Work Text:
Ask him on any other day and Soap would tell you that Ghost isn’t super big on public displays of affection.
Ghost will hold Soap’s hand, he’ll kiss him and hold him in a certain way that makes everyone know that they shouldn’t even try to fuck with him because Ghost, very obviously, owns him— but other than that, he isn’t one for touching like that in public spaces.
So… that. Ghost having him in his lap and kissing at his neck, touching his thigh and, very obliviously, trying to get him aroused? It’s probably very odd to Soap, almost unbelievable, and if he told anyone about this they’d never believe him.
Which… honestly, he sort of loves, weirdly enough, having this little thing that Soap will talk about for ages, a thing Ghost knows nobody will believe, because this is Simon he’s talking about, he’d never do something so provocative.
But Soap would know, he’d know because Ghost had pulled him into his lap and kissed at his neck, tried to get him hard in front of everyone, especially the girl who wanted to get into his pants so bad. Soap would try to get everyone to believe him, would swear it’s true— but they’d be the only ones who know it actually happened, like a secret that’s shared over and over but never believed.
Ghost leads Soap out of the bar, and he knows they shouldn’t drive right now, Ghost has had four, just about five, glasses of bourbon and Soap has had just about the same amount of scotch, but Ghost has experience with this, he can drive them back to base.
Easy. Not an issue at all, not even a hint of a problem with this plan.
He leads them to the car, and unsurprisingly Soap is the one who stops to argue, gripping Ghost’s bicep hard and forcing him to turn and look at him. He’s got these wide eyes that make cartoons look shameful, like he’s beyond disbelief, somewhere much stronger, like he’s offended.
“Y-You cannae drive, Simon, you’re.. you’re wasted!” He shouts, a little slurred and a little too loud, making Ghost lean forward so he can hush him, giving him one of those ‘would you shut the fuck up please’ kind of looks.
Ghost sighs, “‘M not wasted, Johnny. I’ve had four—“
“Almost five.”
Something warm settles in his stomach knowing that Soap was paying attention.
“…Almost five drinks. I can drive.” He argues, but Soap just shakes his head, firm in his belief and reaches for the keys, making Ghost sigh again and shake his head. “Fuckin’ hell, fine.”
Listening to Soap is easy, it’s as easy as breathing or putting a magazine into a gun and tightening his finger on the trigger. Soap is plenty authoritative, but that’s not why he obeys so easily— Ghost just.. likes listening to him, it feels natural, in some weird way he hasn’t figured out yet. Maybe he just likes getting on his good side, showing Soap that he can listen, he can be good and obedient.
Maybe somewhere deep down, where nobody will ever find it, Ghost likes to be obedient. Maybe he doesn’t want to be in control all the time.
Or maybe it’s a part of his, seemingly, never ending quest to make a fool of himself.
He’s not sure why that matters so much to him, but he can think about it later when he’s alone and not so drunk.
Soap seems satisfied with the answer, so he leans in, standing on his tippy toes, and pulling at his mask so he can kiss Ghost softly on the mouth, then running his hand down the side of Ghost’s neck, thumb under his jawline, “Sorry to ruin your fun.” He apologizes when he pulls away, to which Ghost just chuckles against his mouth.
“Shut up.” He replies, grabbing Soap by the collar of his shirt and dragging him to the alleyway. It’s just between the bar and a little smoke shop, dimly lit and nearly invisible to everyone else, except those who might pay a little too much attention to their surroundings— but even then, it’s dark.
Ghost knows how to hide.
Backed against a wall, Soap makes an ‘oof’ sound upon contact, solid and brick behind him. Ghost doesn’t waste time, he just gets his face into Soap’s neck and moves his hands down to Soap’s trousers, working them open so he can slide his hand in and palm at Soap’s covered cock.
“Steamin’ Jesus, Simon,” Soap hisses, tilting his head back against the wall, which just grants Ghost more access to his throat, sinking his teeth in, knowing they’ll show when Soap puts on his uniform, “someone’s gonna s-see us..”
Ghost grins against the skin of his throat, kissing at the spot he’d just bit, “Think they’d like the show, Johnny?” He asks, and he can feel the way Soap’s cock twitches at that, “Knowing how much of an attention whore you are, m’sure you’d love it.” His words slur a little, but it’s fine, Soap hardly seems to notice.
When he pulls back to look at him, Soap’s gone red in the cheeks, flush spreading down a little to his neck. He looks fucking ridiculous, and Ghost just wishes he could pocket the feeling he gets when he sees him like this, wish it would permanently settle in his stomach, bury itself there and make a home.
It’s a little too soft for a moment like this, where Ghost is clawing at Soap, desperate in this odd, animalistic sort of way, wanting to claim what is his before someone else even gets the faintest idea of trying it— but seeing Soap flushed like this, under a dim light that flickers every ten, no, eleven seconds, with street signs adding color to his already dark-red cheeks just makes Ghost remember how much he absolutely fucking adores him.
God, it almost drives him insane, how much he loves Soap. It feels like it’s going to kill him, like a wound that’ll never scar or heal because he continues to rip it open, never wanting to part with it. Soap is a wound that Ghost will let linger and become a part of his being, because he’s beautiful and he’s complex and he’s Simon’s to devour and taste.
That one little thing brings the heat back, making Ghost lean in and capture Soap’s lips with his own, kissing him deep, slow, getting a taste of the scotch he was drinking and the gum he’d been chewing for the last hour or so, minty and burning at the roof of Ghost’s mouth.
Soap kisses him back, his own hands going to Ghost’s trousers, getting them open, trying to put his hand into his pants, but Ghost just grips his wrist with his other hand, like a warning, a faint blinking red light above his head. Soap groans a little against Ghost’s mouth, parting from the kiss and giving him a soft look, “Simon, c’mon.. please, ya’ already teased me enough.” he whines, truly desperate.
A little grin creeps onto Ghost’s lips, one that Soap knows is from satisfaction of hearing how desperate he is, cause he always gets happy when Soap is a little whiny, when he’s wanting and sick of having to wait.
“You think so?” He asks, and Soap just nods, immediate and almost frantic, jerky little motions that make Ghost want to swallow him whole, “Desperate mutt, aren’t you?”
That earns Ghost a choked little sound and another nod, “Yes,” Soap replies, honest, not even bothering to quip his way through this one, “Very. Ye’ been wildin’ me up, can’t wait anymore.”
At least he’s honest, Ghost thinks, laughing soft and under his breath, letting go of Soap’s wrist, letting it fall back to his trousers, nodding when Soap gives him a curious look, eyes big and— honestly, like a puppy dog. He’s doing puppy dog eyes, and Ghost nearly falls to his god damn knees.
“Get my trousers off. Now.” Ghost orders, sudden, making Soap pause for a breath of a moment before he’s popping the button of his jeans open, pulling the zipper down, tugging them down enough that they go around Ghost’s thighs, “Good boy.”
The praise makes Soap let out this soft, almost whine-like noise that Ghost can’t even describe, but it’s adorable and it’s fucking addicting, he’s immediately hooked as soon as Soap makes that one pathetic little sound. He quickly switches their positions, now Ghost is the one against the wall, except his ass is facing Soap this time, stuck out just for him.
“Boxers,” he says, and Soap is immediately hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and tugging them down, exposing his whole lower half. It should feel embarrassing, it should make him want to cover up and hide himself— but he’s too drunk to care about that, he only cares about getting Soap’s dick inside of him.
Ghost’s own dick is hard and wet at the tip, desperate for attention, a touch of some kind, and the night’s air is crisp and cold and blowing onto the heated flesh, which makes him just shiver and feel a little more needy, somehow. He just needs Soap to fuck him and fuck him now.
Behind him, there’s a sharp inhale of breath, then Soap’s hands are grabbing at Ghost’s ass and spreading his cheeks apart, thumbing at the black silicone rim that’s tucked into Ghost’s hole. Call him eager, but he knows whenever they go out drinking it means Soap will be wanting to fuck him or will want to get fucked— but Simon wanted to get fucked tonight, desperately, so as soon as he heard they were going out to a bar, he went and stretched himself open with three fingers, sliding the plug into himself and making sure he didn’t cum, because he’s saving that for Soap.
It’ll be easy to cum to this, cause he hasn’t got off in a few days and Soap is practically falling over himself at the sight of Simon wearing this plug, all slicked up and stretched out just for his enjoyment, because he knows how much of a fuckin’ horndog Soap turns into when he’s had a few to drink. Hell, he might not even need to touch his dick that much, honestly.
There’s no words that come from Soap’s mouth, only these soft, sweet little growls that make Ghost’s stomach burn with excitement, then he’s grabbing at the plug and slowly pulling it out, watching the way Ghost’s hole stretches around it, making a sharp little gasp pass Ghost’s lips, breathy, hardly there.
Realistically, the plug isn’t that big of a deal, Ghost likes to wear them, they’re.. interesting little pieces of fashion that he enjoys, cause they’re discreet, just for him to know about until Soap gets handsy or till he gets lucky— but here it feels different, cause he knew Soap would want him, and he didn’t want to use spit to get stretched and he definitely didn’t want to wait for that whole process, he’s not a fan of waiting.
“Fuck,” Soap cusses under his breath as the plug finally pops out of Ghost’s hole, finger catching loosely at the rim, making Ghost gasp another shaky noise, desperate and hot, wanting, which in return just makes Soap chuckle, “I think you’re the real slut ‘ere, Simon.”
Ghost doesn’t even bother making a comment, he’s too desperate for that, he just growls, low and predatory, turning himself around and taking the plug from Soap’s hands, shoving it in his pocket, then hooking a leg around Soap’s frame to tug him closer, “Fuck me, MacTavish,” his words come out throaty, hard, “That’s an order from your superior.” He surprisingly gets the words out clear, not without stumbling a little, but it is definitely an accomplishment for Ghost considering he’s pretty drunk.
In front of him, Soap flushes, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape until he snaps it shut, Ghost hears the way his teeth clank together. Silence for a moment, they just stare at each other like deer in headlights, then he nods, “Aye, sir.” He fumbles over his words a little, reaching into his briefs to get his dick out from behind the garment, breathing hitching for a moment at the temperature change.
While he does that, Ghost kicks his clothing off of one leg and lets it stay ‘round his right ankle, because he wants to put his legs around Soap, and what Ghost wants he typically doesn’t get, not unless he plans for it, or unless it’s Soap he wants it from. When Soap’s got his dick out completely, Ghost doesn’t waste any time, just takes it into his hand and gives it a few good strokes, adding some spit to the mix so it’s a slick slide instead of being dry.
Soap lets out an unsteady breath, putting his hand on Ghost’s hip, biting at his bottom lip. Always so eager, Soap is— he’s always falling apart at the simplest of touches, just cause it’s Ghost and he’s an absolute fool for him, no doubt about that. A twist of his wrist on an upstroke and Soap is moaning, honest and echoing down Ghost’s spine, down through the alleyway, too.
Teasing is nice, it’s one of Ghost’s favorites, actually. He likes to jerk Soap off, likes to circle his thumb over the slit of his cock and feel the way it twitches, likes to run his hands up and down Soap’s body and touch him everywhere except where he desperately wants it— he loves to tease, but he’s impatient right now, cause he can tease Soap any other day, hell, he can do it anywhere at any time and Soap would just fall to pieces.
“Simon..” Soap moans, real soft, too much air behind it, like it came straight from his lungs, and Ghost just crumbles, nodding at him cause he knows that Soap will understand, he always does, so when Soap’s grabbing at his hips and letting him wrap his legs around his waist, they both just settle into the position.
It’s a little thrilling, to think about someone turning the corner and seeing them doing this, looking down the alley to take a quick piss or to smoke a cigarette. Ghost won’t deny how good it feels to think about that, making his dick twitch and leak more at the thought, at the feeling of Soap’s cock lining up with his hole then pushing in.
Full, always so full, that’s the first thing Ghost feels every time they fuck like this— he feels full to the brim, like Soap’s existence, and his dick, are taking up every available empty space in Ghost’s body and is burrowing himself there, digging in his ground and making himself absolutely known, never able to be forgotten, as if Ghost could ever forget someone like him.
“Fuck, Johnny.” Ghost cusses, leaning forward and putting his face in Soap’s neck, letting him wrap his arms around Ghost’s body and start moving his hips. Immediately, it’s an overwhelming feeling, Soap’s not huge, but he’s definitely got a good thing going on down there— thick and long, five inches with a bit to spare, always sliding right along his prostate with every thrust, especially when they’re deep grinds that hardly move.
These are thrusts though, a nice pull and push of pleasure that keeps flooding every time Soap’s cock slides full into him, right to the hilt, heated and twitching with every little noise Ghost makes. He’s not usually very vocal, but there’s something about this situation, this night with this air and the faint music and the sound of laughter from inside the bar, that just makes this so much more for Ghost, makes him want to be loud, scream and moan so loud that someone calls the cops.
Soap lets Ghost hide his face, lets him moan into his neck and hold him tight, lets Soap support his weight because he knows he can handle it, he’s picked Ghost up plenty of times, they’ve fucked like this before. It’s just a comforting position, to be so close to the man he loves and to be fucked like he’s nothing but a slab of meat.
Sometimes you’ve gotta have both, you know?
A quiet, deep growl passes Soap’s mouth, and then he’s backing Ghost back up against the wall, still letting him hide his face in Soap’s neck, just letting his back hit the wall for some sort of support, cause then his thrusts get quicker, harder, and Ghost can’t help but feeling like he’s just been punched in the gut, stomach all in these twisted knots of heat and arousal and pleasure that feels like so much more because of the alcohol swimming through him.
“Johnny,” Ghost moans, soft and right in his ear, it just earns him a squeeze in reply, Soap lets Ghost know that he’s listening, but lord knows he might not be level-headed enough to answer right now. That’s fine, Ghost is sort of in the same boat, honestly, he feels like he’s far too high in the clouds with the alcohol and the pleasure gushing through him. “Tell me you’re mine.” He orders, pulling away from Soap’s neck so he can look at him, hand going up to grip his jaw, mean and firm, looking him in the eyes.
It’s a demand, not a suggestion or a plea, a command for Soap to follow because Ghost gave it to him and he knows better than to not listen to what Ghost tells him to do. He needs to hear Soap say he’s Ghost’s— he needs it desperately, actually, needs it more than he’s ever needed anything else, cause there’s heat right there in his gut after just a few moments of getting fucked like this, and he knows it’s from not getting off for a few days, knows it’s because he’s pent up and a lit fuse slowly eating away at its wire. Call him pathetic, but he’s gonna cum very soon, and he’s going to have a fucking heart attack, honestly.
Soap moans, shaky and deep, “Ye’ know ‘m yours, Simon,” he replies, somehow calm and steady, like he’s not fucking the life out of Ghost right now, “..Always. Never gonna be anythin’ else but yours.”
Oh, fucking— nothing prepared Ghost for that, literally nothing, he could have known it was coming and he still would’ve been hit right in the gut with it, sharp and unforgiving. The tightness in his gut just twists and gets tighter, and Ghost nods at him, leaning forward to kiss him, desperate and sloppy, open-mouthed and hardly a kiss, really, but Soap swallows down Ghost’s gasps and moans, and in return Ghost lets himself be a bit louder.
It’s easy to make noises like this when he’s drunk, when he’s got liquor flowing through him and he’s got little to no thoughts except for the way Soap is fucking him and how good it feels, how he’s rubbing at his prostate with every rough, almost mean thrust, making Ghost shudder with pleasure that he feels in his teeth, oddly enough. Soap seems happy about it, he’s always liked when Ghost was the noisy one, which isn’t too often, but Soap can have whatever he asks for right now— he could ask for the stars and Ghost would ask how many, would ask how bright, how old? Anything for him.
”Johnny, oh f-fuck,” Ghost moans, watching the way the flame in Soap’s eyes burns and grows, cause he knows Ghost is going to cum, he can probably feel it, how he’s tightening around him and how his muscles are going tense, building up to this release that’s going to probably kill him, honestly. It only makes him go harder, working his cock into Ghost’s body with these firm ruts that make sure he hardly ever leaves his hole, “J-Johnny, baby, fuck, ‘m gonna—“
That’s really all he gets out before Soap wraps a hand around his cock and strokes. Two is all it takes for every muscle in Ghost’s body to tense for a moment and then dramatically ease, breath catching in his throat and nails clawing at Soap’s jaw as he cums, hot and shaking between them, covering Soap’s fingers in the thick, sticky white mess of his cum. It feels like Ghost’s had a knot in his gut for a thousand years that’s now gone, replaced with flushing heat all throughout his body and the smell of Johnny so close to him and the crisp air on his skin.
Soap growls, low and almost threatening, “Fuck, lookit’ you, so fuckin’ pretty when you cum.” His words are rough and throaty and Ghost knocks his head back against the wall and almost sobs, feeling pins and needles of overstimulation and pleasure all along his nerves, “G-Gonna cum inside ya’, love, fill ya’ up with it.” he feels the way Soap is tensing beneath his touch now, muscles beginning to clench.
“Do it,” Ghost responds, breathless and through a gasp of air that hardly fills his lungs, “Do it, do it, please.” The ‘please’ is accidental— Ghost doesn’t beg often, it’s a rare occurrence, but it sends Soap right over the edge every time. Soap cums, hard and rutting into Ghost’s body repeatedly as he growls into his throat, mouthing at the skin there but never biting or sucking, just breathing harsh and ragged. “Good.. good boy.” Ghost praises him through it, hand releasing the hold on his jaw and going to his hair, petting him softly, lovingly.
After a moment, Soap’s body relaxes, and Ghost can feel as he pushes out a final hard breath before pulling back and looking at Ghost with this loose smile that’s dopey and hardly there, weak but so lovely.
“Plug.” Ghost says, sudden.
Soap shakes his head, “What?”
”In my pocket. Put it back in me, Johnny.” He continues, watching the way Soap pieces together what he’s saying. It’s a little funny, cute as well.
Soap makes a little ‘oohh’ noise before pulling his cock out of Ghost’s body, who in return clenches tight so none of his cum leaks out, watching as he leans over and gets into Ghost’s trouser pockets and gets the plug, looking Ghost up and down almost innocently.
Ghost looks at him, waiting for him to follow instruction, watches as he pieces it together again and slots his hand between Ghost’s thighs, sliding it into his hole with ease when Ghost relaxes. When it’s fully settled inside him, securing Soap’s cum inside him, Ghost smiles and hums, pleased, leaning forward and kissing Soap soft, a little hungry but overall gentle.
The kiss turns a little more heated, and Ghost just can’t help himself when he grips Soap’s jaw and pulls his head back a little, “Open,” he commands, to which Soap follows and promptly opens his mouth. Ghost smiles, then spits into Soap’s mouth, right into his tongue, “Swallow.” He commands again, watching as Soap closes his mouth and swallows the spit. Ghost pets him like a dog, “Good boy.”
After a moment, Soap laughs, helping Ghost get his trousers back on and tidy himself up, licking the cum from his stomach, tucking in his shirt so the cum-stained bits aren’t in view.
“What’s funny, Sergeant?” Ghost asks, smiling.
Soap shakes his head in return, hiding his face in Ghost’s neck, snorting when he laughs, “How— How are we getting home, Lt?”
Oh.. right.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost sighs, chuckling with him.