Chapter Text
He couldn't ask himself how he got here when he knew plenty well. Guiding Soap to him, he only had small windows of relative calm between periods of combat and worry. He hoped Soap had paced himself well enough on his way to the church, but Ghost knew better. Pacing hadn't been an option.
So when Soap had begun to doze off on the way to the safehouse, Ghost took to patching him up as best he could. He pulled just far enough off the road to stanch the bleeding, and interrupt Soap's rest just enough to make sure the man would be able to wake up when needed. He let him drift back to sleep after a drink of water, and resumed his drive in silence. When he'd shifted, Ghost could feel the sting of a small wound off his calf where a bullet had grazed him on the ricochet back in the church. But it wasn't enough to warrant concern, nor was it the leg he was using to drive, so it easily slid from his mind again when the ache subsided. It wouldn't take much to patch, and if the cold, drying blood across his leg was anything to go by, it wasn't bleeding enough to be a problem.
He felt like a moron. How many times can one man be blindsided by the selfish and malicious within the military and still feel like a credible and responsible person? Soap was all he had, for now. He spared a glance over at the sergeant, not even shifting anything but his eyes. When pride began to swell in his chest, he blinked extra hard to shove it back down. The flirting they'd been doing would've been dangerous any other time, but now it may just be them against the world. What did it matter? They could toy with it for a little while. Whatever kept them alive, sane, and competent. At the least, Soap more than earned his trust. He has to remember that.
-
They took some time at the safehouse to gather themselves and ride out the crash from the adrenaline. Soap was back to being steady on his feet, and Ghost found a place to tuck in and check himself over. He cleaned off his leg and slapped a bandage over the small gash before checking what he could see and feel for any other injuries. What felt like bruises could be worse than they seemed, and he had to make sure it he wasn't going to fall apart when he needed to stay held together. As he rolled his pant legs back down, he stiffened at the sound of someone walking in on him. "Bad time?" a charming Scottish voice spoke softly from behind him, and Ghost calmed himself down. When was there a good time for anything, right now? "Want me to check your back, LT?"
Ghost finally twisted around to look at the other man. He knew the longer he looked, the more Soap could read out of him. How he did that was beyond him. Soap was a natural at Simon. Besides, he could guess the sergeant simply wanted to return the favor from that patch job in the car. With his typical efficiency, Ghost slid from his jacket and pried his shirt up just enough to expose all the way up to his shoulders without pulling it over his head. Soap took the invitation with no hesitation, as if this was something they'd done a hundred times by now. Ghost was grateful he could refrain from flinching away at the touch to one of his shoulders, and the deep pain from Soap feeling along a bruise there grounded him. Soap was uncharacteristically quiet, but only for as long as it took him to verify what he did and didn't see.
"All clear. Nothing serious anywhere," he said, voice growing softer as he spoke. Despite the confirmation, Ghost could feel the tantalizingly soft touch of fingers on his back, and after a moment of furrowing his brow in thought, he remembered a scar that should be sitting right under those fingertips. He almost tugged himself away, prepared to shoot down any prying questions, but the other man was already pulling away. With a fairly graceless shimmy, his shirt rolled back down and hid his history once again. Soap hadn't taken a single step, and Ghost wasn't prepared to turn around and see why. To be vulnerable just yet. The peeling of velco snapped him out of it, though, and he shifted himself to make eye contact with Soap.
"Wanted to return these to you," Soap said, still in a strangely soft voice, as he held out two knives that Ghost immediately recognized. He reached for them on autopilot, but Soap didn't reach to meet him like he'd expected. "You ever talk about any of those?"
It was a simple question, but it had Ghost's reach freezing partway to his knives. Soap had earned his trust. "Negative," he said with what he hoped was an obvious pause. When the weight of the silence provided a comforting enough blanket across them, he continued. "Which ones?"
Soap immediately lit up at the encouragement, but struggled to snuff it back down. Ghost almost chuckled. He didn't want to dissuade him or scare him off, huh? Sitting back, he pointedly glanced at one scar visible on his arm, then back to Soap. It was a long one, and should be obvious that it was a hell of a gash at one point. He could even still make out the smaller dashes from the stitches on either side. The sergeant's smile relaxed Ghost further, and he chose to make it obvious in his posture. They had time to kill.
"That one on your back looked right nasty," Soap said, hooking his foot on the corner of a stool and dragging it over to sit across from Ghost. He should've figured.
"That one's from before my service. Scuffle with my father." Ghost kept it simple. His father didn't deserve someone beating around the bush. If someone wanted to know what that asshole had done, he'd say it. It was how he learned to keep his temper, lest he become a spitting image.
Soaps face fell in record time. If he looked closely, Ghost bet he could pick the emotions apart, but it felt violating to do with this man in particular. He waited, reaching forward for the knives again. This time, something possessed him. He gently took Soap's hand, after removing one of the knives from it, and guided it over to make the other man press the flat of the blade to his chest. "I'm used to getting hurt, Johnny. Sometimes, it's for good reasons. Makes it worth it."
"Shame someone like him is behind anything that's part of you, LT." Soap's use of the nickname hit differently that time, and Ghost stopped breathing for a moment. Is this the crash from the adrenaline? Or the result of all that time on comms bantering back and forth? It's a good time to be honest, either way, given everything that happened.
"What would you do about it, sergeant? Memories fade anyway. You asked, I answered," Ghost responded, keeping his voice just gentle enough so that Soap wouldn't take it as him brushing him off.
"We were fixin' each other's problems," Soap nearly whispered, carefully dragging the knife down Ghost's chest in a way that made his stomach roll. The flexing must've been noticeable enough, as Soap's eyes widened just the slightest. "What if I gave you something new to remember?"
Ghost wasn't sure he knew how to breathe anymore. Was Soap offering to...? He knew his eyes had to be giving something away even if he was fighting every urge to press against the blade. Before he could think too much about it, Soap gave a reassuring push to the knife. He leaned it to the thicker edge, applying pressure instead of actually trying to break skin. Yet. Ghost could've moaned. How the fuck was Johnny doing this to him? He could swear he was incapable of moving, yet he looked to see his hand gripping Soap's wrist. Was he about to push him away?
No. His decision made, he used his free hand to lift his shirt up again in silent invitation before pulling on the man's wrist, poking the slightest bit into his skin and drawing the tiniest bead of blood. Soap's pupils grew when he dragged his gaze to Ghost's. Gloved hand falling from guiding the knife, Soap used the freedom to lean closer and paused. It was amazing how quickly Ghost got familiar with his silent questions. Ghost pressed his masked lips to Soap's and smiled into the gasp that sounded miles away, knowing the man could feel it. While he basked in the sensation of smashing the fabric between them both, Soap moved his shirt up to drag the blade slowly over where he somehow perfectly remembered the scar from before being. This time, Ghost let himself moan.
It lit a fire under the both of them. Ghost pulled his shirt up and off entirely, and Soap kicked the stool aside to rise and kneel closer to Ghost. He leaned to look around at his work, bringing the knife up one more time to align the slice more with the old scar there. "Mine now," he whispered with an especially low and tender tone. Ghost actually growled in response, closing his eyes as if all he needed in life was that sensation and those words. Like he could survive another hundred years on that alone. How did this demolition-loving sunshine man understand the fucked up mess sitting before him so perfectly as to tick all these boxes at once? It was as much an art as those sketches he occasionally spotted the man doing.
The blade traveled across his back as Soap's mouth crashed against his again, and he could feel a throbbing tightness in his lap. Here and there, the blade kissed as sensually as the man. His shoulders, his chest, and even down to his hip. He grunted against Soap's mouth, which worked to get the smaller man to pull back. Without a word, he quickly reached up and pushed his mask just enough out of the way that they could deepen their kisses. Soap ate it up greedily, seeming to entirely forget the knife work for the moment. When they pulled apart to breathe, Ghost honed in on the stinging in his back with an especially shaky breath.
With the knife still in hand, Soap dragged the blade down his stomach again. He watched with delight at the view of the muscles rolling in response. It was barely enough to draw blood this time, and the reason was obvious when he gave the blade a tug, tugging Ghost's belt with it. "I owe ya for the bandaging, and I think I've earned this, aye sir?"
"Think you have," Ghost replied as he tugged the belt free and, with Soap's help, hauled everything down just enough to free his cock. It was easily erect enough already that he should be embarrassed, but seeing Soap's enthusiasm threw any negative feelings out the window. He watched the man give it a tentative touch, and damn him to hell and back for how much that alone felt like heaven. The strokes that followed were barely noted in the surprise of watching Soap lean over and start to take it into his mouth. With a grin, Ghost realized Soap was showing off as he eagerly took him into his throat, letting his tongue glide along it as it went. His free hand went down to Ghost's base, and he slowly began to bob along. In his reluctance to thrust and make it more difficult for Soap, Ghost reached down to take up the hand that held the knife again. He pried the knife away, and the hand found a grip on his thigh instead. Soap took his time, lapping his tongue all over Ghost's length as if it was a sweet treat he'd denied him for years. Maybe that's how it felt to the other man, but thinking more about what this was and would mean had to wait until later.
Right now, all Ghost could do was give way to Soap's oral praise. He let his hips rock forward as he took him back, and they both fell into a rhythm. Ghost brought the back of a gloved hand to his mouth, smothering any sounds that tried to escape. They weren't alone in the building, even if he knew the man would be busy preparing for their rescue operation. There was so much he wanted to say, and it was a foreign feeling for him. He desperately wished he could, but now wasn't the time, and this wasn't the place. Not to mention it was getting harder to think. Too hard to focus on anything other than the wet sounds, the sting in his back, and the pleasure between his hips.
He bit into the back of the glove, letting a muffled groan escape to warn Johnny of his release. Looking down, all he got was an upward glance from Soap as he slowly took Ghost all the way back just as he started to throb. Ghost's free hand tangled into Soap's hair at the root. He didn't tug, but instead held on like his life depended on it as he rode out his orgasm. His grip was light enough that Soap could inch back if he needed to pull away and breathe, but he didn't seem to need that out. He didn't pull away until Ghost was finished, greedily licking his lips while maintaining eye contact.
It was unfair what this man could do to him. It felt as dangerous as the Shadows that caused all their problems today. Damn if it wasn't proving to be worth it, though.
Wiping clean with the unused side of the rag he used earlier to scrub blood from his leg, Ghost caught his breath. He glanced questioningly at Soap, but was met with a shaking head. He really did just want to pay Ghost back for his help, huh? Without a word, which made Ghost wonder if his throat had to recover or he was also catching his breath, Soap picked through the med pack and cleaned up the little cuts he'd left. As he reached with some ointment for the largest, Ghost whipped around and snatched up his arm with breakneck speed. "Leave that one."
The weight of those words had Soap's lips crashing against his again.
It was his now.