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“So, you and Soap, eh?” Ghost spoke, breaking the silence that had fallen over the two of you. You glanced over, slightly raising your head - breaking your focus from your rifle, a twinge of pain greeting your shoulder. Fuck, you’d been here a long time. Perhaps longer than necessary.
You and Ghost often lay in comfortable silence, making welcome small-talk - if you wanted to call it that. With him, it didn’t necessarily feel justified to label it that, considering how long you’d known him. You were friends, close ones, and interacted as such. Soap had been in the picture just as long. Same amount of years, months, weeks, so on. Whenever you were blessed enough to be assigned a mission with him, in addition to the both of you, a gracious amount of banter would always ensue. More so between the two men, but you poked your fair share of fun.
“What do you mean, me and Soap? ” You half huffed, half questioned. There had always been romantic tension between the two, maybe even three, of you - but nothing concrete. You almost felt Ghost fluster, a strangled groan just about audible beneath his mask.
“Sorry,” He mumbled, before raising his voice, “Johnny’s always talkin’ about you, just assumed .”
Your eyes widened momentarily, mouth agape to speak yet nothing managed to quite come out. Really? You always felt a mutual connection and perhaps even reciprocation when it came to Soap, especially in comparison to Ghost. But you never expected an almost outright confirmation to your suspicions.
Shifting back into position, you breathed, the scuffing of your boots deafening amidst the emptiness of the room. “Care to tell me what kinda stuff he says? Or is that too embarrassing for you?”
A slight tease. Ghost picked up on it, chuckling lightly.
“Prepare yourself, I’m not one to spare details.”
-
“I canny stop thinkin’ about ‘er, seriously , Ghost.” Soap slurred, half empty beer bottle in his hand sloshing as he struggled to steady himself once more. Equally drunk, yet somewhat maintaining an inch of sobriety, Ghost held up a hand - as if he was prepared to catch him, if he fell.
Ghost simply grunted in reply, sliding the bottom of his balaclava back down to recover his face. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could agree. You were the only thing on his mind these days, crack of dawn until the sun went down. He was never one to stray his focus, but for whatever reason, your very existence had him in an unbreakable chokehold. One he didn’t necessarily mind being in.
“The way she speaks ta me, ‘er eyes, ‘er smell..good god ..” His words were distinguishable, but hardly sensical. The man was smitten. Entirely, absolutely. It almost made Ghost angry, it made him want to claim you first - before anyone else could even fathom the idea of it, even Johnny. Yet, simultaneously, he wanted the two of you together - as convoluted as that sounded.
“Just tell her, Johnny.” Ghost said, bluntly, rolling his shoulders back - cracking his back. Geez, he’d kill for a massage. Or maybe a chiropractor. Both?
“Yer jokin’, righ’? As if she’d feel tha same.” Soap groaned, downing the remainder of his bottle. Debatable as to whether that was a healthy response or not.
Rolling his eyes, Ghost stood, ruffling Soap’s mohawk as he passed - “You should see the way she looks at you, Johnny.”
-
Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and warmth in your chest. Now was certainly not the time to be discovering all of this, yet you were glad to know nonetheless. Shyly, quietly, “Well, the feeling’s mutual.”
Ghost didn’t make a sound, not even a grunt of acknowledgement.
Flatly, “I’ll tell him you said that.”
You blinked, returning your focus - finally. What was the sudden bitterness for? Ghost always was unreadable, you supposed. Rolling your eyes, you chose to leave him without a reply. It’s how it should be, anyways, you still had a mission at hand - one you knew both of you were equally hellbent about succeeding in.
-
“Congrats.”
Loud, proud, and entirely, recognisably Scottish.
Smiling, perhaps a little too noticeably, you turned - “For?”
Soap ruffled your hair, laughing softly, moving to put a heavy hand upon your shoulder. “For succeedin’ in yer mission, lass. Ghost too, but we both know yer my favourite.” He teased, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before returning his hand to his side. Immediately, you felt the absence, a knot tightening in your stomach.
“Ah,” You nudged him, “Thanks, Suds . Missed you, you know.”
As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt your palms grow moderately sweaty, heat flushing through your body. Goddamnit.
Soap put a hand to his chest, brandishing a wide grin as he did so - “Aye, missed ya too, lass.” Accompanying his words, Soap opened his arms to you. It wasn’t your first hug, yet they also weren’t frequent. And, this one felt different .
You were quick to take up his offer, immediate smell of his deodorant and distant familiarity of his warmth greeting you. His hands were more intimately placed compared to that of previous hugs exchanged between the two of you - one on the small of your back, firm yet not harsh, the other placed upon your head. His fingers anxiously worked circles into your scalp, tangling a few strands of hair between them. You let out a deep, unanticipated exhale. Soap inhaled in return, and for an extended, passing moment the two of you held one another.
“Oh, am I interrupting something ‘ere?”
Reflexively, both you and Soap pulled apart, equally as clumsily as the other. Ghost chuckled, dryly, leaning against the doorframe of the barracks. “Relax, kids, s’only me.”
Fast to change his tune, though still being red in the face, Soap gave Ghost a nod - “Good to see ya, brother.”
Ghost returned the gesture, “And you, Johnny.” He spared you nothing but a glance. Odd.
As always, Soap set out to concoct his typical recipe for disaster - “Aye, sit down, ‘ave a whiskey.” You were quick to roll your eyes, despite knowing all too well that you’d be joining them in the occasion.
Shrugging, Ghost swallowed his pride, seating himself - to which, Soap sat beside him. You took the liberty of sitting across from the boys, wiggling uncomfortably against the hard wood of the bench. This usually made you the centre of attention, something you hated but were often subjected to often regardless. Being the only woman between two men, it was bound to be that way - you supposed. Soap poured you each a drink, being overly generous with his own glass, drawing a sigh and shaking of the head from Ghost.
“Shall we? Boys?” You raised your glass, immediately earning a soft ‘clink!’ From the others. Soap smiled, genuinely.
Taking a swig, “To our trio, eh?” Ghost choked, bitterness of the whiskey waning his voice for a short minute. In reply, a silent nod of approval from both you and Soap - mouths too busy swallowing the burn of the alcohol in your hands. Never were you fortunate enough to afford decent drink, but it did its job each time.
“‘Ows about a game?” Soap suggested, coughing. You raised a brow, this was never a sentence that ended well. Ghost appeared the same, audibly groaning.
Still, “Go on..”
Soap’s lip curled - smirking, plainly, “truth or dare.”
In unison, you and Ghost grimaced, rolling your eyes. Though, could either of you really say no? Reluctant, Ghost straightened his back, “Only if I get first pick.”
Shrugging, Soap agreed.
A beat, and then it began. As expected, “Right,” glancing at you, “truth or dare?”
You hummed, eyes falling upon your empty glass as you swirled the last lick of drink that clung to the bottom of it. “Truth.”
“Got the hots for anyone in the squad?” Ghost peered at you from behind his glass with intention.
Quirking a brow, narrowing my eyes at him, “That’s kinda cheap , don’t you think?” Of course he decided to be snide with this. Eventually, you sighed - an admittance of defeat. Your eyes, for a blinking moment, flickered to Johnny. “I guess I might have my eyes on someone , but you never told me I had to say who .”
Out-smarted.
Ghost, with a fleeting look of disappointment, nods his acceptance of your answer. His thick, British accent grumbled an, “Alright.” Before moving on. Soap slammed his hands against the wood of the table, startling both you and Ghost. Oh, here we go. “Righ’, le’s crank it up a notch, eh?” Is he..already drunk?
“Ghost,” Soap gestured to him, with a wavering, sloppy hand - still holding his glass - “I dare ya, ta go in the supply closet, with ‘er.” He slurred, with a chuckle. You and Ghost locked eyes.
“Hold on, Suds, we didn’t even get to pick.” You laughed, nervously, voice pitching a little. Ghost shook his head, “Let’s just get it over with.”
-
It was a tight squeeze, in the closet. Your bodies were pressed almost flush, and you couldn’t deny the pink that had sprawled its way across your cheeks. It was silent, for what felt like an hour but was, in actuality, just a minute or two.
Ghost inhaled sharply, audibly.
“We don’t have to do anythi—“
“ Shut , that pretty mouth of yours.”
Ghost lifted his mask - in two, swift motions your lips and his were connected; open-mouthed, hungry, tongues swirling around one another in an unfiltered act of desperation. A moan keened from the back of your throat, reverberating into his mouth. Strong, familiar hands came over your thighs - warm fingertips pressing into even warmer flesh to bring your legs up, and around his waist, pressing you further up against the wall. Not once does the kiss break, not once can you speak any form of protest - though, now, you weren’t sure you even wanted to. Your heart had lied with Johnny, that much was obvious, but that didn’t mean it was guarded from Ghost. You loved, and had feelings, for both of them. It’s just that, one was a lot more reciprocal.
He was hard, achingly so, and the sensation made desire pool in your underwear. The kiss broke, allowing both of you room to finally breathe - lips equally slick with saliva, and kiss-swollen.
Panting, “You’re mine , you hear me?” Ghost began unbuckling his belt, “I don’t give a fuck about whatever you and Johnny have going on, don’t give a fuck what this might change between us.” He shrugged down his pants, and underwear, “Right now, and tomorrow, and every day after - you’re mine. ” His fingers, rough, pulled your panties to the side, “ My girl. Not his . Not anyone’s. Mine. ”
He was inside of you, his length pushed all the way in, in one, merciless motion. You gasped, loud and unrestrained, before being led into a string of whimpers as he started fucking you against the wall. The pace of his hips was almost hateful, flesh meeting flesh with cracking slaps and smacks, each sound lewder than the last and you grew more and more wet, dripping around his cock. Your fingers claw into his clothed shoulders, eyes squeezing shut as your head fell back against the wall. Squeaking, needy, moans pass your parted lips - thighs tightening and squeezing around his waist.
Ghost was close, already, you could feel the throb of his cock - the twitching . “Say my name. And no, not any of that ‘Ghost’ bullshit , say my real name. Simon .”
You’d always been afraid of using his real name, for reasons you were still unsure on. Yet, you obeyed, expression hazy and mind spinning into blankness - “Simon, ah—! Oh, fuck, Simon.”
He nodded, breathing laboured as his thrusts grew far harsher, and far faster - if that were somehow possible. “Good girl, good girl .”
You clenched around him, as he spilled inside - not even bothering to ask if such was okay. Thankfully, it was. In fact, it was more than okay, the flooding of his cum making you quiver. Your legs trembled, upon the cool-down; if you could even call it that, bodies still both glazed in sweat, and cheeks still burning red. Simon eased your legs down, so that you could stand against him - both of your legs still refusing to cease their shaking. He breathed, breezing a hand through your hair - pushing it back - “You take me so well.”