Archive of Our Own ^beta

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!"

Chapter Text

Clearly, Lady Lather had a cult following here, because the entire bar lit up in cheers while people rushed to get close to the stage the moment she was announced. Like a deer in headlights, Ghost couldn’t tear his eyes away when the lights went down and fog covered the surface of the stage. A single light turned on, focused on the back of the stage, while the curtain just barely parted over a single, heavily muscled, bare quad poking through.

A burst of motion, the curtain fluttering in the air as it revealed Lady Lather in her full glory. There was a slit in the dress that Ghost hadn’t noticed before, revealing her full leg as she strutted to center stage, the swing of her hips catching Ghost's eye like a hypnotist’s watch demanding his attention.

“Told you you’d get a kick out of it,” Gaz said, but his voice was distant. Ghost couldn’t focus on anything but Soap in that moment, moreso when the music started and Soap began to lipsync to the opening notes of Bad Romance. He might have laughed if it weren’t so terribly fitting.

It looked like Lady Lather’s wig had been fluffed up, so it was quite a bit higher on top now than it had been before, and now a crown of bubbles and pearls was nestled in the red curls.

Caught in a bad romance

Lady Lather stood in the center of the stage, smoothly stretched her arms out to the audience, and people in the crowd started bowing, almost becoming part of the performance, themselves.

Caught in a bad romance

Once the Rah Rahs started, something changed, Lady Lather’s moments became choppier, her hands forming claws in front of her, and she started to take stilted steps around the edge of the stage.

Her eyes met Ghost’s for a moment, a hint of satisfaction in them when she winked and leaned in toward the crowd. Toward him.

I want your ugly, I want your disease

The people in front of the stage closest to her reached their hands up, trading pound notes for the curl of her hand against theirs, her nails leaving no traces on their skin, but permanent lines in their minds.

Ghost absently wondered if he’d brought any cash with him.

Love love love, I want your love

Her claws became graceful pointing hands as she gestured out to the crowd, making sure to land on Ghost and Gaz, along with a lucky few others in the crowd.

Ghost felt that point as if it had struck him right in the chest.

I want it bad, your bad romance

As if she was fed up with it restricting her movements, she reached down to grab the bubble-hem of her dress and ripped it off, tossing the fabric of her skirt behind her to reveal a shorter, bouncier white skirt that only reached mid-thigh, stitched with even more of those bubbly clear beads. Her steps were freer now, larger strides carrying her further down the stage, her skirt bouncing with every step, just barely showing off the curve of her ass. 

No more padding on the hips. Must have been part of the full skirt.

I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance

Lady Lather specifically pointed toward Ghost and Gaz’s table, then at herself, on ‘you and me,’ then dragged her hands down her chest, switching her hips in a graceful ‘s’ on ‘bad romance. She buried her hands in her hair, swinging her head around while she fell to her knees, before letting her shoulders fall back so her spine arched, pushing her pecs up into the air. It had to be one of the seven wonders of the world that her top didn’t burst open with the added pressure.

Ra-ra, ah-ah-ah

Suddenly, Lady Lather curved forward and began crawling toward the side of the stage opposite Ghost. Her short skirt didn’t even try to cover the curve of her ass cheeks, just barely concealed by the bottom of what Ghost could only assume was a very tight leotard.

Where the hell had Soap put his-

I want your horror, I want your design

Lady Lather turned around, still crawling, but now toward Ghost. She reared back up on her knees, one hand behind her with a palm on the stage, the other stretched out in the air at him.

Cause you’re a criminal as long as you’re mine

I want your love

Suddenly the music started to pick up, the mix set to skip the next verse, and she finally stood, prancing around the stage, pausing to kick or throw her arms out to the beat, the crowd cheering at the switch up. (AN: She's vogueing. Ghost doesn't know what that is, let's be so fr)

Walk walk, fashion baby

Work it, move that bitch crazy

She got so close to the edge of the stage that Ghost worried she might fall off, but she just leaned down to grab 5 quid from someone’s hand with her teeth, leaving the starstruck girl to scream with the people around her.

The girl proceeded to fucking curtsy at Lady Lather, who gave her a gracious smile and bowed before turning her back to the audience. The fog machine picked up, shrouding Lady Lather in a dense layer of it, while the center stage light turned off and a few spotlights lit up in a circle around her. The details in her outfit sparkled in the low light, the glitter only muted by the fog, while she slowly dragged her hands up her sides.

I want your love, I don’t wanna be friends

Her bubble skirt rode up a bit under the pressure of her fingertips, but flopped down in a graceful bounce once her hands moved to her waist.

Je veux ton amour, I don’t wanna be friends

Up, up, nails tracing the lines of her top, coming to rest at her neck. She turned her head to the side so the audience could read the silhouette of her lips, but kept her body facing the back.

No I don’t wanna be friends

One hand continued up, framing her face, then curling into her hair. The other stayed at her throat, her fingers curling around it, nails digging in. The lights flashed around her, lightin up her thighs, then her shoulders, then her side, back, the top of her head.

Ghost didn’t remember getting an epilepsy warning before coming in, but he didn’t really care, because the turned around, the lights started flashing more frequently, and she was curling in on herself, both hands now buried in her hair.

I don’t wanna be friends

Want your bad romance!

She swung her head in an arc, the music stopped, and her wig flew into the crowd. People cheered, tried to grab for it, but it was well to well-aimed and found itself in a red heap on the table in front of Ghost.

Gaz went to grab it with a grin on his face, but Ghost, without thinking or sparing a single glance at the other man, nabbed it before he could and held it carefully so none of it touched the floor or got squished in his hold.

Want your bad romance!

She had a mohawk hiding under the wig. Not Soap’s usual mohawk–short and brown and soft like downy fur, back in the vault–but a longer, green one studded with pearls that were shaped like little hearts. Ghost had no clue how he’d hidden it beneath the other wig without crushing it.

I want your love and I want your revenge

You and me could write a bad romance!

Lady Lather dropped down into a squat and popped back up an instant later. Gaz practically hollered with joy, shaking Ghost’s shoulder and pointing at the stage, but Ghost could hardly hear him over the shrieking crowd and his own heartbeat.

She was really moving now, hands in the air, changing positions every few beats. She blew a kiss at a man who offered 10 pounds with a bow, drew a fingertip down the length of someone else’s nose to draw a note from their lips

Caught in a bad romance

She turned back toward the curtain, taking a step with each ra-rah, ah-ah-ah, and took her final bow, both arms sweeping out by her sides.

Still facing the curtain.

Want your bad romance

Her skirt flew up again, a flash of leotard and tight cheek revealed again before she grabbed her skirt off the stage, swung it over her shoulders as a snobby woman might do with a fur scarf, and disappeared behind the curtain once more.

“God damn, she’s good!” Gaz muttered, his jaw on the floor for the second time this evening. Ghost was Glad Gaz wasn’t able to see his expression, because even he had no idea what he looked like at the moment.

“Right,” Ghost replied, barely a whisper. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself now. He was still holding the wig he half-hoped Soap wouldn’t want back. He didn’t know exactly what he’d do with it if he kept it, but he was reluctant to give it back, anyway.

It was oddly soft. Red like fresh blood. Like Lady Lather’s lips.

“You didn’t even touch your beer. Gonna stick around long enough to say bye to her before you go?”

That got Ghost’s mind off the wig real quick. “Depends how long she’ll be, I guess. It’s a bit late for me.” He picked his beer up with his unoccupied hand and tried to chug it without looking like he was chugging it. He didn’t want Gaz to think he was fleeing in panic at the thought of having to interact with Lady Lather again.

But it looked like he wouldn’t even get the chance.

Slowly but surely, Lady Lather was making her way through the crowd toward them, smiling easily with the people feeding her compliments. She had the tips she’d earned sticking out from a clip in her mohawk, almost blending in with it.

Ghost didn’t think she could glow any more, but when she finally got close enough to their table to meet his eyes, her smile, impossibly, grew.

She hastily said her farewells to her fans, who bowed and curtsied when she pulled away like cult members following their leader’s edicts.

“Wha’d ye think, boys?” she asked when she reached their table, pulling out a chair at a diagonal and flopping into it, one arm on the table and the other resting on the back of the chair. The pose was so quintessentially Soap that it made Ghost ache. The Lady Lather persona was gone, but Soap was still wearing her clothes, her makeup.

Somehow, that was worse.

Gaz leaned forward, excited and started to ramble. “That was fantastic, I don’t even know what to say. The skirt was one thing, but then the wig reveal? That mowhawk is sick, by the way. A definite upgrade from your usual,” he finished with a sly smirk.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid, my usual suits me just fine, thank ye.” Soap shoved at his shoulder before reaching out to take his wig from Ghost, who tried not to reveal just how difficult it was for him to unlatch his fingers from the synthetic hair.

“Thanks fer holdin’ on ta this, by the way. I wasnae going to toss it at first, but why not make use of my resources when I have them?” He made sure to imply with two nods aimed at Gaz and Ghost that there were said resources while he set the wig to hang off the edge of Ghost’s chair. At his incredulous look, Soap continued, “Safer there in the corner than hangin’ off mine in the open. Just figured you wouldn’t wanna hold it all night.”

Ghost would have held it as long as he was allowed.

“I’m probably going to go soon, anyway” he said, taking another swig of his beer. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to empty the damn thing. It was still half full, at least.

“Surprised ye stayed as long as ye did, LT. Looked a touch green earlier.”

“I suppose I’m in good company, then.” Ghost aimed a pointed stare at Soap’s mowhawk, then down to his dress, careful not to look too long anywhere he really wanted to.

Gaz looked a bit confused by the comment, but Soap caught on right away, rolling his eyes with a reluctant chuckle.

“Yer jokes never get better, do they, LT?”

“Nope. They’re terminal, I’m afraid.”

“Not as afraid as me. I’m the one who’ll have to listen to ‘em every time we’re sent out.”

“Bit optimistic, thinkin’ you’ll last long enough for that to become a problem.”

“It’s already a problem. And you’re the optimist, thinkin’ I won’t make sure ta wring yer neck before I croak.”

“Not very ladylike, if you ask me.” Ghost wasn’t sure what dragged that dumbass comment from his lips, but he regretted it immediately when Lady Lather came back in full force, pulling herself up into a prim and proper posture, lightly settling her arm on the edge of the table while she crossed her legs, one thick thigh meshing perfectly into the one below it. Her foot, clad in that strappy ankle-breaker, was inches from Ghost’s own leg. It took everything in him not to close the distance.

“I’d show ye ‘ladylike,’ sir,” she said, her voice low and sharp, “but I doubt ye could handle it.”

Gaz, who’d been watching the entire exchange like someone at a tennis match, head bobbing back and forth depending on who was speaking, slowly stood up from his chair and started to make his exit. Ghost glared at him in a panic. He couldn’t be left alone with Soap like– like this!

“Where are you going, Gaz?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound as frantic as he felt.

“I, uh, well you two seem like you’re finally back to normal–” his voice got a bit tight at the last word, “so I was just gonna go track down that… guy I was talking to earlier, see what he’s up to, maybe grab a pint.” Gaz's lips twitched as he met Ghost's eyes, but the expression was gone in an instant, too quick for Ghost to tell what, if anything, it meant.

“I was going to head out anyway,” Ghost repeated the phrase that was starting to sound like a lie even to him, swirling the beer in his hand to find it still wasn’t empty. He could just pretend he’d finished it and be on his way, not like either of them would noti-

“Ye gonnae finish that first? Been nursin’ the damn thing all night. Hate to see it wasted.”

In the moment Ghost looked back at Soap, Gaz took off like a bullet and disappeared into the crowd on the dancefloor.

So much for trying to get Ghost to ‘open up’. Hard to do that when you abandon a guy with a drag queen in a revealing outfit and a sexy fuckin-

With Soap.

Ghost wasn’t sure how long he stared at the other man, who’d once again relaxed out of his Lady Lather persona, before Soap raised a questioning, bubbly brow at him.

Shit, he’d completely forgotten he’d been asked anything.

“Probably not. I’ve stayed out too late already. Need my beauty sleep.”

“Is it workin’ yet?” Soap was completely deadpan, but Ghost could always see the joking glint in his eye, not matter how many layers of makeup shrouded it.

“Hard to tell, I never actually get to the ‘sleep’ part.”

“I can help with that.” Ghost’s eyes widened, just a smidge, until he saw Soap flexing his fists in front of his face like a boxer prepping for a fight.

“Hmm. Might work, but I wouldn’t want to ruin your makeup. Too pretty for a right hook.”

What. the. Fuck. Just came out of his mouth?

Luckily, Soap took it for the joke it definitely was and just laughed. Ghost didn’t, but that was normal enough, right?

“Can I have some?” Soap asked, and at Ghost’s confused mumble, he clarified, “The beer, if yer gonnae no’ finish it. I’m parched. Performing takes it out of me.”

Ghost passed the bottle over without a word and watched, helpless to stop, as Soap’s red lips moulded to the mouth of the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He let out a small, pleased grunt at the taste before setting the bottle back down between them.

There was a hint of glossy red left behind on the rim of the bottle, and Ghost was tempted to take another swig, to chase the taste of Soap’s lips.

“Jesus, there’s still some left if ye want more. Thought ye said ye were done,” Soap joked, nudging the bottle his way.

Maybe he’d been a bit obvious, staring at the bottle like he’d been crawling through the desert with nothing to drink for days. If he really thought about it, he might be able to survive such a thing if he could drink his fill of Soap’s mouth.

“Thirstier than I thought, I guess,” he heard himself say, watched his hand reach for the bottle. Soap still had a hand resting on the neck of it, didn’t pull away quite fast enough, and their fingers brushed when Ghost took it from him.

He was disappointed when he pulled his mask down and took a swig. The beer, of course, tasted just like it had before. It didn’t magically take on Soap’s flavor after one drink, and it was foolish of him to hope that it might.

But he felt the difference in texture where some of Soap’s lipstick had smudged off, and that nearly drove him mad. He wondered if any of it would transfer to his mouth, if he might have something of Soap’s to take home with him, yet another thing to not think about when he was laying in bed tonight, desperately holding himself back from reaching below his blanket and calling the other man’s name.

Hell, it was something for him to not think about right then, sitting across from the very man who would not be starring in his fantasies later. 

Because there were no fantasies for him to star in. None of those at all.

Too many of those to count. Vault’s full.

“Thanks,” he said, passing the bottle back to his friend, pointedly avoiding actually meeting his gaze, instead focusing on the beer as it traded hands again.

“Thankin’ me fer yer drink, what the hell is goin’ on? You’re never this nice. Somebody roofie this thing?” Ghost could only hope so. At least then, he wouldn’t be at fault for the direction of his wayward thoughts.

“Gaz watched it while I was in the bathroom, so unless that’s his idea of a good prank, I doubt it.”

“Then what is goin’ on, Ghost?” Soap was serious now, and that expression was so out of place with the green hair and bubble make-up that it almost had Ghost cracking a smile. “Ye can be pretty paranoid sometimes, but you’re actin’ right strange tonight, even for you.”

“Not everyday a soldier sees one of his men in drag at a gay bar, Johnny. Forgive me if I act off.”

“I don’t think that’s it, sir. Ye’ve been pretty squirrely, keep tryin’ tae get away.” Another swig from the bottle. Surely it would at least smell a bit like him now. “Keep sayin’ ye don’t want this beer, then starin’ at it like ye might die if ye don’t tan it right away.”

Ghost didn’t know what point Soap was trying to make, but he didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

“I really should go, Soap, but it was…” Nice seeing you dance half-naked on the stage, wishing I could do more than watch?

Fun sitting in this chair, actually praying, for the first time in years, just to beg that I wouldn’t get hard at the sight?

Hot as hell. My worst nightmare. A dream.

None of the things he could think to say were likely to inspire a positive reaction in the man across from him. Just because he liked to prance around in a dress didn’t make him gay, and hell, even if he was, nobody wanted their superior creeping on them on their limited breaks from service. Even if he and Johnny had never exactly followed the ideal standards of interactions between officers and their men.

“You did… good. I liked your dance, Johnny.” And somehow that was worse than anything else he could have said, because for some reason it came out all soft, like it meant something more than the words’ dictionary definition. Like he wanted Soap to read something deeper from it.

Before Soap could respond, Ghost stood up, taking one last glance at the beer in Soap’s hand, then Soap’s red lips. He didn’t let himself look further down at that chest he couldn’t fucking get enough of, or the skirt that did fuck all to hide anything beneath it.

If he stuck around a second longer, he worried he’d do something he really regretted. Something he couldn’t take back. But damn if he didn’t want to take a page out of Soap’s book and let impulse guide him, just this once.

But actions have consequences. And he wasn’t sure if he was willing to risk it

Chapter Text

He was proud of himself when he turned around and finally started to walk toward the door, as slow as the process might be with the dense crowd still blocking his way, but a moment later he lost all of his progress when Soap spoke again.

“One more for the road?” When Ghost turned back around– because it would be rude not to, no other reason– Soap was holding the beer out to him again, still sitting in the chair with both legs stretched out before him. Ghost noticed, belatedly, that the man had shaved them.

Ghost wasn’t sure if he was disappointed at the loss or excited at the prospect of the long expanse of mostly smooth skin. Could never be fully smooth for the scar tissue dancing along those legs, bullet holes and knife wounds marring the surface in patterns that Ghost would give anything to trace with his hands. Or, better yet, his tongue.

He licked his lips nervously, but his tongue was dry with nerves. That beer would be pretty nice, right about then.

One more taste couldn’t hurt, surely. Then he’d go home and forget this night ever happened. Eventually, they’d answer the call of duty once more, find themselves in some shit situation that they’d barely escape by the hair on their chins. They’d pass shitty jokes around on comms and have everyone else begging them to change channels. Soap would insist he hated every second, but he’d still be the only one who laughed.

Normal.

One more taste, and then he’d be gone and they’d get back to normal.

He retraced his steps back to the table, stopped beside those long legs, and reached out to take the beer from his friend for the last time.

But this time, Soap didn’t release it when Ghost tugged, just smirked at him, their fingers barely grazing in the places Ghost couldn’t avoid having their skin touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost tried to reprimand, but it came out more like a plea.

Soap stood up then, bringing them almost chest to chest, and Ghost couldn’t help but shy away. How unlucky for him, then, that they were at the corner table. There was a wall at his back, a chair beside him, and Soap in front.

So much for going back to normal.

There were very few times in his life when Ghost had felt like he had no escape, and they never tended to end well for those who made him feel that way, but this time… The tension seemed to melt away when he realized he didn’t have control of the situation anymore. Soap did.

And he trusted Soap. Trusted him enough to stick around in Las Almas when it looked like there was no hope for him. Trusted him enough to follow nothing but the sound of his voice through a veritable minefield of armed guards at a high-security prison.

Trusted him to not let Ghost be hurt at his most vulnerable. To not be the one to hurt him.

There was another performer on stage now, drawing the focus of the bar, so nobody noticed the standoff in the corner. Nobody saw Soap finally release the bottle just to drag his hand down the outside of Ghost’s forearm. Or his other hand coming up to rest at the top of Ghost’s mask, his thumb brushing against the crooked edge of his nose. Then, oh so gently, slipping between fabric and skin, a question in his eyes.

Nobody saw Ghost’s brief nod, a movement that stretched even the boundaries of Ghost’s trust in Soap. But a moment later, his mask had been pulled down, and there was nothing between them but their breath and the neck of a beer bottle.

“Ye finally gonnae drink that, sir?” Soap practically whispered with a small nod at the bottle in Ghost’s hand.

Ghost looked at the beer, with smudges of red still painted on the rim, then up at Soap’s lips. Redder.

“It’s not really the beer I want, Johnny.” And there it was, out in the open. 

Soap smiled, the fingers of one hand gently caressing his cheek, the other wrapping around his on the bottle and pushing it down. The clink of glass on the table probably wasn’t even audible against the music blasting through the speakers, but Ghost felt it like it vibrated to his very soul.

Soap leaned imperceptibly closer, Ghost matched him, and they were trading breath, an inch away from their lips meeting.

“Then what beer do ye want, Ghost? We can ask the bartenders if it’s in stock.”

Ghost pulled away, leveling a dark look at Soap while the other man laughed.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Ye know, that’s how it feels when ye-”

Ghost couldn’t take it anymore and silenced the other man before he could finish his sentence, bringing his unoccupied hand up to wrap around the nape of Soap’s neck and drag him down, and then-

Their lips met, practically melted together with the force Ghost had put on Soap’s neck. Soap’s mouth parted on a surprised gasp, and Ghost’s tongue filled the space, drawing a groan from the other man’s throat.

Ghost wasn’t going to let this moment go to waste. He doubted he’d ever get another chance to have this, to have Soap, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take whatever Johnny was willing to give.

Which seemed to be just fine for Johnny, who got over his momentary shock in record time and shoved Ghost into the wall behind him, following his mouth, sucking on his lips, twisting their tongues together. Altogether giving just as good as he got.

The beer was entirely forgotten, alone on the table. Their hands were roaming, now. Soap kept one on Ghost’s face at all times, but the other was all over him. Pulling at his shoulder, gripping his chest, tugging his waist. It didn’t escape Ghost’s notice that the hand on his cheek was shielding him from the rest of the pub, and he didn’t know what to do with the surge of gratitude that rushed through him.

Ghost wasn’t sure where his own hands were, only that no matter where they were, it felt fucking fantastic. Hard muscle under his fingertips, soft skin, chiffon and beads caught between his fingers, anywhere and everywhere was perfect. He just barely came back to himself when both of his hands came up to cup Soap’s overflowing chest, those fucking pecs almost spilling into his hands. A bit more pressure and he could probably pop a nipple out of the cups of Soap’s top. What he’d do with it after was anybody’s guess, but he could bet it’d feel fucking fantastic.

He let out a frustrated growl when Soap backed away, pulling their lips apart–with no small amount of difficulty, because Ghost chased his mouth the whole way.

“Wait, Ghost, wait,” Soap said breathlessly, using the hand on Ghost’s cheek to hold him in place. Ghost had half a mind to bite that hand for holding him back from the man he so desperately wanted, was only now getting a brief taste of. He worried if he stopped for too long, he’d never get the chance to have this again.

“Ye can’t undress me in the middle of this pub, ye fuckin’ animal. A lady needs a smidge better treatment than that, don’t ye think?” 

Ghost closed his eyes and took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, but all he got for it was a noseful of Soap’s scent, which certainly didn’t help.

“That, and I’d rather not get kicked out of this place. It’s one of my favorite spots in this godforsaken country, and I’d like to be able to come back.”

“You’re not thinking creatively enough, Johnny. You could get back in, even if they didn’t want you to.” Ghost had no clue how he was able to say one full sentence, let alone two, with how scrambled his brain was. It felt like every synapse was firing at the same time.

“Unfortunately, B and E probably won’t get me back to dancing my ass off on that stage, so I’ll have to pass. Come on, Ghost. We can go back to mine, continue where we left off?” Soap pulled Ghost’s mask back up over the bridge of his nose, dragged his nails down the front of his chest, and Ghost leaned into the touch, his eyes drooping almost closed from the pleasure.

But the words seeped into his desire-addled brain, and his mask added a much needed barrier between him and Soap’s smell. Powder and perfume, something fresh and clean that tickled a familiar edge of Ghost’s mind. 

He met Soap’s eyes again, didn’t find any of the anger or judgement he expected. Through the sweat and activity, some of his makeup had been rubbed off his cheeks, bubbles now smudged instead of sharp, perfect little beads. Ghost could just barely see a flush creeping up over Soap’s own cheekbones, his lips parting on quick breaths filled with anticipation.

He wore the same expression now as he would on any high stakes mission: the determination in his blue eyes, brows set low–though it was hard to tell now, with the natural line disappeared under a ridge of froth– and his teeth bared in the smallest smile, like he’s just as likely to snarl as he is to grin.

Ghost should have said no, should have thought of any of the million reasons that going to Soap’s place and ‘continuing where they left off’ was a terrible fucking idea, should have given Soap any excuse that would save the man from the shit that always seemed to seep through Ghost’s mask to infect those he…

Cared about.

But Ghost found himself nodding instead, not loosening his grip from the neckline of Soap’s top, not tearing his eyes away from the sergeant, or walking away, or telling him this wouldn’t end well.

How could he, when the only person he’d ever really wanted was standing in front of him, offering him everything he’d ever dreamed of?

“Alright, Johnny. Let’s go.”

Surprise sparked in Soap’s eyes briefly before it was quickly overtaken in the explosion of his smile. Ghost only saw it for a moment before Soap crashed their lips together again, this time not bothering to remove his mask, but Ghost didn’t care. Soap’s teeth snagged on the fabric, wetted it with a mix of their spit, and Ghost knew it would be damp for the entire walk to wherever Soap lived, but how much could that small discomfort matter when Soap had Ghost’s lip between his teeth?

But Ghost was upset when Soap pulled away again. He seemed to enjoy leaving him hanging.

“I’ll be honest, Ghost, I thought ye’d need more convincing than that.”

He needed nothing more convincing than Johnny’s smile. He’d pour gasoline over the world and set it to light if he thought it’d make Soap grin half as much as their kisses had.

Soap had already grabbed his wig from Ghost’s abandoned chair, drained the rest of the beer he had almost forgotten existed, and grabbed his hand to start dragging him through the bar to the exit before Ghost was able to ask, “What kind of convincing were you planning, Johnny?” If his voice wavered a bit on the way out, Soap didn’t seem to notice.

“If it looked like you were on the way to refusing, I could always kiss ye ta shut ye up. Worked well enough for me the first time.” They passed through a particularly dense section of the bar, and Soap tugged him closer, forcing Ghost to press himself up against Soap’s back. His free hand came to rest on Soap’s hip, the other man’s ass pressing back against him when he stumbled. He’d think it was an accident if Soap didn’t pull harder on his hand, bringing them even closer. It would have made walking awkward if they weren’t so in sync, Soap rolling his hips back into Ghost with each step until he was almost driven mad.

“Couldae done somethin’ like this, let ye feel just enough to know ye need more. Maybe I could’ve had ye beggin’ ta go home with me by the end of the night.”

“I don’t beg.” If anything could make him, it would be Soap.

“Ye would. I think I could make ye want it enough,” he echoed Ghost’s thoughts. Then he turned his face just enough for Ghost to see his entirely serious expression as he continued, “And if that didn’t work, I was gonnae start beggin’. See how quickly I could make ye give in just by sayin’ please.” He drew the last word out on a long breath, almost a moan, and putting a palm over Ghost’s hand on his hip, doing nothing more than rubbing the skin on the back of his hand.

But he’d be damned if it didn’t set him on fire.

Ghost couldn’t take it anymore, put his other hand on Soap’s opposite hip to start steering him out of the bar. It took every bit of self-control he had not to let those hands dip lower to bury his fingers in the taut flesh of Soap’s ass.

“Less talking, more walking, sergeant,” he said roughly, not sure how much more of this he could handle.

Soap started laughing, but didn’t resist as he was pushed to the exit. Didn’t stop talking, either, but Ghost hadn’t really expected him to.

“Of course, if all else failed, there’s the hairspray-blowtorch method.”

“Resourceful.”

“Knew ye’d like that.” 

They finally made it through the exit, but they didn’t separate any more than what was strictly necessary for public decency. Though ‘decent’ was stretching it a bit.

Ghost had come around to Soap’s side, one hand wrapped around his back to rest just above the curve of his ass, buried in the fabric of his skirt. Soap had somehow gotten a hand under the shirt Ghost swore he’d tucked in, and it was pressed hot against the skin of his lower back, Soap’s thumb making small, soothing circles there.

Ghost had no idea where Soap’s flat was, and he didn’t bother to ask, allowing himself to just be led without worrying about his destination. Soap may have been the only person Ghost would allow that level of trust.

It scared him.

“Yer quiet, LT. Didn’t prep an awful standup routine for this trek?”

“This specific scenario doesn’t come up in my planning sessions, I’m afraid to say.”

Soap’s hand drifted imperceptibly lower, his pinky coming to rest just at the top of the crack of Ghost’s ass. They both pretended not to notice.

“I’d say I’m disappointed, but it’s probably for the best that ye won’t be ruinin’ the mood.”

“There’s that optimism again.” Ghost fisted his hand in Soap’s skirt, earning himself a confused look. “I don’t think I like this get-up.”

The look was far less confused and much more offended. “Ye didnae seem ta have a problem with it whe-”

“It’s a real drag.”

Soap appeared to almost short-circuit, even stopped walking to process. “That was awful. E’en fer you.”

“Give me some time, I’ll think of something better.”

“Gonnae no’ dae that? One was enough fer me.”

“If you don’t speak English, I’ll just have to assume you want me to keep going.”

“Ye know damn well I donnae want that, ye roaste-”

“You know that Queen who lost her arms and legs?”

“Ghost, I swear, I’ll-”

“Just saw her going for a drag down the road.”

“Och, haud yer weesht,” Soap gritted out, but Ghost could tell he was holding back laughter.

“Let’s see… Oh, yesterday, I-”

Soap used the hand on his back to pull him in close, brought the other, still holding his wig, up to drag his mask down, and kissed him like his life depended on it. He paused just long enough to say, “Shut the fuck up,” before biting down on Ghost’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth.

Ghost groaned, grabbing a fist full of Soap’s asscheek to hold him in place. He mourned his decision to wear jeans when their hips came together and he couldn’t feel more than the pressure of his dick against Johnny’s thigh. That didn’t matter as much when he realized Soap was holding his face again, the synthetic strands of the wig in his hand tickling the skin of Ghost’s neck.

Ghost barely registered that they were still moving, Soap slowly but surely urging him toward a dingy brick building. When they reached the stoop, Soap ended their kiss with a parting swipe of his tongue against Ghost’s swollen lips and said, “Can I stop kissin’ ye long enough to get the door open, or do I need to gag ye to keep you from makin’ any more of those awful fuckin’ jokes?”

Ghost licked his lips, searching for any traces of Soap left behind, and the other man’s eyes darting down to watch the quick swipe of his tongue hit him with a spark of nerves. He wasn’t used to people being able to watch him like that, to get a hint at the direction of his thoughts by just the expression on his face. Made him feel transparent, almost fragile.

But this wasn’t people. It was Soap watching him, Soap’s gaze heating up at just the sight of Ghost’s tongue. Another flush rose up over his face, and Soap smiled, grazing a finger over Ghost’s hot cheek.

“Just be quick about it, don’t know how long I can hold myself back.” He wasn’t talking about the jokes.

With the ease and skill of a trained demolitions expert, and the same determination he would have staring at the wires of a bomb steadily counting down to his end, Soap released Ghost, pulled a key from somewhere Ghost wasn’t paying enough attention to see, and had the lock undone in the span of a millisecond. 

“That fast enough for ye?” he asked, taking Ghost’s hand to drag him down a door-lined hallway to the last one on the right.

“It’s not a drag race, sergeant. No need to rush.”

“Ye fuckin’ bawbag,’” Soap had that door open in a flash and practically shoved Ghost through it into what he thought, from the little attention he paid it before giving all of his focus back to Soap, was a studio flat. Bed in the center, kitchen off to the left, a door in the corner that must have led to the bathroom. Multiple wardrobes lined the walls, which he would have thought were odd if he hadn’t already learned how Soap liked to spend his nights.

This time, Ghost was the one who brought them back together, dragging Soap through the door and using his body to slam it shut. He fumbled for the lock with one hand, shoved the other up Soap’s skirt to palm the outside of his thigh, dug his fingers into his flesh hard enough to leave a mark. They were already kissing again, Soap moaning into his mouth, practically riding his thigh.

He was distantly aware of Soap placing his red wig on a coat hanger beside them with one hand, the other doing something on the back of his head that would probably be much easier without Ghost’s distractions, but he didn’t complain.

A moment later, the green mowhawk was on the coat hanger too, and Soap’s hands were on Ghost, and he wasn’t distantly aware of anything anymore. His body was a live wire, all too intent on the fact that his sergeant, his infatuation, Soap, Johnny, was with him, all over him.

He wasn’t sure where he ended and Soap began. The moment the lock slid into place, he shoved his arm between Soap’s back and the door, gripping his shoulder from behind. Every inch of available skin was touching; one of Ghost’s legs was trapped between Soap’s, both of Soap’s hands were beneath his shirt, ten perfect nails dug into his abs.

Ghost pushed the hand on Soap’s thigh up, buried his fingers beneath the edge of the leotard he wore, and gripped one firm cheek, using it to guide Soap’s hips into him. He could feel the length of Soap’s dick grinding against his thigh, wished yet again that he wasn’t wearing those fucking jeans. He wanted skin on skin. Wasn’t quite sure how to get it without separating them, and he’d be damned if he would do that.

He thrust his tongue into Soap’s mouth, harder than he intended in his frustration, but Soap just sucked on it, tangled it with his own, groaned on another drag of his hips. Ghost wasn’t sure how long it had been since he took a breath, but with Soap on him, around him, his tongue in his mouth, it didn’t matter.

“Ghost,” Soap said, a rushed, almost strangled sound, between kisses. “Ghost, yer-” his hands pushed at his stomach. Gently, but firm enough to puncture the thick fog shrouding his mind. He pulled back and slowly realized he was panting, his breaths heavy and hot in the space between them. 

Soap wasn’t much better, dragging in deep inhales like he’d just run a mile. Ghost tried not to think about the fact that they were trading air, truly breathing each other in. That his next breath wasn’t cool or refreshing, probably had hardly any oxygen left after already being shared between them. That it didn’t make his lungs scream any less for him to get more, cleaner, unbreathed air.

 And yet, somehow, he still felt like he was truly breathing for the first time in years.

“Fuckin’ hell, LT. Ye sure know how tae kiss, but I need tae breathe.”

I don’t. Not when I can have you instead.

Ghost stared into Soap’s bright blue eyes and didn’t say a thing. His makeup was beyond saving now, bubbled lips finally popped open, red smudged around his mouth, some on his teeth. The bubbles on his cheeks were little more than a blurry sheen where their faces had rubbed together. Ghost let go of Soap’s shoulder, brought his hand to his face and slowly dragged his thumb across one cheekbone, smearing the makeup even more, before running his fingers over the lines of Soap’s open lips. He could feel Johnny breathing, hot against his hand, while he traced his swollen mouth.

“I think I killed Lady Lather.” He was almost disappointed in himself at how quickly he’d ruined the makeup, but he was more enchanted with how good it felt to know he was the one who’d wrecked Soap so thoroughly.

One side of Soap’s mouth quirked up a bit. “Ye think this is bad, ye should see the other guy.” His voice was still breathless, but he was able to spare enough oxygen to laugh when Ghost’s eyes widened. Soap swiped at Ghost’s lips to show a smear of red at the end of his finger. “You might be wearing more of her than I am.”

Ghost was panting for a different reason now. He licked his lips again, could taste and feel the film of glossy red against his tongue. It was unfamiliar, being the first time he’d kissed someone wearing lipstick in years. He’d never really cared before, or even noticed, if someone left a mark on him of any kind. But this time was different.

“Bed, now,” Ghost growled, backing away from the door and taking a laughing Soap with him.

“Like that, d’ye?” Soap pushed in close to Ghost as they walked, pressing a mouth up to his ear. Ghost could feel his breath against the little hairs inside as he whispered, “Like knowin’ I left somethin’ behind? Somethin’ ye can look at in the mirror later, when ye wannae remind yerself who did that to ye. Who left their mark on ye.”

Ghost groaned, then shoved Soap down onto the full sized bed they’d finally reached. The man fell, for once, without a word, just a smug smile on his face. He didn’t adjust himself when he landed on his ass with a bounce, his legs hanging over the edge, heels clacking against the floor.

He probably wouldn’t want shoes on his bed.

Ghost was on his knees in front of him a moment later, undoing the little clasps on his calves without a word.

Soap made a small, surprised sound when his left shoe slid off, peeking over Ghost’s head to watch him remove the other.

“Thank god. I love those heels, but they kill my ankles when I wear ‘em too long.”

Ghost looked up from the little straps he was carefully unwinding from Soap’s calf, meeting Soap’s eyes silently as he pulled the second shoe off. He gently, reverently, cradled Soap’s ankle in both hands, started to rub small circles in the soft skin between bones, and dragged a moan from Soap’s mouth. He watched the other man’s head roll back into the mattress, mourned the loss of those gorgeous blue eyes on his.

He got them back when he leaned down and placed a small kiss on the bone protruding between his fingers.

“Where do they hurt the most?”

The change in Soap’s posture was so minute that he doubted anyone but him would notice it. The amount of time he’d spent staring at the sergeant when nobody was around came in handy now, while he watched all of the walls Soap had come down, his shoulders melting into a smooth, relaxed line, his eyes softening just a bit, his smile falling into an expression more akin to wonder than his usual dry teasing.

“The red bits where the straps dug in, mostly.” Ghost traced a line of kisses along the most red parts of Soap’s left ankle, then softly placed that foot on the ground to pick up the other one and repeat the process, seeking out red welts and soothing them with lips and tongue and gentle swipes of his thumbs.

“Anywhere else, Johnny?”

Soap nodded slowly, but his eyes were distant, hazy. Ghost wondered if he might have missed the question entirely until he answered, with a nervous flicker of his tongue across his lips, “My calves. They get sore.”

Ghost shifted his hands upward, rolling his thumbs into the tense muscle of Soap’s calf. He started with a kiss to the spot where Soap’s shin met his ankle, then traced his tongue lightly to the inside of Soap’s leg. He made sure to drop a kiss on an old scar on the way, then pressed his lips in a line along the inner edge of his calf until he reached Soap’s knee.

He switched legs, changed the path on this one to give some attention to the various cuts and bullet scars he’d accrued over the years, kissing each one at least once.

He gave an extra peck, a swipe of tongue, to one Soap had earned on a mission with him. Shot while coming out of cover to protect Ghost, who’d been pinned down by multiple combatants in an office building. Still continued laying down protective fire so Ghost could get to a safe position, worrying the entire time that Soap wouldn’t be able to do the same.

Soap’s breath stuttered, fingers of the hand he was leaning back on fisting in his quilt, as Ghost worked his way up. Every time Ghost looked up from his task–which was often, considering how addicted Ghost was to the twin pools of blue staring at him–Soap locked eyes with him, breath picking up at the attention.

Ghost reached Soap’s left knee, Soap’s leg still cradled in his hands, and asked, “Do you still hurt anywhere?” Soap shook his head no, eyelids drooping low, lips gently parted. Perfect.

He just waited, watching. Always watching. Watching Soap stare down the scope of his rifle. Watching him spar on the boxing mats, shirtless and sweaty and bruised. Watching him pant on the treadmill, running a towel over dewy shoulders.

Now he watched him reach out a hand, beckon Ghost up onto the bed, scoot back to give him the space to crawl up, to bring their bodies together instead of being forced to watch from a distance. Ghost toed off his own shoes on the way with none of the finesse he’d offered Soap. It didn’t matter if he bruised his own ankle forcing his tennis shoe off his foot when Soap was sitting on the bed, Ghost kneeling above his outstretched thighs.

“Wha’d’ye wannae do?” Soap asked, hands gently pulling at the hem of Ghost’s shirt, but not trying to get it over his head. A suggestion of where it might go. 

The action was a different question than the one he said aloud, maybe a more important one: How far do you want to go? 

Ghost reached behind his head, tugged his shirt up and off from the middle of his back, and tossed it blindly away from the bed in what he hoped was a good enough answer. Soap froze, his hands almost stuck on Ghost’s hips, while his eyes roved possessively over what seemed to be a veritable treasure trove to him.

Ghost remembered, belatedly, that the most Soap had ever seen of him were his face–not many times before tonight–and his arms. Ghost didn’t change near the other men, didn’t share their showers, didn’t give them a chance to see him vulnerable in any way. It was better, in the long run, if they didn’t see him as a human. He rarely acted like one.

Unless he was with Soap.

Johnny had a way of dragging the most human parts out of him. The bits that weren’t just a steady finger poised to pull a trigger. 

Lust, pride, gluttony, envy.

Fear. Hope. Joy. 

Something more. Something that had rooted itself in his chest: a tangled, hot mess of a thing that couldn’t be named.

It dug its thorns into his heart, what little he had of one, when Soap slid his eyes over every new inch of skin Ghost had revealed, following swirling black lines in the shape of skulls, flowers, men at war and at peace walking among each other. Guns hiding behind baseball caps in the empty sockets of grinning ivory heads.

Soap raised a hand, gently placed it against a tattoo covering a particularly bad scar on his chest; cool, dry skin against hot scar tissue. He followed the intermingled lines with his nails, scraping lightly at the sensitive skin, while Ghost tried not to move an inch. He worried he might break the moment somehow, like a single flinch or goosebump out of place would make Soap pull away.

“Ye didnae answer my question, ye know.”

Ghost had hoped it could go unanswered. That Soap would just take the lead again, that Ghost might just magically figure out how to do this without alerting him that he had no clue what he’d even be able to do, let alone what he wanted.

“I don’t… know.”

Soap’s hand stilled, and Ghost almost cursed himself out loud. He’d done it, broken it.

But Soap continued again a second later, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Ye ever been with a man, LT?”

Ghost hesitated, his jaw clenched, hoped Soap didn’t pick up on the anger there. The fear. Worse, the emptiness. “No.” 

Not that counted.

Soap paused, a careful expression on his face, like how he decided to respond to Ghost’s admission was imperative. A brief moment, then, “Ye know how it works?”

Silence. Ghost raised a brow at Soap.

“When a man and another man want to jump each other’s bones very, very much…” Ghost started with a dry voice, his annoyance clear, until Soap interrupted him.

“Ye know I’m no’ makin’ fun, Ghost, quit yer complainin’. Was a genuine question.”

Ghost made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat when he realized Soap wasn’t just going to let this slide.

“I know how it works, Soap. I’m not fuckin’ dumb.”

“Never said ye were. Have any ideas what ye might like? Or what ye might not like, which is quite a bit more important, if ye ask me.” 

“I just…” He took a deep breath in, mostly to feel the momentary press of Soap’s nails as they were forced further into his skin. “I don’t want to… to bottom. I guess.”

Soap smiled, his nails scraping a little rougher across Ghost’s abs. “Figured that, anyway. We can always just take it slow, figure out what works on the way. More fun that way, anyhow.” His smile became a smirk. “Long as ye prep me well enough, I’m a pretty good lay. Got high standards, though. Ye may not meet ‘em.”

“I think I’ll manage.” He was totally out of his depth.

“If not, I’ll manage for ye.” He sounded almost bored, but there was a challenging glint in Soap’s eyes, along with the knowledge that he could get Ghost to do whatever he wanted if he worded it just right.

“Like hell you will.” Ghost used a hand on Soap’s chest to push him down onto the bed. He flopped onto his back with a bounce, laughing like he’d won whatever competition he imagined they were having, and almost gasped when Ghost wasted no time pulling the straps of his top down his shoulders, taking the cups hiding those perfect pecs along for the ride. Soap was left with his arms trapped at his sides, just his nipples and full chest exposed by the wrinkled fabric. He could easily release his arms if he just pulled them up, but he made no attempt to.

“I like this top, ye better not– fuck!” he moaned, squirming under Ghost, who had practically lunged forward to latch his mouth around one of those hard little nubs, his tongue swirling around the peak. 

He paused just long enough to say, “That’s unfortunate. Was fucking not the plan?” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

“Nah, yer right, LT. The top’ll be just fine. Carry on.”

Ghost rewarded him–at least, he thought it was a reward– with a sharp nip at that nipple. The moan that followed told him he was right. He moved to the other side, tried to pull as much of Soap’s skin into his mouth as he could at once. He was sure he looked depraved, probably looked like he was about to bite a chunk out of the man, but he just couldn’t get enough.

Soap didn’t seem to care. Ghost watched him, his head rolling to the side, arms still stuck in the straps of his top. Bit into the muscle in his mouth just to watch the man arch against the quilt beneath him, the fabric of his skirt riding up to form a translucent white halo around his hips.

He’d probably lost some of those little plastic beads by now; hopefully, some would wind up in Ghost’s pockets by the end of the night.

Ghost placed one last, sucking kiss at the edge of Soap’s nipple, then leaned back to inspect his handiwork, red bruises and bite marks already blooming across his chest. Soap looked down at the same time before staring at Ghost with an incredulous expression.

“Ye tryin tae maul me, Ghost? I look like I just got attacked by a bear.”

“I won’t be the only one with somethin’ to look at in the mirror later.”

Soap almost tried to respond, but whatever he was going to say got lost in his groan when Ghost went back to work, this time moving up to Soap’s collarbone while he trailed a hand down to Soap’s thigh. He was kneeling above Soap, hunched over him on his elbows, but slowly lowered himself , sliding his knees down until his hips rested in the cradle of Soap’s. He grumbled against Soap’s throat, brows drawn down like he was in pain, when he remembered he was still wearing those fucking jeans.

He growled, bit at Soap’s throat in some kind of fucked up retaliation, and pulled away.

“These stupid,” he brought himself back up to kneeling, almost whimpered at the sight of Soap reaching out to drag him back down, “motherfucking jeans.” He tore at the button and zipper, fighting to slide the jeans off while Soap moaned and tugged down on his arms. “Wanna feel you, Johnny, can’t fuckin’ feel you right with these jeans in the way.”

He got one leg off and thought about wasting the time to remove the other, but quickly decided he didn’t care how stupid he looked with his jeans still hanging from one ankle if it meant he could be back where he started. He had his mouth back on Soap’s skin as soon as he could. He still had boxers on, but he felt the slide of Soap’s dick against his almost as well as if they were skin to skin, and he was lost.

“Feel me now?” Soap wrapped his legs around Ghost’s hips and ground them together. Ghost’s mouth fell open on a silent moan, hips stuttering a moment as white hot pleasure rushed through him. He couldn’t do much more than nod, wet lips rubbing against Soap’s skin with the movement. Another thrust up, another moan, much less silent this time. A small chuckle, a hand coming around to hold onto his bare back, nails probably leaving red lines on his skin.

“Yeah,” Ghost whispered into the hollow beneath Soap’s chin. “Feel you.”

Something was bound to go wrong. Ghost would fuck up, or some external event would get in the way, or Soap would realize he actually wasn’t interested in this at all, had been experiencing a momentary bout of insanity or decided he didn’t want to deal with the absolutely disastrous fallout this could cause them down the line.

But it hadn’t yet, and Ghost was kissing him again, and somehow he’d gotten a hand beneath his leotard and was inching it to the side. Soap groaned into his mouth at the slide of the material against his dick before it popped free, sliding up against the side of Ghost’s hand. Hot and hard and big. It was only about as long as Ghost’s, but it was thicker by a solid margin.

He wrapped a hand around it without looking down, tugged on it once, twice, reveled in the way Soap’s hands tightened around his waist, the little moans he made every time Ghost squeezed around his head.

It got to the point that Soap wasn’t even kissing Ghost back, his mouth open and panting beneath Ghost’s, widening on every stroke.

“Ghost, if ye don’t… I’m gonnae,” his sentence ended on a whimper, his hips curling up as he fought his orgasm. Ghost catalogued every movement, every sound. “I wannae come with ye inside me, Ghost.”

“How many times do you think you can come?” Ghost wasn’t sure if his voice was loud enough to be heard at first, but Soap answered after a moment.

“Donnae… know.”

“Want to see it, now” Ghost whispered, almost in a trance, staring down at Soap’s cock leaking precum into his hand. “Want to watch you come. Wanna make you.” He didn’t stop stroking, but he slowed down a bit, hoping that would be enough for Soap to be able to think over his looming orgasm.

“Fuuuck, Ghost. Think I can… maybe twice? Might need 10 minutes to recover after.”

“How long will it take to stretch you?” He wasn’t expecting his genuine question to have such a strong response, but his words had Soap bucking up into his hand, a surprised gasp on his lips.

“Ye cannae just… say somethin’ like tha’, LT. Shite.” His skin was wet with sweat from being on the edge so long. Ghost wanted to lick it off.

“Will you be too sensitive for that after coming?” Ghost couldn’t decide whether to stare at Soap’s heaving chest or his red-flushed dick, pearly white liquid leaking from its head. He wanted to lick that off, too. “Will you need a break?”

“Nae just… go slow. Fuck wait, I take that back. Yer like a glacier already, fuckin’ teasin’ me,” Ghost sped up a bit at the comment, not sure if Soap was truly frustrated at the pace or his arousal was making him impatient. “Just keep goin’ the way ye ‘ave been.” His accent was getting stronger, word’s running together and hitching on every breath while his dick hardened even more in Ghost’s hand. “Fuck A’m so close, please, Ghost, please, Ah need it so bad, Ah need tae-”

“Yeah, that’s it, Johnny. Let me see it.” He tightened his grip, the added pressure causing Soap’s hips to rise up off the mattress. “Let me see you come apart for me, Johnny. Please.”

At the last whispered word, Soap came undone, his head digging back into the bed, mouth open on a silent moan, while thick white cum coated Ghost’s hand and his pretty little skirt. His ankles dug into Ghost’s spine, but he didn’t care because Soap was using that leverage to thrust up into his hand, as desparate for Ghost as Ghost had always been for him.

Ghost kept jacking him until Soap was quivering beneath him, the noises he made almost as pained as they were pleased, and even then he only stopped when Soap grabbed his hand and stilled it.

“Sensi’ive,” he slurred on a gasp, his eyes shut tight. “S’good, too good.”

His mouth was wet and open, practically begging for Ghost’s tongue, and he obliged easily, drawing another surprised inhale from Soap.

“Fucking beautiful, Johnny.”

“Fuckin’ wrecked, more like. Donnae know ‘f I can come again after tha’.”

“You can.” He had no idea if he was right, but God he hoped he was.

Ghost looked down at his hand, still covered in Soap’s come, and licked Soap’s spit off his lips. Everything he could’ve ever dreamed of, yet still not enough. “I want to taste it.”

“Fuuuckin’ hell, Ghost, there ye go again, sayin’ things like tha’. Lookin’ at my cum like ye’ll die if y’cannae have it. Gorgeous, ye are, so fuckin’ needy.”

“Not needy.” He instantly proved himself wrong when he darted a tongue out to taste a drop of come on his fingertip and moaned at the flavor. Clean, a bit bitter. Soap. “You taste good, Johnny.”

“Maybe I will be able ta come again after watchin’ ye eat my come like you’re starvin’ for it. Not gettin’ enough ta eat at the mess, LT?” Ghost ran his tongue up his hand from the bottom of his palm to the top of his middle finger, collecting a good mouthful of cum and flipping Soap off on the way. When Soap laughed, he almost let a giddy smile take over his expression, but he fought it back when he remembered he wasn’t wearing his mask.

“I’m a growing boy. Need the nutrients.”

“I doubt my jizz is much of a balanced meal. And aren’t ye forgettin’ somethin’, anyway?”

Ghost cocked his head at Soap, the movement probably an odd one with his entire middle finger having found its way into his mouth. A man’s gotta eat.

“I thought ye’d have been inside me by now. Surprised ye’ve been able to hold off this long.”

It was far too easy for Ghost to forget about himself when so much of his focus was on Soap. Only after being reminded of the fact that they had something of a goal for the evening, he realized he was actually so fucking hard he ached.

Worth it.

“I was a bit preoccupied,” Ghost replied after he slid his finger from his mouth with little pop.

“You’re not anymore. Better get to work.”

“And you say I’m needy.” Ghost struggled with the bottom of Soap’s leotard in an attempt to keep it from falling back over Soap’s crease after he pulled it to the side.

“I’m not needy. I’m just working with a deadline, here. Ye’ve got 10 minutes, remember?”

“Guess I should get started, then.” Not that he wasn’t trying to. He fumbled with the leotard some more until Soap shot him an exasperated smile and stripped off the whole ensemble, sliding his top and skirt down with the leotard he wore underneath and letting them fall to the floor beside the bed. Ghost frowned at him.

“What’s that look for? I just helped ye.”

“I liked that skirt on you. Was nice.” Looked like something Ghost would dream about and chastise himself for when he woke up with a wet spot in his briefs. “Wanted to watch you come in it again.”

“Ye sure like watchin’ me a lot, Ghost.”

“Yeah.” Ghost ran his hands over Soap’s abs, his eyes following them down to his thighs, then back up the undersides to grip his ass. “I do.” His fingers dipped into the crease, just barely prodding at the tight hole hidden inside.

Soap reached into the nightstand without disturbing Ghost’s hold on him, pulled out a plastic bottle with a pop cap, and tossed it to the bed by Ghost’s leg. Next to it, he threw down a little foil packet. The sight of the lube, alone, had Ghost’s nerves kicking up, let alone the condom. He didn’t really know what he was doing, was probably going to fuck up-

“Don’t stop.” Ghost looked back at Soap with a furrowed brow, his focus on the bottle broken. “Ye like watchin’ me, then watch me. Donnae wanna share the attention. ‘Specially not with a bottle of fuckin’ lube.”

“Gonna be hard to put it on without looking,” Ghost joked, unsure if he was able to hide the nerves that made his voice quiver..

“Ye’ll manage,” Soap replied, completely serious. “Or, I can prep myself so ye don’t have ta multitask, if it’s so difficult for ye.”

Ghost had the bottle open before Soap finished speaking, didn’t even look down to grab it. He kept his eyes locked on Soap’s while he squeezed some lube onto his fingers. He probably used too much, but he figured that was better than not having enough.

He gently pressed a finger against Soap’s entrance, rubbed a small circle around the tight ring, trying to memorize exactly how it felt against him, moulded against the pad of his finger, and then pushed. Just a bit, just gently, but Soap’s hole seemed to suck him in, until his finger hit the second knuckle and he reminded himself he had to go slow.

Couldn’t rush this.

Soap huffed when he stopped, writhing his hips in search of more. “Fuck, Ghost, ye can go a bit faster than that.”

But now Ghost was staring at that greedy little hole, twitching around his finger. Drew it out slow to watch the muscles contract around nothing, to hear Soap groan, to watch him try and fail to fuck himself down onto Ghost’s finger.

“Fuckin’ tease, ye are. Put that finger back in or I’ll use my own.”

He got what he asked for, Ghost immediately pushing his finger back in up to the last knuckle, earning a grunt that turned into a moan when he started smoothly gliding it in and out. Soap’s hips swiveled again, and Ghost brought his free hand down to hold them in place on the bed, eliciting another frustrated groan.

“Shoulda known ye’d be a control freak in bed, LT. Half surprised ye haven’t tied me up, yet.”

Ghost darted his wide gaze up to meet Soap’s, just briefly, before dragging it back stare a bit more intently than before at the hole he was slowly trying to work another finger into. Can’t let him know how good that sounds. Or how much it fucking terrifies me.

“You’re quiet again. I strike a nerve?” Soap raised both hands above his head, wrists crossed, and smirked up at Ghost. “Wannae have me all trussed up for ye, sir? I could wear a pretty little skirt and let ye unwrap me like a gift. Wouldnae be able to get in the way while ye had yer fun.”

Ghost had to force his hand to loosen its death grip around Soap’s hip, which would probably already  be bruised to hell by the next day. To be fair, the rest of him wasn’t faring much better.

“Hmm, like that, dontcha? I’ll keep that in mind for next time, then.”

Both of Ghost’s hands spasmed at the idea that there may be a next time, that this wasn’t just a one-time thing, a mistake for Soap to quickly forget and move on from. The two fingers buried inside Johnny’s hole curled up, brushing against a small patch inside, a bit rougher than the surrounding slick walls, and Ghost almost moaned himself when he felt Soap’s ass clench around him.

“Fuck!” Soap shouted, hips trying to rear up off the bed against Ghost’s grip. “Bit o’ warning next time ye do that, ye’ll have me crawlin’ up the fuckin’ walls.”

“That your prostate?”

“Wha’d’ye think?” At the sarcastic reply, Ghost brushed against it again, revelled in the sharp moan it brought out of Soap.

“Not sure. Might need to test it a bit more to find out.”

“Donnae think tha’s necessary, re-ally.” The last word was a bit strangled when Ghost put a bit more pressure there, curling his fingers up and in, almost having to fight against Soap’s tightening internal muscles to do so. Soap’s hands were fisted in the sheets above his head now, his breaths coming in swift pants and moans that had his chest rapidly expanding and contracting. Ghost watched the hickeys and bites covering his skin shift on every inhale, stared at the bare patches he wanted to fix.

He wanted every part of Soap to be covered in him.

“God tha’s good. Fuuuck, Ghost.”

Ghost was still massaging Soap’s prostate, and the constant attention had his dick perking up again, half-hard against his abs.

“Hasn’t even been ten minutes yet, and you’re already getting hard. That mean I’m doin’ a good job?” He pushed in a bit harder this time, the answer to his question a helpless moan and the sight of Soap’s cock filling up even more, the head pinkening up when blood rushed to it.

“Think so, yeah,” Soap said with a sound Ghost could only describe as a whimper. His thighs were still tight around Ghost’s hips, but now his heels pressed into the bed behind him, seeking any kind of leverage he could use to fuck himself on Ghost’s fingers. His own were still buried in the sheet above him, threatening to tear it apart, but he released one to bring it up and grip Ghost’s bare shoulder. 

He tugged forward a bit, like he needed Ghost closer, and said, “Donnae even need ten minutes, Ghost. I’m ready now.” Soap’s eyes were wild, his nails certainly leaving marks in Ghost’s skin with how tight he gripped him. “Ah need ye, please. Want yer dick in me, now. I’m ready. A’m ready.” He was practically sobbing now, his breath hitching every time Ghost pressed up against his prostate. 

Reluctantly, Ghost pulled his fingers free, mourning the loss of that tight heat around him. Soap seemed to miss it too, his hips working against his goals in an effort to get those fingers back inside.

“Can’t quite fuck you with my fingers still in you, Johnny,” Ghost said as Soap tried, and failed, to press himself down on Ghost’s hand again.

He didn’t get any words in response, just a solid groan, Soap’s eyes closing tight while he stilled his hips. It looked like it almost hurt him to do so.

Ghost’s eyes flicked over to the condom by his thigh, his breath hitching with nerves, and he finally quit stalling and pulled his hand away from Johnny’s perfect ass to pick up the foil.

He wanted to do this, wanted nothing more than to be inside Johnny, to have some part of him he could convince his lizard brain he’d claimed. Maybe he’d be able to soothe the ache in his chest when he looked at him, then, just knowing he’d had him, as much of him as he could.

But damn if it wasn’t hard to tear open the pack and pull the slippery condom from it. He noticed his fingers were shaking a bit, but he couldn’t tell if it was the nerves or the excitement, or some odd combination of the two.

Somehow, he managed to get the condom on in record time, an extra squeeze of lube for good measure–can’t fuck this up–and then his hands were back on Soap. Where they belong. He let one run up the man’s abs, which twitched under the pressure, and the other stayed at his hip, lightly smoothing over the already purple-ing bruises he’d left before. He let that hand span the breadth of Soap’s pelvis, brushing against his now hard dick.

“Ghost, I need ye.” A whine, a hand cupping his bare jaw, trying to tug him down for another kiss. He couldn’t help but follow, barely stifling a moan at the feeling of their mouths melding. Soap’s other hand came up to curve around Ghost’s back, digging into his skin like he was trying to crawl inside him. Ghost might just let him. “Need ta feel ye.”

Ghost leaned back, ending their kiss far too soon for his liking, lined himself up, pushed just a bit against that tight opening, and almost short circuited at how good it felt to just be touching Soap, let alone inside him. He was still tight, and Ghost worried maybe he didn’t open him up enough, but Soap didn’t say anything, just dug his nails into Ghost’s waist, tried to drag him forward, seeking more.

“Donnae need ta go slow, Ghost, I’m ready.” Those blue eyes, so bright they could burn, opened to meet Ghost’s, a hint of determination, of a dare in them. “Ye need me ta take over?” The legs around Ghost’s hips tightened, ankles digging into his back, bucking him forward. Another inch swallowed up in hot, slick–

“Johnny,” Ghost moaned. He tried to make it a warning, but it came out more like a prayer. His hips stuttered, locked in a fight against himself. He needed more. He needed to be inside, to thrust, to move.

But more than that, he needed to last, to savor it, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to if he let his body take over.

But it seemed like Johnny had other plans, and god what good plans they were. He nudged Ghost forward again, a hand around the back of his neck guiding him down, the other at his hip now, pulling, pulling. The slow drag, Ghost’s dick buried exactly where he needed it to be, their lips meeting again, perfect.

Ghost was unable to stifle his noises now, a whine on practically every breath. He’d hate himself for it if he could bring himself to care about anything but the places where he and Soap were joined.

He pulled back out–just a bit, because he couldn’t stand being removed from Soap any more than that–and thrust back in, a bit more forcefully than he intended. He couldn’t get his body and his mind to align. He told himself to slow down, to take his time and enjoy this for however long Soap would let him have it.

Then he’d shift his grip to Soap’s waist, practically yank him down to meet his next thrust. They were hardly even kissing at this point, mouths open, lips brushing on simultaneous gasps and moans.

Ghost didn’t even realize his eyes were closed until he opened them, saw Soap’s shut tight on a silent groan when Ghost’s abs brushed against his dick. Hard, probably far too sensitive after having come once already, but Soap didn’t complain. Instead, he dragged him even closer. 

His next thrust sent fireworks up his spine and had him curling in on himself, trying to fight the end he knew was in sight. He mouthed down Soap’s jaw, not caring that Soap wouldn’t be able to hide the marks he left when he sucked on the hot skin there.

“Ghost,” Soap moaned. He was tense, drawn up like a live wire beneath Ghost, his inner muscles clenching around Ghost’s dick to hard it almost hurt. Ghost bit down on Soap’s neck, like maybe he could keep him there forever if he just held him tight enough. 

“Ghost, A’m–ah…” Soap was panting, squirming beneath him, his nails digging into Ghost’s back so hard that he was probably leaving new scars there. Ones that Ghost would actually like, for once.

Ghost wanted Soap to come again, wanted to feel it from the inside, this time. He wondered just how tight Johnny would get. How loud. He reached between them, gripped Soap’s hard dick with a grip that had the other man thrusting in time with him, his moans coming louder and harder.

“Fuck! Ghost, please, Ah won’t last, Ah cannae–” he was cut off by his own groan when Ghost pulled his teeth from his throat, licking around the mark he’d left, a hair away from drawing blood.

“Let me feel it, Johnny.” He couldn’t get his voice to rise above a whisper, couldn’t make the words sound any less like begging. “Wanna feel you around me. Please.” His voice broke on the last word, a sound he refused to call a sob working it’s way up from his throat.

“Donnae say i’ like tha’, Ghost, fuck. Love ye so needy, didnae think–” Ghost’s head pushed up at his prostrate, dragged a moan from his mouth. “Gonnae ge’ what ye want, soon. Shite.” Soap’s head rolled back, his hips shoved up into Ghost’s hand, and he was close, so close.

Ghost leaned back, fighting Soap’s hold on him trying to keep him in place, and had to prop himself on a shaking arm to keep from falling forward again. Fixed his eyes on Soap’s dick, leaking precum onto his stomach and Ghost’s hand. The new angle had Ghost’s dick dragging against the top of Soap’s channel on every thrust, and it only took a few of those, the constant pressure on his prostate, for Soap to come again.

“Ghost!” A shout, broken and strangled and like a heavenly choir in Ghost’s ears. Thick, pearly white coated Soap’s stomach, Ghost’s fingers. A moment later, Ghost followed him over the edge, his arm collapsing under him, bringing their bodies back together with the slap of skin on skin and a heavy grunt.

It probably hurt, probably shoved the air out of both of their lungs, but if it did, Ghost wouldn’t have noticed. Couldn’t have possibly cared.

He felt heat, like lava in his veins, sparks up his back. Felt Soap’s come against his stomach, covering his hand. Smelled Johnny’s sweat and skin. What could matter beyond that? Beyond him buried inside Soap, enveloped in him, every inch of him surrounded and every one of his senses filled with him.

As far as Ghost was concerned, everything that mattered began and ended where Soap's skin touched his.

Chapter Text

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he finally regained control of his mind, but when he did, it was to the feeling of Soap’s hands running up and down his back in slow, smooth strokes. For the first time in years, Ghost was relaxed, his body almost boneless, melted into the man beneath him.

He still had his jeans and boxers looped around one ankle. He was still inside of Johnny, a sergeant in his taskforce, a subordinate under his command. He wasn’t wearing his mask. He had no idea what was going to happen in the next few minutes, if Soap would want him to leave or if he’d be allowed to lay there for just a moment longer. 

By all rights, he should have been freaking the fuck out.

But, for once, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about what the future might bring. Johnny’s hands, still wrapped around his back, smoothed up and kneaded into his shoulders. Travelled, slowly, back down, accompanied by the sound of skin sliding on skin. In this moment, Ghost had everything he could ever dream of having, and it would all be worth it even if Johnny decided to kick him out right then and there.

Ghost risked it all by pressing a small kiss to Soap’s neck, where his face had landed when he collapsed. They weren’t having sex anymore, really. It wasn’t necessary, wasn’t driven by lust or need, just by the simple desire to kiss. To offer something to Soap that Ghost wasn’t even sure he had. Gentleness, care. That everpresent thing that, though unnamed, still twitched in his chest when Soap’s hands stilled on his back.

“Thought ye’d passed out, for a moment.” Then why were you stroking my back? “Wasnae expectin’ ye to come so hard. Ye damn near broke my ribs, landin’ on me like that.” There wasn’t anything rough in Soap’s voice, no more edge to his words than a simple, light tease, but Ghost felt himself tense up, start to push himself off the other man.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to cru-”

“The hell ye think you’re goin’?” Soap pushed on Ghost’s back, laying him back down. He started rubbing Ghost’s shoulders again, all smooth movements. No tug of nails in his skin, no pressure for him to do anything more than to lay there and enjoy. “Didnae say to move, did I?”

Ghost didn’t answer, just buried his nose in the hollow between Soap’s shoulder and his throat, and breathed him in. He could feel Soap’s come drying between them now, getting tacky against his skin. He wished he’d had the chance to taste it again before he came.

His hand was still trapped between their bodies, covered in it. He’d barely had the thought before he was dragging his hand out and pulling it up to his face to slip his tongue along the edges of his fingers. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of that taste.

“If you’re tryin’ to go again, you’re out o’ luck. I’m damn well not good for three in a row,” Soap said with a laugh.

“I’m not,” Ghost answered, before sucking at a spot on his palm. “Just like the taste, is all.”

“I can tell. Ye can have it from the source next time, if ye want it so bad.” Soap’s voice was low, his breath ruffling Ghost’s hair as he spoke, and it sent a shiver down Ghost’s spine that Soap tracked with his fingers.

Next time, he kept saying. Like it was a given. He couldn’t have known he was offering up pieces of himself to a man who would never be sated, no matter how many next times there were.

Ghost was upset that his hand was clean. He was upset that next time couldn’t be right then. That they’d have to wash themselves off, likely go their separate ways. 

Ghost would crawl into Soap’s skin and live within him if he could.

“You’re quiet again.”

“You keep acting like quiet isn’t my default state.”

“It’s not with me.” When Ghost didn’t reply, unsure what he could say in response that wouldn’t ruin this moment, Soap continued, “Ye know I donnae like silence. Might blow somethin’ up if ye don’t say somethin’ soon.”

“What should I say, Soap?”

“Whatever’s on yer mind.”

“You don’t want to know what’s on my mind.”

“So I can have yer dick in me, but I cannae know what you’re thinking after?”

“Technically, it’s not after, yet.” Ghost still hadn’t pulled out. He was soft, had no intention of trying to go again, but he still had no desire to put any amount of distance between them.

And he liked feeling the occasional flutter of Soap’s muscles around him whenever one of them moved. Like a reminder that they were both there, both alive, both together.

But all good things had to end eventually.

“That’s a good point. ‘M gonnae be even more sore tomorrow if ye don’t pull out soon.” Ghost hated the small, pathetic sound he made and the way his arms tightened around Soap at the mere mention of any of this going away. “‘S’alright, Ghost,” Soap said with a chuckle, one of his hands carding through his hair. “I’ll let ye stay in longer next time if ye want, but it’s leg day tomorrow and I’m not tryin’ to make that any harder on myself than it already will be.”

Next time.

Ghost kept his nose buried in Soap’s skin, didn’t put any distance between their bodies, but gently pulled his hips back to slide himself free. He felt more than heard Soap’s little grunt of discomfort and brushed a hand up his side in an attempt to soothe him.

He was cold, and he missed Soap already.

“We should probably clean up,” Ghost mumbled into Soap’s collarbone, sneaking another small kiss between his words, hoping Soap wouldn’t notice. Now that he wasn’t buried inside the other man anymore, it felt a bit gross to keep the condom on. And he imagined Soap would want the come cleaned off of him.

Ghost kind of liked having Soap’s come on his skin, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“I donnae want to move,” Soap said, his chest heaving on a long, sated sigh, lifting Ghost’s body along with it. The slide of Soap’s abs against his was pure ecstasy.

“Got washcloths in your bathroom?” Soap didn’t answer, and Ghost lifted his head to check if the man was still awake.

He was, but his expression was guarded when he finally replied, “Aye. Cabinet by the sink.”

“Alright.” It took every ounce of willpower Ghost had to separate from Soap, unwinding his arms from where they’d snuck underneath him, unweaving their legs. Soap’s hands slid down his arms as he rose up, until they finally plopped down beside him on the bed. He tucked one under his head and watched as Ghost, for the first time all night, turned away from him to go to the bathroom, pulling off the second half of his jeans on the way.

Putting them back on would feel too final.

He shut the door behind him and stared at himself in the mirror. There was makeup smeared across his face, red lipstick like a bloodstain on his mouth, white streaks on his cheeks and forehead, a poor imitation of Lady Lather’s makeup before he ruined it.

He could see traces of Soap everywhere. Red lines down his chest, perfect little half-moons on his waist, his swollen mouth, small bruises where Soap’s legs around his hips had gotten to just this side of too tight.

He wished he had fewer tattoos so he could see it all more clearly. Hell, he might get a few new ones after this. He had half a mind to immortalize the scratches he knew Soap had put on his back.

Of course, if there actually was a next time and Soap saw that, he’d think–rightly so–that Ghost was insane.

Ghost awkwardly, unsure of the proper etiquette of tossing a used condom out in someone else’s bathroom, tied off the end of the condom before throwing it away and washing his hands of the lube that had still covered it. In the cabinet Soap mentioned, he found washcloths, makeup removal wipes, and a fuckton of beauty products he wouldn’t know how to name even if he read the labels.

The water took a while to warm up, so he took one washcloth and ran it under the stil-cold tap to clean himself off. He was cold anyway, didn’t really care at the twinge of discomfort when he scrubbed at the cum stuck in the hairs below his navel, or the way his dick practically retreated into its shell when he swiped over it.

Then he peeled a makeup removal wipe from the box, got one last, good look in at his reflection with Soap still stained on his face, and started to clean it off. He didn’t want to face the odd look he was sure he’d get if he walked out with the makeup still on, as much as he wanted to keep any trace of Johnny on him for as long as possible.

He wasn’t able to get all of it before the water finally heated up, but that was fine by him. He ran a second washcloth under the water, so hot now that it turned his skin red, and folded the cloth inside his hand to try to keep as much heat from escaping it as possible.

When he opened the door again, Soap was in the same position he was when he’d left, still watching the door. His eyes were heavy-lidded, sated and almost sleepy, but when he saw Ghost, they narrowed a bit. His mouth grew a bit tense, drawn down in an unfamiliar line.

And for the first time in so long, Ghost couldn’t read his expression. He might have been angry, or frustrated, or just tired, but whatever he was, it was unfathomable to Ghost.

“Something wrong?” Ghost would have stayed frozen in the doorway, but the towel cupped in his hands was slowly cooling, and he didn’t want it to get any colder than it had to. So, he crept steadily toward the bed, Soap’s unreadable eyes following him the whole way.

Was it suspicion? 

Regret?

“I could have helped ye take the makeup off. Looks like ye tried to scrub off yer skin.”

He may have been a little upset, which made him rougher than he should have been, but he didn’t even notice, until Soap said something, that his skin felt a bit raw.

“Forgive me for being out of practice with my makeup removal skills.”

“Hmm. That fer me?” Soap asked with a small nod at the washcloth Ghost was still holding. He wasn’t sure if Soap would want to clean himself, or if he wouldn’t mind Ghost doing it for him. And he wasn’t sure how to ask.

And here he’d thought it was the sex he’d screw up. Turned out it was after that he couldn’t figure out how to maneuver.

And Soap was different now. Guarded, like he was also expecting the other shoe to drop. They were circling each other like wary dogs, neither one wanting to make the first move.

Or maybe Ghost was reading into it too much. Maybe this was just how people acted after sex, how the fuck would he know? But this wasn’t like them. This felt charged with a different energy. Like they were both waiting for something to happen, but neither knew what.

“Yeah,” he answered. He gestured at Soap with the cloth, still a warm bundle in his hands. “D’you want me to…?” He didn’t even know how to finish the question, was certain it wasn’t the right one, but he was stumbling blind.

Soap sighed and pulled himself up, reached out, and took the cloth from Ghost’s waiting hands. “Winna force ye to do anything ye donnae want.” Before Soap could touch the cloth to his skin, Ghost’s hand was clasped around his, holding him fast.

“I didn’t say I don’t want to.”

“Ye don’t have to. Ye look like you’re already halfway out the door in your head. And I winna make ye stay when ye clearly donnae want to.”

Not anger, or regret, or frustration. Resignation. He couldn’t recognize it because he’d never seen it. Never experienced Soap with defeat in his eyes.

Ghost crawled onto the bed, yanking the cloth from Soap’s hand with a huff, halfway between a laugh and a scoff.

“Donnae laugh at me ye–”

“Not laughing at you, Johnny,” he said, setting the washcloth to Soap’s abs, wiping away the half-dried white streaks with much gentler hands than he allowed himself. “I’m… sorry. I’m not good at this, I know that. But…” He trailed off, steeling himself to say the words he knew he needed to. Words that would open him up to the chance for so much pain. He half-hoped that Soap would interrupt him, but the usually talkative man was like a statue beside him, blue eyes lazer-focused on him like they could drag the words from his mouth. 

“I want to stay, Johnny. And I want to take care of you. Frankly, the thought of us having to be separated at all fills me with fucking dread. I’m just terrified that any moment now, you’re gonna come to your senses and tell me to get lost. And I won’t blame you for it, but I think it might fucking kill me.”

Soap was clean now, the washcloth all but forgotten in one of Ghost’s hands, but the other was stroking over a patch of unblemished skin on Soap’s stomach that Ghost couldn’t stop staring at. Oddly smooth, without any scar tissue to mar it. Ghost pushed down his frustration that he hadn’t made a detour there when he was ‘mauling’ Soap’s chest. 

Soap’s stomach started shaking beneath Ghost’s gaze, and when he looked up, Soap was laughing, an almost awestruck look on his still makeup-stained face. “That would have been a beautiful speech if ye weren’t lookin’ at me like I’m a dog toy ye want to chew up the whole time.”

“Sorry, did I forget to mention the chew toy bit in the speech? Could have sworn it was in my notes.”

“Ye did forget some pretty important things. Ye seemed to think I have senses I’m capable of coming to? Not likely.” Soap was smiling up at him now, teasing but sincere, and Ghost could feel some broken part of him being repaired by nothing more than the way Soap looked at him in that moment. “I’m not tossin’ ye out any time soon, Ghost. In fact,” Soap grabbed Ghost’s arm and yanked him down onto the bed beside him. A moment later, Ghost was wrapped up in Soap’s arms, face buried in his chest. “Ye just try to escape and see how far ye get.” Ghost made no move to do anything of the sort, just burrowed deeper into Soap’s arms.

He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong, that he was going to find some way to royally screw himself over and ruin everything good in his life, but for a moment, it was enough that Johnny seemed to want him to stay. And maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself to hope that it would all be okay in the end. Just this one time.

“I’ll have to get up to put this cloth away, soon,” Ghost said, scowling into Soap’s pecs. He spared the expression for a moment to press a kiss to a hickey above Soap’s nipple.

“Just throw it on the floor, I’ll get it later.”

“That’s not up to hygeine standards, sergeant.” The washcloth had already hit the ground with a wet plop.

Soap’s arms curled tighter around his back, their legs winding together.

“I think my LT will let it slide.”

Ghost felt his eyes starting to drift closed, half-drunk on the scent and feeling of Johnny wrapped around him.

“Maybe just this once,” he mumbled into Soap's skin before he let sleep take him under.