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Ghost woke slowly. His head pounded in agony and his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. He tried to take stock of himself as much as possible without moving; he did not want anyone watching to realize he was awake yet. The ever-present mask he wore was gone. That was the first thing he noticed. He had to keep himself calm for a moment. His face was the one thing that was supposed to be his and his alone. Those bastards would pay for it, Ghost would make sure of that. Otherwise, most of his aches were minimal compared to what he had expected, which made him wonder who had captured them. Anyone smart would have made sure that he was not in shape to fight. The only thing keeping him from standing to seek an escape were the chains wrapped around his arms and legs, keeping him trapped in the chair that he awoke in. There was no noise in the room besides his own harsh breathing. While it didn’t rule out a camera, he decided opening his eyes for more information was worth the trade of his captors potentially realizing he was awake.
Opening his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of a small room lit only by fragments of light that filtered through a barred window on his left. The walls were too clean for this to be used often as a cell. Besides the wooden chair he was seated on, there was nothing else in the room. The door on his right looked heavy and solid; even if he could get out of his chains, he wasn’t sure he could figure out how to get the door open before someone came by to check on him. He strained his ears in the hope that he could hear something beyond the door. Anything. There was nothing but silence, the unsettling quiet keeping him on edge. But Ghost had faced bad odds before; he wasn’t going to let this get to him.
He tested the chains and had to suppress a grimace when he felt how thick and heavy they were. It wasn’t brittle enough to snap with pure strength. His captors had known what they were doing in this at least. Ghost was busy trying to think of any way out of this when he froze as the door started to open.
“Well, if it isn’t our good friend, Ghost.”
Ghost bit back the anger he wanted to show, his face moving to attempt cold neutrality. “Makarov. Not a pleasure to see your ugly mug again.”
“Oh, you wound me.” The smile on Makarov’s face made Ghost ache to punch it off of him. “I come here to offer you a deal, and you turn to insults?”
“Fuck off, I’m not working for you,” Ghost snapped. “If that’s your offer, might as well kill me now. Don’t waste your breath.”
“Ha, as if I’d trust you not to put a knife in my back the moment I turned away. No, it’s for something else. You see, your companion has been a thorn in my side for too long. Now -”
“Where’s Soap?” Ghost interrupted, straining forward against the chains.
“Tsk. I’m getting to that. Impatient,” Makarov chided, the smirk never leaving. “You seem to want him alive. I prefer him dead, but there’s worse fates than death. And if you want him to live, you’ll listen to my deal.”
Ghost hated that he had to consider what Makarov was saying. But he had few options. “...Fine. What’s your deal?”
“I will let the two of you go. For a price, of course.” Makarov paused. Dramatic bastard, Ghost thought. “Soap is tied up and blindfolded in one of our cells, waiting for someone to come tell him what is going on. You will enter that cell. And you will make sure that he never forgets how he was vulnerable here. I could have done anything to him. You will not speak to him. No reassurances or words of comfort. He will think you are one of my men. That should make it easier for you. Generous, no? He’ll never have to know it was you that violated him.”
Ghost's gritted his teeth. The idea of letting Soap believe he was an enemy, allowing him to suffer in the darkness, was the most infuriating part of this offer. But he had to keep his focus. The alternative was too horrific to consider. He couldn’t lose Soap. “That’s your offer?”
“You will wear a microphone. To ensure that you do not try to whisper to him what is going on, you understand. If you try to alert him in any way, soften the damage at all, the deal will be off. You will both die here.”
“The fuck is your game? What do you gain from this?”
Makarov leaned forward. “I want to know your despair. It will be delicious when I finally kill you and know that you suffered.”
He believed that they would kill Makarov. They would not let this bastard win. But Ghost had to play his game to make sure that they would be there when it happened. Maybe Ghost would be allowed to strangle the bastard himself. “Alright. I agree.”
The smirk turned to a delighted smile. “I almost doubted you. But you wouldn’t let your favorite sergeant die, would you? Too attached, what a shame.”
Makarov’s guards grabbed Ghost, adjusting his chains to no longer be attached to the floor before starting to haul him down the hallway. Ghost counted the number of men they passed, trying to decide if he could fight his way out. Without the chains, he thought he might have a chance. But every set of eyes were on him. He wouldn’t have the chance to get free before he was shot, and then Soap would be killed too. He was resigned to his fate, the idea of risking Soap too much to bear.
They brought him to what appeared to be an observation room for the attached interrogation area. From the window, he caught a glimpse of Soap, bound and blindfolded, his body barely able to move from the thick restraints keeping him in place. One guard set up the promised microphone to the front of his gear, and they checked that it was working before releasing him. It was sensitive enough that Ghost knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with even a whisper. The other guard placed an earpiece on Ghost’s ear, a way for Makarov to taunt Ghost as he pleased during it.
“You know what to do here, yes? Has the famous Ghost ever bedded someone before?” Makarov laughed, his men chuckling along.
“Am I supposed to wear the chains? Think that will give away your game before it starts,” Ghost said, ignoring the question.
“They’ll release you right before opening the door. It will be locked behind you. We’ll decide when you are done,” Makarov said.
“The fuck does that mean?”
“You do need to finish, naturally. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
He gritted his teeth, but stayed silent, lest Makarov decided to change his mind and kill Soap now. Five guards escorted Ghost to the door, three of them with guns trained on him while the other two unlocked his chains. The door to Soap’s room opened and Ghost was shoved inside, the click behind him indicating it was locked. Where the window was on the other side appeared to be a smooth mirror on this side. It was disturbing knowing how closely they were being watched, but Ghost had to ignore them. He had to play his part, no matter how much it tore at him inside.
Ghost fumbled to pull himself together, his heart racing as he heard Soap's strained voice call out through the darkness.
“Who is it this time? Aren’t you bored of hassling a poor, helpless prisoner?”
Despite the casual way Soap spoke, Ghost could hear the desperation in his tone, his fear and uncertainty echoing in the small cell. It was a stark reminder of how vulnerable Soap was right now. Ghost had to remind himself that he could not offer any comfort or assurances. He had to maintain his cold demeanor, pretending not to care for Soap's pleas for help. It was perhaps the most difficult thing Ghost had ever done.
There was no way he could disguise his voice if he tried to speak, so he said nothing. His approaching footsteps seemed to make Soap more anxious as his face swung around to face Ghost. A tight blindfold over his eyes should prevent him from seeing much of anything. At best, Ghost thought that Soap might be able to see a vague outline of his body because of the light. As he checked the restraints around Soap, Ghost prayed that he could make it out alive, so he could torture Makarov for the things he had done. He knew that he had to endure this for Soap's sake, but it was a bitter taste that lingered at the back of his throat.
Ghost slowly reached out to undo the clasp of Soap's pants, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the tension filling the room, the air around them thick with fear and desperation. He knew that the slightest misstep could mean the end for them both, but he couldn't back down now. He had to stay strong, had to keep going.
With shaking hands, Ghost slid Soap’s pants down his body as much as they could go with the restraints still on, while his eyes were fixed on the mirror across the room. If he focused, he could almost imagine seeing the eerie reflections of Makarov and his goons, their eyes watching him intently. But he couldn't let them see any weakness, any hint of the struggle that was raging inside him.
In other circumstances, Ghost would take the chance to marvel at the exposed skin. He had seen Soap in the showers, but he had never been able to take the chance to admire him. This was not the way Ghost had fantasized about seeing Soap exposed for him. He had imagined the scene dozens of times, touching himself while picturing Soap eager and teasing underneath him. Instead, Soap was cursing him and trying to wiggle away from Ghost’s touch even as the chains rattled and dug into his skin.
He knew what he had to do, what he had to endure for their survival. But he wanted to scream. To fight back. To end this charade. He wanted to tear the blindfold off, to punch Makarov in the face, straighten Soap's bonds, and make him a partner in this mission again.
But that wasn't an option.
Soap's struggles intensified as Ghost’s belt hit the floor, the echo of it damning as Ghost knew Soap understood what was happening here. The chains rattled with the force of his movements, but there was no escape. They were bound by the whims of a cruel man. Every second of this was torture. It would almost be better to die. If it was only Ghost’s life at stake here, he would have chosen death in a heartbeat. But the idea of life fading from Soap’s eyes… He could never be responsible for allowing that to happen. He refused to imagine it.
As Soap's cries echoed through the small room, Ghost gritted his teeth and steeled himself against the wave of emotion that threatened to consume him. He pushed any lingering reservations aside and began to explore the areas of Soap's body that were exposed. The sight of his friend's flesh, even in these horrendous conditions, sent a rush of desire coursing through him. He tried to imagine that this was something they both had wanted. Between his legs, his cock hung limply, even as Ghost tried to think more pleasant thoughts. He used one hand to cup his cock, trying to coax it into hardness. The longer this lasted, the worse it would be. Ghost pushed away his own memories that threatened to tear at him. It wasn’t helping.
Desperation to end this quickly had him grabbing Soap’s hips. Soap's struggles became more erratic, his cries louder, and Ghost could hear the frustration and fear in his voice. His grip tightened until he knew there would be bruises left behind on Soap’s hips after this, and he positioned himself behind Soap. He let his cock drag along Soap’s exposed ass, focusing on the sensation. It took everything in him to ignore the cries and drown them out. But it was working. His cock finally started to stir, slowly hardening against Soap.
There was no lube, and Ghost had known better than to ask Makarov for anything. He spit into his hand, getting ready to press his fingers inside Soap to try to stretch him at least a little when the earpiece he was wearing crackled to life.
“Skip to the main event, unless you want to see what happens when I get bored,” Makarov drawled.
Ghost bit back a growl, but obeyed, not willing to risk the consequences. He spit into his hand again and used it to add a bit of slickness to his cock. It would dry up too quickly, but it would be better than nothing. He lined up against Soap, his cock resting against Soap’s entrance. There was too much tension; if he pushed in like this, he knew Soap would be in a world of pain. But he had no way to help Soap relax besides wordless comfort, which Soap would reject, considering who he thought Ghost was.
“Please,” Soap begged, his voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”
For a moment, time stood still, his heart pounding in his chest as his grip tightened on his cock, his eyes fixed on the mirror across the room. He knew that the slightest misstep could mean the end for them both, but he couldn't back down now. He had to stay strong, had to keep going. With a deep breath, Ghost pushed into Soap, his hips moving slowly as he tried not to cause any more pain than necessary. Soap's struggles intensified, his voice carrying through the small room, but Ghost was too focused on the task at hand. If he took even a moment to feel regret or guilt, he would freeze. And all of this would have been for nothing. Soap let out a pained scream when Ghost started to move, his body straining against the chains. Ghost's own breath hitched as he thrust in and out, the movement too mechanical to be enjoyable. The dry drag added to the pain, even as the tight warmth of Soap tried to bring pleasure.
As he moved, Ghost closed his eyes, imagining different scenarios. He tried to lose himself in the fantasy of it; the idea of a world where Soap had asked for this a thought he tried to cling to. Sweat dripped from his brow and he felt sick to his stomach. He wasn’t sure that he could survive this.
"No!" Soap cried out, his voice echoing in the small room. His screams reached a fever pitch, bouncing off the cold walls and seeping into Ghost's ears.
Desperation began to take hold of Ghost as he tried to remember the tender moments they had shared, the times when Soap had been full of warmth and joy, not a prisoner in chains. He clenched his fists as he continued to move, the echoes of Soap's cries fading into broken whimpers the longer this continued. Beneath him, Ghost could see where Soap’s cock had hardened against his will, the forced pleasure causing his body to react even as his mind fought against it. Ghost wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse to try to help Soap find his own release as well. He remembered all too well the guilt that it brought, the feeling of having your body betray you and it making you wonder if some part of you had wanted this. But it would end this faster. Even as his throat tightened in agony, Ghost spit in one hand again and reached for Soap’s cock.
As his fingers wrapped around Soap's hardened cock, Ghost had to tell himself that this was the only way to ensure their survival. The pain in his heart was unbearable, but he refused to let it show. He focused on the task at hand, his hand moving in a steady rhythm, matching his own thrusts.
Their bodies moved together, sweat and grunts filling the small room. Despite the horror of the situation, Soap's cock twitched in Ghost's hand, growing harder with every passing moment. Ghost gritted his teeth, trying to block out the cries and the sound of chains rattling as his body moved against Soap’s. Every thrust felt like he was doing something unforgivable, but he knew that this was the only way out. With each passing second, the guilt grew heavier, but he pushed it aside. Soap's body was trembling under him, limp and writhing in the chains. He could feel the pain, the fear, and the desperation coming from Soap, and it was tearing Ghost apart.
Knowing that Makarov’s eyes were still trained on them, he brought Soap over the edge, forcing him to climax despite the mental and physical anguish that accompanied it. He could feel the warm fluid spill between his fingers, his hand still moving in time with his thrusts. Soap shuddered and went limp beneath him, the fight drained from his body. Ghost could see the humiliation in the slump of his back, the willpower torn from him as he struggled to endure.
With a final, ragged thrust, Ghost managed to drag himself over the edge, spilling inside Soap in one final humiliation. The physical pleasure of release was short-lived, quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame. Eyes squeezed shut, Ghost allowed himself a moment to catch his breath before carefully withdrawing from Soap's body. He knew he couldn't look at Soap, not now, not after what he had just done. The room was spinning slightly, but he couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness to Makarov.
“Good boy,” Makarov purred through the earpiece. “Come back to the door. My men will be waiting.”
Ghost’s fist clenched. He wanted nothing more than to punch Makarov until he was nothing more than a bloody pulp. There was nothing to clean himself up with, so he tucked himself back into his pants, leaving a cold, wet mess inside them. He hesitated before gently pulling Soap’s pants back into place, and Soap barely shuddered under the touch. The walk out seemed to stretch into an eternity, but he finally was there. As promised, the men greeted him at the door again, waiting until Ghost let them handcuff him before leading Ghost out. The door clicked shut behind him, and Ghost was free to speak.
“I made good on my end of the deal. Now, let us go,” Ghost said as soon as Makarov was in view.
“Of course, my friend. You did give us such a great show. I always keep up my end of the deal. You and Soap will go free.” The smug smirk on Makarov’s face stirred the hatred Ghost was already feeling into a frenzy.
“Now.”
The word was barely out of his mouth when the world went dark, a sharp pain in the back of his head the last thing he felt.
When he next woke, the rumbling of the car beneath him was not what he was expecting. His eyes burned as he opened them, and he blinked, trying to process what he saw. In the front seat sat Price and Gaz, their voices quiet and indistinguishable from the sounds of the road. He must have made a sound, because Gaz turned to look at him from the passenger seat.
“Ghost,” he said, his voice quiet. In the mirror, Ghost saw Price’s eyes jump to him. “It’s good to see you awake. We were starting to get worried.”
“What -” his mouth was so dry “- how did you find us?”
Price answered. “We received an anonymous tip with a set of coordinates claiming to be your location. So we came, scouted the area until we found the two of you unconscious on the ground.”
Gaz pulled something out of a bag and offered it to Ghost. He accepted the fabric covered in dirt, the familiar skull pattern looking back at him. “It was laying next to you. We didn’t want to put it on in case - we figured we would wait until you woke up.”
“Thanks,” Ghost muttered. He pulled it on, the familiar weight of it offering a small scrap of comfort while turmoil raged inside him. With the security it offered, he managed to look to his right, seeing Soap staring blankly out the window. “Soap?”
“He hasn’t spoken yet. He woke up not too long ago,” Gaz said when Soap didn’t respond. “What happened?”
“Makarov.” It was all the answer Ghost could give. How could he explain everything that had happened? What he had done? It was better to keep this secret tucked close to his chest. Knowing wouldn’t change what had happened, and Soap would never look at him the same. He couldn’t bear the idea of the one person he was closest to looking at him with hatred in his eyes.
At the name, Soap finally looked over. Where there had been so much light and passion before, there was now a dull layer of haze clouding his eyes. Ghost wanted to reach out for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He had done this. His decisions had led them here, from his failure to lead the mission, to the choice he had made in Makarov’s base. He had no words to offer, no comfort to give. Soap turned away, returning to staring blankly out the window at the landscape passing by.
Silence fell over the car. There was nothing more to say. Later, Ghost knew he would have to tell Price everything, but for the moment, he could allow himself to pretend that this would all become a distant, miserable memory.