Chapter Text
Soap corners him in the armory.
Ghost and Soap had just returned from a mission, a small operation all things considered. Only the two of them, sent in to do what they do best: infiltrate, gather intelligence, and leave no soul behind to tell the tale. It’d gotten bloody towards the end, very bloody, but they’d worked together seamlessly, as they always did. The rhythmic popping of Soap’s rifle had been a steady beat for Ghost’s knives to slide between as they had whistled through the air.
Ghost had just slashed through his last throat when Soap shouted the final “Clear!” and he'd crouched down to wipe his blade clean on the dropped body when the back of his neck zinged in awareness. He’d glanced up and through the faint smoke that still wafted from Soap’s lowered weapon Soap had looked at him.
His pupils had been blown wide and hungry, quietly panting from what Ghost knew wasn’t exactly the exertion of having killed so many people alongside him. Watching Ghost dispatch X-rays with nothing but the flashing glint of a knife as red splattered on the bone white of his mask had always gotten Soap hot like nothing else.
Soap had licked his lips, catching a bit of blood spray at the corner of his mouth, and said in a husky voice.
“Lt—"
Fortunately, Price had chosen that exact moment to radio in.
After Ghost had relayed the success of the mission, exfil had turned out to be only a few minutes away. Unfortunately, Soap had then spent the entire helo ride back to base a visibly horny bundle of frantic energy, foot jingling where it brushed up against Ghost, shooting him heated glances under his lashes every few seconds. All the while Ghost had pretended that he wasn’t glued to the way Soap kept sucking his lips between his teeth.
Ghost was sure that if their seats hadn’t been in direct view of the pilots, then Soap would have sunk to his knees between Ghost’s legs right then and there.
It had been the longest helo ride of Ghost’s life and when they finally landed on base Ghost had immediately split off, grunting a dismissal Soap's way and heading over to Price’s office to hand over the intelligence. He resolutely ignored the way Soap’s gaze clung to him as he walked away.
It’d felt like a brand, to be the focus of those intense blue eyes in the same way that they focused on ticking fucking bombs with countdowns far too close to zero.
They were both fucked up was the thing.
Only Ghost wore his issues on the outside, for anyone to see, in the shape of a skull mask and skull gloves, the call sign Ghost, and a dead-eyed stare that promised death to anybody who crossed him.
Soap, on the other hand, buried his issues so deep that you’d never see them past the cock-sure grin and friendly Labrador demeanor if only the pressure of repression didn’t build up inside him until it inevitably blew.
It was in that sudden blinding anger of his that ignited quick as kerosene and made all higher reasoning leave his brain, made him punch a superior officer and lock the damn idiot in his own car.
It could also be quieter, though — more subtle. Obsession only visible when he watched one of his bombs obliterate an enemy safehouse, the harsh light of the explosion throwing his slightly too wide grin into sharp relief. Only audible back in Mexico when he’d murmured “fucking beautiful, sir,” in Ghost’s ear as he’d watched him dispatch a Shadow in a pointlessly showy takedown.
It’d definitely shown the first time they’d fucked, rushed and dirty after an op gone so fantastically wrong that it’d been a miracle either of them were still alive.
Back then, they’d barely made it back to their safehouse before they’d been on each other, teeth catching painfully on split lips as they’d kissed, hands tearing at still bleeding wounds, pressing down on tender bruises hard enough that the darkest points of them would be in the shape of fingerprints. They’d been so frantic that they hadn’t even made it to the bed, just fucked on the floor in full gear, Soap’s fatigues yanked down to mid-thigh.
They’d had nothing but spit, precum, and blood to ease the slide, but the way that Soap had moaned as Ghost slowly split him open on his cock had been obscene. He’d been loud enough as Ghost started to really fuck him, that if their safehouse hadn’t been in the middle of nowhere, they’d probably have been made.
The dam had broken after that, the careful line in the sand that Ghost had drawn and kept well defended — no matter how much Soap liked to poke and prod at it since fucking Las Almas — obliterated. It'd been entirely too easy to keep falling into each other and damn the fucking consequences of losing the only job that either of them were any good at.
Ghost was Soap’s direct superior officer, he could face fucking jail time, thrown into a hole so dark and deep that he’d never see the light of day again. Soap’s shiny fast track to a Captain’s career would go up in flames as volatile as the explosions he liked setting.
The military was the only place for people like them and what they did, what they let themselves do, put it all in jeopardy.
After a quick report to Price, Ghost finds himself in the armory, weapons laid out on the counter before him. He’s eager to check them, eager to finally head to his room, rinse off and collapse into bed. He hopes that a cold shower will help temper the low heat in his gut that’d sparked when Soap had looked at him over a collection of cooling corpses and that had kept on simmering in the helo.
Those plans are shattered when he hears the doorknob jingling behind him. The door lurches open and Ghost knows who it is without even having to turn around.
It should really be no surprise that despite everything, Soap finds him anyway.
Ghost turns around and Soap barely waits for the door to click shut before he’s dumping his weapon and helmet and falling to his knees before Ghost.
The armory is deserted — they’d arrived back at base at that special liminal time where late night blended into too early morning — but while it might have been empty, it was by no means private, and this was being bloody stupid about it.
“Johnny,” Ghost hisses, “fuck, get up.”
“Just this once, Lt,” Soap murmurs as he nuzzles into Ghost’s crotch, breathes in deep, and moans.
They’d been away on a days long mission, they were both rank, but fuck did Soap sound drunk off his scent already. He’s moaning into Ghost’s rapidly fattening cock like a whore, like his scent alone could get him off.
“Just one more time,” Soap says as he starts to fumble at Ghost’s belt.
Ghost knows he should stop him, should pull Soap up and remind him of all he has to lose if they get caught, remind him that just one more time is exactly what he’d said last time as well—
He doesn’t stop him.
Soap lowers the zip of his jeans and Ghost has to stifle a groan as Soap pulls him out. He’s already stiff in his sergeant’s hands. Soap pumps him once, twice, getting him fully hard revealingly quick. Soap looks up at him, heated blue through the dark fan of his eyelashes. When Ghost doesn’t voice any more complaints Soap grins wide, victory flashing in his eyes. He knows he’s won.
Soap licks his lips and Ghost is already biting at his own behind the mask, ready for the slick warmth of Soap’s mouth. Instead, Soap shoves his face into the thatch of pubes at the base of Ghost’s cock. He huffs another ragged breath, right where Ghost’s musk is the strongest.
“Fuck, Lt,” Soap groans as he drags his cheeks through the wiry hair, like he wants to drench himself in Ghost’s essence, scent himself like an animal. A reminder to carry with him when he has to inevitably return to the barracks, alone.
Nosing at my cock like a fucking mutt, Ghost thinks. It makes heat pulse in his gut.
“I can’t stop thinking about this,” Soap murmurs against the root of Ghost’s dick before licking up the side of it. He licks at the slit, curling his tongue into his mouth and savoring the taste, before mouthing messily down the other side. Ghost’s cock slides wet up Soap’s cheek, and the stubble would make him wince if he weren’t already so incredibly turned on that the rasp just registers as more shocks of pleasure. “Don’t want to forget how you smell—how you fucking taste.”
Ghost’s cock twitches, drooling a fat glob of precum high enough on Soap’s cheek that when it slides down his face it could be a tear. A tantalizing preview of the sight that Ghost knows he has to look forward to.
Soap suckles at the base, huffing another few deep breaths as he does. Then he licks up from the underside to the tip, taking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the head. Ghost’s eyes flutter shut and he has to grip the edge of the counter behind him as he’s finally taken into the heat of Soap’s mouth.
Soap flattens his tongue, opens his mouth wider, and bobs down...
And down, and down, until he all but rams Ghost into the back of his throat and chokes. He pulls off with a gasp but doesn’t give himself time to breathe before he’s coming back down, gagging again as he takes too much.
“Fucking hell, Johnny, slow the fuck down,” Ghost reprimands even as his blood pumps fast and hot at the image that Soap makes on his knees, cheeks flushed, forcing down dry heaves because he wants Ghost’s cock so damn badly that he can’t even pace himself.
That type of eagerness — that type of want — aimed so fucking obviously at Ghost, pokes at a raw part him. A hastily dug pit beneath his ribs where Ghost had buried the beaten, rabid, animal that was Simon Riley when he’d first donned the skull mask.
His mask had turned him into a ghost, The Ghost, and a ghost didn’t need for anything. A ghost shouldn’t fucking want for anything.
Soap pops off his dick, pretty cocksucking lips shiny with spit and clinging strands of precum that only break when Soap shakes his head.
“Dinnae want to,” he whines as he pumps him again, spreading saliva down the half of Ghost’s cock that hadn’t fit into his mouth. “Had to fucking wait the entire god damn helo ride, umnae waiting anymore.”
Soap goes down on him again, chokes again, and all Ghost can do is grip the counter and take it.
It’s good, Soap’s more than enthusiastic, but it doesn’t take long before he’s pulling away with a sound of frustration.
“Come on Lt,” he says, brogue thick as he looks up, “give me what I fucking want already.” There’s a spark in those baby blues, that same glint of challenge he aims at Ghost whenever they face off on the mat. “Or should I go find another cock to choke on? Plenty of soldiers on base who’d appreciate an open mouth—”
Soap doesn’t just poke at Ghost’s chest, he fucking stabs into it, barbed words sinking deep enough that they pierce into the growling beast inside.
Just the thought of Soap hungry for anybody else, this fucking willing for anybody else—
Ghost snarls, grabs onto the buzzed sides of Soap’s head and then gives him what he’s been bloody drooling for ever since the fucking mission.
He slams back into Soap’s mouth but doesn’t hit the back of his throat, not yet, Soap’s insubordination will have some consequences. He pulls back out, shoves back in, and hold’s Soap’s head in place as he finally starts fucking into his mouth proper.
“You’re. A bloody. Fucking. Addict. MacTavish,” Ghost growls, punctuating every word with a thrust.
Soap stares up at him with dilated voids of black outlined by a thin ring of blue, made all the more vibrant under a shiny film of tears. Ghost goes too deep on the next thrust, finally hits the back of Soap’s throat, and those eyes all but roll into the back of his head.
Ghost knows he’s being a hypocrite, that he’s addicted too, knows that now that he’s started he won’t be able to stop thrusting into Soaps perfect fucking mouth even if Price himself walked in and held a gun to his head.
He pulls out and lets the tip of his cock drool on Soap’s swollen lips. Ghost fists a hand in his mohawk and watches as Soap lights up, mouth opening wider in anticipation of what’s coming, what he no doubt dreams about as he quietly wanks off in the barracks.
Ghost fucks smoothly into his mouth and Soap moans as he goes down. Fuck does it feel good. What feels even better though, is when Ghost hits the back of his throat and then keeps going. There’s a split second of resistance but Ghost just bullies past it. Soap’s moan cuts off as his airway is blocked and Ghost curses raggedly as he finally slides all the way into the sweet velvet of Soap’s throat.
Soap’s nose is buried in his pubic hair, his fingers claw into his ass, and the film of tears in his eyes well until they finally spill over.
Ghost had never been throated properly before fucking around with Soap, always too big, but Johnny — Jesus fucking Christ, he’d had Ghost seeing fucking stars the first time he’d gone down on him. He’s good at it, really good, and he fucking loves it, gets so hard when he blows Ghost without even needing to touch himself, that sometimes all it takes is a bit of friction and Soap’s blowing his load before Ghost. As much as Soap is good at this though, as much as Ghost knows he’d love nothing else but to stay wrapped around Ghost’s cock forever, even he has his limits—
Soap’s throat convulses, brows furrowing and face going blotchy as the oxygen deprivation finally starts to set in.
— too bad that Ghost loves nothing more than to push at them.
Soap gags, throat squeezing deliciously and Ghost has to fight to keep his eyes open. He wants to — no, needs to see Johnny like this. Needs to see him choking and gagging on his cock, needs to see him go redder the longer he can’t breathe.
Soap’s hands squeeze at his thighs, but Ghost just holds him down.
Then Soap taps.
Just a little longer.
Then he slaps, increasingly frantic.
Just a little fucking longer.
Just until Soap’s bright blue eyes start to go from sharply panicked to sweetly blurred.
Soap’s eyelids droop, and the hands grabbing at his thighs start to slip down the denim.
Ghost finally yanks Soap off with a rib creaking gasp. He retches, then coughs, curling in on himself and hacking wetly. He finally gets his breath back, looks up at Ghost and he’s—
Fucking beautiful like this.
Tears stream down Soap’s cheeks, mixing in with the spit and precum smeared at his mouth. It drips down his chin and neck and darkens the cotton of his collar. Soap looks gone, looks so blissed out that Ghost isn’t even sure he’s all the way here anymore. Whatever is left of him though, is looking at Ghost like he’s hung the moon and the stars, like he’s a figure to be worshiped, like he’d let Ghost do fucking anything to him.
It should make Ghost’s stomach clench, should remind him of all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing any of this.
It shouldn’t make that vicious animal inside of him howl in possessive victory.
Finally, something that’s all Simon’s.
Finally, someone who wants to be possessed as much as Simon wants to possess.
“Again,” Soap croaks, and his voice is so broken and reedy that Ghost barely recognizes it.
It’s a knife to the gut.
“Fucking hell, Johnny,” Ghost groans as he slides in again, and Soap’s throat opens up like it’s made exclusively for Ghost’s cock. He reaches a gloved hand down and pinches Soap’s nose shut, overkill really, but the way Soap melts even further in his grip has Ghost pulsing in his mouth.
“You’re an utter fucking slag, you know that?” Ghost says low and mean, “Only good use for that chatty mouth of yours is keeping my cock warm.”
Soap’s throat constricts around him and more tears slip down his cheeks. Ghost stays buried deep until Soap’s eyes slowly shut, wet lashes clumping together. Then he pulls out, gives Soap a moment to gulp in air, and pushes back in. He settles deep and waits for Soap to go hazy again.
Time passes, marked only by Soap’s intermittent heaving breaths. Every one of them pulls at the burning coil of arousal at Ghost’s gut and soon the tugging is too insistent to keep going slow like this.
Ghost pulls Soap off and doesn’t give him a chance to catch his breath before shoving all the way back in, then out, and then in. He builds back up to the rhythm he’d had before, fucking deep into Soap’s already abused throat with increasing desperation. One of Soap’s hands slaps flat on the floor for balance as he’s jerked around, the other clings to the bottom of Ghost’s hoodie.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Johnny?” Ghost says as the pleasure in his gut burns hotter and hotter. “Nothing but a hole for your Lieutenant?”
Soap whines pathetically and the sound cuts off to the tempo of Ghost’s thrusts. It vibrates up Ghost’s cock, pulls even tighter at his arousal until Ghost feels ready to snap. He pulls out but holds Soap close as he furiously jacks himself the rest of the way there.
“Fuck, Johnny,” Ghost forces out through grit teeth as he comes.
White ropes splatter over Soap’s swollen lips and outstretched tongue.
Soap is well and truly marked, well and truly Simon’s, but Simon is a newly woken and very hungry beast. He wants more.
“Keep your mouth open, Sergeant.”
A shiver travels Soap’s body as Ghost pulls rank and he obeys immediately. He opens his mouth even wider, so that Ghost can see what a mess he’s made of him. Ghost wrenches him closer by the chin and marvels at his tongue painted white. Then he leans forward and spits, saliva sliding slow over his own spunk.
It’s another brand of ownership, another way to mark Soap from the inside for all that he can’t mark him on the outside.
“Swallow,” he commands.
Soap closes his mouth and follows, tongue poking out and lapping up the rest of the cum on his lips. His eyes slip shut in bliss, like the taste of Ghost is nothing but the sweetest ambrosia.
“Thank you, sir,” he says when he’s done. Reverence drips from every syllable.
Then Soap shifts and his eyes shut tight, breath hitching violently. Soap’s fatigues strain over the bulge at his crotch, a visible wet spot at the tip. He must be aching.
Soap reaches for his cock but Ghost immediately kicks his hand away.
“No,” he orders with the same voice he uses on the field. “You nose at my cock like a mutt, you’ll get off like a fucking mutt, Sergeant.”
Ghost shoves his thigh between Soap’s splayed legs.
“Yes sir, thank you sir,” Soap immediately replies.
He gets up on his knees, wraps shaky hands around Ghost’s thigh, and moves closer until he can start humping Ghost’s leg like the good fucking dog he is.
Soap moans like a bitch in heat the second he starts grinding. He’s loud — way too fucking loud with nothing but an unlocked door between them and the rest of the base — but hell if Ghost is going to tell him to stop now. Besides, Soap is running so hot from throating him that it’s not like it’s going to take him long.
“Ghost, fuck Ghost,” Soap mewls, fingers digging into his leg hard enough that Ghost can feel blunt nails even through the thick material of his jeans. Soap plasters a cheek at his waist, smearing drool, tears, and cum onto the denim, just inches away from Ghost’s soft cock, still wet from Soap’s mouth.
“Gonna cum—” Soap whimpers, breath humid against Ghost’s dick as he ruts frantically. “Please, sir. Please, want to cum.”
If Ghost were younger he knows this would be enough to get him hard again. Fuck— if he could, he’d pull Soap off and make him suck him off again, just to see if he could get him to come with nothing but Ghost’s cock shoved down his throat.
As it is, he just pets through Soap’s mohawk and says,
“Come on then, Johnny, come for me like the good mutt you are.”
Soap cries something wretched as his hips stutter and then grinds so hard against him that it has to be painful. Then again, Soap’s always enjoyed a bit of pain with his pleasure.
Soap trembles through his orgasm, heat and dampness blooming on Ghost’s leg. He can feel Soap’s cock twitching.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Sim—” Soap cuts himself off by biting a mouthful of denim.
Disobedient fucking dog, Ghost thinks when he hears his name almost fall from Soap’s lips. He pointedly ignores the way it sounds fond.
Soap sits back on his thighs and slumps heavily against Ghost’s leg. His cheek sticks against the hard material of Ghost’s kneepad. He’ll have pressure marks on his face when he finally pulls away.
For a moment there’s nothing but their panting breaths, the smell of sex, and that all too familiar sinking feeling as the afterglow starts to fade.
They fell into temptation.
Again.
Ghost needs to get them out of here, needs to get Soap righted before somebody walks in and sees how thoroughly Ghost has ruined his sergeant—
Soap squirms, the hands at his thigh tightening, shoving his face harder into the kneepad, like he knows what’s coming.
The beast in Ghost’s chest lurches and Ghost knows he shouldn’t — shouldn’t give either of them something else to hold on to — but he can’t stop himself.
He reaches down and cups a hand against Soap’s cheek. Soap leans into it immediately and Ghost rubs a thumb over his cheekbone, as if it’d be enough to soothe the red welt marked on the opposite one.
“We—” Ghost starts, has to clear his throat when it comes out too rough. “We can’t Johnny, not again.”
“I know, Lt,” Soap says. His voice sounds like he’s the one with the smoking habit and not Ghost. “I know. Just this once.”
He smiles quietly up at him.
Ghost focuses on his lips and sees that Soap still has a bit of cum at the corner. He wipes at it with a thumb and then pushes it into Soap’s mouth. Soap gets to work licking it clean immediately.
“Just this once,” Ghost repeats.
They both know it’s a lie.