Take a Bite Anthology
Author: queeniegalore
Date: 2023-02-06T04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: FanFiction; Bottom John "Soap" MacTavish; Captain Daddy Price; Daddy Kink (implied); Degradation (light and consensual); Dirty Talk; Exhibitionism; Fantasizing; M/M; Porn as Plot; Romance; Rough Sex; Sexual Tension; Spitroasting; Threesome - M/M/M; Top John Price (Call of Duty); Top Simon "Ghost" Riley; blood play (very light); masochism (light); rough oral; two doms one sub; Call of Duty (Video Games); John "Soap" MacTavish; John Price (Call of Duty)
Description: Anthology containing: Take a Bite and Let it Linger The Sweet Taste of Kerosene
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Rights: Copyrights as per source stories

Take a Bite and Let it Linger by queeniegalore

Series: Take a Bite [1]
Fandoms: Call of Duty (Video Games)
AO3 Categories: M/M
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John “Soap” MacTavish/John Price, John “Soap” MacTavish/John Price/Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish/Simon “Ghost” Riley
Characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, John Price (Call of Duty), Simon “Ghost” Riley
Freeform Tags: Bottom John “Soap” MacTavish, Captain Daddy Price, Daddy Kink (implied), Degradation (light and consensual), Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fantasizing, Porn as Plot, Romance, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Top John Price (Call of Duty), Top Simon “Ghost” Riley, blood play (very light), masochism (light), rough oral, two doms one sub
Status: Completed
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Published: 2023-02-06
Updated: 2023-02-10
Packaged: 2023-08-24 19:21:02
Summary:

Soap gave in before he even really registered there was a fight to be had.

“Was thinking about blowing you,” he mumbled, dropping his head forward. “Just gettin’ on my knees right there in Price’s office, in front of his desk.”

“Bit kinky,” Ghost said, amused, and dragged his teeth lightly over the bumps of Soap’s spine. “Right there in Price’s office, eh? And what was Price doing?”

“Watching.”

~

Soap has a fantasy, Ghost is indulgent, and Price just wants to take care of his boys.

I Bookmarked Story: False

1. Watching

Author’s Note:

Huge shout out to everyone who’s been so patiently waiting for this! I hope it was worth it!! I promise it is complete, I’ll just be posting it a chapter a day while I finish off the editing.

Title from “Fistfight” by The Ballroom Thieves.

Dedicated to my twitter cheer squad - I love you guys so much, thanks for making this fandom such a blast

The comedown after a mission was always brutal, but there was something comforting, Soap thought, about spending it in Price’s office.

Soap had been shot again. Not seriously, this time, just a graze across the meat of his thigh, hardly a hit at all. Even though he’d already been seen to by medical, Price - who’d been the one to patch him up in the field, shearing his jeans away, grip on his inner thigh strong and sure as Soap’s blood poured out over his gloves - had wanted him to stop in on his way back to his accommodation on base. “Just to check on you with my own eyes, lad,” he’d said. “Just wanna make sure we didn’t break you.”

Ghost came too, because that was a given.

And now, Price’s office was dim, sweet with cigar smoke and the sweat of three men who hadn’t really had a chance to clean up yet. Soap would die before he admitted how much he liked that smell, liked being around it, soaking it in. Something dirty and shameful about that, like how he always wanted to get his nose into Ghost before he hit the showers, licking up his sweat, breathing in the filthy, raw masculinity of him…

“Soap?”

He blinked up at Price, who was holding out a glass of whisky to him and looking a little amused. The office was dim and smokey and comfortable, and it had been a long fucking mission, but still.

“Oh aye, ta.” Soap yawned and took the glass, clinking it with Price’s and Ghost’s. “Captain, you’re a prince.”

Price looked doubtful.

“Should you actually be drinking that?” he asked, brows furrowing and hand hovering like he was about to snatch the glass back away. Soap held it protectively to his chest, and Ghost let out a huff of laughter.

“Docs don’t have him on the really good stuff, don’t worry,” he said. “Let him have a drink, one glass’ll knock him out and then I can have some fucking peace and quiet for a change.”

“Hey,” Soap muttered half-heartedly, but whatever, it was true. He was on his last legs, thigh throbbing hot under the bandages, dulled only a little by the pills they’d given him. Ghost knew this, because Ghost had lurked around the infirmary until they’d finished with him, snooping through his medical files and inspecting all the little bottles and salves they gave him for his wound like it was completely within his rights. It was endearing, in a way that made Soap want to scream a little. But it was Ghost, who was going to tell him no? Not fucking Soap, that was who.

“Leg not so bad then, eh?” Price asked, eying him up over his cigar. Soap shrugged. He’d had worse, but he wasn’t above playing for a little sympathy.

“Och, should be fine in a few days,” he said, pursing his lips. “Just hurtin’ like a fucking bastard right now.”

Ghost huffed again, and pushed his mask up and then off so he could have his drink. His eye-black had dripped and smeared down his face, cutting into the sharp line of his cheekbones, all the way down to the amused twist of his mouth. Soap shot him a small smile, and then fell silent again, sinking back into the not entirely unpleasant throb of pain and fatigue and drugs and drink and safety.

It was nice, to let the officers talk over him, around him. He sat and listened to Ghost and Price chat about the mission, the men, about Soap, a little bit, like he wasn’t there. He sipped his whisky and knew he wasn’t expected to contribute right now, but also knew his presence was wanted, welcomed even. It reminded him, embarrassingly, of sitting up late with his dad and his uncle, ignored but still folded into the warmth of their conversation. Of course, he was currently sucking one of these officer’s cocks, so it wasn’t entirely the same.

He looked at Ghost, the fucking beauty of him in the soft glow of the desk lamp, and thought that thought through again. Not currently sucking his cock, no. Not right that fucking second, though he let himself slowly drift into imagining it, what that would be like. Imagined dropping to his knees in front of Price’s desk while his commanding officers conducted their informal little mission debrief right over the top of him. Imagined slipping the fat head of Ghost’s cock between his wet lips while Price leaned over to pour him another measure of whisky, imagined, maybe, Price glancing down at him approvingly, maybe even ruffling his hair a little. Imagined Ghost’s hands strong on the back of his neck, voice faltering as he came, and Price chuckling about it before they resumed their conversation. Imagined…maybe…crawling over to Price, next, nuzzling the hot, close space between his thighs while Price petted at his head, rubbing his hard cock over Soap’s face…

“Soap, fuck’s sake, go to bed.”

For the second time that night Soap blinked himself back to reality, his cheeks flaming an immediate, blazing red as he caught two sets of eyes on him. Price was glaring at him with gruff, gentle concern on his handsome face, but Ghost, who was on his side of the desk and who could probably see the way his cock was starting to firm up in his joggers, was smirking knowingly, a curious look in his eye. Soap’s stomach lurched as he realised what he’d been thinking about doing, half drifting off in Captain Price’s fucking office.

“Aye,” he managed, voice a low, scratchy mess. He coughed and tried again. “Oh aye, I’m ruined. Time to get my beauty sleep.” He nodded, ran a hand over his face, and stayed exactly where he was though, Ghost grinning at him openly now, because his fucking cock was still hard.

“Away with you then, Sergeant,” Price said, still with that gruff concern. “I assume you’re taking a few days?”

Soap couldn’t look at Ghost, for obvious reasons, or Price, for mortifying reasons, so he fixed his gaze on the desk before him, hunching forward a little. He was a sniper. He had excellent control over his body, actually, he just had to pull himself together and stop picturing what it would be like to crawl under that damn desk.

“Few days, yeah,” he agreed tightly. He reached out for Ghost’s mask and finally stood, turning a little under the pretext of handing it to Ghost. He knew he was being awkward as fuck but well, he’d been shot, he was drugged up. He had excuses.

“Yeah, it’s nothing really, we’ll reassess when the swelling goes down, make sure there’s no infection. It’ll be fine.”

He snuck a glance at Price. The Captain was slouched back in his chair, cigar hanging lazily from the same fingers that were holding his whisky, absently swirling it around as he studied Soap with sharp blue eyes. The flush in Soap’s cheeks could be attributed to the drink, probably, nothing to do with the way his hard cock wanted to twitch at the sight of his Captain looking at him like that, at being caught under his heavy gaze.

“Good lad,” Price said softly, and Ghost laughed out loud, standing and pulling his mask from Soap’s unresisting hands to slip back on.

“I’ll get him back to his room, Captain,” Ghost said, that voice of his rich with suggestion. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” Price drawled, and took a long sip of his drink, eyes never leaving Soap’s. “Make sure you get some rest, soldiers.”

“Aye, Captain,” Soap stammered, and managed to pull himself the fuck together enough to turn and follow Ghost out the door without incident, even managed to make it all the way to his room without falling over his own feet or walking into a wall. His leg hurt. His brain was stuffed with cotton wool. And he was ruthlessly, inexplicably, turned on.

He and Ghost were a bit of an open secret. Open, because they were too fucking stupid to keep themselves very well hidden, and secret, because Ghost just went around threatening to disappear anyone who thought they had anything to say about it. Soap knew that Price knew, because he and Ghost had hashed it out one night over cigars and whisky - Ghost had come back to Soap’s room that night with a black eye and bloody knuckles and said it was all squared away; Price had shown up to training the next day with a split lip stretched in a grin around his cigar, and everything was fine, nothing had changed. Soap, though… Soap would have paid money to have been in that room with them, to have seen what went down, who threw the first punch, why. It kinda made him hot, when he thought about it too much, so he didn’t think about it, shut it all away and kept his mind on the job and on Ghost, and steamin’ Jesus, that was more than enough for him. Always had been, anything else was just fantasy. Fuck, he looked at Gaz too, sometimes, and that big bastard from KorTac. It didn’t mean anything.

Except with Price, sometimes. Sometimes it meant something with him.

“Alright there, Soap,” Ghost said casually, posting up against Soap’s closed door and watching as Soap hobbled around, painfully kicking off his shoes and getting undressed.

Oh here we fuckin’ go.

“Shut the fuck up,” Soap muttered, flinging his t-shirt into a corner. “Don’t start.”

“Got anything you wanna get off your chest, lad?” Ghost still had the mask on, but Soap didn’t need to see the shit-eating grin he was wearing to hear it.

“Not fuckin’ likely,” he said, and paused in the middle of the floor in nothing but his joggers as Ghost started sauntering towards him. “What.”

“Just looked like you were thinking some very fucking interesting thoughts in there,” Ghost said, voice low. He circled around to Soap’s back and ran light fingers up over his bare shoulder to make him shiver, leaning in to press his next words into Soap’s ear. “While you were staring directly at the Captain with your cock so hard I could see it.”

Soap closed his eyes. He was already unsteady, leaning heavily on his good leg, panting a little at Ghost’s proximity.

“Wasn’t like that,” he murmured, and Ghost hummed into his neck.

“Yeah? What was it like?”

Soap swallowed.

“Just driftin’. Thoughts got away from me a bit, is all.”

He heard the sound of material rustling, Ghost slipping off the mask and tossing it onto Soap’s bed, and then Ghost’s wet mouth was there, pressing kisses into the back of his neck and over his shoulders. “Tell me.”

Soap gave in before he even really registered there was a fight to be had.

“Was thinking about blowing you,” he mumbled, dropping his head forward. “Just gettin’ on my knees right there in Price’s office, in front of his desk.”

“Bit kinky,” Ghost said, amused, and dragged his teeth lightly over the bumps of Soap’s spine. “Right there in Price’s office, eh? And what was Price doing?”

“Watching.”

Soap felt like he was going to be incinerated in the heat of his combined embarrassment and arousal, squirming as Ghost snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him back hard against that big, solid body.

“Little whore,” Ghost breathed into his skin. He started walking Soap forward to his bed, slowly but inexorably moving him where he wanted him. “That’s what had you so hard? Had that fuck-drunk expression on your face? The thought of sucking my cock while the Captain watches?”

“Shut up,” Soap groaned, limping along with Ghost’s arm still strong around him, supporting him. “It was nothing, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Hot, though,” Ghost said with a grin. “Eh? Didn’t realise you were such an exhibitionist, Johnny.” He got them to the bed, and got a hand under the back of Soap’s sore thigh, encouraging him to rest his knee on the mattress and take some of the weight off it. The relief was immediate, and Soap sighed as he leaned back further into Ghost’s chest. It didn’t escape him that even in the middle of calling him a whore, Ghost was taking care of him. Fucking soft. He loved it.

“Not really an exhibitionist,” he slurred through his fatigue and arousal. “Just, you know…the idea of him, uh…”

“Oh, just Price? Don’t be shy, Johnny, you know I’ve seen the way you look at him. Seen the way you react when he calls you his good lad.” Soap turned his face to hide it in Ghost’s shoulder, mouth open and panting. Fucking Ghost knew how to work him, that voice, those big hands on his body, the way he could stand there so fucking solid and strong while he tore Soap to pieces with just a few words… Soap was leaking into his underwear, and Ghost hadn’t even gotten a hand near his cock yet.

“Yeah, he…while I’m sucking your dick, and he watches, maybe he’d call me a good boy,” Soap said breathlessly, burning up with shame, and Ghost rewarded him by curling his fingers around his dick, still through his pants, and giving it a long, firm squeeze from base to wet tip.

“Hmm. How’s your relationship with your father, Johnny?” Ghost asked with a smile, and Soap burst into helpless laughter, shaking against Ghost’s chest.

“Let’s leave my daddy issues out of this,” he said, and Ghost was laughing too as he quit teasing and slipped his hand into Soap’s pants to get a real grip on him, fingers smearing that splash of precome down his shaft.

“Oh, it’s daddy issues all the way down, with you,” Ghost assured him. “Don’t you think I haven’t noticed, boyo.”

“Away wi’ ye,” Soap muttered, and then fell into shaky silence as Ghost jerked him off, quick and efficient and fucking perfect. They’d done this enough that Ghost knew exactly how to touch him, but not enough yet that it’d lost the novelty, the fucking thrill. Soap didn’t think it ever would, if he was honest, even if they made it to fifty, sixty, and Ghost was still standing behind him and stroking him off like he owned his cock. Couldn’t picture ever getting bored with this.

And yet.

“So did he just watch?” Ghost asked, lips back to his ear. “Tell me.”

As if Soap had even a single thought left in his head.

He squirmed, pushing his hips into Ghost’s grip, even though the stretch irritated his sore thigh. Tried to remember how words worked, forgot again as Ghost rubbed a thumb under the dripping head of his cock and simultaneously sucked at the little patch of skin under his ear that made him see stars. Fuck, he was close, he just wanted to come.

“MacTavish.”

Soap jumped. “Nae, he, I, when I finished swallowing your load he ruffled my hair,” he stuttered, slurred and incoherent. “I crawled over to him, right under his desk and got between his legs, didn’t even get into his trousers, just rubbed my face against him, Simon, Simon, fuck-”

“Christ, you’re such a fucking slut,” Ghost purred approvingly. “One cock not enough for you sweetheart? Or do you need to be called a good boy so bad that you’re willing to get on your knees for anyone who asks?”

“Just you,” Soap moaned, and he was so close, he was right there, he could feel his orgasm fizzing through his fingertips and toes, ready to crash through him and wipe him the fuck out. “I swear.”

“Just me and Captain Price,” Ghost corrected. “It’s okay, Johnny. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, too. You want his cock? I bet he’d give it to you, if you asked nicely enough.”

fuckfuckfuck

“And if you asked me nicely enough, maybe I’d let you have it.”

Soap felt like he was dying when he came, all the air rushing out of him as he collapsed completely into Ghost’s hold, Ghost’s fingers around his cock, Ghost’s voice swirling through his body like smoke. He watched in a daze as he spilled all over Ghost’s tattooed hand and thought about Price, fell so deep into the fantasy they’d spun together that he could almost hear Price’s rough voice praising him, telling him he’d done well. Almost see the approving look in those blue eyes.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ, Simon,” he gasped, collapsing forward in Ghost’s hold, hanging limply from strong arms. “What the fuck.”

Ghost leaned in, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to the back of his neck. “Good?”

Soap still couldn’t breathe. He blinked away the image of Price and centred himself back in this bed, in Ghost’s arms, surrounded by the familiarity of him. “Yeah,” he said. “Shit yeah, I just…”

“Thought so,” Ghost murmured, and kissed Soap again as he laid him down, the outrageous strength of him on display as he gently hoisted Soap’s unresisting body up the bed. “You’re not subtle, my boy.”

Soap blinked at Ghost, watching as he moved around the room, switching off the lamp, wiping off his hands and tossing Soap the towel, tidying up Soap’s things like they were his. “Hey,” he said. “You know it’s nothing. Just fantasy.”

“Mmm.” Ghost leaned against the bedside table, looking down with a fond expression. It made him look soft, in the moonlight sneaking in through the window, even with the sharp cheekbones, the remnants of all that eyeblack. Soap loved him so much it was a physical ache.

“Don’t worry, I like it too,” Ghost went on. “Knowing you’re thinking about the both of us. It’s fucking hot.” He knelt down next to the bed, running soft, chapped lips over Soap’s face. “‘Specially knowing that no matter what, you’re still mine.”

“Yeah,” Soap sighed. He leg was fucking killing him, he wanted to get up and brush his teeth, wash his face, he wanted Ghost to fuck him, wanted to stay there in that moment, with Ghost knelt next to him. Knew he wasn’t gonna get any of that, not with sleep crawling up to him and tugging on every muscle in his body.

“Wanted to get fucked tonight,’ he said, and looked at Ghost’s smile. “Sorry.”

“Nah. When you pass out on my cock, it’s not gonna be because you got shot,” Ghost said, almost indignant. “Go to sleep, sunshine.”

“You staying?”

Ghost glanced at the door thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he said. “Got some shit to do. I’ll come back.”

He kissed Soap then, slow and deep and lingering, and by the time he pulled away, Soap was almost all the way out.

“He’d fucking love you like this,” Ghost whispered, smug, and Soap smiled at him with his eyes closed as he drifted away. It was a nice thought, that, and he held onto it all the way into his dreams.

2. Recon

Summary for the Chapter:

Price and Soap have a little forced bonding time

The night was cool, but Soap was hot and gritty, filthy. Sweat had collected on the back of his neck and behind his knees, and his bare forearms were covered in soft, loamy soil from the forest floor. He could feel it on his face, too, gathered in the creases next to his eyes, smeared over his nose and cheeks. His hands were slippery in his gloves, and his heart was racing, muscles twitchy and alert as he and Price trudged through the woods away from the site of the night’s operation - away from Ghost, who’d already helo’d out. His leg ached, and the moon was very bright, as he followed the Captain, shining on the vulnerable nape of his neck under his boonie, highlighting the incredible breadth of his shoulders.

It’d been a long few hours.

They approached an overgrown path that led its meandering way into an overgrown garden, barely distinguishable from the woods around it, and Price hoisted his rifle to his shoulder, stepping to one side.

“Clear it, Soap,” he ordered, voice low but crisp in the night air, and Soap lifted his own gun, passing the Captain with a nod.

“Aye, Cap.”

He approached the darkened window of the abandoned house - shack, really - that was serving as their RV point, and peeked in. It was empty. He knew it was empty, Price knew it was empty, the recon team that had set up the op for them knew it was empty, but if Price told him to clear a building, then clear a building was what he was going to fucking do. Even if his leg hurt, and he’d been in a bitch of a mood all night, the twitchiness of his muscles translating into an antsy, keyed-up skittishness that he hadn’t been able to shake.

It was two weeks since he’d been wounded. Soap had been well and truly cleared by medical for active duty, and yet for some fucking reason on his first mission back he’d been stuck with Price as a babysitter, the two of them providing overwatch while Ghost got to get in amongst the action with Gaz. Instead of letting him do anything useful, Price had plonked a sniper rifle in his hands and a leash around his neck: “You stick with me and stay out of trouble, Soap, and that’s orders. Understood?”

Yeah, Soap understood. Didn’t mean he had to like it. Trailing along like a puppy, keeping Ghost in his scope as much as possible for lack of anything better to do, having to behave himself on comms because Price was always right there, sharp, assessing eyes on his face, on his body, checking for signs of his injury… It was stifling, in a way it’d never been before. He’d had plenty of shitty, frustrating missions, but this was different, somehow. It was like Price looked at him now, and he forgot how to fucking act.

The fact that it was the first time he’d really been alone with the Captain since that night didn’t have anything to do with it. Of course.

“I bet he’d give it to you, if you asked nicely enough.”

It was nothing, just sex talk, but for some reason those words had been spinning around in his head nonstop for the last two weeks, and every time he looked at the Captain he heard them again, clear as day. Remembered the daze he’d been in that night, the way Ghost had teased his fantasies out of him and ran with them, made themfeel…real. Possible. Taken them from their hiding spot in the back of Soap’s head and brought them front and centre, made him think what if?

He could fucking kill Simon Riley for that.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt… Make sure you get some rest, soldiers.”

Fuck it. Maybe he’d kill them both and defect to KorTac.

“Clear!” he yelled, with perhaps a touch more aggression than necessary, when he’d inspected all five square inches of their evening’s accommodation, and stood there in irritation as Price sauntered in at his leisure. “In your own time, Cap,” he said sarcastically, then wilted a little as Price shot him an amused look.

“Keep up the attitude, Soap,” Price said, eyebrow raised. “And I’m gonna start thinking you don’t love me anymore.”

Soap rolled his eyes. “Och, could never,” he muttered, thinking about how fucking amused Ghost would be by this, too.

It was stupid, to let Price affect him the way he was. He was being stupid. He busied himself dumping his pack next to the door, setting his rifle down at a rickety kitchen table, looking around the place. There was no electricity, but they had running water, bright moonlight shining through the windows and sparking on the dust in the air. He wondered if his blush was as obvious as it felt.

Price was still smiling at him. “That’s better, that’s what I like to hear,” he said in that low, gravelly voice that was sometimes so like Ghost’s it was uncanny. They both had the ability to turn all that grit into rough velvet when they wanted to, and it was starting to get Soap’s wires crossed, Price talking to him like that, the same way Ghost talked to him in bed. Too easy to imagine Price saying all those things to him instead: little whore…fucking slut…good lad…

“Good lad.”

Soap took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He’d suspected this was going to be a fucking problem, but he’d had no idea exactly how much of one. It was as bad as when he’d first been hot for Ghost, cracking stupid jokes and flirting over comms like they weren’t fighting for their lives. Stupid then, stupid now.

He’d been looking at Price for years, but he couldn’t believe he’d let it get this bad - let Ghost let it get this bad. They’d poured fuel on the embers of a desire Soap had well and truly buried, fanning it back into the small bonfire it’d been when Soap had first been recruited and looked up at his Captain with hero worship in his eyes. But that had been a long time ago, he’d thought it was all in the past, now. Just a fond spark in his heart, his admiration for Price had changed, turning into something deeper and mellower. Besides, he had Ghost. Loved Ghost. So what the everlasting fuck was this, and why had Ghost been so eager to encourage it?

He didn’t know. Wondered if even Ghost knew, or if they were both just winging it, playing with something neither of them had realised would explode. Either way, he had a job to do, and it wasn’t Price’s fault he was being such a bitch.

He’d just opened his mouth to apologise for his shitty mood when, speak of the fucking devil, Price’s radio buzzed to life with Ghost on the other end looking for a sitrep. Impeccable timing, as always.

“Come in Bravo-6, this is Bravo 0-7, how copy?”

“All good, Ghost. We’re at the RV point, house is clear. Awaiting pick up at oh six hundred,” Price replied casually, leaning against the table. He flicked his eyes to Soap. “Got your man here safe and sound.”

“Yeah? Then I guess he’s your man for the night, Captain.”

Soap blinked, the pit of his stomach swooping in jittery shock, before he caught Price’s grin and realised they were just fucking with him. Where’s yer head at, he thought to himself in frustration, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Jesus wept, MacTavish.

“I’ll try to get him back to you in one piece,” Price promised, turning the full force of that grin on Soap as he tilted his head to talk into the radio, and joke or not, Soap could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, had to fight the bashful urge to duck his head away.

“Oh, I find he’s quite resilient, sir,” came Ghost’s dry reply, crackling through the radio. “Can take a bit of rough handling.”

“Yes, all right.” Soap turned away, stomping into the tiny bathroom with Price and Ghost’s laughter trailing behind him. “You can bothgo fuck yourselves,” he called back in an exaggerated English accent for the two useless cunts currently making his life hell. Price he could forgive, he thought it was all in good fun. Ghost, though. Ghost knew better.

Ghost knew exactly how much rough handling he liked to take.

He took a piss, washed his hands and rinsed some of the sweat and dirt off his forearms, splashed icy cold water on his face and neck. No chance of a shower, but the water was refreshing, grounding. They were there for the next seven or so hours, if he stayed at this level of pent up and tense he really was going to explode. It didn’t matter how being around Price made him feel. Didn’t matter how vivid that night still was, the taste of whisky still in his mouth, the scent of Price’s cigars still in his nose. Didn’t matter how hard Ghost’s word’s had made him come. It was Price. Just Price.

“You drown in there, Soap?”

He braced his hands on the sink and stared at himself in the little fly-spotted mirror, moonlight and shadow streaking war paint over his face. You are on a mission, he thought crossly. Get it together.

“Fine, Cap,” he called, and gave himself one more dirty look before heading back into the main room. Price was sitting at the kitchen table, when he saw Soap emerge he kicked out the chair next to himself in invitation. Soap sank into it warily, and jumped as Price’s boot knocked against his ankle. He looked up into Price’s face and saw those blue eyes focused on him through the dim half-light of the kitchen, cool and assessing.

“Been twitchy as fuck tonight lad,” Price said, blunt as ever. “You sure you were okay to come on this mission? Could have given you more time off if you needed it.”

Soap hung his head. Fucking hell.

“Aw, Cap, it’s not that,” he muttered. “Leg’s fine. Didn’t mean to be such a shite.”

Price’s toe tapped against his ankle a few more times. “Did your job. Only slightly more of a shithead than usual.” He gave a small half smile, more a quirk of his lips than anything, and Soap caught himself staring at his mouth, had to force himself to look away. Price’s foot was burning against his; he wanted to move his leg, but he didn’t want to be obvious about it. Really he just wanted to not like it so much.

“Soap. I know when something’s wrong.”

Soap sighed and dropped his eyes to the table. On top of everything else, Price - damn him to hell - was actually a good fucking person. A good captain, a good leader. It made everything easier and harder, at once.

“It’s personal,” he mumbled. “It’s nothing.”

“Mmm.”

Price pulled his ka-bar out of its sheath, fetched out a cleaning cloth. Soap had seen him do this maybe a million times, his fingers deft and sure as he danced them over the already spotless blade. Soap got a little lost in the movements, soothed despite himself, and it was a while before Price, keeping his voice low and casual, spoke again.

“Everything fine with Ghost, then?”

Soap blinked. Price had never acknowledged he and Ghost quite so directly before, and he found himself pushed a little off-centre. “Aye,” he said cautiously, eyes still fixed on Price’s thick, callused fingers as they worked. “Aye, it’s all…good.” Good didn’t seem like the right word for it, really, but he didn’t know what else to say. I love him more than I love myself. He fucks me better than anyone else ever has. If he asked me to, I’d be on my knees with my mouth around your cock in a heartbeat.

“We’re good,” he added weakly, and Price gave another one of those noncommittal hums.

“I wanna hear better than good, Soap,” he said eventually, a little bit of steel in his voice now, and Soap looked up in surprise. Christ.

“Och, we’re perfect,” he said. “We are. It’s…Jesus, I don’t know how to talk about this, Cap. But you, I - we get that it’s not exactly, uh…traditional. Or, you know, with the rank difference and all, and work and everything, it can make it hard. But I swear, we’re doin’ perfect.”

He coughed, mercifully interrupting his own nervous rambling, as a sudden thought occurred. “Wait, you know he’s not takin’ advantage or anything, don’t you?”

Price laughed, low and deep, and leaned back in his chair. He twirled the knife absently in his fingers as he met Soap’s eyes.

“Soap, if I thought for one second he was taking advantage of you, no one would ever find his fuckin’ body. You get that, right?”

Soap swallowed, heat swooping through his body like Price had taken a flamethrower to him. He remembered Ghost showing up all those months ago with a black eye, remembered his bloody knuckles, and Price grinning at him around a fat lip, the way they’d both refused to talk about it. Who had thrown the first punch? If Soap had to bet money on it, right now, he’d bet on Price.

He should have been furious. He was anything but.

“Aye,” he managed, more a whisper than anything. Price’s foot was still against his, and now Price was reaching out, clapping a big hand on his shoulder, almost at the back of his neck, and squeezing.

‘Good lad,” he said, and then when Soap couldn’t help his slight flinch, shoulders hunching a little against the sensations that were zinging through his body from that touch, Price tightened his grip.

“Jesus, you’re tense,” he muttered, brow furrowing. “No wonder you’ve been a jumpy little shit all night. You strain something? Hurt your back?”

“No sir,” Soap said, light-headed and trembling as Price gripped at the meat of him, squeezing and kneading with the same strong, capable fingers he’d just been using to clean his blade. He worked to control his breathing, his face, to act like this was normal. “Just - just a bit wound up, I guess.”

“I’ll fuckin’ say.” Price stood, and Soap sat frozen as he moved around behind his chair, both hands now heavy on Soap’s shoulders as he dug his thumbs into the muscle. “When we get back, you’re to go and get this seen to, right? You need a proper massage to loosen you up.” Price’s hands were professional, impersonal, as they manhandled him, pressing hard into his traps, rubbing circles into the back of his neck, but Soap was still on fire, mouth open and eyes half lidded as he helplessly gave himself over to his Captain’s touch.

“Yes, sir.” he said, voice low and hoarse. He was slowly dropping his head forward as Price worked, and it felt like submission - even as his brain fought to remind him that it wasn’t that at all. It couldn’t be. “Yeah, uh, good idea.”

“Put that man of yours to work, he’s got good hands for it,” Price added, and Soap bit his lip so viciously he tasted blood, his teeth tearing at delicate skin as he tried to hold himself together.

The idea of Price knowing what Ghost’s hands were good for had his cock begging to get hard, the scratch of Price’s calluses on the soft, hidden skin under the back of his collar, the way he loomed over him, so big, so fucking commanding, while he did what he wanted with Soap’s body… It was too much, it was impossible that Soap was expected to deal with this. His blood was burning hot in his veins, this was a man who’d just offered to kill for him, this was a man who had killed for him, who’d do it again. Whose bloodstained hands were on Soap’s neck like they belonged there, who casually talked about Soap and his lover like it was his right, like he could just insert himself into their dynamic as easy as breathing.

But who was his Captain.

“Hard enough? I know Ghost said you liked it rough, but I don’t want to break you just yet, eh?”

“Christ, sir.”

Price laughed, a vicious dig of his thumb into a knot just to the left of Soap’s spine making Soap moan out loud before he bit his lip again, forcing more blood to trickle into his mouth.

“All right,” Price said softly, almost kindly, and slowly dragged his hands away, leaving Soap with a friendly pat on his head, ruffling his hair. “There, lad, you’re all right. Stop overthinking shit, no wonder you’ve been in a mood all night.”

He moved back around the table, bending slightly to look into Soap’s face as he gathered up his ka-bar and the cloth, tucking them both away. Soap felt those eyes catch on his mouth, the blood that was smeared on it, and he quickly tried to lick it off.

Price cocked his head. “You squared away for me, soldier?” he asked, and Soap had to be imagining the heat in his eyes, the way they narrowed in satisfaction as Soap licked his lips.

He did it again anyway.

“Yes, sir,” he said, rolling the faint taste of his own blood around in his mouth. “Thank you, sir.”

Price leaned a hip on the table, and Soap had to crane his head up to maintain eye contact. There was just…miles and miles of Price, and he hid so much power in that body. Soap couldn’t stop himself from categorising the similarities and differences to Ghost, the ways they each held their strength, showed it off or hid it depending on the situation, but were both so fucking casually dominant in their own ways.

“No need to thank me, son. It’s my job to take care of you,” Price said, his eyes fixed on Soap’s, and Soap prayed he hadn’t visibly reacted to that, even as he felt his heartbeat quicken. This didn’t feel like teasing, anymore. He didn’t know what it was, just that it felt thrilling, and dangerous.

“You know,” Price went on, voice so low it was almost all gravel, scratching and scraping over Soap’s raw nerves. “You might be Ghost’s man now, Johnny, but you’ll always be my boy.”

“Sir.” Soap was still frozen, staring up at Price’s shadowed face. The ‘Johnny’ had slid like a knife into his heart, in that voice that sounded like Ghost’s. It seemed shockingly, brutally intimate for Price to call him what no one else was allowed to call him.

But Price had. Before he was Soap, Price had always called him Johnny and never John, never MacTavish. Back when he was Price’s boy, before there was Ghost. When Soap had had that schoolboy crush that’d felt like so much more.

“Sir, I can’t,” he whispered, and he didn’t know, really, what it was he couldn’t do. What he was supposed to do. His hands were clenched in a tight grip on his thighs, had been for a while, he realised, pressing aching bruises into his own skin in a futile effort to ground himself. He could hardly breathe, lungs full of the sweaty, smokey scent of Price, so close, flooding his senses. Price’s gaze dragging over his body felt as real as the press of his fingers had been, the heat in that gaze like a physical touch.

Johnny.

“You need to talk to Ghost,” Price said softly. “Don’t you?”

Soap just stared, dumbly caught in those hot eyes, and Price nodded slowly, ran a hand over his own face, like maybe he was affected as well. Soap knew something was happening, but he couldn’t bring himself to put a name to it, it was impossible.

“Yeah, all right,” Price sighed, finally breaking eye contact. “That’s enough. We’re gonna get some sleep, okay? You’ve got first watch, wake me in three hours.” That big hand on him one last time, tapping his shoulder briskly before Price was pushing off the table and strolling to an old, dusty couch shoved up against the wall. Soap watched the way his hips swung, the casual, confident swagger of his movements, and let out a long, slow breath.

All right, then.

He’d do his watch, he’d get some sleep, and then, he was going to head back to base and he was going to have some fucking words with his lieutenant.

~

“Did you tell Price I want to fuck him?”

“Johnny, what the fuck-”

The door bounced off Ghost’s wall as Soap slammed into his room; he kicked it shut behind him without taking his eyes off the figure slouched at the desk sipping a cup of coffee, long legs kicked out, look of surprise bright in those dark eyes.

Soap dropped to his knees.

“Don’t you fucking Johnny me,” he snarled. He still stank, he’d come straight from the helo, hadn’t stopped to wash or change. There was an after-action meeting in two hours, but he was desperate, a whole, long night of pent up sexual frustration ready to be unloaded on his lieutenant. Muscles still trembling, he shoved his way between Ghost’s thighs, glaring up at his face as he ripped at the front of his soft, clean joggers with dirty hands.

“Did you?”

Ghost sprawled back in his chair, smirking. “You two have a little chat, eh?”

Soap narrowed his eyes. “I could kill you, Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Nah.” Ghost reached down, carded a hand through Soap’s matted hair, gently untangling the knots in it. “Looks like you’re about to suck my cock, actually.”

Soap could feel himself pouting, all his anger melting under Ghost’s knowing gaze, replaced with a syrupy, molten, heat that seemed to slip through his blood like honey.

“He gave me a massage,” he confessed, rubbing his face against Ghost’s crotch, trying to replace the smell of Price in his lungs with this, the sweet, dark, sleep-warm scent of Ghost. All he could think about was having both, he wanted that smokey musk back, he wanted it all. “Simon.”

“He put his hands on you?” Ghost’s voice was casual, but Soap could feel the tiny, involuntary clench of his fist in his hair. He smiled to himself, soft and secret and hidden between Ghost’s thighs.

“Aye, my shoulders, back of my neck… Hell’s bells, Simon, he made me fuckin’ moan with how good it was,” he said, voice hoarse, peeking up at Ghost’s face. “Sent me home to you, though. Knows who I belong to.”

“Good man,” Ghost muttered, and shoved down his joggers, freeing his cock for Soap to rub up on, smearing it all over his dirty face. “Can’t be trusted, can you Johnny? Leave you alone with him for one night and look at you.”

Soap squeezed his eyes closed and opened his mouth wide for the wet, thick head of Ghost’s cock, tongue resting on his bloody lower lip. His own prick was hard and aching, felt like he’d been ready to go off for hours and hours. He wanted Ghost to fuck his head empty, shake all the thoughts out of his brain until he could stop shaking with need.

He wanted to know that this was okay.

Ghost’s fingers stroked down over his cheek to his mouth, humming at the dried blood collected in the corners. “What’s this, then?” he asked, pressing his thumb into the soreness of it.

“Nothing,” Soap slurred. “Bit my lip. Ghost - Simon-”

Ghost laughed at him and finally, finally, pushed his cock into his mouth, angling himself to hit the back of Soap’s throat on the first thrust. Soap, unprepared, gagged on it, his whole body convulsing. He pulled away to drag in a wet breath, Ghost firmly cupping his chin, before opening his mouth back up for more.

“He sent you back home to me, hmm?” Ghost rasped, squeezing the hinge of Soap’s jaw to keep his mouth open while he fed him his cock. “And what if I’m a good boy who shares his toys, Johnny? Would you like that?”

Johnny looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes as Ghost gripped hard, pulling him into a steady rhythm on his cock. Ghost gazed back down at him steadily, sharp cheekbones casting shadows over his face in the warm morning light, fucking Soap’s throat raw.

Yes, Soap thought, delirious as the cut on his lip tore back open, smearing traces of blood on his lips and on Ghost’s thick cock, once more flooding Soap’s mouth with the taste of copper. He was going to show up to that meeting looking like he’d been sucking dick, Price was gonna see it.

Yes.

He closed his eyes, and let Ghost stake his claim.

For now.

3. Promise

Summary for the Chapter:

A Captain, a Lieutenant and a Sergeant walk into an office… The trio get together and hash things out

Notes for the Chapter:

I was thisclose to splitting this into two chapters, considering it’s as long as both the previous two put together, but couldn’t figure out a way to do it. Lucky you!! You now have 7,400 words of porn in one hit. Please consume responsibly, lol

I am overwhelmed by how well this fic has been received…to everyone commenting, kudosing, bookmarking, and interacting on twitter, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You guys are amazing, and I literally wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you.

This one is dedicated to Jane <3

Soap sipped at his bourbon, the sting of alcohol burning pleasantly on his torn up lip. He preferred scotch, if he had to drink spirits, but they were in Ghost’s office this time, and Ghost only had bourbon, rich and dark and a little too sweet. He rubbed his thumb on the edge of the surprisingly nice crystal tumbler and settled back further into his chair. Ghost’s office was smaller than Price’s, and not nearly as fancy, but Soap liked it. The mismatched but comfortable chairs, the tiny window that faced directly into the woods surrounding the base, the way it was tucked off at the end of a corridor that no one ever went down. Ghost didn’t spend a lot of time there, but it was his, smelled like him, had a little skull and crossbones mug a trooper had given him set proudly next to his computer, filled with pens and pencils. And bourbon in the bottom desk drawer, a set of crystal tumblers, a small box of cigars there just for the Captain.

One of them was between the Captain’s lips right now.

Soap had made it to the debrief that morning on time, showered, dressed in clean clothes, the cut on his lip freshly scabbing back over, but Price had still pierced him with those blue eyes like he knew exactly what he’d spent the morning doing. And fuck, it was probably obvious - the shower hadn’t erased the swelling in his mouth, nor fixed the scratchy rasp of his voice from having Ghost’s cock shoved halfway down his lungs. He’d rubbed off on Ghost’s leg while he was sucking on his dick, getting closer and closer until Ghost had pulled out to come possessively all over his face and then yanked Soap up onto his lap, jerking him off almost viciously. Soap thought that Ghost was into the idea of him with Price - or the idea of them all together - but he still needed to make sure Soap was his, apparently. Not like Soap was complaining, gasping and whining at the mix of pleasure and pain as Ghost squeezed too tight, tugged too hard, sank brutal teeth into Soap’s lip and licked at his blood as Soap came in desperate, shuddering spasms.

After the debrief - which he’d spent trying not to wilt under the combination of Price’s knowing gaze and Ghost’s smug one - he’d spent his mandatory post-mission day off sleeping, reluctantly taking painkillers for the twinge in his leg, and confessing to the love of his life that yeah, okay, maybe he did wanna have sex with another man.

“Soap,” Ghost had said, spooned behind him and fussing with his hair. “I fucking know.”

“Mmm.’ Talk to Ghost, Price had told him. His heart was beating hard and heavy in his chest, the painkillers made him feel like his head was stuffed with clouds. “You’re into it, then.”

Ghost sighed and Soap could feel it warm and feathery on the back of his neck. He smiled, into the pillow where Ghost couldn’t see.

“It’s almost endearing, how dense you can be,” Ghost murmured. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“You wanna watch?”

“Don’t think I could stick to just watching,” Ghost admitted. “Haven’t got the willpower.” Ghost was one of the most disciplined men Soap had ever met, but the idea pleased him, that his cool, collected lieutenant could be just as affected by this as he was.

“You did speak to him, didn’t you?”

Ghost shifted, tugged at Soap until he was rolling over to face him, looking into his dark, serious eyes.

“I went back to his office, that night,” he said, low. “We kept drinking, started talking about you. It might have come up.”

Soap knew he should be irritated by that, but he couldn’t bring himself to manage it. The image of them cosied up together in Price’s office, discussing him like that, sent a thrill up his spine, a lick of heat over his cheeks. “Steamin’ Jesus, Ghost…”

“Told him I took care of you and put you to bed. He knew exactly what I fucking meant by that,” Ghost went on, whispering. “Said if I ever needed any help with you to just let him know, and I said you’d like that.”

“Simon.”

Soap was squirming. He was too spent and tired to get it up again, but it was close, heat pooling in his stomach and his loins and tingling out through his heavy limbs, the tips of his fingers.

“Still mine, Johnny,” Ghost promised, pressing his forehead to Soap’s. “But god, the thought of him with his hands all over you gets me so fucking hot.”

“Still yours,” Soap nodded. “But yeah, I wanna let him. If he’ll have me. Wanna be good for both of you.”

Ghost’s smile was sin. “All right,” he said, his gritty, raspy voice full of promise. “That can be arranged, sweetheart.”

And now Ghost’s office was full of Price’s scent.

Soap babbled when he was nervous and he knew it, couldn’t manage to stop himself. He’d spent twenty minutes talking about the demolitions course he was running, a course neither of the officers had anything to do with nor cared about. That had segued into a fairly one sided discussion about everyone’s favourite explosives to work with, and everyone’s favourite guns (Price: “whatever is most suited to the job,” Ghost: “knives”), and then when that well had run dry Soap had let his gaze fall on the bottle of booze - some niche American hipster brand - and tried to start up another round of ‘scotch vs bourbon.’

He was shaking, and even Ghost’s foot stretched out under the desk and pressed against his wasn’t settling his nerves. Price was next to him, elbow planted on the arm of his chair and chin resting on his fist, watching him like he was some kind of fascinating zoo animal. Ghost had just been letting him ramble, no fucking help at all as he sipped at his bourbon and nudged the conversation along with grunts and snide little comments.

Soap either wanted something to happen, or for one of them to just shoot him and put him out of his misery.

He finished his glass and rolled it nervously between his hands, sneaking glances at Price and then Ghost in turn. Ghost was maskless, which was normal when it was just the three of them, no eye black colouring his freshly scrubbed face, a little pink at the top of his cheekbones from the drink. Price had taken off his hat, but was otherwise still mostly in uniform, having wandered down directly from his own office at the end of the day. Soap hoped he’d gotten some sleep, but wouldn’t put it past him to have pushed through, always working, always something more for the Captain to do. He looked tired but alert, slouched back in Ghost’s chair with his cigar and his drink. He looked like he belonged there.

He caught Soap staring and shot him a wink, took a quick puff of his cigar.

“Ghost,” he said, smoke blooming out of his mouth and filling the space between them. “I think it’s time you shut your man up, don’t you?”

Soap went still, eyes wide, caught in Price’s stare. Under the desk, Ghost’s foot tapped against him once, twice, and then withdrew.

“You’re here, why don’t you shut him up,” Ghost shot back, voice rich with bourbon and lust. “Captain.”

Price looked away from him for a moment, and Soap sat in shocked anticipation while his Captain and his Lt exchanged a quick, silent glance. Price set his glass down on the table, and the soft clink of the crystal on the polished wood seemed to echo through the room like a gunshot.

“All right then,” Price drawled, and twisted in his chair a little, knees spread, to face Soap. One hand was resting casually on his thick thigh, thumb rubbing absently up and down the inseam of his trousers, and Soap’s eyes were caught on the movement, hypnotised. His head was spinning, he felt like he was drowning in this, swept away by the impossibility of what was about to happen.

“Okay there?” Price asked, and Soap licked his lips, gave him a quick nod.

Price smiled, then turned the hand on his thigh, crooking his first two fingers at Soap. “Come over here then, son.”

Soap’s eyes darted to Ghost first. He was watching them with an intense, unreadable expression on his face, but when Soap looked at him he just cocked his head towards the Captain. Go on.

All right, then.

Soap set his own glass down with shaking hands, and did the only thing he could do, the only thing he knew how to do, in that moment. The only thing that felt right.

He slipped from the chair and got on his knees, lifting his face to Price’s, open and ready. His whole body was trembling, thigh and lip aching with competing pain, cheeks hot with blood…but this, he understood. This, he could do.

Price stared at him in something like wonder.

“That easy?” he asked, taking another puff of his cigar without looking away and blowing the smoke neatly out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” Soap said, and then added, “I can behave myself on occasion, you know.”

“Still a cheeky little shit though, huh lad?” Price smirked at him. “Just can’t help the attitude.” He delicately set his cigar down in an ashtray, letting the smoke curl like incense around them, and Soap took a slow breath in, drew the combined scents of tobacco and whisky and sweat and clean cotton deep into his lungs. He wanted to close his eyes, hide from this a little, but at the same time, he didn’t want to miss a thing.

And he found he couldn’t stop pushing.

“Believe you were supposed to shut me up,” he said softly, voice still hoarse from that morning. “Sir.”

Price’s face went dark. “Get the fuck over here then, Sergeant,” he growled, and Soap was shuffling forward without hesitation, pushing himself in between those spread thighs. The similarities to his fantasy were not lost on him - it was a kind of negative image of what he’d described to Ghost, wrong office, wrong order, same exact position. He’d wanted this for so fucking long.

“Captain,” he whined, and tried to rest his face on Price’s inner thigh, but Price’s fingers were on his chin, urging him up, bending down to meet him halfway.

“There you are,” Price whispered into his mouth. “Gonna give your man a show, eh?”

God, Ghost.

Soap tried to turn his head to look, check on his reactions, but Price’s grip on him was like iron, holding him in place. He stared up into that handsome face, and gave in as Price closed the last few inches between them, finally taking his mouth in a perfect, bruising kiss. Took it like it belonged to him.

Soap could only moan, breathless, all his breath being sucked into Price’s lungs and consumed. Price tasted like ash and smoke and bourbon, like sweat and salt, like something deep and sweet. Soap opened himself up, let Price suck on his lips, on his tongue, push himself into Soap’s mouth and explore, and Soap arched into the touch, hands braced on Price’s legs in an effort to hold himself steady.

He could feel Ghost watching them, watching him, like it was a physical sensation. He ran his hands up the thick, strong muscles of Price’s thighs and thought of all the times he’d done that to Ghost, smiled into Price’s mouth as he wondered if Ghost was thinking of that, too. So used to being in Price’s place and now forced to watch - Soap wondered how long, exactly, Ghost would hold himself back.

I want to watch…but I want to join in, too. Yeah, sweetheart?

Price spread his thighs even further for Soap’s wandering hands, pulled back from the kiss just enough to allow them both to breathe, tonguing a little at the cut on Soap’s lip. “Atta boy,” he whispered, soft and approving, and Soap wanted to melt at the praise, eyes fluttering closed and another moan escaping him before he could even think to hold it back.

Price chuckled, raising one hand to swipe a thumb over Soap’s wet mouth. “This not bothering you?” he asked, thumbnail catching on the torn skin, and Soap hissed.

“Aye, but a wee bit of a sting is okay, sir,” Soap rasped, opening his eyes. “You know?”

“What he means,” Ghost cut in, “Is that he’s a wee bit of a masochist.” His Scottish accent was fairly terrible, but Soap only rolled his eyes a little, searching Price’s face to see if he was okay with that, and finding nothing but heat.

“You did say he could stand a bit of rough handling,” Price said to Ghost, keeping his eyes on Soap’s mouth. “You mean that, then?”

“Haven’t managed to break him yet,” Ghost drawled. “Not for lack of trying.” Soap heard him get up, heavy footsteps coming round to their side of the desk, cocking his hip against the edge of it and leaning there to look down at them. Soap swallowed. The two officers talking like he wasn’t there again, just like that night. But this time they were talking about him. All that focus, all that intensity, all on him.

He licked his lower lip, deliberately swiping the tip of his tongue over Price’s thumb. “Go on, Sir,” he said. “Be rough with me.”

“Jesus Christ, my boy,” Price groaned, and then his hand was on the back of Soap’s head, dragging him in further to press between his legs, up against his crotch, rubbing Soap’s face against the thick line of his cock, hard and hot and straining against his trousers. He held Soap there for a moment too long, making Soap breathe him in, and Soap opened his mouth on a wet gasp, almost tasting it. He let spit gather on his tongue and spill out onto the cotton over Price’s dick, breath hot against it, and Price groaned again before tangling his fingers in the back of Soap’s hair and tugging him away.

“Makin’ a mess already, Sergeant,” he growled, and got his free hand between them, working at his fly. “Just look at you.”

Before Soap could respond, Ghost was behind him, boots planted on either side of his knees, hands joining Price’s in his hair and yanking his head back in a steep arch.

“Filthy,” he agreed, smirking down into Soap’s face. Soap blinked up at him, relishing the sting in his lip, in his scalp from the way they were pulling his hair, the older, deeper ache in his thigh.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he asked Ghost, and Ghost let out a low laugh, shoving two fingers into Soap’s mouth as Price worked on his trousers.

“Not as much as you’re about to, sweetheart,” he said, a little mean, and finger fucked Soap’s mouth a few times, just shy of triggering his gag reflex. “Gonna show the Captain a good time for me now?”

He shoved Soap’s head forward, and Soap felt his eyes widen as the sight in front of him - Price’s shirt was shoved up his chest, cock out and resting heavily over his trim stomach, already leaking a little slick puddle onto the soft, dark hair of his treasure trail. He had his fingers wrapped loosely around the base, almost casually holding it, the same thumb that had been rubbing his thigh now idly rubbing up and down the impossibly thick shaft. His cheeks were red, as he watched Soap watching him, lips swollen and eyes half-lidded and heavy. He looked absolutely gorgeous, debauched, big and hard and sexy as he took up space in Ghost’s office, ready to be worshipped.

It was one of the hottest things Soap had ever seen in his fucking life, and Ghost being behind him, offering it up to him on a platter, just made it even better.

“Show me your manners, Soap,” Price rumbled. “Go on, show me how much you want this.”

“Sir,” Soap whispered, and shuffled in still further, begging with every line of his body. “Please.”

Price twitched his fingers, pushing his cock a little towards Soap in invitation. The precome clung to the skin of his stomach and stretched for a moment in a delicate line before snapping and leaving a fat droplet of liquid dripping down over the plump head of his prick. Soap was mesmerised, already abused mouth practically watering in his desperation to get a taste.

“Get to it then, son,” Price said softly, and Soap didn’t need Ghost’s hand nudging at him to surge forward and get his tongue on that cock, sucking the dribble of precome into his mouth and moaning at the taste. He spread his lips over the head in a filthy imitation of a French kiss, slipping the tip of his tongue into the slit and playing with it, letting himself drool wet and messy and frantic for a moment as Price moaned above him.

“Good boy,” Price rasped, but fuck, no, it was Ghost behind him, his boots still a steadying, comforting press against Soap’s legs, his hand still tangling up with Price’s on the back of his head. He pushed down, and Soap opened his mouth wider, relaxed his throat as he slid down Price’s dick, letting it open him up from the inside. He was big like Ghost was big, thick, a pushy, uncompromising presence in his body. He wanted to choke on it, gag, wanted it to be too much to take. God, he wanted so much.

Just to be surrounded and needed by these men, the harshness of them, the brutality of their lust. For them to take over, take control of him and fuck his brain empty, silence his racing thoughts, wrap him in layers of sensation until he was nothing but theirs. Just that, just their boy.

His lips met the soft, curling hair of Price’s groin, tears springing to his eyes and spilling down his hot cheeks, and Price’s fingers were there, wiping them up, smoothing over wet skin.

“Christ, Simon,” he said, and that name coming out of Price’s mouth instead of his own had Soap’s cock jumping, twitching in his joggers. “The mouth on him.”

“How’s it feel?” Ghost asked, like he knew, his voice a little broken. “Takes it so fuckin’ sweet, eh Cap?”

Price just grunted, pulling Soap up to check his eyes and then, satisfied, shoving him back down, starting up a deep, slow rhythm that had his cock hitting the back of Soap’s already bruised throat on every thrust. Soap’s whole body went lax, letting Price handle him like he wanted - he was thinking of those hands rubbing at his shoulders, the back of his neck, the way he’d wanted this all along. The way Price probably had as well.

How long? How long had Price wanted to do this? Watching him and Ghost, not wanting to get between them, no, but wanting to be a part of them, maybe. And how long had Ghost been open to the idea? Or had Soap really been the catalyst, his open fantasising that night two weeks ago bringing it to the front of everyone’s mind?

It didn’t matter. Price was getting rougher with him, pulling him up and down harder and faster, using his mouth to jerk off his own cock, and Soap really was starting to gag now, body convulsing around the intrusion as Ghost cupped a steadying hand against the side of his throat. Feeling Price’s cock in there, Soap realised, feeling him being fucked.

He choked, pulling off for a moment to gasp in a few desperate, wet lungfuls of air. Price’s fingers replaced his cock, rudely shoving in to rub over his tongue, wet and drooling.

“Doing great, lad,” he said in that rough voice. “But I think Simon needs some attention as well, yeah?” He looked up, grinning at whatever look he saw on Ghost’s face. “Go on, son, you know you want to.”

Soap almost laughed, at that. He didn’t think Ghost had quite the same reaction to Price calling him ‘son’ as he did, but it was still hot. He twisted his head, looking up the long line of Ghost’s body, the evidence of his hard cock still tucked away in his trousers.

“Come on,” he goaded in his ruined voice. “Captain’s orders, Simon.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes, and if Soap could think at all he’d be amused at the idea of Ghost battling between wanting to fuck Soap’s throat and not wanting to bow to Price’s will.

As they all knew it would, though, Soap’s throat won.

Before Soap realised what was happening, he was hauled up to sit in Price’s lap, t-shirt tugged up his chest, joggers dragged down and off so his knees could be pulled roughly apart and hooked over Price’s. Ghost was pushy, shoving in close and positioning Soap how he needed him, trying to take back a little control, and Soap was happy to let him, content exactly where he was. Price’s lap was broad and warm, his hands big on Soap’s hips as they held him steady, leaking cock slotting snugly up against Soap’s own. It felt amazing, being handled like this, like a toy between them, and Soap opened his mouth willingly for the familiar taste of Ghost’s cock, moaning at the way it mingled with the remnants of Price on his tongue. One of Price’s hands snaked around his waist, rough, callused palm rubbing over the wet head of his prick, and the sensation was intense, had him writhing as Ghost held his head still and fucked deep into his throat.

It was so much, it was too much, it wasn’t nearly enough. They were talking over him again, the words washing through him like water, but he didn’t care. Just whimpered as Price cupped his balls, tugging until the pleasure just started to bleed into pain before relenting and moving back up to his cock, stroking firmly in time with Ghost pumping into him.

“Good boy,” a voice whispered into his ear, and it was Price this time, drawing his earlobe into his mouth and sucking. Soap had to kiss him again, pulling back just enough for Ghost’s cock to slip free and turning his head to catch Price’s mouth instead. Realised he was feeding Price the taste of Ghost’s precome and groaned at it, because Price didn’t seem to mind at all, tongue delving into Soap’s mouth and licking at him, chasing everything he had to offer.

“Fuck,” Ghost gasped, and he sounded more than a little broken, now, jerking his cock at the sight of them, bumping it against Soap’s cheek until Soap turned back to it, mouth open.

“Simon,” Price started, broke off to kiss down Soap’s neck, holding him in close and tight as his free hand roamed over Soap’s bare chest and stomach. “Simon, let me fuck him.”

Oh, God.

“That an order, Captain?” Ghost asked, and Soap looked up with bleary, dazed eyes, to find them locking gazes, the air thick with tension.

Price raised an eyebrow.

“Does it need to be, son?”

“Yes,” Soap blurted out, interrupting whatever pissing contest they were about to have over him, no patience for it at all. Not right then, anyway. “Yes, yeah, fuck sir, do it.” He caught Ghost’s eye. “Please.”

Ghost took a deep breath and stepped back, hand slowing on his wet, red cock. “Slut,” he said, and it was permission, made Soap give him a stupid, giddy smile. “I’ll get the lube,” he added, and as he moved away Price was kissing Soap again, kissing his smile.

“Slut?” he asked softly, checking in again. Soap nodded, warmth blooming in his chest at the way that even here, even now, Price was watching out for him. Protecting him. He found Price’s hand, gave it a quick squeeze in gratitude.

“Aye, I like it, Captain,” he promised in a whisper. “Fuckin’ love it.”

“Oh you’re just bloody perfect, aren’t you darlin’?”

“He is.”

Hands on his cock, on his balls, lower. Ghost was back, passing something to Price, getting to his knees before them and catching Soap’s mouth in a soft, thorough kiss. It was grounding, their first kiss of the night, and it made something in Soap’s chest settle even as Price’s wet fingers started to probe at his arse.

“Simon,” Soap murmured happily, and Ghost seemed pleased to hear it, hear Soap moaning his name as Price fingered him.

“Everything you wanted it to be?” Ghost asked, cupping Soap’s cheeks and tilting his face up, watching his expression as Price pushed a finger inside of him. It left Soap feeling impossibly exposed, vulnerable, caught between them.

“Aye,” he breathed. “It’s so good.”

“You’re gonna let the Captain fuck you,” Ghost said, looking into his eyes. “And I’m gonna choke you on my cock. Yes Johnny?”

“Yes, Simon,” Soap said obediently, melting into the submission, slumping back against Price’s big chest as he let his body be played with. Price knew how to do it, too, knew how to fuck him slow and sweet with that one finger, waiting until he was soft and easy before adding another, his free hand hooked under one of Soap’s knees to hold him open to Ghost’s gaze.

“Right there?” Ghost asked, and over Soap’s shoulder Price made a thoughtful noise.

“Don’t know if the chair will hold up if I’m honest,” he replied. “The desk?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Ghost moved out of the way, and Soap found himself being lifted in their arms, spun and placed on the edge of the desk, hands scrabbling at Ghost’s papers as he braced them behind himself. Again, it had happened too fast for him to react, the two of them hauling him around like it was nothing, like he was nothing, just a plaything. His cock was leaking a steady stream onto his stomach, he was so turned on that he thought it’d take just a touch, really, maybe just a look, to have him falling apart for them.

Price stepped between his legs, fisting his heavy cock, smearing it with the lube Ghost had found.

“Ready for me darlin’?” he asked, yanking Soap forward and slinging one of his legs around his narrow, solid waist. “Come on, ask me for it nicely.”

“Please fuck me,” Soap whispered, blinking up at that gorgeous face. The Captain, his Captain, looking down at him with his eyes clouded with lust and affection. God, it was real, it was really happening. He scrambled for Ghost’s hand, gripped it tightly as he asked again. “Price, please, you’ve got no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“One day,” Price groaned, notching the head of that fat cock against Soap’s entrance. “I’m gonna get you to tell me all about how long you’ve wanted this. Gonna get you to tell me all your fantasies, everything you want us to do to you.” He leaned forward, dropping his forehead to Soap’s shoulder, and pushed in with one long, slow thrust. “But for now all I want you to do is take it for me.”

Soap’s arms gave out as Price filled him, but Ghost was there, laying him flat on the desk and carding his fingers carefully through his sweaty hair as he cried out. Price was slow but not gentle, forcing his cock all the way in and making room for himself inside Soap’s body. Soap clenched around the intrusion, squirming fretfully on it as he tried to adjust. Price watched his discomfort with hot eyes.

“You look so good with my cock in you,” he rasped, grinding in a little further to see Soap gasp and arch, cock bouncing against his abs. “You fuckin’ love that it hurts a bit, don’t you?”

Fuck. Soap might have been a masochist, but it looked like he’d found another sadist to indulge him.

“Aye,” he whined, squeezing Ghost’s hand. “I can take it harder, Captain, make it hard.”

Price smiled, and it was almost sweet, for a moment, as he leaned down to plant one hand on the desk by Soap’s head, the other gripping his thigh. “You asked for it, darlin’,” he said, in voice low with promise. “Be good for me now.”

They were going to break Ghost’s desk.

Price didn’t go easy on him, gave him exactly what he asked for. Hard and deep, sharp snaps of his hips that would have driven him half off the desk if he wasn’t being held so tightly. He could feel Price’s dick in his guts, it was relentless, stretching him open and filling him so completely he couldn’t think around it, couldn’t do anything but cling to Ghost’s hand and whine. It was thick enough that it grazed his prostate without Price even needing try for it, but then Price shifted his angle and fuck, fuck, there it was. He arched his back, cock spurting out a stream of precome, and tried to grind back against the sensation, legs trembling as they squeezed around Price’s hips.

“Look at you,” Ghost murmured, reaching down to the leaking mess he was making, smearing his fingers through it. “Right where you belong, huh sweetheart? Fuckin’ perfect is right.”

He brought his fingers to Soap’s lips, painting them with his own precome, and then hesitated for a minute.

“Captain?”

Price answered by leaning in and drawing Ghost’s fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean with a deep moan. Soap’s breath stuttered in his chest as he watched, and then he was being bent almost in half as Price pulled away from Ghost’s fingers and reached down to Soap’s mouth instead, licking at his lips, deepening it into a kiss. “You taste good,” he said. “Feel fuckin’ good too, darling, taking my cock like that. Like you were made for it.” He let go of Soap’s thigh and took hold of his prick, his grip almost too tight. He hadn’t stopped fucking him, hips still rocking in deep and hard, still shooting lightening through Soap’s body with every thrust.

Almost like he was in a dream, Soap realised he wasn’t gonna fucking last.

“You can take more, can’t you?” Price asked, and Soap shook his head, nodded, didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what more he could take. Ghost’s hand was back on his face, turning him to the side, the head of Ghost’s cock sliding against his lips and catching at the edge of his mouth. Oh. “Open up, Johnny,” Price murmured, the sound of his name in that voice sliding over him like a caress. “Come on, be good for me, be good for Simon, take it for us.”

“Atta boy, sweetheart,” Ghost added, and Soap’s mouth fell open, letting Ghost’s cock in as his eyes slipped closed. “That’s our good boy.”

They were both inside of him, pumping into him, both using his body to get off, but it was the praise that was doing him in. Ghost pressed his head into the desk as he carefully fucked his face, telling him how fucking pretty he looked taking two cocks, how pretty he was when he cried like that. And Price wasn’t gentle at all as he nailed him, splitting him in half and jerking his cock in a brutal grip while he called him fucking Johnny, son, his good lad.

“You’re gonna come just like this, Johnny,” Price said, ordered, like he had Soap’s orgasm on a string. “You can do that for us, yeah? Be good? Come on, there’s a lad, come on our fucking cocks.”

Yes daddy, Soap thought deliriously, and felt the words behind his teeth, fucked back down his throat by Ghost’s cock. Thank fucking God for that, because he would have let that slip out without a thought in his head, otherwise, would have never lived it down.

Above him, eyes on his face, Ghost laughed breathlessly, like he knew exactly what Price’s words were doing to him, what he was thinking. “Oh, he likes that,” he said. “You want his fantasies, Captain? Wait ‘til you hear about the daddy issues on this one.”

Price’s hips lost their rhythm for just a moment, and Soap realised then that he had been holding himself back, somehow, because the next few thrusts were fucking brutal. Soap’s orgasm was right there, now, dangling just out of reach but building up in his muscles and his nerves, swelling like a tidal wave about to break. He was drooling on the desk, Ghost’s cock making a mess of him, Price’s cock ruining him, and Ghost was joking about fucking daddy issues.

He whined, eyes squeezed shut, right there, right there, if only -

“That right, lad? You gonna get off if I make you call me daddy?” Price’s voice was rough, filthy gravel, his cock grinding in deep and dirty, and the wave finally, finally broke. Soap’s orgasm crashed over him, through him, wiping him clean of every thought, every feeling, that wasn’t a pleasure so sweet it was almost painful.

Yes, he thought, whining around Ghost’s cock, choking on the intensity of the sensation, jaw aching, leg aching, everything hurting so good it was dragging his orgasm beyond what he thought he could endure.

Yes, it was perfect.

“Fuck, Johnny,” he heard Ghost gasp, as if from miles away. “Fucking look at you.”

He was still riding out the pleasure when he felt Ghost stiffen, lasting for just a few final thrusts before pulling out with a curse and stripping his cock over Soap’s face. Hot come splashed down, streaking his cheek and jaw, dripping down his neck and across his open, drooling mouth, and another bolt of heat shot through him on the tail of his orgasm.

“Simon,” he whispered through his torn up throat. He could hardly find the breath to talk, but Ghost heard him, crashing into him for a messy, sloppy kiss, come between their mouths, Soap’s drool, the both of them too fuck-stupid for coordination.

“Boys.”

Price had slowed as they came, rocking into Soap in deep, grinding thrusts. Soap pulled away from Ghost’s mouth and looked up at his Captain, at the strain on his face from holding himself back waiting for them. His hair was cowlicked from sweat, eyes tight, his mouth, through his beard, bitten and red. So fucking gorgeous. Both of these men, Simon with his pale skin and pink cheeks, the smattering of freckles that were so incongruously sweet under his mask, Price, with those sparkling eyes, that gentle smile that hid all the viciousness inside him.

God, he fucking adored them.

“Captain,” he said, and reached up, gripping Price’s shirt and trying to tug him down with weak arms. “Come on, now.”

“You’re up, Price,” Ghost agreed, sticking close, leaning heavily on the desk next to them. “Don’t hold back on our account.”

Price let himself be drawn in. Soap smiled, feeling the cut in his lip stretch and sting. “Come for us?” he asked, and though his body was sore, his pleasure ebbing away with the dregs of his orgasm, he would have stayed right there, just like that, for as long as Price wanted him to. “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”

Their lips met, and Price groaned into it, thrusts picking back up. He was tasting Ghost’s come, Soap realised, and the thought was a pleasant, promising ache in his heart. He could have these two, if he was lucky, and if he was even luckier, they could have each other.

But for now, he just wanted his Captain to come.

He tightened one tired leg around Price’s waist, squeezed him as best as he could. It felt different, he was somehow more alert now that his orgasm had ripped through him, his thoughts clearer and less frantic. He let himself enjoy how big Price was between his legs, in his arms, let his fingers slide over his broad shoulders, slip up the nape of his neck and into his wet hair. All the things he’d wanted to do for so long, tugging gently at his beard, turning his head to kiss his forearm, stupid, tender shit that he’d never imagined he could actually have.

Fantasising about blowing Price under the table was one thing, but staring into his eyes while he brushed his hair off his forehead, Jesus, that was something the fuck else.

“Johnny,” Price breathed. “Johnny, fuck.”

This time, Soap heard Ghost’s sharp intake of breath as Price called him Johnny, and part of him wanted to tell him that it was okay, it was fine, but he thought maybe Ghost knew. He hoped Ghost knew. Because Price’s face was going slack with pleasure, eyes losing focus as he pushed his way further and further into Soap’s body, and Soap didn’t think he could have looked away from him for anything in the world.

But to Soap’s surprise, Ghost was reaching out, clasping the back of Price’s neck in a firm grip. “That’s it,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb under Price’s jaw. “That’s it, let go for us now. Come on.”

Price’s eyes squeezed shut, his head tilting to press almost hesitantly into Ghost’s touch, and that was it, the last push he’d needed, apparently, for him to shove hard into Soap’s body and hold himself there, coming with a long, low groan, his entire body shaking with tension. Soap arched his neck to feel it, that hard cock stiffening in him and flooding him with heat, pooling into his hot, over-sensitive body. It felt so fucking good, even on the heels of such an intense orgasm, So good, to be the recipient of Price’s pleasure. So good, to take that for him.

“Price,” he moaned, and Price leaned forward, running his lips up Johnny’s throat to his chin, the corner of his mouth.

“Call me John,” he said, that deep rasp of his rougher than Soap had ever heard it. “Fuck’s sake.”

Soap laughed. Covered in come, filled with it, every muscle in his body screaming at him to get off that bastard desk, he tossed his head back and laughed.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and ran his hand through Price’s hair one more time as Price dropped his head to his shoulder. He grinned up at Ghost’s pleased face, open and happy and disbelieving. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”

~

Soap had managed to crawl back into his briefs, and left it at that. His t-shirt was crumpled in a sticky ball under Ghost’s desk, probably no saving it after they’d used it for clean up, joggers and socks and everything else strewn out around the office like an incredibly small, Soap-specific hurricane had hit it.

Not entirely inaccurate, he supposed.

He was on the floor, half leaning against the wall and half leaning against Price, who had an arm slung casually around his shoulders while he puffed at his cigar. Apart from the pink in his cheeks and the sweat in his beard and hair, he looked about as put together as he had when he’d walk in - but happier, more content. Some of the tiredness around his eyes had mellowed into a different kind of exhaustion, leaving him sated and a little smug looking. He was warm, solid against Soap’s listing body, and now his pleasant, familiar scent of cotton and sweat and cigar smoke had an added note of sex.

Now, he smelled like Soap.

Ghost was sprawled out all long limbed and loose in one of the desk chairs, watching them. Price had offered around his cigar, and while Soap, as usual, turned up his nose, Ghost had accepted, and now the two of them were companionably passing it back and forth, Ghost leaning over and down to retrieve it from Price’s reaching fingers. The toe of his boot was pressed reassuringly against Soap’s bare calf, not rubbing or pushing, just a steadying presence. I’m still here.

Soap was in pain, in a dozen different, inconsequential ways, and he’d never felt better in his life.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the Captain’s shoulder. They were talking softly above him, logistics, essentially, how they were going to get Soap back to his room. Price wanted them to go back to his house off base, because he didn’t want to spend time in on base accommodation if he didn’t have to. Ghost called him an elitist, toffy prick. Then he poured them both another drink, and they clinked glasses, laughing.

Soap smiled to himself, remembering Ghost’s hand on the back of Price’s neck, his fingers in Price’s mouth. There was something there, to be dug up and examined. Something fragile and tenuous, but there.

He thought about the time they’d fought over him. He still wanted to know who’d thrown the first punch, wanted to get his teeth into that story. He’d always assumed it was just Price being protective, looking out for a subordinate… But now, with Price’s thumb stroking absently up and down his bicep, the way he turned his head occasionally to press his lips to Soap’s sweaty hair, he wondered if there’d been something else to it, after all. Ghost was watching them seriously, but fondly. He wasn’t trying to push himself into the little space they’d found with each other, wasn’t trying to mark his territory, none of that bullshit, just his boot touching Soap, just his calm, open gaze. It was easy, steady, for the time being, like they’d all found a little pocket of equilibrium in that warm little office.

They’d found it by screwing Soap’s entire fucking brain out of his head, but, well. That was okay. Christ alive, he wished they’d done it on a bed, though.

He opened his eyes and stretched, leaning forward to try and work some of the kinks out of his back. His throat and thigh were sore, but those muscles in his back were screaming at him, making sure that he knew that he wasn’t twenty one, anymore, and if he was going to go around getting double teamed on desks there were going to be consequences. He groaned, and then groaned again as Price dug his fingers into the sore muscles.

Above them, Ghost snorted.

“Heard about that,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “Subtle, Captain.”

“Thought I was gonna have to take out an ad in the local fuckin’ paper before he took the hint,” Price said back through a grin that Soap could hear. His cheeks heated. Actually, they could probably both go get fucked.

“Stow it,” he muttered. “Both of you, fuckin’ numpties.” As he leaned forward, his eye caught on something under Ghost’s desk - it was his skull and crossbones mug, with all the pens in it, rescued and tucked carefully away where it would be safe. Soap hadn’t noticed Ghost doing it at the time, but the little gesture made his heart well up with an affection that was almost overwhelming in its depth. Ghost, carefully and quietly taking care of his things.

Ah, fuck, he loved him so much. Even as Price’s come dripped out of him, even as he knew that what he felt for Price was only going to get deeper, stronger, even as he thought that the three of them could find something together, he knew he loved Ghost so fucking much. It was the only way this would have ever worked.

“I’ve got a king-sized bed, though,” Price said, and Soap looked over his shoulder in interest. Ghost did not have a king-sized bed. Maybe his love was more flexible than he’d thought.

“Simon, let’s go and defile the elitist prick’s bed,” he said, looking up at Ghost through his lashes. There was still come on his face, he knew. He was still filthy, and he still had Price’s hands on him. “Come on.”

Ghost’s smile was beautiful, indulgent. “You’re such a fucking whore,” he said, and it was a yes.

It was an anything you want.

Soap grinned back up at him, leaning into Price’s arms, feeling them wrap around his body, tight and sure. Anything he wanted was right here, for the taking.

It was going to be fun.

Author’s Note:

Find me on twitter @QueenieBGalore

The Sweet Taste of Kerosene by queeniegalore

Series: Take a Bite [2]
Fandoms: Call of Duty (Video Games)
AO3 Categories: M/M
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John “Soap” MacTavish/John Price, John “Soap” MacTavish/John Price/Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish/Simon “Ghost” Riley, John Price/Simon “Ghost” Riley
Characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, John Price (Call of Duty), Simon “Ghost” Riley
Freeform Tags: Bottom John “Soap” MacTavish, Captain Daddy Price, Dirty Talk, Lack of Communication, Light Dom/sub, Light Spanking, Light daddy kink, Massages, PWP, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn as Plot, Porn with Feelings, Spit Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Top John Price (Call of Duty), Top Simon “Ghost” Riley, followed by Some communication, light degradation, light name calling, slight jealousy, slightly ambiguous ending, two doms one sub
Status: Completed
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Published: 2023-08-07
Updated: 2023-08-07
Packaged: 2023-08-24 19:21:06
Summary:

Soap was already stretched out on his bed in nothing but his underwear when John walked into the room. Laid out luxuriantly, head pillowed on his arms and one leg hanging off the bed to show off miles of smooth, golden skin, he looked ridiculously indulgent - an indulgence John still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to have. His round muscles were soft and lax, melting into the bed and shiny with the oil Ghost was using on him, the mild scent of almonds drifting through the room and mingling with the usual smells of sweat, laundry, Tiger Balm, and blood.

Ghost and Price make good on their promise of a massage, and Soap reaps the rewards…But Price is realising he might have bitten off more than he can chew, with these two.

This is a direct sequel to Take a Bite and Let it Linger and will not really make much sense if you haven’t read that one!

I Bookmarked Story: False

The Sweet Taste of Kerosene

Author’s Note:

I’m dedicating this one to Gira, for being an eternal champion of Captain Price and for waiting so, so patiently for this to come out, and to Jane, for always being there for me. I hope you like it!

Title from Revelry by Kings of Leon

Soap was already stretched out on his bed in nothing but his underwear when John walked into the room. Laid out luxuriantly, head pillowed on his arms and one leg hanging off the bed to show off miles of smooth, golden skin, he looked ridiculously indulgent - an indulgence John still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to have. His round muscles were soft and lax, melting into the bed and shiny with the oil Ghost was using on him, the mild scent of almonds drifting through the room and mingling with the usual smells of sweat, laundry, Tiger Balm, and blood.

John leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, slipping the key back into his pocket. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said to Ghost, who was kneeling next to the bed and digging a thumb into the muscle of Soap’s thigh. “Taking it all right?”

“Taking it beautifully,” Ghost said, and John watched as he slid that thumb up, slick with oil, and pressed it into the tender softness just beneath the swell of Soap’s arse, dipping into the hem of his briefs. The skin dimpled and went white under the pressure, and Soap let out a quiet, sweet moan at the ache.

John found his eyes focusing on Ghost’s hands. Thick and rough and tattooed, strong; he’d been right when he told Soap that Ghost had good hands for this. He thought of those hands on him, how they felt - most recently, gripping the back of his neck, thumb pushed into the soft, vulnerable skin under his jaw as he told him to come, but once, not so long ago, smashing into his mouth, cutting his lip open on his teeth and sending a rush of blood over his tongue that John had spat onto his own office floor…

And now, slipping hard and firm up Soap’s thigh, up to his arse, fingertips just teasing into the crease.

“Not going easy on him, I hope?”

At that, Soap let out a breathless laugh. “Never, Captain,” he murmured without opening his eyes, and a part of John smiled ruefully at that, despairing of the idea of ever getting Soap to call him ‘John’ in bed.

Soap liked the power difference, Ghost did too. It was something John was learning, for them. The glimpses into the way their relationship worked, into the way they fucked and played, it had been a lot - some unexpected, some entirely not - but John was learning what they liked.

What Soap liked.

He stepped forward into the room, letting his boots sound heavy and deliberate as he walked up to the head of the bed. Soap’s room was tiny, just standard, temporary base accommodation, and Price shouldn’t be there. Hell, Ghost shouldn’t be there. They should all be hauled in front of the military court and thrown into prison, probably.

He leaned down to Soap and slid his lips along the back of his neck anyway. “Hello, darling,” he murmured into the skin, adept by now at pushing the things he should be doing to the back of his mind and focusing on the things he was doing. “Enjoying yourself?”

He had to be particular, with what he called Soap.

Sweetheart was just for Ghost, and Ghost clearly wanted Johnny as well - would have it, if John wasn’t such a stubborn bastard. Even so, John knew to exercise caution with that, knew he had to deploy it sparingly. He was here on invitation, after all. Here because Ghost liked to indulge Soap, spoil him with whatever he asked for, and apparently he’d asked for John. He had to tread carefully with them.

Soap liked pet names though, and darling made him melt, made him look like a spoiled, smug kitten, pampered and content, soaking up their attention. Even as Ghost leaned his full weight on a spot on Soap’s thigh that made him gasp, made pain flicker over his face, he didn’t lose his smile, nor that look of contentment. Warm and basking on the bed under their touch.

Beautiful, John thought, and then remembered he could say it, now, and repeated it out loud. “Beautiful,” in a whisper into the back of Soap’s neck, feeling Soap shivering under his lips. “Just look at you.”

“Here for more than lookin’,” Soap murmured, and John had to chuckle.

“So you are.”

~

The night they’d started - really started, fucking Soap into a crumpled mess over Ghost’s desk, leaving him a soft, whimpering, come-soaked heap - Price had driven them back to his house, put them in the shower, and then taken them to bed. Ghost hadn’t stayed there.

Soap fell asleep immediately, curled between the two of them in Price’s crisp, clean sheets. Before long he’d started up a snore like a chainsaw, all but rattling the windows, and Ghost had looked at him with a pained, endeared expression on his face.

“Christ alive,” Price whispered into the darkness between them, and Ghost snorted out a laugh.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said, and then seemed to realise what he said, and abruptly sat up, looking away with a soft curse.

“You all right?”

“Fine.”

But he slipped from the bed, grabbing his trousers, and John let him go. Watched from the window for a while as he skulked shirtless around the back garden and neurotically chain smoked cigarettes, until John sighed, realised he wasn’t coming back, and went down to make up the couch for him.

“Come in and get some sleep, Simon,” he said from the back door, putting a little Captain in his voice and pointing to the couch. “He’ll be mad at himself if you don’t.”

Ghost glared at him for that, and John deserved it, but he also put out his cigarette and made his way back into the dark house, so John didn’t care.

“That an order, sir?”

John smiled a little. “You need it to be?”

“I’m not Soap,” Ghost muttered petulantly, and John laughed, taking a risk and patting Ghost’s bare shoulder as he led him through the moonlight to the couch.

“I’m aware,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Soap is easy.”

Ghost sat down heavily and leaned back, legs spread. He gave John a look, intense and unreadable. “I’m not used to this.”

“But are you okay with it?” John asked. “You have to be happy, Simon, or else I say thanks for the night boys, and I walk away. You understand that?”

“But Soap wants it.”

“And what do you want?”

Ghost looked away, down at his hands. “I want what Soap wants,” he said, a little uncertainty in his voice. John stepped forward, in between the vee of his spread legs, so Ghost was forced to look up at him to meet his eyes.

“Not good enough,” he said, sternly. “What do you want?”

Ghost licked his lips.

“I want it too,” he admitted, and a warm wash of relief swept through John, an easing of a tension he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. Ghost’s fist smashing into his mouth, his own hands coming up, slamming Ghost into the door, holding him there with an elbow around his throat, that bIg body bending to him, the both of them panting. Ghost, now, looked vulnerable in the dim light, eyes wide and liquid, his plush mouth bruised.

“Good,” John breathed. “That’s good, Simon.”

“But I’m not used to this,” Ghost repeated. “I’m used to…fuck. Bein’ the one in charge.”

John studied him, felt himself being studied back, and wondered what Ghost was seeing in his expression. He remembered the hand on the back of his neck, the way it’d jolted fire across his skin, remembered Ghost coaxing his orgasm out of him, urging him to come inside his lover’s body. Remembered taking Ghost’s fingers into his mouth and sucking them, licking off the taste of Soap, but loving it because it was Ghost. New memories of touch to layer on top of the old.

“Then I guess we both have some learning to do, eh?” he said softly, and he didn’t know who moved first but then he was leaning down and Ghost was leaning up and they were meeting in the middle, his hands firm on Ghost’s shoulders and Ghost’s tight again on the back of his neck. The kiss, when it came, should have been violent, but was surprisingly, achingly tender. An agreement. Maybe a promise.

“You’re still my Captain,” Ghost said into his lips. “I’d still die for you.”

“I’d not let you,” John promised. “But you’re still my Lieutenant. My Ghost. Yeah? This doesn’t change any of that.”

He pressed his forehead to Ghost’s and thought of Soap, sweet and sated, up in his bed. Soap, who belonged to Ghost. Ghost, who belonged to John. His men. An impossible, dizzying tangle.

“Just…get some sleep,” he sighed, slowly pulling away. Ghost was beautiful, looking up at him with those liquid eyes, his strong features, that strange combination of handsome and pretty that was always such a surprise to find hiding under the mask. It was a forever unexpected sweetness, seeing Simon’s face. “We’ll talk again tomorrow,” he added.

“Fuck’s sake,” Ghost muttered, rolling his eyes at John’s grin. “Go take care of my man,” he added. “If you need to smother him with a pillow on account of the snoring, I’ll understand.”

“Noted.” John slid the tips of his fingers along Ghost’s shoulders as he pulled away, and watched in satisfaction as Ghost shivered, biting his lip again. “Good night, soldier.”

“Night, Cap.”

~

Days later, and Soap was in a different bed, still sweet, still John’s for the taking. He’d fucked him awake, that night, kissing him back to consciousness with the dawn and then crawling over his heavy, sleep-warm body, thick thighs wrapping around his waist as he slipped inside, and Ghost had watched from the doorway, sipping coffee and casually palming his cock. There was something about the ease with which Soap gave himself up to it, gave himself over to them to be used and taken and possessed, that John found intoxicating. He seemed to always want them, their attention and their touch, and in turn John wanted to give it to him. Wanted to see him like this, stretched out and lazy, ready to be played with.

The bed was too small for everything John wanted to do - there weren’t enough hours in the day for everything John wanted to do - but he eased himself onto it anyway, sitting up against the headboard with his legs spread around Soap’s thick shoulders. He was still fully dressed, boots digging into the messy sheets and pressing against the bare skin of Soap’s side. He liked this, being dressed when Soap wasn’t. It was an easy way to help tip the balance of power in his favour, and Christ, if that wasn’t interrogation tactics 101 right there, being applied in this bed.

He glanced at Ghost, who hadn’t stopped his massage, and eased Soap’s face down to rest against his inner thigh, running his fingers through his soft, slightly damp hair.

“Got him nice and comfortable, eh Simon?”

Ghost narrowed his eyes a little at Simon, but didn’t protest.

“Yes sir,” he snapped out, and Soap gasped into John’s thigh as Ghost gave a particularly mean little dig of his thumbs. John grinned and tightened his grip in turn, grabbing a handful of hair and squeezing.

“You feel good, lad?”

And oh, the way those blue eyes glazed over at lad. Soap looked up at him hazily, a small smile still lingering on his mouth, cheeks flushed a deep, pretty red. Just fucking gorgeous, the way he licked his lips and had to try a couple of times before he could talk, panting open-mouthed against the cloth of John’s trousers.

“Aye, Captain,” he managed eventually. He tried to nod, and winced when John didn’t let up his grip on his hair, holding him still and close. John stroked his free hand down the side of his cheek, over the stubble, pressing a knuckle into one deep dimple. Down the other end of the bed, he noticed, Ghost had both hands up inside Soap’s briefs, still massaging like he was being paid for it.

“Mmm,” John hummed. “I do like to see you comfortable, but I have a feeling you don’t really want to be comfortable right now, do you darlin’?”

He smirked at Ghost, who smirked back, flashing those pretty dimples of his own, dark eyes shining, and John was suddenly struck again by the sheer enormity of getting to see Ghost with his mask off so often lately - this face had been a stranger to him for years, and he hadn’t realised for a long time how much he’d missed it. Missed Simon. He’d grown accustomed to the distance, and to the mask, and even after the Las Almas shitfight he’d let Simon slip away too easily. Only in these past few months had they reconnected. Were still reconnecting, really, here in this series of beds, here with Soap.

Ah, he was getting soft in his old age, though, if having a near-naked Soap MacTavish snuggled between his legs wasn’t enough to keep his attention. He blinked his gaze away from Ghost’s and trained it back down on Soap’s needy face.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want? Hmm?”

Soap closed his eyes, a little furrow appearing between his brows. “Ah, fuck, sir, I can’t - I don’t know -”

“Oh, but you do, don’t you lad? Isn’t that how this all started, you running that pretty little mouth to Ghost, telling him all your fantasies? Cute that you get all shy with me, though.” He pushed a thumb between Soap’s lips and let him suck on it to give him something to do with his mouth, groaning as Soap set to it with gratifying eagerness.

“See, there’s a good boy, you know how to use your mouth when you want to, don’t you? Making me wanna fuck your face again, if I’m honest. Could just keep you right there and choke you on my cock while Ghost does whatever he pleases with you.” He sighed, pretending to think about it while Soap moaned around his thumb and sucked harder, as if to say yes, please.

“But then again, we’ve done that, haven’t we? Remember me and Ghost passing you back and forth between us like we’d fucking paid for you? The state of you, begging for the both of us to use you like that.”

A low chuckle came from the end of the bed. “You can just call him a whore,” Ghost said. “You know he likes it.”

Soap pulled away from John’s thumb, tongue leaving a last, sloppy lick, and gave him a lazy grin. “Aye, you don’t have to be nice to me,” he added. “Captain.”

A low swoop of arousal in John’s gut almost caught him off guard. He thought of the first time he’d heard Ghost call Soap a slut in bed, checking in with Soap’s eyes to see if he was okay and seeing the heat there. I like it, he’d whispered. Fuckin’ love it.

But that was Ghost’s thing, and John had his own ways to play.

He leaned down, dragging Soap’s head back by his hair in a sharp, uncomfortable angle, forcing his neck and back into a steep arch. “Oh? You think I plan on being nice to you, darling?” He gave Soap a little shake, carefully watching the flush in his cheeks, the droop of his eyes. “You think I’m nice just because I don’t call you mean names? I’ve got plenty of other ways to be mean to you if that’s what you want, Johnny.”

“Please,” Soap whispered, and then gasped as Ghost slapped the flat of his palm down on his thigh, right where it was still red and tender and sore from the massage. John cocked his head.

“You need to know who’s in charge, don’t you,” he murmured, listening as Ghost slapped him again, again. “Need to be put in your place. I can do that without calling you a slut. You already know you’re a slut. Open your mouth.”

The abrupt order seemed to take Soap off guard, and he did as he was told automatically, like the good boy he was. John looked up and caught Ghost’s eyes, parted his own lips a little to show him the saliva gathering there. Is this okay?

Ghost grinned, and nodded.

“I’m going to make you show us exactly how much of a slut you are,” John promised, tilting his head back down to Soap. “And you’re going to thank me for it.”

He took Soap’s chin in his hand, thumb digging into the hinge of his jaw to keep his mouth wide, and spat directly onto his tongue. “Hold it for me,” he said, voice rough. “Keep it in there, darlin’. Let me know how much you like it, yeah?”

Soap moaned through his open mouth, eyes wide and brow creased in pleasure as he kept John’s spit right where it was. Fucking perfect. John wanted to kiss him like that, wanted to take a photo, wanted to shove his fingers into all that soft wetness and choke him on them, too many wants all bubbling up in him to count.

Part of him still wanted to just gather Soap onto his chest and whisper in his ear, get him off nice and sweet and slow, make him feel good. But they weren’t there, yet.

Not yet.

“Ghost,” he said, slipping just the tip of his thumb over Soap’s teeth and hooking it down. “Come up here?”

Ghost only hesitated for a moment before obeying, and John had to hide a smile at that, watching warmly as Ghost crawled up Soap’s body and straddled his arse, leaning forward over his shoulder to watch. Christ it was crowded, hot and close and sweaty, but John could make it work.

“Knew you’d be good for the Captain,” Ghost rumbled into Soap’s ear. “Look at you.”

“That’s what I like about you, Johnny,” Price breathed, and spat again, adding to his mess. “Always been my good boy, haven’t you?”

That was pushing it, with Ghost right there. Ghost narrowed his eyes, the tops of his cheekbones a deep, hectic pink, and John didn’t bother holding back his smile this time.

“Oh don’t worry, Simon. You’re my good boy too, eh?”

“Captain,” Ghost started, and then hesitated again, watching Price closely. “Johnny’s the one with fucking daddy issues, not me.”

“Well we don’t have time to work our way through all of your issues, Simon,” John said dryly. “We’ll be here all fucking week.”

That startled a snort of laughter out of Ghost, as John had hoped it would, that full, crooked mouth of his quirking ruefully.

“Come on,” John said, softer now, coaxing. “Simon.” He tilted his head, inviting, and Ghost leaned in.

“Fuck’s sake,” Ghost sighed, but kissed John anyway, right over the top of Soap, who’d opened his eyes wide to watch. Brief but meaning it, tongue dipping into John’s mouth and teeth gently scraping over John’s lower lip as he pulled away much too soon. John could have spent hours kissing Ghost, with Ghost’s little lover tucked in between them. Spent hours in this tangle of limbs and muscle and heat.

He caught Ghost before he could get too far out of range, pressed a big hand to the back of his head, sliding through his soft, closely cropped hair, and yanked him back in. This time he crashed their mouths together in the kiss he’d always imagined was building between them - hard and rough and full of teeth, a brutality to it that was both sweet and violent. It punched a noise out of Ghost, a surprised, urgent moan, and John couldn’t help but answer with a low growl of his own. Johnny snuggled between his legs, full of his spit, Simon on his lips… John didn’t deserve this, he wasn’t supposed to have this, but he was starting to realise that he’d march himself into hell to keep it.

“Fuuuuck…” Soap breathed, still wedged between them, his voice thick with what was still in his mouth, and this time John pulled away, smiling down at Soap.

“Open your mouth for Simon,” he said softly. “Can you do that for me, darling?”

He could. Head still bent back in that awkward, painful angle, he opened his mouth wider to show Ghost the mess there, and without needing to be told, Ghost reared up a little, gripped Soap’s jaw, and spat onto his tongue, immediately ducking in to kiss him like that, wet and messy and filthy as fuck.

My good boys, John thought before he could stop himself, possessive and almost delirious with lust. Mine, mine, both of them.

The rush of power was almost too much, he was too hot, fully dressed in that room, cock achingly hard as he watched them make out all over him. Soap almost naked, skin slick with oil and sweat, Ghost’s huge body covering him, so powerful and yet so sweetly doing everything John wanted. It was overwhelming, impossible to believe it was happening.

His men, his boys.

John had to close his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the wet sounds of their kiss, Soap’s soft moans, the slide of them against each other. He thought again, inexplicably, of Ghost walking into his office months ago still cold and edgy, only just starting to let Soap into the cracks in his armour. Thought of asking, touchy and upset himself, what the fuck Ghost thought he was doing with MacTavish.

Thought of how blank and flat Ghost’s eyes had looked when he’d told Price it was none of his fucking business.

He’d lashed out before he’d had time to think, protective of Johnny, worried over them both, a part that he didn’t like to think about feeling ugly and old and bitter. He wasn’t jealous, it wasn’t out of jealousy, no, but the smack of his knuckle into Ghost’s eye socket had soothed that very carefully not jealous part of him.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he’d ground out, but Ghost was already snapping out a punch of his own, pulling it at the last second so his knuckles just clipped John’s lip, mashing it briefly against his teeth. It would go fat, later, thick and sore against his cigar, a crust of blood where his tooth had nicked the skin. He remembered seeing Soap’s eyes linger there, wide and interested… But that was later. Now, in that office, he ducked into Ghost’s space and Ghost let himself be slammed against the wall, hands behind his back, John’s elbow around his throat in a cruel hold. John crowded into him, breathing hard, and spat a thin stream of blood onto the floor by Ghost’s boots.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, Lieutenant?” he asked again, softly.

“Captain-”

“Don’t you ever,” he shoved at Ghost, yanking his arm up and putting pressure on his shoulder for emphasis, “Tell me Johnny MacTavish isn’t my business again. Do you fucking understand me, soldier?”

“Yes, sir,” Ghost gritted out, clearly holding himself back. John knew he could break the hold, if he wanted to. Knew he could give him a real fight.

He didn’t want to fight Ghost.

He pushed in still closer, put his mouth to Ghost’s ear. “You’re both my fucking business, you got that?”

“Yes, sir.” Ghost’s eyes were on the floor, bruised and tired behind his balaclava. John thought of Soap being there for him, holding him, needling some of that pain away, and softened.

“You could both go to prison for this,” he said neutrally, still holding Ghost, but gently now. Ghost just nodded.

“I’d take the fall for him, it’d be worth it.”

John sighed. “He wouldn’t let you, you fucking moron.” He finally stepped back, rubbing briskly at Ghost’s wrist, where a bruise was already coming up from his hold. He’d have a black eye, too - John looked at it with a mixture of shame and satisfaction.

“Is it…” he paused, then kicked out his desk chair for Ghost, jerking his head and waiting until Ghost sat. He poured them both a glass of whiskey, felt that same small sense of wonder as Ghost pushed his mask up enough to drink it.

“Is it good, Simon?” he asked, and he wasn’t talking about the liquor.

Ghost kept his gaze firmly on his glass as he nodded. “He’s good. He’s…good for me.”

“Are you good to him?”

John didn’t miss the tiny wince. “Trying to be,” Ghost said, shortly, and John believed him.

“Well if you’d just said that you wouldn’t have ended up with a fucking black eye, you muppet,” he replied gruffly, and smiled as Ghost probed gingerly at the tender, swelling skin.

“You gonna do anything about it? Officially?”

John scoffed, sipped at his own drink. “This task force breaks the law every other day, Simon, you think I give a fuck about this? If I thought you were hurting him, I‘d have just fucking killed you.”

Ghost’s eyes flicked to him, dark and full of gratitude.

“Thank you, sir.”

And that had been that.

~

“Thank you, sirs.” Soap’s voice, hoarse with arousal, brought John back to the present, and he blinked down at the sweet pink face currently licking his and Ghost’s combined saliva off his lips. “But if you keep that up for much longer I’m gonna come.”

He sounded whiny, a little desperate. John ran a soothing hand over his cheek and up through his sweaty hair.

“Not before us, soldier,” he said, just a splash of warning in his voice. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”

Soap was panting. Ghost had started kissing at his shoulders and the back of his neck, was putting his teeth into it, and John watched the slow thrust of his hips as he pushed himself against Soap’s arse in a deep grind.

“Please,” Soap’s eyes were huge, deep, ocean blue, his lashes were already starting to clump together with the way they were watering. “Fuck me?”

“Who’re you asking, Johnny?” John asked. “Me or him?”

“Both of you,” Soap whispered. “Can I? Can you?”

John caught Ghost’s eye. He was so turned on he wasn’t thinking straight, it was only years of discipline, he thought with vague amusement, that was giving the illusion that he was still in control at all - he was ready to cave to whatever Soap wanted, however he wanted it.

Fuck it, he wanted it too.

His cock gave a twitch in his trousers, hot and sweaty, still caught up in his briefs. Hadn’t even been touched yet, and as if he could read his mind, Soap dropped his head like it weighed a thousand pounds and ran his face, open mouthed, over that hard bulge between John’s legs. John closed his fingers into a fist again, gripping Soap’s hair and holding him down, grinding his own hips up against Soap’s pretty face.

Ghost’s eyes were dark, he kept them on the two of them as he shoved at his sweats, carelessly pushing them down his long legs and kicking them off the bed.

“Me first, Captain,” he grunted, and John could only nod as Ghost reared up and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Soap’s briefs. They came down just enough to bare his arse, round and fat and slick with oil, and then Ghost was spitting again, right between Soap’s cheeks while Soap moaned against John’s legs.

“Captain.” Ghost leaned forward and offered his fingers to John’s mouth, and John didn’t hesitate at all as he opened for them, sucking up the taste of sweat and oil and Soap’s skin. “Spit,” Ghost added, sounding a little breathless himself, and John, too, knew when to follow orders.

He kept eye contact as he let the saliva collect in his mouth, kept it as he spat neatly onto Ghost’s shaking fingers, and smirked, just a little as Ghost’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed, somehow, an even deeper pink.

“You know what to do, Simon,” John smiled. “You first, eh?”

Ah, he still had a little command, after all. It was the back and forth of it, the push and pull with Soap a moaning mess between them, that was really getting to John, getting him hot. He knew how to give when he needed to, how to bend, while Ghost seemed to be caught in the constant tension between control and compliance. Be a good soldier for me, John thought, but didn’t say. Come on darlin’, give us what we all want.

He didn’t need to say it.

John looked down, kept his gaze on Soap’s face and saw the moment Ghost pushed his fingers in by the way his brow creased, the way his jaw went tense and then slack, the way his sharp white teeth dug into his lower lip.

“Good boy,” he whispered to both of them, and tilted his hips into the feel of Soap rocking against him, driven forward by Ghost’s thrusts. “Still taking it beautifully, huh darling? Yeah, I don’t need to call you a slut. Look at you, spreading your legs, begging for it. I told you I could make you show us what you are.”

“Jesus, Captain,” Ghost muttered. He twisted his wrist, and Soap’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He was basically drooling against John, now, his mouth a hot, humid warmth for John to chase as he watched Ghost finger him open. John wanted to get his cock out, wanted to rub it all over Soap, his cheek, smear precome over his lips and get it in his hair.

He was going crazy, with these two, with whatever this was. He was going to lose his fucking mind. Sweat prickled at his hairline and the back of his neck, and he realised the smell of almonds had intensified - Ghost was tipping the bottle of massage oil over Soap’s arse, into it, was pushing it in with his thick fingers.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Soap chanted, tilting his hips up to Ghost. “Come on, come on.”

John was hypnotised as the oil ran down that deep arch, pooled in the small of Soap’s back, and then he was shoving two fingers of his own back into Soap’s mouth as Soap all but screamed at the slow, inexorable glide of Ghost’s cock into his body. The inside of his mouth was warm, soft, and John’s cock twitched again at the sense-memory of being inside it, fucking into that softness and deeper, into the tight grip of his throat. Soap gagged, drooled down his chin, came back for more as Ghost pulled out slowly and slammed back. “Fuck me,” he said again, “Oh, Jesus.”

John dropped a foot to the floor next to bed, transferred Soap’s head - pliant, willing, as he was fucked back and forth like a rag doll - to his opposite thigh. He needed to get his dick out, needed just a hint of relief. The sounds of Ghost slapping into Soap, the filthy, wet squelch of the oil as Ghost shoved in and out, the smell of almonds mixing now with sweat and sex and musk… He grunted as he drew his zipper down, moaned with relief as he drew himself out and smoothed the thick slick of precome down his shaft. Fuck, it felt so good, they looked so good, and they were both watching him, two sets of eyes on his hard, aching cock.

“You’re such a fuckin’ whore, Johnny,” Ghost said, leaning in, massive shoulders dwarfing Soap on the bed beneath him, to breathe the words against Soap’s ear. “You just needed to be fucked, huh?”

“Tell us,” John added. “Tell us what you are, darlin’.”

Soap looked like he could hardly think, let alone form a coherent sentence. His hands were trapped under his chest, and John took one, laced their fingers together as he flicked his gaze between Soap’s face and the deep, easy thrust of Ghost’s hips. “Johnny…”

“Aye, I’m a slut,” Soap slurred. “I’m your fucking slut. You could - you two, you could do whatever you wanted to me, you could do anything to me, I’d take whatever you wanted, just fuck me, don’t stop fucking me…”

You could do anything to me…

~

Despite John’s promise to Ghost that first night, they hadn’t talked about anything in the morning. John had fucked Soap again, while Ghost watched, and then he’d driven them both to Ghost’s flat. Soap had shifted uncomfortably, whining the whole trip about his sore muscles, and John couldn’t get over the way the smile didn’t leave his face despite it. He concentrated on the road and thought, did that really happen, what the fuck just happened…

“Hit Ghost up about that massage,” he’d advised when it was time for them to get out. They’d talked about: the traffic, an upcoming mission, Price’s car, Gaz and his latest girlfriend, Soap’s dad’s love of fishing and, briefly, the mess they’d made in Ghost’s office. So, nothing.

“Hear that, Simon? Price says you have to give me a massage.”

Ghost scowled and adjusted his mask, ready to get out of the car and haul Soap back into his room, probably, ready to spend the rest of the day re-establishing his claim.

“Thought the Captain already took care of that,” he said, and Soap rolled his eyes.

“I feel like I’ve been dragged backwards through a field of pineapples,” he said, with satisfaction. “Not battle ready like this, am I LT? Fuckin’…duty of care or something. You’ve gotta look after me.”

“Oh I’ve no doubt he’ll look after you,” Price said, and caught Ghost’s eye. “Off you go, then.”

“Standing invitation to this mythical massage, if it ever happens Cap,” Soap smiled, and John wanted to kiss him, desperately, as Ghost got out of the car and started standing around impatiently. Wanted to kiss him maybe more than he’d ever wanted to kiss anyone in his life.

“Get the fuck out of my car,” he said genially instead, and Soap cackled as he did what he was told. John stayed just long enough to see them inside and the drive home had been long, and quiet.

What the fuck was that, what did we just do, what the fuck did we just do, will we do it again…

They needed to talk, and they didn’t. They needed to discuss what this was (was it anything?), what it could be (would it be anything?), what was allowed (could he do anything?), and they didn’t. Those two men in his bed, and all it had taken was Ghost sitting in his smoke-filled office over whiskey one night and saying, “I’ve seen the way you look at him, John.”

It was business as usual for a day, and then two, and John had a job to do, so he fucking did it.

And then came the text, from Ghost.

Meet me in Soap’s room on Tuesday night. Time to see about that massage.

And they hadn’t discussed shit.

~

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Johnny,” John said softly, stroking his thumb down over Soap’s wet, open mouth. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Soap swore. Ghost was picking up speed, now, slamming in harder, faster, rocking Soap roughly into John. “Any fucking thing you want, oh my - oh my god -” He turned his head, buried it into John’s thigh and tried to arch his back into an even steeper curve as Ghost bore him down into the bed.

“Would you take both of us at once, Johnny?” Ghost asked, lips moving against Soap’s ear, his neck, shiny with Soap’s sweat. “You think you could take that for us if we asked you to?”

Soap wailed, twisted under Ghost’s body, gripped John’s hand so hard it hurt. John’s heart flipped in his chest, and he ignored it, breathed in deep through his nose and pushed his heart to the side.

“Don’t come, darlin,” he said, voice rough. “Not before I’ve had my turn with you.”

Ghost was looking up at him through his light, long lashes. “Next time,” he said, like a promise. “You think we could? Get him nice and open, fuck him together?”

Now John was half worried about coming before he got his turn. His free hand gripped his cock at the base and just held it, sticky against his shirt, pumping out more precome for them.

“Might break him,” he grunted, and Ghost gave a breathy laugh.

“Tough little motherfucker,” he said. “We’ve…toys…”

“Simon,” Soap whined, still hiding his face, and fuck, fuck, John needed him. Needed to be inside him.

“Next time,” he said. “Yeah, Simon, next time I’ll fuck him with you.” He let that thought sit on his tongue for a moment, let himself really imagine it, the slide of his cock against Ghost’s, held together in the close heat of Soap’s body. Let himself think of Ghost coming, hot and thick, in that tightness for John to push through.

Christ, he could have that.

He started stroking his cock again, slowly, slowly, his thumb rubbing in a long, sweet trail up the underside to the swollen head. “But now, I want to see you come in him, Simon,” he said. “Can you do that for me? Are you close?”

Ghost’s eyes slipped closed, and he let his head hang heavy between his shoulders. “Yeah, Captain.” He hitched a hand under Soap’s knee and roughly pulled it up and out, opening up more space for him to grind into. His tee was sticking to his chest with sweat, it was dripping from his hair onto Soap’s back, droplets falling on Soap’s tan skin, between his shoulder blades. It was one of the most gorgeous things John had ever seen in his life, that intensity, the sheer beauty of him as he was overcome with pleasure. “Fuck, yeah, I’m…I’m so close.”

John didn’t think, just reached out and cupped the back of Ghost’s head, just like he’d done earlier. Ghost’s eyes snapped open, and he looked at John with a kind of desperate, mute submission. Tell me to come, and I’ll come, he seemed to be saying. Give me permission, and I’ll do it.

“I wanna fuck it into him,” John whispered, just for them. “I wanna feel it on me, Simon. Get him wet for me.”

Ghost’s mouth dropped open in a silent gasp, and he panted for air, brow creased, as his hips snapped in once, twice more.

“Coming,” he breathed, “Oh, fuck, I’m-”

“Atta boy, Simon,” John said, rubbing firm circles into the nape of Ghost’s neck, an echo, now, of the last time. It would always be like this between them, he thought, back and forth, push and pull. Ghost stilled for one endless moment, muscles tense and shaking as he lost himself in Soap’s body, then let out a long, ragged breath and slowly pulled out, sitting back on his heels.

He was gorgeous, yeah, and in another life John had the patience to drink his fill of Ghost looking ruined and fucked out, eyes dazed. But in this one, he couldn’t wait another. Fucking. Second.

“Come here,” he said to Soap, ordered. He started pulling him up, guided that thick, heavy little body to straddle his lap. Soap looked like he had no idea what was happening, eyes bleary and mouth wet, as he let himself be moved. “Come here, baby,” Price said again, and Soap shuddered, moaning in surprise.

Baby.

“You like that?” John asked, still a little delirious. He positioned Soap how he wanted, knees wedged on either side of John’s thighs, and put one hand between his legs. “You wanna be my baby?”

“Ah, Jesus,” Soap breathed, and John didn’t give him time to think about it, was feeling at his wet, puffy rim, at the ruin that Ghost had left of him. Just a trickle running out, and John rubbed his thumb in it before slipping it inside. “Jesus, Price.”

John felt unhinged, Soap’s arse was almost burning, hot and so, so soft, already open and ready for him. “Baby,” he said again, and a part of him, a part he’d never let himself really consider, wanted Soap to call him daddy, the way they’d teased that night in Ghost’s office. Wanted to hear it, just once, wanted to find out if it was as hot as he thought it might be.

“Here you go,” he murmured into Soap’s ear, and grabbed the base of his cock again, notching it into that sweetly gaping entrance. “Sit on it for me, baby, darlin’, show me you want it.”

Soap sank down like his body was made for it, and John had to close his eyes, a deep groan rumbling in his chest. It was almost too good, impossibly good, the slick slide of his cock through that used hole, through all the oil and spit and Ghost’s hot come. He transferred his grip to Soap’s waist, digging his fingers into the muscle stacked there, and sank into the soft weight of Soap’s arms draped around his neck, the drag of that wet body against his, Soap’s hard, untouched cock catching against John’s shirt.

“Can you ride me?” he asked, bouncing Soap a little on his lap. “Work for me?”

Soap panted out an exhausted laugh. “Oh, aye, if it kills me,” he sighed, and lifted himself on shaky thighs - John could feel him trembling, could imagine the ache -

“Simon, help him,” he said, and when he met Simon’s tired eyes over Soap’s shoulder it was like an electric bolt through his bloodstream. His cock flexed inside of Soap, in that filthy wetness inside him that Ghost had left, and then Ghost was kneeling up behind Soap and his hands were brushing John’s as he grabbed hold of Soap’s hips.

“Not already broken, sweetheart?”

“Nae…never…”

Ghost lifted Soap like he was a doll, helping him slide up and down on John, and John leaned back against the headboard, let his head rock back, ran a thumb over the back of Ghost’s hand as he let them take care of him.

His boys.

“Could let you do this forever,” he said, bouncing his hips up a little on a downstroke to watch Soap jerk. He stroked one hand around to Soap’s belly and pressed in a little, imagined he could feel himself in there, so deep as Ghost slammed Soap down. “Yeah, baby? Wanna keep you ready for me, for both of us, so we can just fuck you whenever we please.” He watched through half lidded eyes as Ghost kissed and sucked at Soap’s shoulders, found a spot that made him gasp and tighten up.

“Dream come true,” Soap said, and smiled hazily as Ghost whispered something softly in his ear.

Whore. Slut. I love you. One of those.

John’s heart turned over again as he took in the picture they made. Soap was one of the prettiest things he’d ever seen, always had been, those stormy-ocean blue eyes and his baby-doll mouth, little gym rat body that never lost its inviting, plush roundness no matter what he did. Golden skin streaked with sweat, dark eyelashes clumped with tears. So pretty it hurt, so pretty that for a very long time John had trained himself to just not look.

And behind him like a wall, in striking contrast, Simon Riley. Implacable and quietly beautiful, pale like he was carved from marble except for the pink blush of his cheeks, the scattering of freckles, the eyes that shone darkly through his impossibly light lashes… John hadn’t been able to ignore Simon, not really, every glimpse of his face was another surprising jolt of oh, he’s beautiful under there, how could I forget. Just the curve of his upper lip had the potential, John thought, to destroy him if he let it. The wide, sharp sweep of his cheekbones could cut him to pieces.

Best that he wore that fucking mask. Best that he and Soap loved each other. Best that John stay away.

Until he found himself in their bed.

“Captain,” Ghost was saying and then, tilting his head forward a little, “John.” And John felt the last of his walls come crumbling down, in that instant, reached for Ghost and drew him in, drew them all together, and kissed those lips again, over Soap’s shoulder, and then turned his head and caught Soap’s mouth as well, traded kisses between them until he lost track of who was who, and it was just skin and spit, breath and heat.

“Please,” Soap chanted into the space between them, “Please, please,” until with a soft little hum Ghost slipped a hand between them all, into the mess of tangled limbs they made, and grabbed Soap’s cock, gave him something to pump into as he bounced.

“You’re being such a good fucking boy, aren’t you, Johnny?” he said. “You gotta be good for just a little longer. You gotta be good for the Captain before you can come.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, until it was almost ephemeral in the wet air between them. “Can you wait for daddy?”

He said it to Soap, but kept his eyes on John, and a look of satisfaction crossed his face as Soap tossed his head back and drew in a long, shuddering gasp. John supposed he must have looked like he’d been hit over the head, he felt like it, but he didn’t care because Soap had tightened on him, was shaking in his lap and clenching on his cock, and John was fucking Ghost’s come out of him, feeling it drip down his balls, and Ghost had called him daddy.

“Say it.” John’s voice was hoarse, gravelly. He slipped a hand up Soap’s front, up to his throat, and at Ghost’s nod, wrapped it lightly around his throat. “Say it, Johnny.”

“I…” Soap slumped back against Ghost’s chest and let himself be rocked, eyes closed. “Oh fuck, please.”

John tightened his grip, ever so slightly. “Say it for us,” he said again. “Come on, baby show us what you really are.”

“Daddy,” Soap mumbled, hesitant, and then again louder as John slammed up into him in reward. “Daddy, fuck, oh fuck you, daddy, please please-”

“There’s a lad,” John soothed, and that was it, Soap was gone, coming in a hot spill over Ghost’s fist and onto John’s belly, eyes squeezed shut tight and mouth hanging open, a shine of spit smearing his lower lip.

John didn’t even care that he’d come first, didn’t care about games anymore, he was too caught up in how good it felt, how good it was to be inside Soap MacTavish while he lost himself to orgasm, how impossibly good it was to be covered in both their come, the evidence of their pleasure all over him, surrounding him. Soap collapsed back against Ghost and let himself go limp, just a hot, welcoming body for John to fuck up into, and John took the invitation.

He planted his boot more firmly on the floor, let go of Soap’s throat to instead grab the meat of Ghost’s shoulder, and when he pushed his hips up, it felt like he was fucking the both of them. They surrounded him, went soft under his hands, his, his boys, his men, whispering to him and urging him on. It was so sweet, so fucking sweet, to be a part of what they had, even just for now. Just for a taste.

“Boys,” he started, and broke off, panting. “Boys.”

“Are you gonna come in me, daddy?” Soap asked, and now his smile was more of a smirk. John felt his heart swell with affection, even as he grew closer, closer, his orgasm dancing just out of reach.

“Little shit,” he murmured, and they both laughed at him, low and gentle.

“Your little shit,” Soap said sincerely, looking at John with those bright blue eyes. “Aye, you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

It was better, John thought, than all the dirty talk, all the games. Yours, whatever that meant, whatever they’d let it mean, he’d take it.

“Ours,” Ghost added, and that. That was enough.

John came quietly, just closed his eyes and dropped his head forward, squeezed Soap’s waist and Ghost’s shoulder, and finally, finally, let himself go. Let himself pulse into the mess Ghost had already left, add to it, let himself make his own claim. Ours, ours, the word ran circles around his head, and he couldn’t breathe for it, couldn’t think. There was just the pleasure, blinding, and that one devastating word.

Ours.

~

Ghost’s hair was growing out of its tight crew cut, just enough for the sweat to make it start to curl a little around his hairline and over his ears. John didn’t let himself think about it much before he reached up and plucked gently at one of those curls, wrapping it around his finger to feel the softness, tugging softly. Ghost gave him a wry look, but didn’t move from where he was leaning back against the wall, stripped down to his briefs, thick thighs spread out on the bed and taking up as much room as possible. Price had simply collapsed back against the pillows, barely managing to tuck himself back into his trousers, and poor Soap had sprawled himself out on top of them both, heavy and uncomfortable and unmoving.

They needed to start doing this on a bigger bed.

“You’re a redhead,” Price remarked, just to fill the silence. He’d always thought Ghost’s hair was a nondescript brownish-blond, but with the length, and in the soft glow of Soap’s lamp, he realised he’d been wrong. He was unaccountably pleased by this revelation, by the glints of orange and red shining in those loose curls. Just liked knowing things about him, he supposed. Liked that he could still be surprised.

“Aye, it’s bonny,” Soap piped up, dramatically Scottish like he was sometimes out of nowhere. “Isn’t it?”

John laughed softly at the look of irritation on Ghost’s face, let them bicker with each other for a minute as he came back to himself.

He could get used to this, and he was afraid of it.

“What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Aye, you don’t like it as much as Price likes being called daddy.”

“Jesus Christ - “

“Boys.”

John cut in gently, and the Captain was back in his voice, as much as he hated to put it there. Two sets of eyes on him, dark and light, and he took a deep breath.

It’s nothing. This is just sex. I knew that going in, and they love each other, and their love for each other is something that deserves to be protected. This is just sex, and they’re not really mine any more than they were yesterday, or last week, or last month.

He let the breath out slowly, and the thoughts racing around his head out with it.

“We should talk.”

Soap bit his lip. “Captain, are you breaking up with us already?”

Ghost rolled his eyes, and cuffed Soap gently up the side of the head. “Shut up, Soap, fuck’s sake,” he muttered, and it was so casual, so clearly something he’d said a million times, that Soap didn’t even look at him.

“So talk, Price,” Soap went on, a challenge in his voice. “What are we talking about?”

Don’t you ever tell me Johnny MacTavish isn’t my business again.

I’m not used to this…

Your little shit.

Ours.

John sat up just enough to kiss Soap, tugged Ghost down to catch his lips too, just a quick press.

“We’re talking about this,” he said firmly. “And what the fuck we’re doing in and out of this bed. Okay?”

And he might have imagined it, but he thought, maybe, Ghost looked proud.

“Always talk talk talk with you,” he muttered, but neither of them argued, and this time, when his heart turned over in his chest, John didn’t ignore it.

This time, for the first time, he let it hope.

Notes for the Chapter:

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Table of Contents

- Take a Bite and Let it Linger

- Title Page
- 1. Watching
- 2. Recon
- 3. Promise

- The Sweet Taste of Kerosene