Chapter Text
He wasn’t sure why he let Gaz drag him out to this overcrowded mess of a bar on what little leave they got before Price shipped them back out to Wherever-The-Fuck, Nowhere. Ghost hated places like this, surrounded by people he didn’t know, loud music, and air thick with sweat and perfume.
At least he didn’t get any odd looks for the mask covering the lower half of his face anymore. He might be the only man in the world who was grateful for a global pandemic, who even wished it had been just a tad worse so that he might be able to justify wearing the balaclava when he wasn’t working.
“It’s not so bad, is it, sir?” Gaz asked, a hopeful glint in his eye. Even Ghost didn’t have the heart to shatter that light, so he just gave a quick nod and a grunt in response, which seemed to satisfy the other man.
A moment later, his gaze caught on a woman standing across the bar, her back to him. He wasn’t usually drawn to women, but there was something about her…
She was buff as hell, for one, her arms draped in a gauzy shawl that did nothing to hide the bulge of muscles beneath. Tall, too; had to be almost 6 feet, even without the killer heels she wore. Her hair was a shocking red color that couldn’t be natural, falling in waves over her muted green shawl and dress.
And what a dress it was. It hugged her curves, her broad chest, the muscles in her back, and the round globes of her ass, before it fanned out into a structured fabric at the floor that somehow managed to look like waves of seafoam curling around her feet.
Ghost absently wondered how she could walk in heels so tall before he forced his gaze away to take in more of the bar’s patrons. He wanted nothing more than to follow her with his eyes until she turned around so he could get a glimpse of her face, see if his interest would last if he saw more of her than a strong frame and a pretty dress, but he decided against it.
He wasn’t sure if he could handle the disappointment when he was forced to concede, as he had so many times before, that he just wasn’t interested in women. Didn’t tend to be into men much, either, if he was honest with himself.
But there’s always an exception to the rule.
Ghost pushed away the thought and the images that came with it, a mowhawked man grinning at him beneath sooty eyelashes quickly disappearing into the vault where Ghost kept all of the things he didn’t think about. It was starting to overflow, and sometimes things seeped through the cracks, but it worked well enough when he wasn’t alone.
And what came to the surface when he was didn’t matter, so long as it only affected him.
Gaz was chatting with a guy next to him, a little more friendly than Ghost would have expected, and he wondered if they knew each other. But… it didn’t seem like they were really familiar with one another, just close. And getting closer. And… were they… Flirting?
Ghost narrowed his eyes, peered around the room with newfound curiosity, and was dumbfounded when he realized exactly where Gaz had brought him.
Throughout the bar, couples seemed to materialize before his eyes. Women with their heads ducked in close together, slender arms around slender waists on the dance floor, men aiming secretive, sultry smiles at each other, a thick hand on a muscular neck in the corner, a man in eyeliner smearing lipstick over another’s mouth.
“Gaz,” Ghost said, nudging the other man to get his attention away from his… the man he was talking to. “Is this… this is a gay bar.”
Gaz just blinked at him. Lips curled up a bit at the corners. A smile morphing into a chuckle, then a full-belly laugh.
“You lot never laugh at my actual jokes…” Ghost grumbled, rolling his eyes at the man.
“Sorry sir, you just-” more laughter. “You looked scandalized, like I’d taken your mum to a titty bar. Sorry, sir, thought you’d know it when I sent you the name. Do you want to leave?” There was something harder in Gaz’s expression now, something sharp hidden behind his chuckles, and Ghost knew he couldn’t do what he wanted to in that moment, which was book it out the door as fast as he could manage.
Bars like this had expectations. Ideals that Ghost knew he wouldn’t live up to. A shitty pub with nothing but beer on tap wasn’t like that, didn’t want anything from him but his wallet. A place like this called for engagement, interaction, enjoyment. The people around him didn’t want to have to worry if the silent guy at the bar who didn’t seem to like looking at them was going to be a Problem, and he didn’t want to bring his shit to this space and ruin it.
But the way Gaz was looking at him, like the future of their camaraderie might hinge on this moment, had Ghost at least making an attempt to hang around.
“Nah, just not what I expected, I guess.”
If anything, Gaz’s expression soured even more. “Right. Well, if you’re not having fun, you don’t need to stick around for my–”
“Well, well, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing yer ugly mugs at this fine establishment?” a familiar brogue asked over Ghost’s shoulder. Relief that he didn’t have to navigate that minefield of a conversation anymore flooded through him, followed by a bit of confusion at the change in Gaz’s face. His jaw was practically on the floor, eyes wide like a bashed-in door.
Ghost turned in his seat, his mind not quite catching up with the idea that Soap being there was likely not some odd fluke. Probably a deliberate choice. Probably there for a reason.
And what a reason it was.
Ghost would recognize that voice, those eyes, that smile, anywhere. Had stared at Soap’s face often enough when no one was looking–at least, he hoped they weren’t–to have it memorized. Hell, he could probably draw Soap from memory, even with his limited artistic skill.
But, although he could see every component of that familiar face in the… person? Standing in front of him, he struggled to slot her in with the Soap he thought he knew. Those light blue eyes were ringed with sharp green eyeliner and bright, multicolored eye shadow. It looked like he’d drawn bubbles following the lines of his cheekbones, spreading across his temples and frothing up in an arc over his eyes, forming foamy brows just above where his natural ones would normally be.
His mouth, a mouth that Ghost had traced with his eyes hundreds of times, was coated in a shocking red, lined just outside of its natural edges in the same color that outlined the bubbles on his face. It made his lips look like they were trapped in a bubble of their own.
And he was wearing a bright red, curly wig above a deep, muted green dress, a sheer shawl hanging over his biceps and coming to rest just beneath his broad shoulders. He was taller than Ghost in those terrifying heels, framed in what Ghost could see now wasn’t mimicking seafoam, but just plain foam. The fabric had hundreds of tiny, clear beads sewn into it, tiny bubbles in a sea of green.
Not that Ghost could focus on those when, at exactly his eye level, was a pair of pecs perfectly framed in a deep-plunging neckline. Had Soap’s chest always been so… perky? Surely he had some kind of padding beneath those cups? Not that Ghost could figure out where the hell the man could fit it with how tight the thing was on him. It looked like his chest was trying to escape, bulging out of the fabric the way it was.
“Soap?” Ghost asked, dumbfounded. He knew what drag was, he wasn’t fucking stupid, but knowing what drag is and seeing the man you’ve been infatuated with for years at a gay bar, in drag, are two entirely different things to contend with.
Soap tutted, placing one hand on a generous hip–Ghost was certain he’d put padding there– and the other flat on his chest, as if he was offended at the question.
“That’s Lady Lather t’you, sir,” he said, a teasing smile gracing those bubble lips, and Ghost wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
It was clear to him, now, that the woman he’d been so interested in across the bar earlier happened, of course, to be the only man he’d ever felt anything beyond passing attraction for. The universe had a sense of humor.
Or he just had a very, very specific type.
Gaz figured out how to react, finally, with a guffaw and a “I’ll be damned,” as he stood up from his seat and clapped Lady Lather on the shoulder.
“Och, that’s no way to treat a lady! Yer mam no’ raise ye with any manners?”
“Oh, you’re absolutely right, miss, I meant no offense,” Gaz replied easily, lowering his hand to take one of Lady Lather’s and raise it to his lips for a chaste kiss. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“Much better, see if ye cannae get yer friend here to follow suit.” Soap cast another teasing look at Ghost, who only barely managed to keep himself in his seat. If he moved a single muscle, he worried he might run right out the door, or, worse, find himself on his knees for Lady Lather, right in the middle of that godforsaken bar.
Why did he let Gaz convince him to go out? Why did he let himself believe he could be normal for a day? Why was Soap here, wearing a dress of all things, making Ghost realize just how absolutely fucked he was.
Or wished he was.
“S-sorry,” Ghost said, not sure what he was apologizing for. “Why are you…” he didn’t know what he was trying to ask, but luckily Soap seemed to understand.
“We’ve all got ways we like to decompress on leave. Mine just happens to involve a dress and some makeup.” A brief pause, a sharp smile, then, “O’ course, the crowd of people cheering my name an’ throwin’ their knickers at me probably plays a small part.”
“I’m not surprised you’re in it for the attention. You love setting off bombshells, why not become one?” Ghost joked, finally recovering a bit. He could handle this, just like he handled seeing Soap hot and sweaty in the field, or when they sparred together and he could feel the hard muscle give beneath his hands. Nothing had to change just because–
Those red lips curved around a soft laugh, a hand pressed, for just a moment, against Ghost’s chest in a chiding swat, nails– belatedly, he realized Soap’s nails were longer, sharper, tipped in bubbly decals–just lightly digging into the skin beneath his shirt.
“Ye think I’m a bombshell, then? That’s a bit forward, sir.” The honorific was said with none of the deference it held in the field. Soap leaned in, having to bend over to meet Ghost at eye-level, and that fucking dress stretched over the curve of his ass when he did.
The hips were padded, but Ghost knew those glutes. That was au natural. “Gonnae buy this bombshell a drink?”
He couldn’t handle this. He grabbed his, until then untouched, beer and took a swig, hoping it would hide his nervous gulp. Tried to bring back the humor he’d managed to capture a moment before, to no avail.
His skin felt hot. He knew his cheeks were turning red, and he didn’t have the grease paint or the balaclava to hide it. He hoped the mask covered enough of his face that Soap wouldn’t see the flush spreading across it, but he wouldn’t be so lucky. He didn’t know why he blushed so easily, why it covered his whole face when he did, but he knew that Soap would see it flood across his forehead, his ears, the tops of his cheeks.
He could not handle this.
“I need the loo,” Ghost said abruptly, setting his beer down on the counter and weaving his way around Soap–as carefully as he possibly could, knowing if he touched the man in that moment, he might grab him and never let him go– to head, he hoped, in the direction of the bathroom.
But he paused, for a moment, to turn to Soap and say, “You can have that, if you want it,” gesturing at his abandoned beer. Gaz was staring, darting his eyes between Ghost and Soap with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
Ghost didn’t wait long enough for an answer, just sped off in search of the bathrooms so he could splash some cold water on his face. Maybe after that, he’d be able to escape without alerting either of his highly trained teammates that he was making a run for it.
Unlikely.
By the time he made it through the hellish queue to the bathroom, he’d calmed down enough to realize that maybe he was overreacting. He didn’t know why seeing Soap dressed as Lady Lather had such a profound effect on him, but he could chalk it up to the overwhelming surroundings and…
Well, seeing Soap with fucking cleavage would make any man mad, surely. Even if it didn’t seem to have that effect on Gaz.
Ghost scoffed at himself, pulling down his mask to wipe his face with a damp paper towel. He hoped, in vain, that it would cool him down enough to get rid of his blush before he pulled the mask back up over his nose.
What he wouldn’t give for a heavy layer of black grease paint and something to cover his forehead, but he probably already looked like he was about to shoot this lovely bar up. He didn’t want to give anyone more of a reason to worry about him.
“You alright, mate?” came a concerned voice behind him, and Ghost had to stop himself from snapping when Gaz put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I’m sorry for bringin’ you here. I should have known it wouldn’t be your style.”
Ghost almost sighed. He wasn’t sure what his ‘style’ was, if he was entirely honest with himself. He didn’t know the last time he’d actually had fun–not true. Banter on the comms, throwing easy punches on the mats, running from an ill-timed explosion with familiar laughter booming beside him; back in the vault–and he doubted he’d start that night.
“You should go back out there, Gaz. No need to spoil your fun hanging out in here with me.”
“The whole point of coming here was to get you to open up a bit, sir. Wouldn’t do me much good trying to do that in separate rooms.”
“I don’t ‘open up’, Gaz. What you see is what you get.” And everything else stays in the damn vault.
“Then at least come out and finish your beer. Can’t let it go to waste.”
“I gave it to… Lady Lather.” Soap wouldn’t let a beer go undrunk on his watch.
“Heh, right,” Gaz replied a bit absentmindedly, his eyes darting off to the side. “She was a bit too busy to stick around for it, so it’s right here. Just waiting on you.” He gave his hand a little shake, and Ghost realized the beer he’d been holding the whole time was his..
Nice of him not to leave it unsupervised.
Wait, Soap left?
Ghost perked up a bit. He could probably stick around, act about as normal as he ever did long enough to finish his beer, then take off without looking like a prick–any more than he already did. And he wouldn’t have to worry about coming across Soap, or Lady lather.
And then he could go home, lay down in a tub full of ice, and try–and fail– not to think of Sergeant MacTavish framed in foam and chiffon, a pair of bubbled lips he’d like to pop open, pecs he’d gladly help finally escape the tight confines of that dress.
He wouldn’t think about any of that.
He couldn’t stop thinking about any of that.
But he still followed Gaz back out into the bar proper with his beer in hand and a noncommittal grunt. Surprisingly enough, his reaction brought a smile to Gaz’s face, and returned some of their easy familiarity from earlier in the night.
He liked hanging out with Gaz, he was a nice enough guy. Maybe, if they ever had the time for that kind of thing, they could even be friends.
Instead of going back to their seats at the bar stools, Gaz guided him to a table near a stage in the back of the bar. Gaz let Ghost have the seat by the corner, and he felt like he could finally breathe again.
They should have sat there so much sooner. There wasn’t room for anyone to get at his back or sides, and with the table in front of him, no one was able to approach him easily from the front, either.
The guy Gaz had been flirting with earlier was on a dancefloor in front of the stage, dancing with some other guy, but Gaz didn’t seem bothered by it.
“I think you’ll get a kick out of this, sir,” Gaz said, an easy smile on his face. “I didn’t know when I asked if you wanted to come here, but apparently on Saturday’s they hold drag nights. That’s why Soap was all dolled up.”
Ghost had gotten a kick out of that, but probably not the kind Gax expected.
“He’s actually performing tonight! He was supposed to go on earlier, but he saw us and stopped to say hi before headin’ to the stage.”
Ghost got the idea that he wasn’t going to like what happened next. He took a careful swig of his beer, plotting out the different exits he could take when this inevitably went tits-up.
“You almost missed it, hiding in the bathroom, but I think I got you out just in time to catch him.”
Any breath he’d managed to catch quickly went out the window, and before he could finally give in to the urge to get his ass out of there, a voice came over the speakers to announce, “Girls, gays, and theys, it’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for: the belle of the ball here to burst your bubbles. Prepare your prostrations, brace your backs to bow, and get ready for Ladyyyyyyyy Lather!"