle whatever you fuckin’ want, Lt,” Soap said, a little dazed. He’d known Ghost would be huge. He’d fucking known it. His cock was gorgeous, thick, long, the sweetest shade of pink Soap had ever seen. Later, sometime that night, he was gonna get his mouth on it, worship it like it fucking deserved, but Jesus Christ he’d waited long enough for this. Ghost’s fingers were in him deep, lighting sparks of pleasure up inside him, but he wanted more.

Ah, he’d waited so fucking long.

“Alright, okay Johnny, I got it, I gotcha,” Ghost was saying, soothing, and Soap didn’t know what kinds of sounds he’d been making to deserve that treatment. You’d know it if I was babying you, Ghost had said once, and Soap hadn’t realised it was a promise. He dragged his thick fingers out, notched the fat head his cock in their place, all the while nuzzling at Soap’s neck, under his chin, whispering nonsense at him that toed the line between sweetness and filth.

“Love how wet you are, sweetheart, gonna make a fucking mess out of you, that’s it, ah fuck, you’re so hot, this hole of yours is just begging for it, huh? Yeah, Johnny, that’s my boy, take it for me, stretch for me…”

Soap’s head arched back into the pillows, mouth hanging open, fuck-stupid, as Ghost pushed into him, slow and long and deep, not stopping until he’d bottomed out and Soap’s insides had no choice but to shift to accommodate him. It hurt, but the sparks of pleasure had caught, lit a fire in him, obliterating everything in their wake.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “Simon.”

“Yeah,” Ghost whispered back. “That’s the idea.”

He was relentless.

Soap had seen how he could move in the field, seen his stamina firsthand, but he couldn’t have predicted this, this deep, steady fucking, that massive cock rolling into him, grinding at his prostate, dragging at all the sensitive insides of him until it hovered on the edge of too much, settled in there for the long haul. Soap’s sopping wet cock was sandwiched between their stomachs, rubbed haphazardly against their abs, and before tonight Soap would have said that wasn’t enough to come. Now, he wasn’t so sure, the intense pleasure that Ghost was building in him taking him places he’d barely even realised he was capable of going.

“Fuck me, fuck me,” he chanted, and grabbed at the straps of Ghost’s holster, using them to drag him in impossibly closer. “Fuck me, ruin me.”

“You want me to ruin you, sweetheart?” Ghost panted, looking down at him, sweat darkening his hair, making it stick in wet strands across his forehead. Those dark grey eyes studied Soap, made him squirm under the scrutiny.

“Make me yours, Simon,” Soap said, and Ghost gave that sweet groan of his, deep and torn and jagged before pulling away, kneeling up between Soap’s spread, aching thighs.

“You are mine, Johnny,” he said, and Soap watched in disbelief as he spat, straight down onto his own cock, before pushing it back inside Soap, claiming him.

“Oh fuck that’s filthy,” Soap breathed. “Do it again, c’mon Simon, do it, gimme more,” and maybe it was Ghost that was gonna be ruined, because the look on his face was nothing short of wrecked as he did as he was told, spitting directly over Soap’s hole and fucking it into him, wet and messy and so, so goddamn sweet.

“Told you I liked you wet, Johnny,” he said in that shredded, dirty-Scotch voice, and fuck, Soap was gone.

“Simon…!”

He reached down to his cock, barely getting a grip on it before he was spurting, and then Simon was swearing and grabbing at him, wrapping his hand around Soap’s and pumping hard, milking the come out of him so it squirted and dribbled over their combined hold. Got you, Soap thought in a daze as he saw it drip down Ghost’s tattoos. Fuckin’ got you, Lt.

It was too much, it was perfect, the pleasure pouring through him, the stretch inside of him, his skin so hot and over-sensitive he felt like he’d been electrified. Ghost was holding himself in deep and grinding, his body a taut bow over Soap’s, as Soap panted out his orgasm on Ghost’s name.

“You can make me wetter,” Soap whispered in Ghost’s ear, when he had enough breath back in his lungs, when the pleasure had receded back to manageable levels. “Come in me, sir, come on, fill me with it…”

“The fuckin’ mouth on you,” Ghost panted, the hypocrite, and turned his head to capture that mouth in a messy, uncoordinated kiss. Soap bit his lip, sucked on it, and smiled to himself when Ghost let out a long moan and tensed all over, his hips stuttering forward as he finally lost control.

“That’s it, Simon. Fuck, your come feels so good in me, you feel so good.” Soap stroked his neck, the back of his head, ran his fingers through the silky wet strands of hair, and then just held him close as Ghost shuddered, that powerful body going weak and vulnerable in his arms as he finished.

Neither of them wanted to move.

Ghost barely pulled out, nestling his cock against Soap’s arse, and collapsing half on top of him, face in the pillow, as they tried to catch their breath. Soap kissed the side of his head, the tip of his ear, the point of one cheekbone, soft, lazy drags of his lips, and Ghost just fell further into him, a comfortable, heavy weight. The room was hot and close, too hot, really, and Ghost was still fully dressed and sweating in it, but neither of them tried to get up. Outside, it was still raining.

Eventually, Ghost groaned.

“Do you know,” he started, in a low, sex-rough voice. “That Price once suggested I try yoga?”

Soap squinted at him. “Eh?”

“Mmm.” Ghost buried his face in Soap’s neck for a minute, then hoisted himself up onto his elbows, smirking down at him. It was nice to see that expression without the mask, Soap thought, that smug little twist of his lips as pretty and infuriating as he’d always imagined it would be.

“Yeah, it put me in an awkward position.”

Soap couldn’t fucking believe this man.

“Away an bile yer heid, you absolute shite cunt.” He shoved at Ghost’s shoulders until, laughing, Ghost reared himself up on his knees, looking at Soap all pleased as punch.

“Oooh, talk dirty to me, Johnny,” he winked. ‘Can’t understand a word you’re sayin’, but it sounds hot.”

I’m in love with you, Soap thought, gazing up at him. Fuckin’ hell.

“Let me translate for you, sir,” he murmured, instead of telling him. Screw him. He probably knew anyway. “It means-”

But Ghost crashed back into him, kissing him again, and Soap wrapped his arms around those beautiful, broad shoulders and let it happen, let himself stay filthy and wet with sweat and come, let the rain beat down outside, let himself breathe the air of the idiot he loved, until morning, if he could, until whenever Ghost was finished with him.

Worth it.

Author’s Note:

You can find me on twitter (for now, lol) at QueenieBGalore, or tumblr at QueenieGalore! None of my friends are in this fandom, help

The Spaces Between the Light by queeniegalore

Series: Familiar [2]
Fandoms: Call of Duty (Video Games)
AO3 Categories: M/M
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John “Soap” MacTavish/Simon “Ghost” Riley
Characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, John Price (Call of Duty), Simon “Ghost” Riley
Freeform Tags: Bathing/Washing, Dirty Sex, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Slow Burn, Established Relationship, Light Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Status: Completed
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Published: 2023-01-06
Updated: 2023-01-05
Packaged: 2023-08-24 19:19:43
Summary:

Ghost and Soap take their time moving too fast, and Ghost learns to accept what he already knows. Fifteen thousand words of domestic porn.

Ghost was helpless against his own smile. His hands itched to grab at Soap, itched to pull him in, he wanted to bury his face in the crook of Soap’s neck and breathe in all the deep, sleep-warm scents of him, wanted to throw him up against the wall, wanted to rip him apart from the inside out, find a place in his body and make a home there, break him into a million pieces and patch him back together using himself as the glue.

I Bookmarked Story: False

1. Introduction - Stupid

Author’s Note:

I have been completely overwhelmed and delighted by this new fandom! Every like, bookmark and comment on my last fic made its way directly to my heart and lodged there, thank you all SO much. Being part of this Call of Duty explosion has genuinely been the most fun I’ve had in fandom in years, and its entirely because the community is so lovely and enthusiastic.

I agonized over this fic because it’s not very much like the last one, and people really seemed to like the last one, lol. But eventually I realised that I just had to write what makes ME happy, and that meant fifteen thousand words of two large men being very soft in a flat in Scotland. I hope some of you are on board with that!

Ghost was soaked through.

The night was dark and cold, the rain relentless, as he walked the half a block from his car to Soap’s flat. He’d been driving for seven hours, hardly stopping to eat and piss along the way, but it was that short walk in the pouring rain that seemed to last an eternity, that seemed to give him time to second guess himself – second guess Soap.

Were they both fucking insane?

~

“I need to go to Scotland.”

He was in Price’s office, staring out the window, and out of the corner of his eye he watched Price take off his hat and rub a weary hand over his forehead. He was tired, they were all fucking tired, and Ghost was about to be a pain in his arse.

Kiss me, Soap had begged him. Kiss me, and all Ghost had been able to manage was a rough, aborted press of his lips, just a taste, before he had to be the one to pull away and put an end to it. Those sharp blue eyes had found his and lingered, following him back to London and all the way up to Price’s office, bright and wanting. The way Soap looked at him was lodged somewhere deep in his chest, tucked away in a part of himself he’d long thought dead or broken. Simon, please.

That fucking little Scottish prick was going to be the death of him.

“Why,” Price asked, and Ghost shrugged. Gotta go make some bad decisions, he thought to himself. No need to actually say it. Price was an intelligent man.

“I can’t tell you,” he said instead. “But I’m asking. I’m asking for a favour.

Price sat back in his seat and spread his arms, palms up. “You’re the Ghost. You go where you want, right? But I can’t think of any excuses for the Ghost to be in Glasgow.”

“Didn’t say Glasgow,” Ghost muttered, cheeks heating under his mask. Price rolled his eyes.

“So you didn’t. Fuck. Put in for leave, then, you’ve got enough accumulated. Actually, go see the docs about medical leave, maybe you got a head injury during that last hop, eh Ghost?”

“Something like that,” Ghost said darkly. “Appreciate it, sir.”

He turned to go, rapping his knuckles on the door on his way out, but paused, looking over his shoulder, as Price called his name - his real name. Price was giving him the earnest eyes, the “I’m your TL but I’m also your friend,” eyes. They made Ghost itch.

“Don’t do anything fucking stupid,” Price said, and Ghost couldn’t hold back an amused snort.

“Might be too bloody late for that, Captain,” he replied, almost apologetically. “But thanks for the concern.”

He was going to do something fucking stupid all night, if he had his way. And hopefully again in the morning.

~~

Sometimes, there seemed to be an entire universe of space between who he was and who Soap was.

It was there in the way Soap showed his whole heart on his face. Every emotion, every flicker of feeling was displayed in a kaleidoscope of reactions for anyone to see - he was so openly expressive that it made Ghost nervous, sometimes, made him want to look away in horrified sympathy. And yet always, always, he was drawn back, drinking in those eyes, that mouth, the way Soap just… grinned and pouted and frowned and laughed as if it were nothing, as if it were easy. It was completely alien to Ghost. He was used to military men, and in the military even the soldiers who didn’t wear masks wore masks.

Those bloody eyes, though.

He’d figured out Soap felt something for him early on. He’d thought it was a bit of hero worship, a bit of a man-crush, a bit of the intensity of almost dying together bleeding out and staining things between them. He’d never expected what happened, even as he played along, helpless, encouraging Soap despite his own common sense. Already he’d been working hard on locking his own attraction down – Christ, even friendship was tricky for him, let alone the way his heart was starting to feel tender and bruised around Soap, the way he wanted to touch him so bad sometimes his hands shook with it. And Soap kept teasing him, playing with him, flirting in a way that was only just still lingering on the outskirts of banter. The ease with which he’d worked his way under Ghost’s armour was, frankly, alarming. Apparently all it took was a pair of big blue eyes, a godawful Scottish accent and the propensity for massive amounts of violence and destruction. Either way, Ghost wanted him, badly, desperately, wanted to fuck him until the only word he remembered in the world was Ghost’s name, wanted to make him come until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, wanted to rip him into pieces.

But attraction, shit, attraction would have been fine. The stupidest thing of all was how easy it had been to fall in love with him.

“It’s not exactly the ladies I’m interested in, is it now?”

When Soap had finally pushed them across the line into real flirtation, Ghost had gone along with him, willingly. There was a sense, somewhere in the back of his mind, of stepping out over a precipice, his boots hanging out over some terrifying, unfathomable void, but he’d taken the jump, curious to know where it would lead him. Curious, if he was honest, to see if his heart still even worked like that, if it was possible to sustain these feelings anymore at all, or if it’d just destroy him. Maybe destroy them both.

But Soap was hard to resist. He was funny, he was - weirdly, undeniably - sweet, he was hot, and he was very good at what he did. He also drove Ghost up the fucking wall, but Ghost knew that he’d never be interested in someone who didn’t push his buttons, in one way or another. The frisson of irritation, that feeling that Soap was a thorn in his paw, just made it better.

Just a touch of masochism hiding somewhere in there, maybe, something that drove him to seek Soap out, cut himself against Soap’s rough edges, just as he was cutting Soap up on his. Drove Soap fucking crazy too, he knew, could see it on that ridiculous face of his. Blue eyes following him around, smart mouth pouting at him, all that fierce, deadly force ready to be putty in his hands, if he’d only just let it.

The difference between them was Soap caught feelings, pined around for a minute while Ghost watched, and then actually did something about it. The fucking bravery of him floored Ghost, turned him on, spurred him into action, made him…

Stupid, yeah. He’d done something stupid. He’d then spent seven hours driving towards something stupid, and was now soaked to the bone, thinking about just how fucking stupid he was willing to get. Soap bared his face and his emotions like they were nothing, opened himself up for the world to see. Had opened himself up to Ghost, shown him that vulnerability and bravery, and Ghost had simply followed his lead every step of the way. It was Ghost’s turn, now. No point in second guessing them, they’d already taken the fucking jump. A kiss in the middle of the COP, flirting on comms, blistering dirty talk, the sound of Soap getting railed still lingering in his ear… Backing out now would just be shooting himself in the fucking foot.

Stupidity or bravery, who even knew.

He knocked at the door.

~~

Soap looked half asleep when he appeared, small and warm in the softest looking tee Ghost had ever seen. There was a crease from his pillow down one cheek, and the way his face lit up when he saw Ghost simultaneously made Ghost want to drop to his knees and run away into the night, never to return.

They were both so fucking dumb.

“Do you wear the mask when you’re just, like, going about your everyday business as Simon Riley?” Soap asked him in a voice soft and hoarse with sleep, his accent thick as tar.

Ghost was helpless against his own smile. His hands itched to grab at Soap, itched to pull him in; he wanted to bury his face in the crook of Soap’s neck and breathe in all the deep, sleep-warm scents of him, wanted to throw him up against the wall, wanted to rip him apart from the inside out, find a place in his body and make a home there, break him into a million pieces and patch him back together using himself as the glue.

Wanted to say, “I drove for seven hours because I’m in love with you and Price thinks I have brain damage because of it.”

Wanted to say, “Never, never leave me again.”

“Nah,” is what actually came out, and he got to watch as Soap’s eyes darkened, as a flush bloomed over his cheekbones. His already expressive face was even more so, caught in the vulnerability of sleep and surprise.

“Oh, so this is special just for me, then?”

I want to devour you.

It didn’t take long, after that. They were beyond the banter, beyond the flirting, and Ghost was at the very limits of his self-control. He crashed into Soap and didn’t intend to let him go, let himself sink into that gorgeous body and stay there, buried as deep inside as he could get, buried just like he’d wanted to be for longer than he could admit. It was terrifying, the way Soap just let him, fell apart for him, the way he opened himself up and shamelessly begged for more, encouraging Ghost’s roughness, his dirty talk, matching Ghost’s desperation with his own. In unstringing Soap, Ghost had unstrung himself, laid himself out to be seen.

Terrifying.

“That’s it, Simon. Fuck, your come feels so good in me, you feel so good.”

Ah, he was ruined. The Ghost stripped away with the mask, and the man inside crashed away on the shores of this, the intensity of it, the brutality of its sweetness, the filth and the tenderness washing over him as he came inside Soap’s body. Shook himself apart, empty and hollow, in the shelter of Soap’s arms.

Fuck you, he wanted to scream, to cry, into the sweaty warmth of Soap’s skin. I love you, fuck you, I love you, fuck you.

The abyss opened up beneath him and with Soap held tight to his chest, he launched himself directly into it.

2. Indulgence

Ghost sat on the side of the bed unlacing his boots and unstrapping his holster, watching with satisfaction as Soap staggered his way on unsteady feet into the little ensuite off his room. I did that, he thought, as Soap reappeared a few minutes later marginally cleaner. It was a good feeling.

“Shower in there if you want,” Soap yawned, collapsing naked back into the bed and burrowing himself under the covers. “Towels in the cupboard. Steamin’ fuckin’ Jesus I’m knackered.”

“You look fucked,” Ghost agreed, and smirked as Soap poked his head back out just to roll his eyes at him. “Suits you,” he added, and caught the smile before Soap hid his face away again.

“Away with ya,” Soap grumbled, sounding pleased. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Mmm,” Ghost hummed, and leaned over to trap Soap in his arms, caught up under all the sheets and covers, digging around until he could press his face to the broad space between Soap’s shoulder blades. His skin tasted clean and salty, a pleasant mixture of cotton and sweat, and Ghost wanted to take that taste into himself, keep it on his tongue and in the back of his throat. He’d put that sweat there, he’d been responsible for the slight hitch in Soap’s step, the wince when he twisted wrong. Ghost wanted to purr in satisfaction, wrapped around the body that he’d made his.

Instead, he mouthed at that smooth, golden skin a moment longer, watching as Soap started falling into sleep, and then reluctantly pulled himself away to go investigate the shower and poke through all of Soap’s shit. There’d be time for more. If he didn’t lose his nerve, there’d be time for more.

~~

Dawn found him sitting up in Soap’s bed, watching the grey light slowly seep through the curtains, struggling its way through the ever-present rain. Soap was still out cold, pressed against Ghost’s side with one strong arm slung over Ghost’s waist, breathing softly through his open mouth. The dim light traced highlights over his cheekbone, picked up the messy stubble on his jaw, made shadows under his lashes, long and thick. Ghost wanted a smoke, just for something to do with his hands that wasn’t carding them through Soap’s hair. He wanted a cuppa. He wanted his mask, but it was lying in a forgotten heap next to Soap’s front door and he wanted to stay here in this bed more than he wanted to get up and find it.

He swept a thumb down Soap’s neck and settled back against the pillows, looking around the room. It was nicer than he would have guessed, he had to admit. The bed was dressed in deep, green-grey covers, plush pillows, plain white linen sheets that slid silky and soft over their naked skin. Dark wood everywhere – nothing matched, but it all worked together anyway, a thick patterned rug on the floor, sage green curtains letting the weak sunshine in. It was nice; he was pleasantly surprised to note that Soap had a little taste for luxury in his personal life. He hadn’t guessed it from the pragmatic, straightforward boyishness of him at work, but there were obvious, unselfconscious hints of it all over the place. Expensive sheets, a nice bed he liked to get fucked in, that big tub in his bathroom, recently used. Ghost smiled to himself thinking of that, of Soap soaking away the mission, soft and indulgent like Ghost never got to see.

He was seeing it now, and it was at once touching and terrifying and scorchingly hot, like so much of this thing with Soap was. Having him there, so open and vulnerable, Ghost’s thumb rubbing up and down the carotid artery in his neck… God, he either wanted his mask or he wanted to fuck Soap awake, let himself get lost in sex again, the simple physicality of that, the astonishing easiness of it.

“Go back to sleep, Simon.”

He blinked, dragging his eyes up to Soap’s. Blue shone through sleepy, barely cracked slits; he was still half out. Ghost just hummed.

“I will.”

“Wanna blow you,” Soap sighed, letting his eyes fall closed again, and Ghost huffed out a surprised laugh. “In the morning.”

“Sun’s up now,” Ghost said without any real hope, and Soap twitched a tired smile at him. Ghost wanted to press a finger to it. “Put your money where your mouth is, laddie.”

The smile widened for a moment, and then turned into a yawn. “You good?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Ghost whispered, and slid back down into the bed, back into Soap’s warmth. “Affirmative.”

“Go back to sleep. If you need a mask, just use mine.”

Ghost stared at him, but Soap kept his eyes closed, pushed his head into the little crevice of the pillow and Ghost’s shoulder, and eventually, Ghost let out a long, low sigh, let himself relax back into the bed.

“Alright,” he said. “Thanks, Johnny.”

But Soap was already back asleep, and before long, without really expecting it, Ghost was too.

~~

Ghost had always known that Soap MacTavish was a man of his word.

He was jerked awake by the feel of hot, wet suction tight around the head of his cock, already achingly hard, surrounded by warmth and softness and the width of Soap’s shoulders muscled between his thighs.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he gasped, looking down at Soap, who was looking back up at his face, lips already shiny and messy as they mouthed at him. Without letting himself think about it, Ghost reached one arm over to the nightstand, still open, and snatched up Soap’s Ghost Team mask, slipping it on and then hesitating for half a moment before pushing the hem up over the bridge of his nose to leave his mouth free.

He was more relieved than he wanted to admit that Soap didn’t seem disappointed or upset, eyes just narrowing as he dipped his head to take more of Ghost inside of himself before slowly, torturously, pulling off.

“Wanted to do this last night,” he said, in a low, sleep-rough growl. “Soon as I saw your cock I thought, oh aye, gonna get my mouth on that. Wanna feel it in my fuckin’ throat.”

“Be my guest,” Ghost managed, letting Soap get a hand under one of his thighs, spreading it off to the side until it burned a little with the stretch. “I’m not about to tell you no.”

“You never tell me no,” Soap winked, the smart-mouthed little shit, and licked at Ghost’s cock like it was a treat, gathering up precome on his tongue and sucking it into his mouth, wet and filthy. Ghost tugged fretfully at his mask - Soap’s mask - pulling on the hem with one hand while the other touched at Soap’s head, petting his hair, all flat and stupid from sleep, sliding down his cheek, rubbing shaking fingers through the spit drooling around his lips.

“Don’t push me,” he said weakly, and Soap just laughed before sinking back down, eyes closed in concentration as his throat worked, shoulders heaving, in an attempt to get Ghost’s cock as deep as possible.

Fuck, it felt good.

For some reason, Ghost thought of Soap in the bath again, that indulgence, that sweetness, as he let himself sink into the pleasure. Thought of the warmth bleeding through his muscles, the softness of Soap’s bed, the softness of Soap’s insides as they wrapped around him. Even Soap’s mask, pressing over his nose and cheeks, felt indulgent, luxuriously dangerous. Ghost wasn’t used to this. Wondered what it’d be like, to get used to this.

He pulled the mask down, just enough to grip the hem between his teeth, mindlessly biting and sucking at the cotton, his own jaw working in time with Soap’s. Watching him, Soap moaned, letting it vibrate long and low through Ghost’s cock.

“Gonna do this full mask, full gear one day,” he promised, pulling off just enough to get the words out. “Armoured up, weapons hot, just your cock out, fuck.” Ghost wanted to grab his head and slam it back down, force his prick back into that heady warmth. Settled for tugging on a handful of hair instead, pulling it tight in his fist.

“Yeah? You wanna get on your knees in the middle of a fucking cartel stronghold, too, just for the fantasy?”

“Don’t even talk about all the shit I’ve fantasised about you doing to me,” Soap muttered darkly. He pushed the tip of his tongue into Ghost’s wet cockhead, fist pumping up and down the shaft in a lazy, dirty slide that squeezed out more drooling precome. Ghost was gonna come from this, he realised, blowjobs were normally just foreplay for him, but Soap was gonna make him come. He groaned, mask between his teeth, and gave in to the urge to tug Soap back down, just rough enough for him to get the point.

“Oh, you’re gonna tell me everything, Sergeant,” he said, voice muffled. “Once I’m through with that fucking mouth of yours.”

Soap went easy, jaw stretched wide and eyes watering, struggling back down as far as he could go. He gagged a little, making Ghost’s cock jerk at the feeling and flood more precome all over the back of Soap’s tongue and the slippery insides of his throat. One of Soap’s hands was kneading the meat of Ghost’s thigh, he’d shoved the other beneath his own hips out of sight, and the knowledge that he was touching himself, rutting into his hand and the bed, sent fire through Ghost’s veins.

“Gettin’ off on this, Johnny?” he asked, muscles tensing all over as he got closer, so fucking close. He grabbed the base of his own dick, holding it for Soap to suck, massaging the few inches Soap couldn’t yet take. Soap nodded frantically, more tears slipping out of his eyes as he pumped his hips, and it was that eagerness, that desperation, that brought Ghost to the edge.

“Swallow it for me, sweetheart,” he grunted, and jerked himself off with short, sharp motions into Soap’s mouth, rubbing his cock over Soap’s tongue even as he coated it in come, smearing it around until it leaked out over his lips, down his chin. “Swallow,” he said again, and watching Soap try, still gagging around the cock wedged in him, drew Ghost’s orgasm out for long, precious seconds, the pleasure rolling through him in waves and waves, eyes locked on Soap’s red face, sweaty and dirty and beautiful.

“Good fucking boy.”

Soap choked out a breathless laugh, pulling off and rubbing his dirty face against Ghost’s thigh. “Jesus,” he said, voice low and scratched all to hell. “Simon.”

“Either works,” Ghost said, and Soap groaned. His hips were still pumping, back arching as he tried to rub off on the mattress, and Ghost reached down, pawing at his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. “C’mere,” he said, urging him up. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

“You can’t just call me that,” Soap whined, crawling up Ghost’s body, wet dick sliding against his stomach.

“What, you’re not sweet for me?” Ghost murmured, tilting Soap’s face up. “These lips aren’t sweet?” He pushed a thumb against Soap’s mouth, grinning at the thunderstruck expression on his face, followed it with his tongue. Soap was all sweat and drool and Ghost’s own come, so dirty it hurt, and Ghost deepened the kiss, trying to get inside where his cock had just been. Soap was leaking all over him - fuck, he couldn’t believe how wet he got - and Ghost grabbed at his hip, his arse, pulling him in tight and encouraging him to grind.

“Taste sweet to me,” he whispered into Soap’s mouth. “Come on, then, can you get off like this?”

“Aye Lt.” Soap straddled him, thighs spread wide over Ghost’s hips, and pushed his cock against Ghost’s abs, arse flexing. “Keep - keep talkin’ to me?”

Ghost smirked. “Knew you fuckin’ liked it,” he said, keeping his voice low and rough, pressed into Soap’s ear. “How many times did you say you got hard out in the field, eh? Walking around with your prick all sore and red for me, getting your BDU’s all messy?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Soap gasped. “Changed my mind, shut the fuck up.”

Ghost laughed. “What, you think I’m not into it? Come on, Johnny. The way you’d look at me out there, didn’t know if I wanted to punch you in the face or bend you over half the time. You drive me crazy, you know that? Make me feral, the filthy fucking things I wanna do to you.”

“Yeah.”

There it was, the hot splash of Soap’s come on Ghost’s skin, warm and wet and slick as it dripped down his side and soaked into those lovely linen sheets. Dangerously indulgent, Ghost thought, even as he slung both arms around the broadness of Soap’s heaving back, squeezing him in close as he rode out the last of his pleasure. He’d put himself in some stupid situations, but this, covered in come in Soap MacTavish’s oddly beautiful bedroom, really took the fuckin’ cake.

~~

The sheets weren’t actually still all that nice, not after that second round. Ghost lay in them, stroking rough fingers up and down Soap’s spine to watch him shiver, and only didn’t squirm because, frankly, he’d been in worse. He needed another shower, they both did, and the bed needed to be stripped, the room aired out. It smelled like sex and sweat and men, stuffy and heady. Something would need to be done about it eventually, but for a moment, he was content to lay with Soap slotted against his side, panting hot and humid against his bicep.

“Alright, lad?”

“Mmm.” Soap stretched, then propped his chin up on Ghost’s shoulder. “Lad. You never called me that, before…” he trailed off, cheeks pink.

“If I called you lad in the field you’d get shot,” Ghost said, and Soap rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. He liked being babied, a bit, probably part of that little hedonist streak of his that Ghost was discovering. Wouldn’t actually want it in the field, not during anything serious, but here, in private, yeah.

Ghost liked knowing these little things about him, liked knowing what turned him on, liked knowing what made him happy. Dangerous, dangerous, he was treading dangerous fucking ground. If it was just sex, that was one thing, but there wasn’t even a way to pretend that was true, not for either of them. The sex had come last.

He fiddled with the mask, pulled it all the way down so his mouth and chin were covered. It was too hot for it, really, but he was used to that.

Soap was still watching him.

“I won’t ask,” he said quickly, when he saw Ghost notice. “Not again, I swear. It’s fine.”

Ghost let his gaze skitter away, around the room. The sun was well and truly up, but weak, still grey and dull as it shone through the window. There was a framed print on the wall of a stag in some forest, so Scottish it was genuinely painful. Christ, what was he doing here.

“I’ll take it off, but I’ll still want to wear it sometimes,” he said, eyes fixed on the stag. “I can’t tell when.” He didn’t have the words to explain it, no one but Price had ever even asked. Price was weird about his own shit, so he let it lie, but Soap, open, genuine Soap who wore his vulnerabilities like medals…

“I won’t ask,” Soap repeated, digging his chin into the meat of Ghost’s shoulder for emphasis. “I like the mask, anyway. Liked you in the mask before I ever got to see your face, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Ghost murmured, and tilted his head to rub his covered lips over Soap’s cheek. “I like that it’s yours,” he added, an offering. “This one.”

Painful, how Soap’s face lit up at that, like a knife sliding through Ghost’s ribs and into his heart. Painful, to be loved like that.

“Keep it,” Soap said, and looked like he wanted to kiss him, eyes wide and serious. “It’s yours.”

I’m yours, he may as well have said. It was written in neon all over his face, and it was nothing Ghost didn’t know. I’m yours, if you’ll have me, if you’ll take me, even if you won’t.

“I’ll take good care of it, Johnny,” was all Ghost said, on a soft sigh, and they stayed where they were in silence for a little longer, just a little, before they had to get up and face the day.

3. Honesty

Soap grimaced at him in sympathy as Ghost pulled on yesterday’s dirty briefs. Soon he’d need to get dressed enough to go out to his car and grab some of his shit, his duffle, figure out how long he was staying, but for now he was feeling lazy and content. He pushed his mask up again to brush his teeth while Soap showered, left it there as he wandered through the room, poking around until Soap came back out and jerked his head for Ghost to follow him through the flat and into the kitchen.

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee, ta,” Ghost said, smiling faintly as Soap gave him a quizzical look. “Coffee first in the morning, tea after that,” he added, and Soap just shrugged, flicking on the kettle and pulling out a little French press. There was a new bag of coffee beans on the counter, still sealed, an electric coffee grinder. Soap’s kitchen was small, but Ghost was discovering more of those little touches of luxury here and there, found it charming as hell.

He leaned against the counter in just his briefs and half a mask, folded his arms over his chest and watched as Soap snuck furtive, disbelieving glances at him while he made the coffee, round little body edging around the kitchen like Ghost was taking up too much space. It was hot as fuck, Ghost thought, seeing the way Soap got so affected by him, Soap, who was so fucking confident all the time, so goddamn good at what he did, so brutal in the field that watching him was almost better than sex.

Ghost wasn’t close to getting hard again yet, but he let his thoughts linger on taking Soap in this kitchen, over the counter next to his expensive coffee shit, up against the fridge door, maybe right there on the fucking floor.

“So, I’ve got today for myself,” Soap started, interrupting some very pleasant mental images, “but I have to be on base tomorrow to supervise some demo training exercise, apparently I’m the only one with the right qualifications to run it in all of fucking Scotland.” He was babbling a bit as he pulled out milk and sugar, let the coffee brew.

“Surely not,” Ghost said absently, wondering if he was the right height to be bent over the sink.

“Well either way, I can’t get out of it. Then I’ve got time off, I already put in for it, thought I might…” he trailed off, not elaborating on what he’d thought he might do. Ghost had maybe an idea. Thought maybe, in another world, they might have been doing this in his little house in Essex, instead, might have had Soap in his bed. Christ. He’d never let him out of it.“You get leave, then?” Soap asked, shaking him out of his thoughts and handing over a steaming cup of very good coffee, leaning against the tiny kitchen table opposite him.

“Medical leave,” Ghost admitted. “Gotta go be cleared by the docs in a couple of weeks before I can go back out.”

It was a pain in the arse, and Price’s little piece of revenge for Ghost being an idiot, the fact that he’d been mec’d off instead of just using up some of his holidays. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, beyond what was always wrong with him - sore joints, deep bruises, a couple old injuries that always played up in the cold and wet. Coming to Scotland had actually been dumb for a number of reasons, he thought ruefully. It was still raining.

“What’s wrong with you, then?” Soap asked sceptically, echoing his thoughts, and Ghost smirked and sipped his coffee.

“You,” he said, just to see if it’d make Soap blush.

It did.

“Aw, away wi’ ye,” Soap muttered, hiding his face in his own cup, sinking back into the refuge of his accent like he did sometimes. “Daftie.”

“It’s impossible to take Scots insults seriously, mate,” Ghost said. “You sound like a three-year-old.”

As hoped, this prompted a slew of almost incomprehensible Scottish abuse, and Ghost grinned as he watched Soap get mildly worked up. It made him prettier, he thought, red cheeked and bright eyed. His smile softened despite himself, even as Soap caught him at it and faltered in the middle of calling him animperialist cunt, crinkling his brows.

“Aww, you stopped,” Ghost said dryly. “I was just getting into that.”

“Is there anything wrong with you really?” Soap asked, tilting his head. Ghost tilted his own back at him.

“Nothing apart from that fact that the shit weather in your country is making my bloody bones ache.”

Soap stared at him in disbelief. “You’re English,” he pointed out. Ghost shrugged. “You hit your head? Concussion?”

Ghost almost laughed. “Price thought the same thing when I told him I wanted to go to Scotland,” he said. “I’m fucking fine, Johnny. Don’t need a knock on the head to wanna come and see you.”

“You’re naked in my kitchen with your mask up drinking coffee,” Soap said. “I just saw you fuckin’ smile. Steamin’ Jesus, maybe I hit my head.”

Ghost rolled his eyes and went back into Soap’s room to pull on his jeans and hoodie, searching around for his keys. “Dramatic,” he said when he came back and found Soap where he’d left him, sipping at his mug and watching Ghost with wary eyes. “Going to grab some stuff from my car. You don’t mind if I impose for a few days?”

Soap paused for a second and then carefully set his mug down, stepping into the middle of the kitchen to grab Ghost’s jaw and pull him into a slow, blistering kiss. Ghost wrapped an arm around his waist to tug him in close, loving the way Soap had to bounce up on his toes, strain up to meet him. It seemed to last forever, warm and coffee flavoured, Soap taking charge and licking into Ghost’s mouth, behind his teeth, gripping the hinge of his jaw like he never intended to let go. Ghost let him, sinking helplessly into the feeling of being wanted – being wanted by someone who knew all of him. He wasn’t just Ghost here, he wasn’t even just Simon. It wasn’t just sex, a one-night-stand, a fling with a lass back home who didn’t know what he did, or a blowjob from another soldier who just wanted to get their mouth on a legend. Soap knew who he was, what he was, and wanted him anyway.

Ghost’s heart pounded in his chest, and if he wasn’t holding onto Soap so tight he knew his hands would be trembling. A part of him thought he should be more scared of this than he was, but it was hard to be scared with Soap right there with him. Soap, who had always had his back, in so many ways. Soap, who he trusted with his life. Maybe with his heart. He wanted to hide from this feeling, but Soap’s kitchen was warm and his mouth was sweet, his arms strong as they held Ghost close. It was hard, it was too hard to be as terrified as he knew he should be.

I’m in love with you, he thought again, and wondered, as Soap pulled away to look up at him with starry, dazed eyes, if he’d ever have the guts to say it.

~~

Soap had picked up groceries on his way in the day before, so aside from fresh milk and coffee he had bread, eggs, ham and tomatoes lying around the place. Finally showered and dressed, Ghost was happy to sprawl out in the little kitchen and watch Soap cook breakfast sandwiches for them both, moving around his space more comfortably now, trackpants slung low on his hips and an old football jersey hugging his thick arms. Ghost knew the strength of those arms, those shoulders, knew what they could carry. Watching them now, here, skin glowing golden as he made Ghost breakfast, was breaking something inside of him.

Get it the fuck together, soldier.

“You know how to make an egg roll, Johnny?” he asked casually, mostly to distract himself, making his eyes big and serious behind his mask.

Soap, in the middle of frying up the ham, raised an eyebrow at him.

Ghost held up his hand. “You just give it a little push,” he said, with a rolling gesture to sell it, and had the pleasure of seeing what Soap would look like if he were having an aneurysm.

“Oh here we fuckin’ go again,” he said, like he didn’t find it charming. “You know what you can do wi’ your breakfast now, pal.”

“Been lookin’ forward to this breakfast,” Ghost said, slumping back in his chair further and spreading out his legs, getting his feet in the way. “View’s not bad either.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Soap warned, though he looked pleased. Ghost still couldn’t imagine what that would be like, to have his every emotion flagged so obviously on his face, but being able to read Soap so easily made something flare hot and vicious in his chest.

“Already am used to it,” he lied, and watched Soap smile down at the frying pan. “You cook like this for all of your men?”

“Och, no,” Soap said, not looking at him. “How many men do you think I have?”

“Well, I’ve got intimate knowledge of at least one, mate,” he pointed out, and Soap, still very interested in the pan, went a brilliant, crimson red. “There you go, you remember.”

“You being taken care of?”

“Yeah.”

“Xavier’s not - he’s not my man,” Soap muttered, interrupting what was both one of the hottest and one of the most infuriating memories Ghost had. “I met him at the gym down the road and brought him back here to fuck. Fucked a few more times after that, if I was in town. That’s it. Just sex.”

“Xavier,” Ghost mused. “Interesting. You got a second name? An address?”

Soap slapped a plate down in front of him, looking flustered. “Shut yer puss,” he muttered. “You jealous, then?”

“Not really,” Ghost said honestly, and knew he was letting his confidence slip into arrogance, a bad habit that Soap encouraged by being so clearly hot for it. “Made you mine before he even finished with you, poor bloke.”

He’d been on base when he called Soap, locked himself in his office and leaned against the door as soon as he realised what was happening. Soap whimpering and whining, breaths fucked out of him in sharp gasps, the faint sound of skin slapping on skin, a warm, deep voice laughing in the background…Soap, getting fucked, taking dick like he was made for it, and listening to Ghost’s voice while he did, desperate and stupid as he all but begged Ghost to talk him through it. Ghost hadn’t even been able to get his hand in his drawers, had come in his pants listening to Soap whine for him on the crest of his own orgasm. Just one of the many dumbfuck things they’d done recently. One of the hottest, too.

“And here I am, eatin’ your breakfast, drinkin’ your coffee. Nah, I’m not jealous, lad.”

Soap looked like he wanted to say something to that but thought better of it, shoving half a sandwich in his mouth instead. Ghost smirked to himself.

It wasn’t until they were almost finishing up that Soap finally asked, “And what about you? Any men I need to be beating off with a stick?” His voice was overly casual, overly careful. Ghost didn’t invite personal questions, in general, but he supposed he was inviting them just by being here.

He took a deep breath and tried to figure out how much he wanted to say.

“I actually prefer women, most of the time,” he started, and noted the quick look of surprise on Soap’s face. “Not always, obviously, just in general. But no, Soap, I’m not going home to a wee little family hidden away, don’t have anyone you need to worry about. Just you.”

The fact was, he didn’t date, at all. He fucked, sometimes, but he didn’t seek relationships, didn’t really look for romantic company. The therapist he saw for his quarterly psych eval said it was just another way of wearing a mask, keeping himself closed off from the world as a trauma response, and she had a lot of framed certificates on her walls so he was inclined to believe her. They’d already established that the mask wasn’t just about keeping his identity safe, or about scaring the shit out of some poor bastard soldier on the enemy side. If it was, he wouldn’t be feeling the need to wear it while tucked safely away in the kitchen of the man he loved.

He kept Simon Riley hidden from the military, Ghost hidden from the civilian world, and both of them hidden from himself. And then there was Soap, seeing all of him at once. Making him fucking breakfast.

“So you have taken a shine to me then,” Soap said, saving him from his own thoughts again and offering him an easy out. Easy to refute it with a joke, easy to lean into it and flirt, make him flushed and flustered. Easy to avoid the conversation entirely.

“You are very shiny,” Ghost allowed. He tapped his thumbnail tensely on the edge of his plate, avoiding Soap’s gaze. “I’m in Scotland, aren’t I?”

“Aye, you are,” Soap said softly. “You know how to make a lad feel special, I’ll give you that.”

Ghost kept his eyes on his plate, the tapping of his thumb, and startled slightly as Soap knocked a foot against his ankle under the table.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Ghost raised his eyes. Soap’s were soft like his voice, that impossible blue.

“You don’t have to say it,” Soap said.

Ghost didn’t let himself look away again. “Say what, Johnny?”

Soap shrugged. “Anything at all. Not yet. Not if you’re not ready.”

“Bit presumptuous of you,” Ghost said mildly, and Soap just nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it is.”

I just drove seven hours nonstop because kissing you wasn’t enough. What am I supposed to say, that that didn’t?

Soap was right. He didn’t have to say a single word.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, but it was okay. Ghost thought they’d be okay.

~~

“So what’s on the agenda?” Soap asked when they were finished cleaning up and Ghost was settled on his couch - dark brown leather, soft as hell, covered in blankets that smelled like Soap. “You sticking around for a bit?”

“No, Soap, I thought I’d just drive straight back to England now I’ve gotten my dick wet,” Ghost said with a flat stare.

Soap, slumped on the couch next to him, knocked a knee against his thigh. He was so fucking touchy all of a sudden, Ghost was realising, like a switch had been flicked and now he thought he had permission. If Ghost wasn’t careful, he was gonna get used to that, too.

“Do you ever stop acting like such a steaming cunt all the time?” Soap whined, and it made Ghost grin.

“Negative,” he said. “Do you ever stop whining like a bitch?”

“You know how to shut me up,” Soap muttered. “If it bothers you that much.”

“Doubt it. That was the chattiest blowjob I’ve ever had, can’t keep you quiet even when you’ve got a prick shoved down your throat.”

Soap leaned his head back on the couch and rolled it to look at Ghost, mouth open, long line of that throat bare. There it was again, the heat rising between them. Ghost hadn’t felt like this since he was a teenager, horny and desperate all the time, ready to cave from just one look, one touch, so hungry it hurt. He wanted to grab Soap by the throat and pull him in close, touch every part he hadn’t gotten to yet, leave his mark all over that body until he didn’t need words anymore. Until Soap could tell, just by looking at himself, exactly what Ghost was feeling.

“Well I know you’re not a quitter, Lt,” Soap said, voice hoarse. “Try and try again.”

“Fuck,” Ghost groaned, and gave in to the urge to reach out for him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him down to collapse against Ghost’s chest. He ducked his head, kissing Soap’s scratchy, rounded jawline, dragging his lips up his cheek. “You drive me mental.”

“Just sittin’ here Lt,” Soap pointed out. “Didn’t - oh-”

Because Ghost had pulled off his mask, dropping it carelessly somewhere off the couch, and just like last night, Soap’s face lit up, eyes wide as he took in as much as he could, like he was trying to memorise Ghost’s features for later, when Ghost would hide them away again. Ghost let him look, rubbed a thumb up Soap’s windpipe to his chin, tilting his head back.

“Don’t have to do fuck all to make me crazy,” he said, voice rough. “Drove to fucking Scotland, Christ.”

“Yeah, who the fuck would do that, eh,” Soap said breathlessly, climbing onto his lap, all round thighs and fat arse, the softness of his lax muscles pressing into Ghost and making him groan. He wanted to get his mouth there, he realised, palming Soap’s arse. Wanted to eat him out until he melted.

“Can’t believe you’re here, in my house,” Soap went on, squirming on top of him. “Want you to fuck me in every room so I never forget what it was like when you -”

“You think I’m gonna let you forget?” Ghost growled, hand back around Soap’s neck. “Think I’m gonna let you forget this, what I do to you, how I fuck you?”

Soap settled his hands on Ghost’s shoulders, let his eyes flutter closed and his head tip back in Ghost’s grip. Open, vulnerable, just begging to be ruined. Calluses on his hands catching on Ghost’s skin, tracery of scars visible beneath the warm gold of his tan, all over, burn marks and bullet holes, the marks of everything he’d survived, the brute strength and power and viciousness of him tamed and placed in Ghost’s lap.

Don’t let me ruin you, Ghost thought, even as he put his lips to Soap’s warm throat, his teeth, even as he shoved a hand down the front of Soap’s trousers, taking his leaking cock in a hard, merciless grip.

“Simon,” Soap gasped. “I want you so fucking bad.”

“You got me.” Ghost pressed the words into Soap’s skin. “You got me, sweetheart.”

They were already ruined, the both of them. Ghost closed his eyes, spat on his hand, and set about making it worse.

4. Easy

Soap was the one up at dawn the next morning, moving around almost silently as he got dressed in the dark. Ghost woke anyway, laying on his back and watching through slitted eyes, impressed by how quiet Soap could be when he wanted. Ghost had seen him like this in the field, but when he didn’t need to be stealthy Soap was loud, filling up space with his body and his voice and his presence. He was smaller than Ghost – smaller than most soldiers, honestly –but made up for it with a bombastic kind of confidence that didn’t ever veer into cold arrogance like Ghost’s tended to. There was a natural, earned swagger about him that Ghost appreciated. That was sexy as fuck.

A dark part of Ghost just liked that he could get a man like that on his knees and begging. That one of the best operators he’d ever worked with - one who’d probably end up better than Ghost, eventually – had cried on his cock, been so desperate for it that he’d asked nicely, had spread his legs and arched his back for him, pleading with his eyes and his body and his soft, pink little mouth… Yeah, sure. Ghost thought he was allowed to maybe be a little arrogant, about that.

“Should put a bell on you, Johnny,” he said quietly as Soap was lacing up his boots, making him start. “You move like a cat.”

“Fuck, thought you were still out,” Soap said, pressing a hand to his chest in an oddly endearing gesture. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be.” Ghost sat up, watching the way Soap watched the sheets pool around his naked waist. “Would have been up at dawn anyway.” He looked critically out the window at the few scraggly rays of light starting to force their way through the clouds. “What passes for dawn here.”

Soap just pursed his lips into a pout, clearly biting back a slur about Ghost’s filthy English heritage. Too tired, too early, Ghost would have to bait him again later. There were always plenty of ways to get Soap riled up.

~~

After giving each other messy, clumsy handjobs on the couch the morning before, Ghost had waited for the awkwardness to hit, the restlessness and discomfort with being in someone else’s space. And it had been there, a little, as Soap flicked the TV on for him apologetically and went around doing laundry, tidying up, all the things you did when you got home from deployment. The bed had been stripped and remade with soft grey sheets, windows opened, Soap standing by the couch with a pile of dirty towels in his arms loudly giving his opinion on the action film Ghost had put on. Ghost kept his face bare, glanced outside and wondered if Soap would be offended if he went for a walk, watched Soap’s arse as he bent to fill the dryer in the kitchen, drank cup after cup of Yorkshire Tea until he pissed so much that Soap started making cheeky comments about needing his prostate checked. It was one of the laziest days Ghost had had in recent memory, and slowly the awkwardness bled away as almost despite himself, he let himself relax into it, into Soap’s space. Let his hard edges soften out.

“I’d normally go to the gym and get a session in,” Soap had said uncertainly after lunch, chewing on his lip, and it almost made Ghost laugh. Military bullshit, that on his one day off Soap wanted to keep up his routines, train his own restlessness away. “Got my spare room set up for home workouts, though, if you wanna…”

“Oh, the gym where you pick up?” Ghost said casually. “Shit, maybe I should go check it out myself.”

Blue eyes ran up and down his body.

“I walk into that gym with a lad like you, every man in there’s gonna know.”

“Know what, Johnny? What a fuckin’ slut you are?” Ghost grinned at Soap’s blush, the way he looked away and down. “Come on now, I’m not gonna fuck you on the elliptical, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” He tapped Soap under the chin, making him look back up at him. “Maybe in the locker room, if you’re a good boy.”

They’d used the spare room.

Ghost loved how much Soap loved dirty talk, loved the reactions he could get out of him with just a little smattering of filth, the tiniest hint of degradation. He wanted to see how far he could push that, how much Soap would take from him, now they didn’t have to be careful over comms, and there was no mission to distract them

He kept it up as they ran through a body-weight workout, falling into the habits of a CO as he directed Soap through a routine, keeping his hands to himself and his voice as filthy as possible. Neither of them were young enough to go again, but the physical exertion, the room with its gym mats and kettlebells that was too small for the both of them, keeping them in hot, sweaty proximity, it was just another version of sex anyway. They stank of sweat, Soap gleamed with it, golden and shiny, stupid hair sticking to his face, round muscles straining. Yet another thing Ghost liked, that Soap kept his body pretty like that, fucking unnecessarily perfect for his line of work. There really was arrogance there, a narcissism that Ghost found hot despite himself.

His own body was practical, muscular and strong because it needed to be, not because he wanted to go out and flash it around, pick up boys in bars and gyms like Soap did, rub himself all over his commanding officer. The women he occasionally slept with enjoyed it, just like they enjoyed his tattoos, his dark eyes, his harsh features. Soap enjoyed it, but Soap had liked him even before he’d almost creamed himself at the sight of the ink on his hands. Soap liked a lot of things about him, too. It was a hell of a problem to have.

Sex stayed easy, even the promise of sex, the tease of it. Dirty talk and banter stayed easy, being in each other’s company, surprisingly easy. The tension that built up between them as they worked out, the way it dropped naturally when they finished and showered, separately, the way it simmered as Soap cooked for him again, fuck, if it wasn’t so easy it would be easier. Easier to say that it was a few days of fucking and then back to their normal lives. Easier to lie to himself about giving it up, when he went back to England and they got back to work.

Didn’t know how he was going to go back to work after he’d had Soap nestled in his big bed, thighs spread as Ghost sucked luxuriantly on his cock for what felt like hours, edging him over and over again until Soap had tears streaming down his pretty face, all of those perfect muscles tense and straining and sore for him. Mask on, because it turned Soap on, two fingers fucked deep into Soap’s arse to play with him, “just come,” he’d whispered, wet lips brushing Soap’s balls, tongue barely touching the base of his cock. “Come on sweetheart, just let go,” and Soap had, a fractious cry escaping his mouth as he jerked against Ghost’s face and made a mess of him, arse clenching desperately on Ghost’s fingers.

“Simon,” he’d whimpered, and run a shaking hand through the splash of his own come before sucking it off. “Simon, Simon,” and he’d kept begging, kept whining Ghost’s name until Ghost was tucked back inside him, fucking his own load deep into Soap’s sweet, easy body.

~~

“Get up and have coffee with me, if you’re awake,” Soap said ruthlessly, kicking the base of the bed until Ghost groaned and pushed the covers away, slipping out of bed in just his briefs.

“Fuck’s sake, you arsehole soldiers are all the same,” he bitched, trailing Soap out to the kitchen where the kettle had already been boiled, breakfast things already laid out. “Couldn’t pay me to be a military wife, fuckin’ hell.”

Soap just lifted an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Was that an option, then?”

“Need to be kept in the manner to which I’m accustomed,” Ghost said archly. “Your posh little flat isn’t that bad, but the 5am wake ups are gonna have to go.”

Soap looked like he might have a lot to say about that, and Ghost didn’t want to hear any of it, so he stepped in and kissed him, chewing a little on his bottom lip as he pulled away. “If you’re expecting a hot dinner on the table when you get home tonight, sweetheart, you’re gonna be so fucking disappointed,” he whispered against Soap’s mouth.

“How about a hot bath waiting for me?” Soap whispered back. “We could see if it’s big enough for the two of us.”

Ghost hummed, hit with the image of fucking Soap in that bath, water sloshing all over the floor, Soap’s body wet and slick as it slipped against him. Probably end up giving himself a real concussion, pulling stupid shit like that, but it’d be worth it.

“Be good at work today and we’ll see,” he said, and was bathed in the light of Soap’s smile, his shining eyes, dimples flashing happily at him through the ever-present stubble. So fucking happy. It was impossible that Ghost could make someone that happy, not for any real length of time, not for anything real.

“Alright, alright, where’s this coffee then,” he muttered, overwhelmed suddenly and pushing Soap away towards the bench. Fuck. This domesticity wasn’t like anything he had experience with, warm and cloying. He sank into what had already become his chair, stretched his long legs out to get them in the way, bit his own lips as Soap stepped neatly over them, already used to him taking up space in this room. Just like he was already used to the taste of Soap’s coffee, his come, the scent of his laundry detergent, the feel of being wrapped up in his sheets and his arms…

Jesus Christ, he couldn’t just have this. It couldn’t just be this easy.

“Hell’s fuckin’ bells, Ghost, you look like I pissed in your coffee,” Soap said gently, after shoving a bowl of cereal into himself so quickly Ghost was surprised he hadn’t choked on it. “What’s the matter with you?”

That’s what Ghost got, for not wearing the mask, he thought sourly. Turned out he was as expressive as Soap underneath it, heaven help him.

What am I doing here, he wanted to ask, which was both stupid and unfair. He was the one who’d shown up expecting to get laid, not expecting anything else. He was the one who obviously didn’t know what he wanted. Soap knew. Oh, he knew, for sure. Wouldn’t say it, not yet, but it was brutally obvious.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly, then winced at himself, tried to soften a little, get back some of the easiness of the day before. “I’ll be fine. Just…” he trailed off, drank some more coffee. He wanted to shrink from Soap’s knowing eyes. Desperately needed, he was realising, a little time alone.

He drew a hand down his face, trying, as usual, to hide himself away, even though he knew Soap wouldn’t have it. The birds were starting to wake up outside and for a miracle, it wasn’t raining. The kitchen smelled like coffee and sugar and Soap’s warm, clean skin. Ghost tried to stay present, stop his thoughts from spiralling out from underneath him. He could pretend he didn’t know what was freaking him out, but he wasn’t a liar, at least.

He wanted the sex, badly, and he wanted this, just as much.

“The future, the present and the past walked into a bar,” Soap suddenly said, still in that infuriatingly gentle voice. “It was tense.”

Silence, for one beat, two, before it broke.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Ghost sighed, closing his eyes to Soap’s self-satisfied chuckles. “That was the worst one yet.”

“Aye, I’ve been saving it for a special occasion,” Soap said cheerfully. He stood, chair scraping obnoxiously over the floor, and started clattering around at the sink.

“This what you call a special occasion, then?”

Soap came back, planted a hand on each of Ghost’s shoulders, and leaned in to nuzzle at his bare neck, running his nose down Ghost’s throat to his chest and making him shiver.

“Oh aye it is,” Soap said, all growly and thick in his accent, the words pressed deep into the crook of Ghost’s neck. “Gotta go blow shit up, but I want you right here when I get back, Simon, just like this.”

“Demanding little fuck, aren’t you,” Ghost said, letting his head fall back and his knees spread. He liked this, being almost naked, with Soap between his legs in full uniform. Started to see why Soap was always so hot for it. The urge to pull Soap onto his lap was almost too strong, he kept his hands in loose fists on his open thighs instead, let Soap rub up on him like he was about to leave for seven months instead of seven hours. “Like I said, be good at work, laddie. Got some ideas for tonight.”

Soap groaned, slumped his whole body into Ghost’s for a moment. Ghost was stunned by how easily Soap had drawn him out of his own head, killed his bad mood, and demanded he play with him again. The little arsehole had him on a string.

“Gonna rock up to base with a hard cock and a head full o’ cotton wool,” Soap whined. “Not fucking fair.”

“On your way then, sweetheart. Try not to blow yourself up.”

“Call me fuckin’ sweetheart like that again and I’ll make no promises.”

He stayed close for another few moments, just long enough for Ghost’s cock to start paying attention and begin to chub up in his briefs, before dragging himself away with a long, low sigh. Ghost didn’t bother trying to hide his erection, just grinned faintly as Soap’s eyes caught on it, his cheeks blooming a deep, urgent red.

“Gonna go take care of this back in your bed,” Ghost said. “And you’re about to be late. Off you go.”

“You’re a bad fuckin’ man,” Soap breathed, but he glanced at his watch, clearly debating for a moment whether or not it’d be worth being late to fuck around with Ghost a little, eventually deciding against it.

“Send me a video of it, love,” he added, darting about to gather up his keys, hoist up his pack. “Go on.”

“Fucking hard negative on that one,” Ghost said lazily, running his fingers up and down his clothed cock just to be a prick. “You’ll get what you’re given when you come home.”

Soap’s eyes went burning hot at that, and they lingered on Ghost as he left, right up until the door was shut between them. It was only then that Ghost realised what he’d implied.

When you come home…to me.

For someone who didn’t date, he was moving awfully goddamned fast here with his sergeant. He tried to count back through the days to when they’d first kissed, rushed and hectic in the middle of the COP. Had that been the start of it? Not even close, but then, they didn’t really have a traditional start. Nothing about this was traditional. He thought of holding Soap in his scope, brushing the crosshairs up and down his body like a caress, the way Soap always seemed to know. Thought of every heated look Soap had given him at work, the way his voice would get whiny and desperate, the way his body seemed to bend to Ghost, collapsing into his orbit. That had been happening for…weeks. And for weeks, Ghost had been playing into it, teasing him, figuring out what Soap liked and trying to do it more.

And fuck, the only reason any of that worked at all was because they already had a bond. They already trusted each other unconditionally, already intimately knew the sight of the other’s blood, had already seen each other kill, almost be killed, had walked through betrayal together and come out the other side. So with all that, when had it started? What counted? The fuck, the kiss, Soap letting him listen, “it’s not the ladies I’m interested in”?

“It can’t be this easy,” Ghost whispered, alone in Soap’s kitchen. “It fucking can’t.”

But it was. It always had been. He just had to figure out whether or not he was too much of a coward to accept it.

5. Sweet

Ghost couldn’t spend another day lazing around Soap’s flat like he really was just a pretty little military wife waiting for her man to come home or he’d go nuts - and the part of himself that was a little intrigued by that idea got shut the fuck down quick smart, put aside to be examined at a later date when his head wasn’t already a whirlwind. So after Soap left, he showered and dressed, made Soap’s bed up nicely, and then headed out to explore Glasgow. He figured if he had to be there he could at least make the most of it.

Is it too much of a cliche to go to the necropolis?

send pics

Ghost snorted at Soap’s immediate response. He wasn’t sure what would be more compromising, a video of himself jerking off in Soap’s bed (which he’d done before his shower, on his stomach, mouth open against Soap’s pillow, rutting into the mattress like he’d rutted into Soap’s arse the night before), or pictures of himself wandering around Glasgow doing the most touristy shit possible.

His phone buzzed again a moment later, another message from Soap: wish I could go with you tho.

Ghost closed his eyes and leaned forward to bang his head gently against his steering wheel a couple of times. Okay. Okay.

I was gonna go for a walk around the botanical gardens, you can take me tomorrow I guess

:)

Ghost didn’t date, and even if he did, if he’d let himself think about it, he wouldn’t have imagined anything this unbearably, egregiously sweet. Sweetheart, he called Soap, and it had just slipped out at first, bedroom talk that didn’t mean anything, but it was apt, shockingly, impossibly apt. Like sugar melting on his tongue, he didn’t know how long it was going to last, but he found he wanted to savour every second of it.

He spent half the day looking around Glasgow, then went back to Soap’s flat and worked out in his spare room, pushing himself hard just to try to wipe his brain a little, get a little clarity. Left himself sore and loose and more than a bit tempted by Soap’s tub, but he had plans for that already; plans that had been slowly percolating in his mind since he’d first seen it. Soap’s suggestion that morning had brought them into focus.

Let me know when you’re on your way home, he texted to Soap in the afternoon, and had to wait almost ten minutes for the response: why am i kinda scared and turned on at the same time?

Because you’re smarter than you look

Fuuuuck

~~

“Honey, I’m home!”

Soap’s voice rang out obnoxiously through the flat, and Ghost rolled his eyes, fighting the stupid little blush that wanted to bloom at hearing it.

“In here, Soap,” he called back, and when Soap wandered into the bathroom, still in full uniform, dirty boots and all, Ghost was on him. He shoved him against the wall and attacked his mouth in a fierce, desperate kiss, unloading a day’s worth of frustrations on him in a quick, frenzied slide of his mouth. Soap moaned into it, kissing back even as Ghost grabbed his wrist and wrenched his arm up above his head, pinning it to the tile, shoved his hips against Soap’s to hold him in place.

“Missed you too,” Soap gasped, when Ghost finally dragged himself away from his mouth to bite wetly down over his jaw and neck instead. “Fuckin’ Jesus, Simon…”

“Shut up,” Ghost mumbled into his neck, sweaty and grimy with work. He smelled and tasted a little disgusting, and it turned a dark place inside Ghost the fuck on. It was old sweat and dirt and gunpowder, residue from the explosives he’d been working with, and it reminded Ghost of kissing him after the mission, how filthy they’d both been then.

Soap wound his free hand around Ghost’s shoulders, clutched him close as he tried to grind up against his thigh, muscles straining. “Not that I’m complaining, love,” he added, refusing, as usual, to follow orders and shut up. “Wanna come home to this every day.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Ghost drew back just enough to look at Soap’s face, his pink lips already kiss-wet and puffy, his blue eyes dazed as they met Ghost’s. He was so fucking pretty. Even like this, especially like this, dirty from work, stubble out of control, tired and run ragged from a hard day. Ghost wanted to make it worse, break him down until he could barely function, completely ruined, and then he wanted to take care of him, pull him back together and leave him soft and sated and done.

Ghost wanted this every day, too.

“Still fancy that bath, lad?” he asked roughly, and smiled as Soap blinked at him, realising for the first time that the bathroom was full of steam.

“Oh, love,” Soap sighed, and kissed him again, straining up against Ghost’s hold for it. “You’re so…”

“Yeah, don’t get too excited, this was for my benefit,” Ghost said gruffly, pressing his face to Soap’s cheek for a minute to hide his expression. He wasn’t wearing his mask, and was trying hard not to regret it. Soap saw too much on his face, read far too much. Or just enough, maybe.

Love.

“Gonna fuck me in it?” Soap asked. “Yeah?”

“Negative.” Ghost pulled away properly, dragging Soap’s hand to his mouth to kiss along his dirty, eternally bruised knuckles before letting him go. “Strip for me, soldier.”

He leaned up against the wall and watched Soap’s face, paid attention to the heat rising in it as he took a couple of stumbling steps into the centre of the room and started removing his gear, slowly revealing his gorgeous, dirty body.

“How was work?” Ghost asked, when Soap was down to his bottom layers, boots kicked off into the hallway, uniform heaped in a pile in the corner.

Soap gave him a look. “Fine. Blew stuff up, got to yell at some privates. Another day in paradise.”

“Mmm.” Ghost ran his eyes down Soap’s thighs, over the swell of his arse, the thickness of his waist, strong and sturdy and sculpted as fuck. “Sounds like a good time.”

Soap paused with one thumb hooked in the waistband of his briefs. “Simon-”

“Off with it, lad, come on now.” Ghost slumped back against the wall a little more, legs spread, and tilted his head at the bath. “In you get.”

“You planning on fuckin’ filming me, too?” Soap muttered, finally letting the briefs drop to the floor. The heavy steam was starting to form condensation on his skin, along his brow and down his neck. He wasn’t self-conscious, exactly, but seemed almost on the verge of it, holding himself on display for Ghost as Ghost watched, still fully clothed in grey track pants and a tee. Ghost wanted to touch him again, run his fingers over all the filth and sweat and dampness of him, rub it in and lick it off, but held himself back, for now. There’d be time.

“A bit into that idea, aren’t you? Missed your calling as a porn star, mate?” He grinned faintly, and tilted his head again. “Come on, Johnny. I’m not gonna ask again.”

Something in Soap’s eyes told him he was a bit into that as well, but instead of pushing back he finally turned, groaning as he stepped into the bath and gingerly lowered himself down into the hot water.

“Ahh, fuck that’s good,” he sighed, as he eased himself back, eyes closed. “Simon, Christ.”

“Temperature right?”

“Too hot,” Soap said, but kept his eyes shut, his body still. “It’s good, it’s perfect.”

“There’s something wrong in your head, boyo,” Ghost said softly as he watched Soap hold himself in the too-warm water, his skin flushing a rosy red. “Add more cold.”

“Nah, I like it.” Soap cracked an eye open at him. “What the fuck did I do to deserve this treatment?”

“What, being scalded in your own bathroom?” Ghost finally moved, kneeling down on the floor next to the tub on Soap’s soft, plush bathmat. And thank god for Soap’s posh taste, this was already going to be hell on Ghost’s knees.

“Simon. You know what I mean.”

Ghost dipped a hand in the water. He’d seen the packets of Epsom salts in Soap’s cabinets, but had left them out, wanting to keep the water as clean as possible for what he had in mind. His fingers brushed Soap’s thigh, slid up to his hip, wedged firmly against the wall of the tub.

“What did you do to deserve all this?” he mused, and held Soap’s gaze as he trailed his fingertips over Soap’s hip and in, barely dipping into the crease of his groin. “I dunno, Johnny, this is all for me. Wanna see you like this, soft and easy for me, doin’ what I say just ‘cause I say it. Wanna see how far I can push you, what you’re willing to take.” Soap let his head fall back against the rim of the tub at those words, eyes slipping closed again and legs falling open. He was so easy, already, Ghost almost couldn’t breathe through it. He was getting high on this, the close, hot room, the smell of Soap, the feel of him, the way he yielded even as his cock got brutally hard.

He reached his free hand up to its new favourite spot on Soap’s neck, and wrapped his fingers gently around his throat to hold him in place as he leaned close and whispered in his ear. “Also, I plan on eating your arse until you cry tonight, sweetheart, if that’s somethin’ you’re interested in.”

Soap’s lips parted and his brows creased, hips twitching up and making the water slosh around them, just teasing the edge of the tub. “Sweet Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“No fun in that,” Ghost murmured. “Let’s get you clean then, lad.”

The days of decadence, of soft, lazy indulgence, had nothing on this. Ghost lathered up a washcloth, Soap watching with stunned, disbelieving eyes, and took his sweet time as he ran it over Soap’s skin, over his thick shoulders and down that perfect chest, from his feet, over his ankles and up his legs, in long, indolent sweeps across those fat thighs… He couldn’t resist pressing his fingers into them, the plushness of them, licking his lips as they gave beneath his touch until Soap couldn’t stand it anymore and tensed away from him, going hard and straining all over.

“None of that,” Ghost said, shooting him a grin. “Let me play.”

Soap cursed under his breath but relaxed again, and Ghost took the opportunity to slip the cloth between his legs, rubbing at the tender skin of his inner thighs and then higher.

“I can- I can clean myself up, there,” Soap stammered, and Ghost almost chuckled at this, the first instance of Soap going a little shy on him. But shy or not, he was still hard, gorgeous cock red and thick where it rested against his abs, floating a little in the water whenever he moved around. No doubt pumping streams of precome into it, and the thought made Ghost’s mouth water, made him want to grab Soap by the hips and haul him up just enough to get his cock out, get his mouth on it and suck down the hot, salty taste of him…

But he had a plan.

“I said let me play,” he repeated, letting his voice go harder, the officer growl deepening and making Soap flush. “Be good for me.”

“I-” Soap started, and lost himself in a deep groan as Ghost got the cloth up behind his balls, rubbing as his perineum before slipping further back. “Simon, Simon,” he gasped, squirming enough for the water to come splashing over the side of the tub now, soaking Ghost’s knees. Ghost didn’t care, was relentless as he scritched the cloth between Soap’s cheeks, pressed a couple of fingers right up against his hole. He’d be fucking them in if the flannel wasn’t in the way, and their eyes locked in a heated gaze as Ghost scrubbed him, cleaning him off in what was maybe one of the filthiest, hottest things he’d ever done.

“Christ, please,” Soap whimpered, and then he was scrambling for the bar of soap Ghost had left on the ledge, shoving it down between his own legs to press it at Ghost’s hand. “Fuck me, lose the cloth.”

“Fuckin’ greedy,” Ghost whispered, but he did as he was told, dropping the washcloth and lathering his fingers up instead. It wouldn’t really work, not for long, the water was already washing it away, but they just needed this, just enough…he pushed the tip of his middle finger against Soap’s rim, hot and relaxed from the water, rubbed it in tight circles until Soap’s moans were almost cries, and then shoved it inside.

“Bet you taste as sweet as you look,” Ghost said, wiggling his finger in just up to the first knuckle and crooking it as much as he could. Soap was too tight, the bath was too cramped, this was a terrible way to do this, but fuck if Soap didn’t look on the verge of coming already, cock tensing in time with the twitching of his hole around Ghost, abs flexing rhythmically as he sucked in deep, jagged gasps around the pleasure.

“Look at you, fuckin’ hell, look like you’re gonna spurt all over me and I’ve barely touched you. Gonna ruin this nice bath I ran you, sweetheart? Gonna get it all filthy with your come?”

“I can’t…Christ…” Soap was gripping the sides of the tub, his knuckles white with the strain. Ghost didn’t know if he was trying to stop himself from coming or trying to get himself there with willpower alone; either way, his orgasm wasn’t part of Ghost’s plan. Not yet.

“Don’t you bloody dare, lad,” he said mildly, still lazily finger fucking him with just those tiny, twitchy movements. “Want you to come on my tongue. Think you’re clean enough for me, sweetheart? Think I did a good job?”

He wedged another finger in - just the very tip, really, more the promise than anything substantial, and Soap arched his back like Ghost had him on a hook, hips surging up, water splashing everywhere as he went tight, tight and…didn’t come, not quite, prick flexing like it wanted to, like maybe a phantom orgasm had swept through him and left him wanting, even more desperate than before.

Fuck, Ghost almost felt it himself.

“You are gonna kill me,” Soap said weakly, out of breath. “I always knew it, you know. I’m a goner.”

“Not yet,” Ghost said, and withdrew his fingers with a final, gentle rub over the rim of him. “Not done with you yet.”

Soap’s gaze was hazy, he already looked fucked out and Ghost had hardly even started. He licked his lips, looking at Ghost’s soaked white tee, the way his wet track pants clung to him. Ghost smirked. That hadn’t been part of the plan, though it probably should have been. He liked the way Soap looked at him, disbelieving, like he wasn’t quite real.

Ghost got it. He didn’t feel real, right then, didn’t feel like this was real, more like a fantasy come to life, a living dream.

He leaned in, stealing a hot, deep kiss as Soap lay lax and pliant in the tub, finished it by licking water droplets off his lips and chin. “You gonna get out of this tub and let me eat your arsehole, Johnny?”

“Yeah, Simon,” Soap whispered back. He looked like he’d been hit over the fucking head, dazed and out of it. “Yeah, yes, whatever you want.”

Ghost liked the sound of that.

He helped Soap out of the tub, wrapped a towel haphazardly around his shoulders and pushed him towards the door, trailing after him and stripping off on his way to the bedroom. “On the bed, spread your - shit, yeah, just like that.”

Without needing to be asked, Soap had collapsed forward onto the bed, still dripping with bathwater, on his knees with his face buried in the pillows. The positions spread him out for Ghost’s gaze, emphasised the width of his muscled back, the strength in it, the round curve of his arse and thighs a gorgeously soft contrast.

“I like you nice and obedient like this,” Ghost said, kneeling up behind him to smooth his rough hands up Soap’s flank, his skin impossibly soft from the bath. “You don’t follow orders for me half as well in the field.”

He didn’t really mean it, and Soap knew it. Soap really was one of the best operators he’d worked with, and besides, Ghost was always happy to encourage a little bit of healthy insubordination when the moment called for it.

That healthy insubordination had gotten them here, after all.

“Do you think – ah, do you think, like, you’d ever-” There was that shyness again, Soap half lifting up to look over his shoulder to meet Ghost’s eyes before his courage failed him and he buried his face back in the pillow again.

“Spit it out, soldier.”

“You think you’d like to go there? Try all that shite, safewords and, and orders and, fuck, you know. Maybe tie me up, or like. That kind of thing.”

Fuck, he was too sweet to be real.

Ghost collapsed forward, buried his nose in the soft, damp space behind Soap’s ear. “Look at you, getting all shy on me. Where’s this coming from, huh? Is this the same filthy mouth that begged me to come in his arse, fuck his throat?”

“Shut up.”

Ghost laughed, sitting back on his heels between Soap’s spread knees, muscling them further apart. “Yeah Soap, why the fuck not? You already make me crazy, you already got me doing all sorts of shit I’d never normally do.” Domesticity. Falling in love. “You want me to tie you up and beat your arse, make you kneel at my feet and lick my boots, whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Soap twisted to look at him again, eyes wide. “That was specific.”

Ghost smirked. “You’re not the only one with fantasies, Johnny.” He placed his hands on the backs of Soap’s thighs, slowly sliding them up. “Already had you kneeling for me. Already got you following orders. Pick a safeword whenever you like, sweetheart, we’re already doing this.” He let his thumbs curl in as they reached Soap’s arse, spreading him apart. Soap was already back in the pillows, squirming in a way that had Ghost licking his lips. Soap wasn’t a shy person, but being exposed like this, revealing not just the most intimate parts of his body, but some of his most intimate fantasies, it was breaking something in him down. That and the bath, Ghost taking care of him one minute and claiming ownership of him the next… It made Ghost so hot he felt it in his veins like lightning, made heat tingle in his fingertips. Taking Soap like this, taking Soap’s trust and lust and, yeah, love, and using it to fucking disassemble him, it was addictive as hell.

How are we gonna give this up?

He ignored the thought, shoving it to the back of his mind, and licked his lips again. “You look,” he breathed, eyes fixed on where Soap was open and bare and vulnerable for him, “Fucking edible.”

“So eat me, then,” Soap whispered, and Ghost, Ghost didn’t need to be told twice.

He leaned in, let his mouth fill with saliva and then pressed it, open and wet, to the back of Soap’s balls, sucking lightly on the skin until Soap cried out, arse twitching in Ghost’s firm grip. “That’s it,” Ghost murmured into him. “Lemme hear you.” He rubbed his lips over Soap’s balls and then up, kissing right against his hole, sucking on the blood-warm rim of him, pink and soft and relaxed from the hot water. He tasted – Ghost had to fight not to laugh a little – like soap, and fresh sweat, and copper. It was both clean and filthy, always, always the contrasts with the two of them. Still delicious, addictive as all the rest of it, and Ghost licked into him, over him, making a mess.

“Simon, oh fuck, Simon.” He’d never heard Soap sound quite like that, never quite that frantic, quite that desperate. “Oh shit, that feels so good…”

Ghost hummed into him in agreement, and turned his head a little to graze his teeth lightly down Soap’s arsecheek, licking straight back up the faint red line he’d left, smiling as Soap gasped and didn’t seem to know whether to twist away from or toward the sensation. Either way, Ghost had him, kept his grip brutal as he went back to eating him, fucking his tongue in as deep as it could go and curling it against Soap’s walls. Everything was Soap, he was surrounded, consumed, and the magnitude of it threatened to be overwhelming. That abyss beneath them again, and Ghost catapulting himself straight into it, as usual.

But it was Soap. It was Soap, so it had to be okay.

Ghost pulled back when Soap had been reduced to a series of broken whimpers, wet sounding gasps that he couldn’t muffle in the pillow. He was slick and slippery with Ghost’s saliva; Ghost pushed a thumb against him, testing, and when he opened up soft as butter he sank it in, rode those bucking hips as Soap jerked back against him and then away.

“Take it, sweetheart,” Ghost said, voice hoarse, and stared as he pushed his other thumb in alongside the first, rubbing it soothingly against the rim before slipping it inside. “Take it for me, Johnny.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Soap was moaning, but he was pushing into the sensation now, chasing after it. “It feels too good, I can’t.”

“You can,” Ghost promised him, and leaned back in, licking around his thumbs, between them. “Oh you do taste sweet, don’t you.”

“Fuck me Simon, please,” Soap begged, and Ghost wondered what kind of mess his cock was making against the sheets this time, untouched and still drooling that precome everywhere. He wanted to lick that, too, wanted to eat everything Soap would give him.

He pulled one thumb out, letting his tongue take its place, and reached around Soap’s narrow hips to feel for himself. As expected, Soap’s prick was leaking like a tap; Ghost slicked up his hand in it and gave him a long, luscious stroke, revelled in the feeling of Soap’s arsehole clenching around him at the sensation.“I’ll come,” Soap gasped, suddenly, making a half-hearted attempt to get away. “Simon I’ll come, I’m gonna come if you don’t…”

It was too soon. Ghost had wanted to tease him for hours before getting his cock inside, had wanted to edge him and reduce him to a puddle of useless, twitchy nerves before giving him the kind of once in a life orgasm he’d never forget. But something in Soap’s eagerness, his desperation, fuelled Ghost’s. He found himself wanting to give in to Soap, give him what he needed. Be that for him.

He knelt up, pulling Soap backwards with a harsh tug on his hip, his other thumb still buried inside of him. “Beg,” he said, even as he spat down on his own cock, tugged at Soap’s slick, open rim. “Fucking beg me, then.”

“Fuck you, oh fuck you, please get inside me, please Simon, gimme your cock.” Soap was babbling, accent so strong Ghost could almost taste it. He pulled his thumb out, pressing down on the rim so he could see Soap all pink inside and waiting for him, and replaced it with his own wet cockhead.

“Atta boy,” he groaned, and pushed in, amazed at the ease of it, how ready Soap was to take him. He was hot inside, so fucking hot, wet and slick with Ghost’s spit. Ghost watched the way he stretched, watched himself split him open, and realised in quiet amazement that he was close, too.

“Never felt like this in my fucking life,” Soap was moaning. He’d turned his head on the pillow and Ghost could see a dark patch of drool on the pretty linen pillowcase, his lips were shiny with it. “Never, Simon, I swear to god.”

“Yeah, Johnny,” Ghost panted, and leaned over, over that strong back that was currently bowed for him, reaching for a kiss and then thinking better of it at the last moment, sucking on the edge of his jaw instead. “I know sweetheart.”

“You too, aye?” The angle was awkward, but Soap butted his head gently against Ghost’s, even as Ghost kept up a steady, deep rhythm in his arse. “Tell me it’s you too.”

“You know it is,” Ghost bit out, and fucked him harder. Fuck you too. You said I didn’t have to say it.

“Aye, it is.” Soap, thank god, let it go, slipping his eyes closed and arching his back to meet Ghost’s thrusts. “Play with my cock then, Simon, make me come for you, fuck me ‘til I can feel it in my goddamn throat.”

“Not so fuckin’ shy with a prick shoved in you, are you,” Ghost laughed breathlessly, and once again did as he was told, gripping Soap’s sopping cock and jerking it hard and fast. “Go on then, if you’re that greedy for it.”

He felt Soap’s orgasm in the tensing of his muscles, the clenching of his arse, even before he all but screamed it into the pillow. Come dripped down over his knuckles and onto the already sticky sheets, and Ghost milked it out of him in long, firm strokes until Soap was bucking again, overwhelmed and overstimulated.

“That what you wanted, Johnny?” he asked, fingers in a firm, relentless ring around the sensitive head of him. “Take it, sweetheart, you can take more for me.”

“Simon.”

Ahh, there were the tears. Ghost collapsed onto him, one knee drawn up to keep him spread open, and rutted into that weakly spasming body like an animal, his orgasm almost an afterthought after experiencing Soap’s. He fucked it deep into Soap’s body, grinding it in like he wanted him to taste it.

“Simon, Simon, love.” Soap sounded slurred, nuzzling his head into the side of Ghost’s, and Ghost realised, with a kind of dim, hazy horror, that Soap wasn’t the only one with tears in his eyes.

“Love.”

He twitched his hips back just enough to slip out, flinching a little at the pull on his sensitive cock, and let himself fall to the side, pressed against Soap’s heaving body. Kind of understood the urge to hide his face in the pillow, now.

“Don’t,” he whispered, and he didn’t know what he meant. Don’t call me love. Don’t look at me. Don’t see inside of me, like that, like you always do.

But it was Soap.

Blue eyes studied him, sweeping over his face, taking in his wet eyes. Soap looked like he’d just run a marathon, or maybe just like he’d been fucked within an inch of his life, and it suited him. He was beautiful. God, he was so fucking beautiful, to Ghost.

“You still don’t have to say it,” Soap whispered into the quiet, hot space between them. “I know.”

“You do,” Ghost agreed, trying not to let his voice shake. “You do know, Johnny.”

I love you.

The smile Soap gave him could have moved mountains. There was no space between them now. Soap could read everything on his face, in his eyes, there was no hiding anymore. It was terrifying.

“Me too,” Soap told him, eyes big and serious. Ghost thought about his mask, about the spare in the nightstand, but it was abstract. He wanted it, but the urge wasn’t taking him over, like it usually did. It could be held at bay.

He cupped a shaking hand over Soap’s cheek. It was covered it come and spit and god fucking knew what else, but that was okay, that was them too. The sweetness and the filth, the darkness mixed with the light. They were killers, they were idiots, they were dirty bastards, and they were in love.

“You need another fucking bath, lad,” Ghost said, and Soap’s eyes crinkled as he tossed his head back in an exhausted, joyful laugh. Ghost followed him pressing a wet kiss to his throat, licked up to his lips. Soap just sighed and kissed him back, both of them revelling in how obscene it was to be sharing that kiss after what Ghost had just been doing with his mouth. It didn’t matter. With who they were, what they were, it was nothing.

Tomorrow might be hard. The awkwardness creeping in, the restlessness, the absolute bone melting terror. But he kissed Soap, wet and indulgent, and let himself put tomorrow aside. They still had tonight, now, lying in a filthy, beautiful bed, covered in come and each other, kissing like it never had to end.

I love you, Ghost thought, over and over, and let himself sink into the darkness of it, hot and close and safe with Soap in his arms. I love you, you fuck.

Just like it was easy.

Author’s Note:

find me on twitter at QueenieBGalore <3

Table of Contents

- Familiar as a Bottle and a Glass

- Title Page
- 1. Chapter 1
- 2. Chapter 2
- 3. Chapter 3
- 4. Chapter 4

- The Spaces Between the Light

- Title Page
- 1. Introduction - Stupid
- 2. Indulgence
- 3. Honesty
- 4. Easy
- 5. Sweet