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When his body is failing to shut off and rest, Soap thinks of home. Out there, on the other side of the world, the sun is rising over Loch Alsh and everyone he’s ever cared about is waking up. Here, he’s clutching a paperback by Kristen Ghodsee lent to him by his sister before shipping out. It might have been a joke at his expense, but it’s coming in handy in lulling him to sleep with dense theory on things he never paid that much attention to. The jetlag has him reeling for the fifth night in a row.
Bugs baited by his reading light click against the window looking out into the pitch dark of the muggy night as Soap sweats. Somewhere a dog barks. Crickets chirp in the wild fields surrounding the outpost. The sound of the world breathing all around him is constant enough that Soap avoids reaching for the knife he’s got tucked in his boot when a pair of footsteps make their way down the stairs.
It’s the Lieutenant. By now, he’s got the pattern of his steps down to a subconscious level. The heavy, slow gait makes the old wood of the steps creak and shift, and Soap isn’t stupid enough to think its Ghost getting sloppy. Only reason he heard Lt making his way down is because the man wants to be acknowledged.
Soap picks his head up from his book, abandoning the paragraph he’s been blankly re-reading for the fifth time in a row just to catch a glimpse of the Lt heading out. Same gear, balaclava still on, but unarmed. Unless Ghost is one of those dogs Soap’s seen on the telly alerting to a cataclysm that’s about to befall them all, Soap can cast the assumption he’s not the only one that’s having a hard time staying unconscious for his allotted six hours.
Shoving the candy wrapper he’s been using for a bookmark between the pages, he throws the paperback aside to stretch. Much like a stray cat eager for any scrap thrown its way, Soap makes up his mind and follows their Lieutenant out the door.
“Got a smoke?” He calls out into the dark, loud enough to only be heard by someone a couple of feet away. A few more steps into the unlit yard the door shuts behind him, cutting off the glare cast from the lamp he left buzzing behind.
With no sharp contrast messing with his eyesight, the soft blotch of white painted on Ghost’s mask becomes more apparent. The Lieutenant is leaning up against the pockmarked wall of the building keeping the entire 141 safe for the night. The lack of a barked immediate dismissal means Soap is welcome to settle in right next to him.
“My last one.” Ghost rumbles, pulling out a crushed pack of Mexican brand cigarettes he keeps in his back pocket. The overkill closeup of a milky glaucoma eye printed got on the pack watches as the Lt fishes out the last crumpled cig. Not Soap’s first choice, if anything smoking them is like sucking on an LSV’s exhaust pipe, but nicotine withdrawal is a humbling experience.
Two days in since his last smoke has Soap considering huffing the empty tobacco bag he refuses to throw away for this exact reason. It was supposed to last him at least another couple of weeks. His maw would wring his neck with how much he’s been smoking lately.
“If you wanna bum it, you’ll have to earn it.” Ghost says after the two of them loiter in silence, in full knowledge of what Soap’s working himself up to ask.
The unexpected crude suggestion sends a spark down Soap’s spine. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other to shake the live wire feeling settling under his skin. It’s been even longer since he’s had anything but his hand keeping him entertained. Just about anything has his head rolling straight to the gutter, even when it’s his superior making a shitty joke. Especially when it’s his superior making a shitty joke.
Ghost throws the pack on the ground just as a gust of wind sweeps it up and carries it off into the night. With a flash from his disposable lighter which barely has enough liquid to spark, he lights it up his second try, further feeding into Soap thinking the Lieutenant is the most compelling man alive.
“What? You want me to suck you off?” Soap gives a half assed chuckle as his throat constricts at just how bad it sounds coming out his mouth. All this time spent in close proximity to the Lieutenant and Soap still has trouble figuring out if half the shit that comes out of Ghost’s mouth is meant to be taken seriously or not.
Doesn’t help that the big fucker never misses an opportunity to make him squirm.
“Why not?”
It’s too dark to get a proper read on the Lt. Only real source of light is Ghost toying with his yellow plastic BIC. A steady flick of the spark wheel illuminates his face in brief flashes. Again. Again.
He’s got his balaclava bunched up to his nose, exposing his lower face and neck. Blond stubble catches the light, bringing attention to his lips clefted by a scar deep enough to warp the neutral expression into a constant downturn.
“You’re joking.” He’s not joking. Whatever’s settling between the both of them is damn near unbearable and Soap is fucking awful at pretending like this isn’t something he has never considered. Like this isn’t the path his brain led him down on each time it’s just him with an extra half an hour to spare before its lights out. Only thing that doesn’t fit the fantasy Soap has been playing out night after night to get himself over the finish line is that it’s happening now - middle of nowhere at piss o’clock while Soap is sweating like a pig.
“Up to you.” Ghost holds out the lit cig in his direction as a challenge, wasting precious seconds as embers eat away at the tobacco. The wet gleam of his eyes hidden behind the shadow of his mask and fading face paint betray that Soap has his full attention - the cigarette between them a scope as the Lt has him in his sights.
“What if someone sees?” Soap whispers, flicking a tongue against his chapped lower lip.
If his question couldn’t be any more damning, something on Soap’s face must betray he made up his mind. Ghost makes a throaty noise that can almost be mistaken for a snort. In a damn good mood tonight, then.
“Bit cagey for a bloke who just decided to blow me.” The exposed, scarred lip twitches into a smirk before it’s willed into the familiar, passive indifference which has a constant residence on the Lieutenant’s face. At least Johnny’s got confirmation Ghost is , in fact, making his own fun by reading Soap cover to cover. Somehow managing to get the full gauge of the situation when Soap can’t see more than three basted feet in front of him.
Bare arsed and virginal, the real embarrassing bit is that prior to this moment, Soap didn’t think he was this fucking easy to figure out. Before ending up in the 141 with Lt as his direct report, nobody else has managed to dress him down quite like this. Maybe the headteacher he had in year seven, but Miss is not something he wants to focus on when Ghost starts undoing his belt. There’s a constant, overwhelming presence of authority wafting off the Lt that has Soap eating it up with a hunger of a starved man each time he gets a show of it being enforced. The fact that it’s directed at him just makes it better in this particular context.
Soap isn’t night blind enough to miss out on ogling the hollows of Ghost’s cheeks as Ghost takes the first, and last, drag of the cig. One long, indulgent breath of pure tar before he snuffs it out on the sole of his boot and stuffs it in his chest pocket. The smell of cheap smokes in the air is damn near heavenly.
“Don’t want it burning out before you’re done, right?” Ghost asks. Purely rhetorical. Teasing. His voice, a low rumbling hum, fills the space between both of them. There’s a dangerous tinge to the ribbing he’s throwing Soap’s way tonight. It sounds like a man who just got what he wants with a lot less effort than prepared for. It’s not flirting as much succeeding in a game made up by a man who prides himself on being a cunt.
Wordlessly, Soap gets on his knees, the grit of the dirt road digging into his skin through the fabric of his pants.
Ghost’s uncanny talent of seeing right through his sergeant makes an appearance again - a dry sounding chuckle escapes from the Lieutenant, like Soap just proved a private bet. He probably did, acting this eager. Johnny can feel his heart beating against his ribcage. The heat Soap’s been feeling in his face at the display of dominance (no surprise there, Johnny has never been known to have a normal reaction to anything in his life) routes itself to his groin, pants getting too tight around his crotch at the sight of Ghost unzipping his jeans.
The fantasy he’d been entertaining most of the tour is that Ghost finally loses his patience and shows just what kind of monster he’s got hidden away in his pants. Going by the way Ghost acts, it has to be impressive. Fucking monumental and belonging to a man knows how to work it. He’d give his Sargent a show and fuck Soap into an early retirement. Honourable discharge.
The prospect of blowing the Lt has Soap’s stomach in knots. Not his first choice in activity. There’s been a few instances where he’s killed the mood with his finnicky gag reflex. The thought of retching all over Ghost’s boots has his dick flagging, but Soap’s not backing down. Springing into action, Soap grabs Ghost’s gloved hands, stopping the Lt from pulling down his underwear. Shuffling in closer between the man’s legs he’s hit the scent of detergent.
Fucker’s wearing a fresh set of pants. Soap feels his palms itch from the sweat of the hot night air and the connection he’s just made in his brain. It’s like finding out the girl he brought home is wearing a matching lacy set – just confirms it was her choice from the start, and she was going to fuck him no matter how awkward of a naff he was the entire night. Speaking from experience, for military men it’s a clean set of underwear - Ghost has been planning getting Soap on his knees before he even made it down those stairs. The humiliation and arousal both hit at equal measure at the thought of just how big of a slut his Lieutenant thinks he is.
He hooks his thumbs on the band of Ghost’s underwear and pulls down. Whatever expectations he has to this point have no grounding in the reality of the situation. Fuck. At least now Soap’s got the answer why he’s never seen the Lt shower, piss, or shit.
“You gonna act like this changes anything?” Ghost challenges, his body on full prideful display.
There’s a bare edge to the question, bait to catch Soap out. An invisible line is drawn in the dirt between both of them, the big deciding factor if Soap is worth giving a shit about. If he was daft enough to lie now, he’d end up outing himself as just another scrub too preoccupied with his own fragile masculinity to confront the fact that he’s on his knees, cock still hard, staring at his superior’s cunt.
Soap doesn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care. He might do, later. When all the blood pooling downwards returns back to steadily supplying his brain with oxygen again, he’ll need to rethink the logistics of the shit he’s been jacking off to. He’s fucked men, had a long-term girlfriend, he couldn’t give less of a shit about any of them now. Not when he has Ghost in front of him offering himself up like Soap did anything to deserve it. If he wastes any more time, he can practically taste the steel tip boot smashing into his jaw, sending him flat on his ass. The thought makes his body shudder. He’d deserve it, too. The Lieutenant doesn’t entertain idiots wasting his time.
Instead of risking saying the wrong thing and messing this up, Soap gives a mute shake of his head as a response.
“Use your words, Johnny.” He places his hand on Soap’s head, gloved fingers raking through his scalp. “Never stopped you before.”
“No sir.”
That’s all Ghost is looking for.
Placing both his hands on Ghost’s thighs, Soap takes a tentative swipe with his tongue. He’s running on blind instinct. Lt’s big enough to make it self-explanatory, if daunting, but that is Johnny desperate to please. Appreciating the trail of blond hair trailing up to Ghost’s navel, he eyes an old appendix surgery scar. Its jarring. The hardest proof he has to date that Ghost didn’t just crawl out the river Mersey one day, fully formed, sniper rifle in hand, ready to enlist.
He puts his mouth around Ghost’s bottom growth, enjoying the involuntary twitch of muscle at the pleasant sensation. Nothing about the Lt is feminine, so he works him like he’d want someone to suck his own dick. The errant thought makes Soap’s cock twitch as he starts palming himself through his trousers.
“Keep your hands on me. You’re earning your smoke, not getting off.” Ghost says, tugging on Soap’s hair.
Fucking sadist. Shoving himself closer in between Ghost’s thighs, Soap runs his thumb across Ghost’s entrance, appreciating how wet Ghost is.
“Don’t.” Ghost warns.
Soap stays silent, learning as he goes, straying hand returning to rest on Ghost’s thigh. His full attention is back on lapping at his superior’s cock, hoping the shift in priority is enough of an acknowledgement. He doesn’t want Ghost to hear the disappointment in his voice if he sounds out an affirmative. His tongue trails the underside of Ghost’s dick, down and up, dipping into the heady wetness gathering between Ghost’s folds. Lt’s cunt is practically begging for Soap to stuff Ghost to his knuckles, fuck him with his fingers while he sucks him off just to hear Ghost react.
Even when he’s hard enough to start blacking out he can recognise a boundary’s been set. Johnny isn’t a dickhead. It’s one of the only things he’s actually proud about himself beyond the superficial wink at the washboard he’s earned hitting the gym six times a week back home. Not oblivious enough to call himself a nice guy on dating apps, but the kinda bloke who cries in front of other people when the dog in a movie dies and crosses the street if he sees a girl walking towards him alone at night.
Lt shifts above him, and Soap realises he’s been working the same path along Ghost’s dick with his tongue this entire time. For Ghost, the novelty’s wearing off. The thought of Ghost figuring out Soap’s been thinking about fingerfucking him while patting himself on the back for ignoring that intrusive thought is downright sobering.
“Haven’t done this much.” It’s not even a question, just a blunt statement.
“I’ve had a girl before.” Soap says, defensive.
“My condolences to her.” The chuckle is almost worth the hit to Soap’s ego. “Here’s how you get a man off.”
Soap’s nose is smashed against Ghost’s pelvis as both the Lieutenant’s hands grip Soap’s head, shoving his face into his cunt in an animalistic search for pleasure. A muffled yelp of surprise escapes him, the sharp edges of the zipper dig into Soap’s cheek while Ghost thrusts into his mouth. Held in place, Soap’s mouth is shamelessly being used for relief. Spit mixes with Ghost’s wetness, dribbling down his chin. It is simultaneously the most degrading and hottest thing Soap has ever been wilfully a part of.
He relaxes. Slacking in Ghost’s grip, he lets it happen - allowing Ghost to use him in however way he deems fit. He keeps his mouth open, tongue pressed against the underside of Ghost’s cock, making sure the friction hits sweetest just to hear the Lieutenant’s approving hum. Quick learner. Promising. He’s sure Ghost said so himself, at some point before he ended up on his knees. Have be to be part of the 141, and to end up getting mouthfucked by their Lt.
Soap coughs, catching himself off guard as his lungs constrict in a desperate bid to suck in a breath of air.
A sobering urgency cuts through the haze of dopamine, his body giving out from lack of oxygen. With a weak shove, Soap digs his nails into Ghost’s thigh as his throat closes to swallow at a phantom gulp of air. The vice grip holding him firmly in place doesn’t recede, the Lt is too busy riding his own high. Another ditch attempt at pulling himself away has his teeth grazing sensitive skin. It does the trick, there’s a hiss of pain that sounds more annoyed at the inconvenience.
Ghost pulls him off with a grunt as Soap sucks in his first rasping breath in minutes.
“Come on, Johnny, don’t tell me you can’t handle a bit of banter.” Ghost mocks, there’s an edge of urgency to his voice. He’s close. Maybe a few thrusts away from getting off. The thought makes Soap’s own neglected dick ache to remind him he too is moments away from ruining his only pair of uniform trousers.
He must be panting pretty hard; Lt’s rough grip turns to fingers running through Soap’s mohawk while Soap tries to even out his breathing. Ghost is petting him like a dog. Soap leans into the touch.
It takes him no further prodding to return to using his mouth on the Lt. He can see how hard the Ghost is, what a mess he’s making between his thighs. If Ghost gave him the time, he’d lick him clean.
Compromising on the no finger rule, Soap shoves his face in between Ghost’s folds. Nose pressing up against Ghost’s clit, Soap dips his tongue into him, as deep as he can. The tight entrance constricts at the intrusion, but Ghost doesn’t pull him away. It’s an acceptable middle ground. The Lt is more than content in using Soap’s face as his personal stroker while Soap laps at his cunt, imagining just how tight a fit it would be around his cock. Tight, but he’d bottom out, really put his claim in.
He can feel Ghost cum around his lips. The release of tension making his sensitive cock twitch as Soap tides him through the aftershocks with courteous licks. Towering over him, the Lt stands rooted in place, looking no different than the inscrutable bull of a man he always is. If he wasn’t touching him, there’d be no indication Ghost just got off, but Soap can feel the tension in the powerful muscles of his thighs, can sense each throb of his hole constricting against nothing.
He’d do some awful things just to be allowed to go balls deep and satisfy that primal craving expressed by Ghost’s body.
A deep sigh from Ghost is the most Soap will get as thanks. He swats Johnny away to avoid any further discomfort of him not knowing when to quit. The Lieutenant covers himself up, letting Soap observe as he zips up his jeans and tightens his belt. Just like that, all evidence of Ghost’s little indiscretion is gone. Swept under the rug while Soap’s in the dirt, looking gormless.
“Clean yourself up, Johnny, you’re a mess.” Ghost finally speaks up.
He lifts him by the collar of his sweat soaked shirt, holding him upright. Clamps a gloved hand over Soap’s mouth wiping it clean. The rough fabric of the glove scrapes the tender skin of Soap’s abused lips as Soap closes his eyes and savours the touch. His entire body hums with tension, legs shaky and half asleep now forced to carry his weight.
Forget doing awful things just to drain his balls in Ghost’s cunt, at this point he’d do much worse just to finally cum in his pants and have that well-earned fucking smoke.
Before Soap can wriggle his way out of Ghost’s grip, that same slick covered hand gets shoved down Soap’s pants, grabbing his dick with little regard. Lt’s five steps ahead, as always. Soap can barely keep himself from crying out at the mixture of pain and the overwhelming relief of touch. The reward for keeping it together has Ghost pressing Johnny against his chest. A thick thigh between Soap’s legs, arm wrapping around Soap’s waist, any other situation and Soap would be the blushing bride, feeling so damn held.
The wiped off blend of Soap’s spit and Ghost’s cum acts as a damn good field substitute for lube, to the point where Soap has to wonder just how often Ghost has guys on all fours behind the barracks. Now that’s the type of uncharacteristic bout of jealousy that has Soap digging his face into the crook of Ghost’s exposed neck as the Lt starts focusing on stroking his dick. The air around them is unbearably hot and Ghost is a furnace. He smells like sweat and burnt rubber, and there’s no chance in hell Soap is pulling away.
A few steady pumps are all it takes. It’s a surprise he even lasted long enough to have Ghost taking care of him in the first place. The fabric of the Lieutenant’s glove against the sensitive skin of his edged cock has him painting the inside of his pants as he comes with a groan.
The Lieutenant lets go to moment Soap’s done. He steps back without a single word, untangling himself from the mess of limbs and creating a gap in the space between them. Its barely a few steps, but it’s a clear signal, leaving Soap feeling raw edged at just how quick the Lt shuts it all down. Admirable. Johnny should be taking notes.
“As promised.”
Soap’s standing on legs he doesn’t quite trust, working through the stars in his vision when Ghost produces the cig. Before giving it away, he places the smoke between his teeth, flashing the snaggletooth that makes him look like he’s got an extra canine, and lights it.
“All yours.” Deal honoured, Ghost pulls the balaclava over his face and walks off saying little else.
Leaned up against the wall to decompress and make sense of what the hell just went down, Soap takes the first drag, burning the taste of the Lieutenant from his mouth.
The door slams as the Lt gets back inside, leaving Soap in the company of buzzing insects. The post nut clarity starts ringing clearer with each passing moment. Savouring each puff from the best damn cig he’s ever had, he stays out till he’s left with nothing but the filter.
Nice one, thanks. Mentally, Soap fills the gap with the shit that would probably kill the closed off bastard to say, throwing the cigarette butt aside before calling it a night.