Work Text:
If Soap had to pick his favorite perk of fucking a lieutenant, it would have definitely been Ghost’s comfortable, big ass bed. It was soft and firm at the same time, aligning Soap’s body where he needed it and cushioning him everywhere else. And, the best part really, it fit both him and Ghost easily, unlike his own twin bed in his barracks. So yeah, Soap had nothing but good things to say about a bed that let him snuggle up to his lover with ample room to spread out.
Well, nor did he have anything negative to say about his private shower. Maybe his favorite part would be a mix of the two.
Blazing golden sunlight filtered in through the cracks in Ghost’s curtains, the fabric swaying gently under the influence of the breeze his AC was generating. Blearily, Soap reached behind him and patted around the bed in search of Ghost, pouting only a little bit when he was met with cold sheets.
“Si?” Soap called out, voice still rough with sleep.
Only silence greeted him. He slowly blinked his eyes back open, humming in content at the warmth the dancing rays of sunlight provided when they hit his skin. The clock beside Ghost’s bed informed him that it was barely past eight in the morning, which would have been alarming had it not been a surprise off day for him.
God bless Gaz’s inability to refuse a bet and his complete lack of a poker face. He would have been working with the trainees that morning had it not been for Gaz sorely losing their poker game late last night. Although Soap technically got the entire day off in the bet, he felt guilty leaving him on his own sun-up to sun-down.
Plus, he wanted to go looking for Ghost. But he’d stop to tease Gaz on his way to find their lieutenant, and that was basically helping him out, right?
Stretching with a pleased groan at the hum of soreness that echoed in his body, Soap leisurely roused out of bed. He made the bed before anything else, not wanting to face Simon’s grumpy frown if he saw his bed left a mess. After the dicking down Ghost gave him last night, he was still very much in the mood to be good and behaved for his lieutenant.
He showered quickly, not hesitating to snag Ghost’s body wash instead of the one he’d begun to keep there a couple weeks prior. He didn’t bother styling or drying his mohawk afterwards, toweling the grown out hair there until it was only damp to the touch before wandering back into Ghost’s bedroom to change.
“Where the hell did he throw my shirt?” Soap grumbled to himself after he’d pulled on a clean pair of underwear and pants, scanning to room for his discarded, plain shirt from the night prior. The only downside to Ghost’s eagerness was this aspect: hunting for his articles of clothing after having a grown man rip them off of him like they ruined his parents’ marriage.
Soap grinned in triumph when he spotted a folded black shirt sitting on the seat of Ghost’s desk chair. His heart warmed to dangerous levels at the thought of Ghost folding his shirt neatly before leaving that morning. A dopey smile was unwilling to leave his face even as he peeked his head out of the door to make sure the coast was clear before scurrying out.
He headed straight for the training field, frowning as he walked when he realized how loose his shirt felt. If Ghost had stretched it out while getting it off of him, he was going on a damn sex strike.
The hem of the shirt was tucked loosely into the waistband of his pants as a temporary fix to the problem. Gaz waved him over as soon as he saw Soap step onto the field, clapping him on the back in comradery once Soap was standing next to him.
“Did you come because you felt bad for cheating last night?” Gaz tsked, sighing heavily for dramatic effect.
“You’re shite at poker, Gaz. Stop agreeing to bets over that damn game,” Soap scolded the younger man, reaching up to dishevel his hair playfully. Gaz made an affronted sound, smacking Soap’s hands away until Soap was leaping onto his back to attack him.
“John!” Gaz whined, ducking his head down towards his chest to avoid Soap’s assault. “You can’t do this in front of the rookies, that’s not fair!”
Laughing, Soap dropped off of Gaz’s back with one last playful shove. Gaz turned to glare at him with very little heat, grumbling to himself unhappily, but Soap paid him no mind. He turned away from Gaz, eyeing the trainees as they ran drills up and down the field.
“They’re not a bad batch, aye? Let’s just hope they don’t try to get too close to Ghost.” With a huff of laughter, Soap angled his head back towards Gaz and reminisced, “Remember when one of them volunteered to spar with Ghost after a month of training? Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ghost so unimpressed with a trainee.”
As Soap turned to face Gaz more directly, he warily took in the shit-eating grin that had spread across Gaz’s face in the few seconds he wasn’t looking at him.
Narrowing his eyes, Soap crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s that look for?” he asked hesitantly.
“I’m just loving your outfit today, Lieutenant—oh, shit, sorry! I meant Sergeant,” Gaz shook his head, his smile growing impossibly wider. “Not sure how I got that mixed up.”
Alright then. “Did I hit your head too hard, Gaz?” Soap pushed.
A laugh bubbled out of Gaz’s chest as he closed the distance between the two of them. “Nah, just in a good mood, sir. Y’know, I think Ghost was looking for you earlier. Told me he’d be out in the sniper range all day,” Gaz mused, tapping his index finger on his chin like an idiot.
“I’m tellin’ Price you had a psychotic break,” Soap muttered, eyeing Gaz nervously as he took backwards steps in the direction of the shooting ranges.
If it were possible, Gaz’s eyes lit up with further delight. “You should probably tell him now so I can get proper medical treatment,” he snickered.
“You’re off your fuckin’ head,” Soap snipped, glaring at Gaz one last time for good measure before he stalked off towards the shooting ranges. He was steadfast in his resolve to ignore Gaz’s poorly hidden giggles behind him.
Soap passed a handful of privates and recruits on his stroll through base, one of which greeted him brightly only to splutter into his water once Soap had passed him. Soap paused, looking back to the recruit with a worried look. He was familiar with the kid, fresh-faced and wide-eyed and still stuck in the phase where he followed Soap around like a lost puppy.
“Everything alright, soldier?” he questioned.
The recruit, tan but not tan enough to hide the sudden blush that rose to his cheeks. His eyes darted up to Soap’s face from where they’d been stuck on his chest—or, more likely where they’d been staring at his back and just hadn’t moved once Soap faced him.
“Fuck—yes, sir. Fuck, no, wait!” he fumbled, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “Yes, sir. All good. Sorry, sir.”
There was no chance for Soap to respond to his odd behavior because the recruit took off in the direction Soap had just come from. Soap could only manage to stare at his retreating figure with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth dropped open in shock.
It was pure, dumb luck that Soap actually did run into Price outside of the sniper range. Soap’s mood had somewhat soured from the odd interactions and looks he’d gotten in the twenty fucking minutes he’d been out and about, but seeing his captain perked him up a bit.
He was leaning back against the wall directly outside of the sniper range, a lit cigar perched between his lips despite it being offensively early in the morning and the fact that they were inside. Being a captain came with its perks, Soap supposed.
“John,” he greeted, a goofy smile on his face.
Price tilted his head in his direction as a greeting, puffing out a lungful of smoke from the cigar now between his fingers. “John,” Price returned easily, humor evident in his tone. “Looking for Ghost?” he guessed without cutting his sergeant a single glance.
“Aye,” Soap affirmed, coming to stand beside the older man. “Why are you creeping out here? Don’t you have paperwork to do, grandpa?” Soap poked mischievously, knocking Price’s shoulder with his own.
His eye roll was palpable, and only then did Price finally give Soap a sidelong, unimpressed look. “I need to talk to Ghost, and he told me he’d be wrapping up about now. Thought I’d be nice and walk him back to my office,” he joked drily.
“But I need to talk to Ghost,” Soap pouted lightly, only earning himself another, more dramatic eye roll.
“It’s nothing serious, Soap. I’ll have him back to you in under ten,” Price reassured, a small smile brimming on his face.
“What if I said what I had to talk to him about was important, would you let me go first?” Soap pushed his luck with a lopsided grin.
Price scoffed, lighthearted. “Knowing you, Sergeant, you don’t have a damn thing serious to talk about with anyone.”
“Oi!” Soap blurted, glowering at Price and stepping away from the wall to peer into the sniper range. “I’m gonna find him before you so you don’t get the chance to talk to him. I’m his favorite, you know,” Soap snarked over his shoulder.
For a few moments, Price was silent. Then, a somewhat knowing and amused, yet resigned comeback of, “I can see that,” came from his superior.
Frowning, Soap looked over his shoulder questioningly. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever heard the older man speak in such a tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Price’s eyes drifted from the back of Soap’s shoulders to his face. He looked… Soap didn’t know how to place how he looked, actually. The expression painting his face didn’t look angry, per se, maybe more long-suffering. It was a mix of too many things for Soap to process.
His superior didn’t indicate anything more severe than that lukewarm reaction, though. He sighed, his previous amusement dulled by seriousness. “Interesting shirt choice today, Soap,” he hinted at, and Soap was baffled at that point.
Why the fuck did everyone seem preoccupied with his shirt? Sure, it was a little loose around the neckline, showing more skin than he usually did on base, but he’d been sure to check that none of the bruises were visible with how stretched out his shirt was. It was a little baggy, but he couldn’t exactly explain that it got that way because a certain member of their team had mauled it while eagerly getting Soap ready to be fucked.
There had to have been something in the water supply. Perhaps, while his merry ass was enjoying his ability to sleep in, the entire base was drugged with something that made them act weird.
Slowly and still frowning deeply, Soap remarked, “If you find black an interesting color, I guess it is.”
He felt the presence of Ghost before he saw him. The familiar, comforting feeling of being watched closely, almost like being stalked by a predator had goosebumps skating up his arms. Ghost had already reached them by the time Soap swiveled his head back in the direction of the sniper range.
An embarrassingly wide smile took over his face at the sight of his commanding officer. “Hey, L.t.. Lemme guess, they kicked you out because you kept missing your shots?” Soap ribbed, unable to help himself.
Ghost’s eyes rolled to the side in an affectionate manner that he saved for the man in front of him. “I was just coming to ask if you wanted to be my target since I miss so much,” he returned drily. “Maybe I’d be more motivated at the prospect of shutting you up.”
Without thinking, the next words to come out of Soap’s mouth were, “There are easier ways to keep me quiet, sir.”
Heat flashed in Ghost’s eyes, a trail of fire following them as he dragged his gaze down Soap’s body before slowly rising back up. “That right?” Ghost rumbled, the timber of his voice making Soap’s legs shake.
His cock gave an earnest twitch, making Soap’s cheeks flame further in embarrassment.
The good kind of embarrassment. The hot kind.
“Lieutenant,” Price called, eyeing the two of his inferiors curiously and wholly unamused.
Ghost lifted his eyes from Soap, nodding at their captain in greeting. Soap watched Price incline his head in the general direction of his office. “Need to speak with you about something.” As if he was scolding Soap for even considering trying to drag Ghost away before he got to talk to him, Price pinned him with a look and tacked on a gruff, “Now.”
The stick up his ass must be nice and warm by now, after he spent all that time speaking vaguely and suggestively to Soap about his fashion choices.
Ever the obedient soldier, Ghost answered, “Yes, sir.” He looked back down at Soap, and Soap could tell by the sudden softness in his eyes that he was smiling. “I’ll meet you in my room once we’ve finished up, yeah?”
How was he to deny a man so magnetic?
“Aye, sir. Can’t promise I’ll be patient though,” Soap responded, quietly enough just for them, with a frisky pump of his eyebrows.
Another eyeroll. The motion was quickly becoming the signature reaction to anything Soap said that day. “You’re incorrigible. Behave yourself, sergeant,” Ghost commanded tenderly.
“Aye, sir,” Soap repeated, beaming at his lover.
Like a lovesick teenager, Soap watched Ghost fall in line with Price as they departed for his office, something melting deep inside of him when Ghost turned over his shoulder just before they disappeared from sight, checking instinctively for Soap. The liquified emotion burned through his entire body, coating his nerves with what could only be described as idolatry.
To pass the time while Ghost spoke with Price, Soap had obediently returned to Ghost’s room and splayed out atop his bed. He was nose-deep in a book he’d seen Ghost read at least four times over in the time he’d been spending nights in Ghost’s room when the older man returned.
Soap peeked over the book with a smile, but Ghost cut his oncoming words off as soon as the door was shut.
“Stand up,” he ordered shortly.
“Bossy,” Soap grumbled under his breath. He carefully closed the book and returned it to the bedside table on Ghost’s side of the bed (and no, he wasn’t too proud to admit he got butterflies thinking about how one side of the bed was Ghost’s and the other was his now), rolling off of the mattress and coming to stand in front of Ghost.
Fire lit in his stomach the way it always did when he was forced to look up at Ghost. There was something about his height and mass that made him feel small in a more significant way than him only being shorter than his lieutenant.
“Turn around,” Ghost told him, eyes flat.
Soap gave him a look, snarking, “Presumptuous lad, aren’t you?” as he complied with his orders.
Once Soap was facing the bed, small, anticipatory tremors skittering across his spine, Ghost swore under his breath. The grip on Soap’s shirt was unexpected, as was the way Ghost used it to drag him towards the bathroom as he ignored Soap’s spluttered protests.
“Stop fucking talking,” Ghost snipped. They came to a halt in Ghost’s bathroom, standing directly in front of Ghost’s mirror. Ghost’s eyes were locked downwards, not paying any mind to Soap’s gaze in their reflection. “Look at me, Johnny.”
Soap obliged him, spinning around until he was craning his neck back to keep his eyes on Ghost.
A soft, mollified sound slipped out of Soap’s mouth when Ghost gripped his jaw firmly with one hand. With his newfound hold, Ghost guided Soap’s head to the side and gritted out, “Look in the mirror,” between clenched teeth.
Happy to please him and already feeling the fog of submission settling in his bones, Soap twisted his neck further and dragged his eyes to the mirror where—
Oh.
Oh.
That wasn’t his shirt. That was not his fucking shirt, because he didn’t own any shirts that had bold, white, capital letters spelling out “LT. RILEY” across the span of his shoulders.
Ghost did, though. Soap had seen him wear that exact shirt, only with a long sleeved shirt underneath to conceal his skin and tattoos. He wore it when he was stuck with barking orders at the trainees or sparring with other sergeants or lieutenants as examples for the trainees.
Unlike with Soap, it made sense when Ghost wore the shirt since he was, y’know, Lieutenant Riley. For Soap, it looked like a claim being staked clear as day, and although the claim wasn’t really wrong, fraternizing amongst teammates wasn’t exactly encouraged.
Suddenly, his day was making a lot more fucking sense.
“That’s not my shirt,” Soap whispered to his reflection, hoping maybe the words would just disappear and he’d wake up from a bad, but kind of hot, dream.
(Definitely hot. Really hot. Like, so hot it felt like Ghost had turned the shower on, shut the door, and let the steam clog the room. But he looked pissed, so Soap wasn’t going to advertise that the mishap made his dick hard.)
“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Ghost said blandly, and Soap flinched at the tone.
He looked back at Ghost sheepishly. Soap had gotten quite skilled in reading him, even with the mask on, but his face was completely shuttered then. Again, he felt himself flinching at the unfamiliar apathy, and he instinctively withdrew from Ghost.
Soap dropped his gaze to the floor, hoping to God he didn’t start fucking crying. It was as if something had changed in his brain chemistry since he and Ghost had started whatever they were doing. He’d never felt so reliant on another, so obsessed with being good and wanted and docile. The mere thought of really screwing up for the first time had his stomach churning painfully, panic setting in already.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, only finding a fraction of relief in the knowledge that his voice didn’t crack or waver. It still came out soft and timid, of all fucking things, but he could process that another time. “I didn’t realize it was your shirt.”
“It doesn’t exactly fit you, Johnny,” Ghost noted, one of his hands coming into Soap’s view to take the loose fabric of the shirt around his waist between two of his fingers.
Bare hands, Soap noticed hopefully. He didn’t like showing skin, more specifically his tattoos because of how identifiable they were, and it was a sign of trust that he still rid himself of his gloves for Soap.
If it was possible, Soap thought he flushed deeper. “I thought you fuckin’ stretched it out, ye fuckin’—”
“Enough,” Ghost cut him off in warning.
Soap looked up finally, narrowing his eyes at Ghost, only to be almost immediately rewarded with Ghost’s warm hand gripping his jaw, tighter and rougher than before. He barged into Soap’s personal space, shoving Soap against his sink and pinning him there with his own body. Soap made a sound, undignified and needy, as Ghost pressed up against him and manhandled his jaw to make him look his lieutenant in the eye respectfully.
“Who else saw you like this?” he asked Soap lowly, their new proximity making the rumble of his deep voice scrape against Soap’s skin.
“Gaz,” Soap said first, wracking his brain to think of who else he’d bumped into on his way to find Ghost. “One of the new recruits, too. And Price. Probably more than just them from here to the sniper range,” he admitted.
Something he said had given Ghost pause, Soap could see it in his dark eyes. There was less paint around them since he was only on base, a lighter, smudged shade of gray doing nothing to take away from the cogs turning in the dark brown of his eyes.
“Which recruit?”
Fuck, what the hell was the kid’s name? He knew it, and he knew that he knew it, but it was getting harder to think with Ghost holding him the way he was.
“Um, Hackett? The lanky kid with real curly hair,” Soap managed, wondering if he could somehow convince Ghost to move his hand from his jaw to his throat. He’d probably do it to shut Soap up if he started mouthing off.
Ghost’s eyes flickered with interest. He stepped closer, which only served to shove his thigh in between Soap’s and rub against his badly timed erection. Instead of keeping himself quiet, Soap let the involuntary, breathy moan slip past his lips in the hopes that it’d get a rise out of Ghost.
Fingers tightened around his jaw, but remained unmoving otherwise.
“The one who follows you around like a bitch in heat?” Ghost asked bitterly.
Eyelids fluttering, Soap gave him an easy smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.
Euphoria rushed through his veins when Ghost snarled, hand dropping from his jaw and—fuck yes— wrapping snugly around his throat where his fingertips could rest threateningly on his pulse points. He squeezed, not gently but not too hard, just enough to be taken as a cautionary admonishment.
“You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about,” Ghost snarled, leaning in close enough for Soap to feel the delicate scratch of his balaclava on the sensitive skin of his cheek.
Soap whimpered at the not-enough feeling, struggling against Ghost’s grip to get closer but finding no reprieve under the other man’s strength. He could have sobbed when he felt Ghost tighten his hand around his throat, his pulse fluttering nervously at the spike of unsafe pressure. Not enough to make him pass out, but enough to send his nerve endings into a flurry of panic.
To himself, Soap’s insides chorused a delighted, Enough to bruise me.
“He’s harmless,” Soap tried again, purposely dancing around the subject.
“I don’t give a fuck how harmless he is, he wants you. He wants what’s mine,” Ghost bit out, giving another tighter, experimental squeeze to Soap’s neck.
That one did take Soap’s breath away a little, his mouth dropping open to take in a shuddering gasp. “Yes,” he spilled instantly under the agitated clench of Ghost’s large palm.
“What are you saying yes to?” Ghost asked, some satisfaction slipping into his tone. He pulled back, allowing their gazes to lock once again. Brown had nearly blown out to black with how wide his pupils were, and Soap felt the urge to sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness at the mix of arousal and ownership that swam in Ghost’s eyes.
“Yours. I belong to you, Simon,” Soap reinforced. Swallowing heavily, his cock twitched when the movement of his Adam’s apple was stinted by the force of Ghost’s hand.
Ghost gave a tortured groan at that, lifting his mask above his nose to scrape his teeth along Soap’s jawline. Soap’s hips twitched, grinding himself down on Ghost’s thigh inadvertently and pulling a loud moan from him.
“Thanks to your stupidity,” that wrenched another loud sound out of Soap, a whine this time, and had him rolling his hips over Ghost’s thigh again, “I’m sure everyone on base knows you’re mine by now.”
“Simon,” Soap pleaded, squeezing the cold porcelain of his sink to keep the urge to reach for Ghost at bay. He hadn’t been given permission yet, and if he moved out of turn, he risked Ghost letting go of him entirely.
“You can’t fucking think anything through, can you? The only thing you’re ever good for is keeping my cock warm,” Ghost uttered, his voice merely a growl, as he nipped harshly at the skin beneath Soap’s jawline.
Head swimming, Soap nodded furiously. “Yes, sir. Please,” he begged, not exactly sure all that he was asking for.
Devastation hit Soap like a truck when Ghost pulled back, incoherent whines about needing him ready to fall from his lips when Ghost returned. He kissed Soap like he was drowning and Soap was his only source of oxygen. Ghost’s tongue delved into Soap’s mouth easily and smoothly, massaging against Soap’s eagerly receptive tongue with a pleased growl.
The hand on Soap’s throat let up, sending blood rushing back to his head deliriously fast, but remained firmly in the same place. Ghost’s free hand snuck up on Soap’s waistband as he kissed him stupid, carelessly untucking his shirt from where Soap had previously gathered the material underneath the elastic.
Warm fingers spread out possessively along Soap’s waist, hauling him up against Ghost’s thigh encouragingly. Soap’s hips lurched forward in response, dragging his painfully hard, clothed cock over Ghost’s wide thigh. It couldn’t be helped how both of his hands shot up to hold onto the thick, soft material of Ghost’s hoodie, scrambling to pull him closer. Before Soap had the time to worry he’d only angered Ghost further, Ghost was moaning into his mouth and letting himself be tugged forward. Both men sighed when their chests pressed together, the crowded position allowing for Ghost’s own hard cock to brush against Soap’s hip.
Ghost ripped his mouth away from Soap’s, lips pink and swollen, then gave a hearty shove to Soap’s sweatpants with the simple command of, “Off.”
Soap complied, tilting his head back for Ghost’s persistent mouth while he pushed his briefs and pants down his legs with shaky hands. Pleased, Ghost sank his teeth into Soap’s skin where his thumb had previously been resting on his thundering pulse.
“Fuck,” Soap gasped, baring his throat in a silent request for more, more, more. Ghost obliged him, soothing the first bite with a few swipes of his tongue before moving to a new spot and repeating the feral motion.
A loud keen fell from Soap’s lips, hissing at the feeling of his cock, now bare, dragging against the unforgiving material of Ghost’s tactical pants. His overheated skin caught on the edges and grooves of the pockets decorating Ghost’s upper thighs, ripping more lewd noises from his chest.
Soap’s hands went to the hem of his shirt next, lifting with the intent to toss it elsewhere like he assumed Ghost wanted him to. He was stopped short by a particularly brutal squeeze to his throat.
His mouth dropped open to vocalize his pleasure, but Ghost had finally, finally, tightened his grip enough for Soap’s ability to make any noise to be greatly hindered. A small, strangled sound came from him, prompting Ghost to rumble out a matching grunt.
“Don’t even fucking think about taking my shirt off, Johnny,” he snarled angrily. The next drag of his teeth across Soap’s skin was hard and uncaring, certainly leaving red marks in their wake. He lifted his head to look down into Soap’s eyes, looking as disheveled as he possibly could with the mask still on.
“Had my cock hard as soon as I saw my name on your back. Fucking hell, Johnny, just thinking about how many people must’ve seen you wearing my shirt without a care in the fucking world…”
He trailed off with a growl, letting up on Soap’s throat and giving him the opportunity to inhale sharply. As soon as he’d taken a breath, Ghost descended on his mouth again. Soap welcomed him pliantly, letting Ghost lick into his mouth like he was the owner of it.
The loss of Ghost’s hand on his neck was mourned shortly when Ghost dropped both hands to palm Soap’s ass, lifting him up with ease and dropping him on the sink. Soap wrapped his legs around Ghost’s waist and pulled him in, winding both arms around Ghost’s neck.
One of Soap’s hands boldly toyed with the bottom of Ghost’s balaclava, the material having ridden up on his nape with how the front of it was pulled over his nose. Ghost circled his own arms around Soap’s waist, palms flattening against his skin and traveling up his back as they kissed. With no spurning of his movement, Soap slipped his fingers under the mask and tunneled them greedily into Ghost’s curls.
Groaning, Ghost pulled away and moved his head to help Soap lift the mask, shaking out the rest of his curls before diving right back in. Soap relished in the now freed, loose, soft curls he was able to slide his fingers through, tugging a handful gently only to swallow the moan that sounded from Ghost’s mouth.
Every single time Soap had the honor of seeing Simon’s face, of touching him greedily and reverently, he thanked God that his damn mask hid hair that was definitely violating regulations. To be fair, Soap’s hair was too, but Ghost was just… different. Longer on top than it was on the sides, but still grown out enough for a few curls per strand to form where it was shortest.
There was nothing quite like seeing a man whose hands were saturated in blood being unable to keep blonde locks of hair from falling over his forehead delicately. It took Soap’s breath away, and despite how often he saw Simon’s face nowadays, his knees felt unstable every time he saw him just like he’d felt the first time.
Soap yelped in surprise when Ghost stroked his rim, still tender from the night beforehand, and applied enough pressure for his fingertip to slip in.
“You’re still loose,” Ghost murmured, their lips having been separated from Soap’s reaction to his skilled fingers. “If I sank my cock into you like this, you wouldn’t complain, would you?”
Nearing hysterics, Soap shook his head frantically. Another shocked sound was yanked from his mouth when Ghost landed an unforgiving smack on his bare thigh. He sank his own fingers into Soap’s mohawk, yanking his head back in retaliation.
“You’re not a fucking dog, are you? You can speak,” Ghost mocked, scoffing at the sound of Soap’s whimper.
“No, sir,” he said slowly, his words threatening to slur together. “Promise I’d take it for you ‘n be so good,” Soap swore.
As he spoke, Ghost pulled his finger from Soap’s body and reached for the bottle of lube they kept on the shelves beside the sink. What could he say, they really liked taking advantage of Ghost’s private shower.
“I hope that recruit can’t stop thinking about you wearing my shirt. I want the thought of you in my bed to haunt him. I hope he has nightmares about how well I fuck you,” Ghost growled, giving Soap’s hair another harsh pull as he returned to Soap’s hole with two slick fingers.
A cry ripped out of Soap’s throat as Ghost sank two fingers into him, the stretch burning his skin. He could only find the strength to cling to Ghost for dear life while his fingers plunged into him and scissored his muscles apart.
“More,” Soap pleaded, rocking down on Ghost’s fingers as much as he could in his position.
Without hesitation, Ghost’s third finger massaged against his rim and pushed in with the other two. Soap whined high in his throat, the sound melting down into a moan when Ghost pushed against his prostate at the same time he nipped at Soap’s neck.
Impatience ate at him, and Ghost had barely had his trio inside of Soap for sixty seconds before Soap was clawing at his shoulders and begging for Ghost to replace them with his cock. Ghost shushed his babbling with a searing kiss, distracting Soap with his tongue as his fingers slipped out of him. He had little time to focus on the emptiness before the fat head of Ghost’s cock nudged at his hole.
Soap canted his hips to give Ghost a better angle, spurring the older man to push. Again, their mouths disconnected as Soap’s head fell back between his shoulders with a pornographic sounding moan.
“Atta boy, Johnny. Let me in,” Ghost breathed into his ear.
Warmth flooded through Soap at the praise. He relaxed himself further, permitting Ghost’s hips to glide forward until his defined hip bones settled against Soap’s ass. The jagged feeling of a metal zipper and coarse material pressed against Soap’s bare skin, and a blurry glance down let him see that Ghost had only undone his pants to take his cock out, leaving him otherwise clothed.
Christ, that made Soap’s cock jump. The two of them had to be a fucking sight in that moment—Ghost, fully clothed save for his mask and gloves, with his cock lodged into Soap, wearing only Ghost’s oversized shirt.
“Move,” Soap gasped, clutching at Ghost’s hair to quiet the resonant pleasure rolling through his body in heated waves.
Ghost groaned, pulled back, and fucked back into Soap’s body hard enough to jostle him backwards on the sink. One hand stayed buried in Ghost’s curls as the other shot downwards to clutch at the sink for support as Ghost began fucking him in earnest. His hands were everywhere on Soap, his waist, his back, running over the material of his shirt in a covetous manner, and it was driving Soap further and further into the welcoming trance of being fucked out.
Objects clattered to the floor, both from the sheer force of Ghost’s thrusts and from Soap’s hand grappling for purchase on the sink, but the sounds fell on deaf ears. Ghost had hooked Soap’s knees over his palms, holding him open and wide the way he knew Ghost loved, and Soap’s head had fallen back onto the mirror with a dull thud. If it hurt, he didn’t feel it or care all that much.
Mindless, whiny, loud noises poured out of Soap’s move, punched out of his lungs each time Ghost’s cock lodged itself deep inside of him and knocked against his prostate as he did so. His cock laid on his stomach between them, only receiving friction from Ghost’s hoodie when he thrust back inside of him. Still, it drooled pre-cum onto the skin of his stomach, eventually making his stomach a sticky mess of arousal hidden by Ghost’s shirt on his frame.
Soap was aware he was talking as well, each word unconscious and nonsensical as he rambled on about how good Ghost’s cock felt, how deep he felt, how he wanted more, harder, faster. Every word hooked onto groans and moans deep inside of Ghost’s throat, reeling them out more and more frequently the louder Soap got.
“Mine,” Ghost uttered, his low voice taking on a frayed edge. He bit Soap’s exposed collarbones, letting go of one knee to skate his palm back up Soap’s spine over the shirt. His fingers splayed out just below the area between Soap’s shoulders, likely brushing against the bottom of the text displaying his name.
“Aye,” Soap mewled in delight, a familiar tingling sensation lighting up his stomach.
“Bloody fucking Jesus, I wish you could wear this shirt every fucking day,” Ghost groaned into Soap’s neck. “Mine,” he growled again. “Mine, mine, mine.”
Every claim was punctuated with a cruel bite to Soap’s neck, forgoing any attempt to sooth the bites after the indents of Ghost’s teeth were marred into his skin.
“Simon,” Soap gasped, tears burning hot in his eyes before spilling over. His hand slipped from Ghost’s hair, clutching at the nape of his neck. His fingertips danced across metal, small and warm from Ghost’s body heat, resting around Ghost’s neck.
The thought struck him as soon as his lust-addled mind put the pieces together. He twisted the chain around his index finger and gave it an experimental tug, pulling the chain outwards until Ghost’s dog tags rested on the hollow of his throat.
Ghost made a surprised, curious sound in the back of his throat, tensing somewhat apprehensively at the appearance of a tighter presence around his neck. Soap ducked his head, licking at the skin on either side of the chain lazily. Voluntarily, Ghost tilted his head back and nervously held Soap a little closer as he fucked him.
Dragging his teeth over the beaded metal, Soap savored the feeling of Ghost’s hips faltering, then speeding up impatiently. Soap’s hand automatically jerked, pulling the chain taut on accident and receiving a particularly merciless thrust that nailed his prostate head-on in return.
“You have a spare set, sir?” Soap panted, open-mouthed and wet, against Ghost’s neck.
“Always,” Ghost returned, the effect that Soap was having on him present in the unusual shakiness of his voice.
Soap could tell by the force and incoordination of Ghost’s thrusts that he was close. The way that Ghost had pulled their bodies close together had Soap’s cock constantly rubbing against Ghost’s hoodie, and he knew he didn’t need any more friction than that alongside the drag of Ghost’s cock inside of him to come.
“You should let me wear it,” Soap offered coyly (as much as someone could sound coy with their legs spread like a whore and tears streaming down their face from a good fucking), tugging on the chain again.
“Fuck,” Ghost spat on a shuddered exhale.
Soap’s inflated ego popped the moment Ghost got a hand around his leaking cock. He sobbed, his vocals ricocheting off of the tiled walls and echoing his gratification. He dropped the chain and scrambled to anchor himself onto something, anything, as the fire in his gut was doused with the fuel of his orgasm.
Blunt nails scratched over Ghost’s nape and scalp as Soap came over his fist and his own stomach. Ghost arched into the touch, snapping his hips into Soap without a care in the world for the building oversensitivity beginning to make Soap twitch. He released Soap’s spent cock, the only sign of mercy he provided before he took hold of Soap’s hip and his mohawk for leverage and used them to drive his cock into Soap’s awaiting body like a man possessed.
“Simon,” Soap cried, face twisting into a pleased yet pained grimace.
“So fucking cocky,” Ghost ground out through heaving breaths. “Too fucking cocky for a bitch that’s begged to take my cock raw.”
Soap hid his face in Ghost’s neck with a whine, embarrassed because it was true and embarrassed because feeling embarrassed about it felt good. It felt good hearing the condescending tone, felt good knowing he only brought it up with the intent to humiliate Soap.
Ghost dragged Soap’s head back with the fistful of Soap’s mohawk he had, soft grunt spilling from his mouth as he chased his own release. As always with Ghost, Soap went easily, happily allowing himself to be manhandled any which way Ghost wanted him.
“You’re mine, Johnny. You fucking hear me?” Ghost bit out.
More frantic nods followed, his movements agitated and jerky as he fought to not to squirm under Ghost’s assault on his overused prostate. “Yes, sir. ‘M all yours, Simon,” he vowed. “Willin’ to do anythin’ to prove it. Let you fuck me ‘n front of the recruit if you wan’.”
His accent muddled his words, but he suspected that only added to how deeply it affected Ghost.
One, two, three more thrusts had Ghost smothering a noisy groan into Soap’s shoulder, biting down half on skin and half on the cotton blend of his shirt. Soap sagged against the mirror, his body going limp with palpable relief. He does love the feeling of Ghost using him like nothing but a hole, but damn if it didn’t wipe him out.
“The fucking mouth on you,” Ghost tutted once he’d caught his breath, grunting as he lifted himself away from Soap just enough to press a handful of doting kissing to his chapped lips.
“You like it, sir,” Soap laughed weakly against his mouth.
Ghost hummed his assent, nudging his nose against Soap’s in a blatant show of affection. “Am I gonna have to carry you into the shower, Sergeant?” he teased.
Soap smiled, slow and wide, blinking the haze out of his eyes to get a good look at Ghost. A smile had crossed his face as well, private and loving and all his. His cheeks were flushed red, curls haphazardly askew on top of his head and over his forehead.
“Think so, sir,” he breathed, leaning into Ghost’s space once more to bring their lips together in a sweet, consuming kiss.
Bliss hung around them like fog, clinging to their skin as if it belonged there. Still, Soap couldn’t help but let a teasing, “Did Price give you the birds and the bees talk?” slip out of his mouth.
He couldn’t stay mad at Ghost for giving him a nasty pinch to his side in retaliation because he kind of deserved it. Plus, Ghost got on his knees and soothed it with his tongue underneath the scalding hot stream of his shower, regardless of the fact that it never hurt, nor did it bruise.
Ghost was just gentle with him like that, really. Soap loved him for that.