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The bell behind the bar rang out for last call, and the rowdy squaddies who had flocked to the establishment for the evening gathered their effects. They were due to deploy the next morning after two months situated in the arse end of rural Mexico. So, as any good soldier would do, they had their last hoorah in the closest town with girls and beer.
Captain MacTavish yelled playfully at a group of privates to get their backsides back to base, with a girl clung to each of his muscular biceps. Gaz and Price had been in competition to see who could drink the other under the table, but since both were carried from the building, it was hard to tell who won. Men spilled loudly onto the street and into the truck beds of fleet vehicles, some fighting, some throwing up. But perched quietly at the end of the bar, each with a glass of bourbon in hand, were two masked men dressed in black.
“You not taking anybody back tonight?” Roach mused, as he swirled the half-melted cube of ice around his watered-down liquor.
Ghost shrugged.
He lifted his mask and threw back the last of the amber liquid. If not a woman, then he’d settle for booze. As he tapped the empty glass on the bar, and the barkeep drained the last of the bottle into its now vacant space, his eyes couldn’t help but wander. The back of the captain’s neck, flush red as always when he’d drank, caught his attention as it had done several times that evening.
Roach followed his gaze and sighed.
He was a man of few words, which was probably the reason he was only person Ghost had ever shared his sexual preference with. Although admittedly, he would have figured it out from the man’s antics in their shared bunk.
It was the same every time.
They would go out to drink, Ghost brought back some girl to keep up appearances, and the poor soul would leave either angry, disappointed, or both. The reason? Ghost couldn’t get off. If he didn’t care about the man so much, he would laugh, as Ghost had been cursed out in just about every language at this point. Roach tried to convince him on several occasions that it would be better to abstain but understood that doing too many times would draw unwanted attention.
The bar fell quiet, as the last of the foot soldiers filtered out of the door. Only MacTavish and the two seated remained, and as bartender gave them an uncomfortable glance, Ghost threw back the glass a final time.
His head was in no fit state. It spun, which induced an uncomfortable nausea and blurred his vision. But it was the only thing that got him through another night forced to watch the captain frolic around with his harem, enough to quash the jealous sensation that burned in his chest cavity. Or maybe, that was the bourbon.
Still, he could not pull his eyes away. He studied the way MacTavish whispered in one of the women’s ears and found himself drawn to it as he stumbled down from the three-legged stool. Roach grabbed his arm, a feeble attempt to stop whatever embarrassment he was about to cause himself, but it was not enough.
The captain had seen him approach. He smiled warmly up at him.
“Ladies, I’d like you to meet my best soldier,” MacTavish laughed, and clapped Ghost so hard on the back that he stumbled. Then, he started some drunken, long-winded, partially fabricated story about how Ghost had saved him from an oncoming attacker using nothing but a shoelace.
One of them grabbed onto Ghost’s arm in return. She smelled sweet like summer strawberries, but the rugged scent of MacTavish’s cologne was the only thing he could focus on.
“What’s under the mask, handsome?” the lady asked, voice laced with inebriation. Ghost kicked his feet against the dusty tile as he swayed along, and when he looked up, MacTavish had a devilish grin on his face.
He laughed again, voice sickeningly sweet. “What’s up Ghost, cat got your tongue?”
Ghost despised the way he made him feel. How he could command a room with a flash of his teeth or the crack of a joke. Or on the field, where he was a different man altogether, with a snip of his voice in a serious tone and the look which settled on his face like thunder. The way women would drape themselves over his strong arms, run their fingers across his chest, and indulge him in bed. He wasn’t jealous of the fact that MacTavish could pull, but the fact he would never be the target of his flirtatious expeditions.
When he regained focus, the entire group had their eyes on him. Shit. What did he miss? His head spun dangerously now, face hot under his mask, desperate for air. He jumped a mile when the captain put an arm around his shoulder.
“C’mon then ladies,” he chuckled, “let’s get wee Ghostie to bed, shall we?”
God, he hated that nickname.
The women giggled to each other again and whispered in Spanish. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, and mostly didn’t care. Before being dragged away, he threw a less than enthusiastic thumbs up to Roach.
MacTavish opened the door of his personal vehicle for the blonde and kissed her hand as he helped her inside. Then, less gently, he shoved Ghost into the other seat before he helped the brunette up onto his lap. She didn’t seem to mind, especially when touching Ghost’s muscles through his shirt.
Ghost didn’t remember getting back to the base.
He came somewhat to his senses as they staggered down the corridor to the captain’s quarters. It wasn’t often he got to see this part of the base, and the rooms they passed by were occupied by unfamiliar faces. Barring the room Price slept in, of course. His all too familiar snores filled the silence of the hall as they passed.
MacTavish tossed Ghost the keys, who managed to catch them with cat-like reflexes despite his condition. His hands trembled against the lock as he watched him press the blonde against the wall, and the kisses he planted on her neck and breasts.
Eventually, he got the door unlocked, and all four of them piled inside.
MacTavish showed their companions around. The space wasn’t much, but on base, a double bed in a private room was a luxury. He had a few personal items scattered about, pictures of his mum, a trophy from his football days. The decoration was oddly juvenile, a reminder of how the captain had achieved so much, so young.
Ghost flopped down on the armchair in the corner of the room. From the tone of the conversation, he had gathered this was not an innocent visit. Then, the man pulled out a bottle of Scotch from a locked cabinet, housed in a nice decanter. How he got that on base, Ghost had no idea, but he wasn’t going to turn down the good stuff when offered.
The drinks flowed smoothly. MacTavish staggered about as he recounted hilarious stories, which had even Ghost smiling under the mask. At one point, he had to stifle a laugh as the captain fell over his own foot and almost brought the desk down with him.
The girls grew tired of listening, although Ghost could have listened for hours longer. Before he could start up again, the blonde grabbed the captain by his wrist and pulled him over to the bed. The brunette followed quickly behind, and Ghost remained rather lonely in the chair.
He watched as MacTavish pulled his shirt over his head. Studied the beautiful, tanned skin which stretched perfectly over lean muscle. Scars peppered his back, but they had healed well, unlike Ghost’s own scars which twisted deeply into his flesh.
He almost spat his drink out when the captain turned around.
“Are you coming over or not?” He coaxed with a grin.
Momentarily, Ghost considered getting up to join them. He wasn’t particularly shy, but being so close to MacTavish without touching him would only cause him more frustration. Plus, only Roach could bear witness to him being cussed out in Spanish.
He shook his head politely.
The captain looked puzzled but shrugged it off and returned to work. He unbuckled his belt, shimmied out of his jeans, and the tight bulge in his underwear begged for freedom.
Ghost didn’t know where to look as the captain pulled his cock out. He coolly took another sip from his glass and tried to ignore his own erection which pressed uncomfortably into his thigh. It hadn’t gone amiss that the captain hadn’t pulled his eyes away from him, even as the blonde took him into her mouth.
He only broke the glance momentarily to give some attention to the girls. “Let’s give Ghostie a show then, shall we?”
The last two words were spoken with a smirk, as MacTavish’s eyes returned to his own. His piercing irises gave away the downwards glance, the one which gravitated towards Ghost’s hardness. His mind raced at the thought. He was the one holding MacTavish’s attention. That hungry look he had given him…
What did it mean?
Those looks continued throughout the entire affair. MacTavish kissed, caressed and fucked deeply, eyes trained on Ghost, measuring his reactions with every zealous thud of his flesh against theirs. He watched as Ghost squirmed in his seat, and the way his body screamed for some sort of release of his own. Surely, this was just a tease. Some sort of punishment for a mistake on the field, and as soon as he was done, he’d be chucked out into the hall by the scruff of his neck.
He had to give the captain credit for his stamina. He had brought both women to climax twice over, head buried between thighs and fingers that worked with both speed and intensity. Then, he finished himself with his hand, back pressed against the sheets, lazily gazing Ghost’s way.
This was torture.
Ghost felt a stickiness plastered to the denim of his jeans. He ached for relief, and a speedy escape to the showers, whilst the image of the captain’s gaze was still fresh in his mind. But no such luck came, as the man whisked the girls away into the corridor no sooner than they got dressed.
“Sorry ladies, you can go find someone else’s room to sleep in…” He smiled, apologetic. The door closed, and he twisted the lock behind them.
Ghost froze. “Sir, I should go too,” he said as firmly as he could manage, but the hoarseness of his throat betrayed him.
The captain laughed. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what that was about.”
If this was another soldier, Ghost would have fought his way out of the room. Hell, if it was a different CO, he’d have fought them too. But he couldn’t fight this.
“You don’t like foreign girls?”
Ghost choked a laugh. Is that what it looked like from the outside?
“Got someone waiting back home for you?” MacTavish continued.
Again, the man stayed silent. He could muster nothing, but shook his head as to not give him the wrong idea.
“So, it is what I thought…”
Oh.
“Sir, I- It’s not-” It was a fine line to tread in places such as this. Everything about the captain was so… masculine. The jokes in the locker room, all the usual quips. He surely couldn’t allow this man to know his secret – what if it cost him his post, or worse?
But then again, it couldn’t go ignored that the captain’s eyes had remained set on him, and not the two beautiful women he had in his bed.
MacTavish slipped on some joggers, which sat low and loose over his defined hip bones. He poured himself another drink, and Ghost watched his gullet bob as the liquid ran down in heady gulps. Then, in a slovenly and teasing manner, the man slid onto the floor in front of the armchair.
He smelled like booze and sex.
The captain reached up to unbuckle Ghost’s belt, which had come so unexpected that Ghost grabbed his hand before thinking and twisted it uncomfortably to one side. He didn’t seem phased, though, instead he laughed, and his eyes moved slowly upwards until they settled on Ghost’s mask.
“Sir, you’re – you’re drunk, you should get to bed,” Ghost attempted to redirect, as he apologetically released the captain’s hand.
MacTavish smirked, as if this had been a long time coming.
“I know exactly what I’m doing, Ghostie,” he mused, as he moved his hand towards Ghost’s belt more openly this time. “That is, if you want me to, of course.”
Those sultry eyes watched his so carefully and scoured for even a trace of discomfort. There was none to be found.
This is what he had wanted for months.
He nodded, at a total loss for words, and hitched up his hips as his jeans rolled down over his arse.
MacTavish was a gentle touch when he wanted to be. His lips, with the slightest scrape of stubble, kissed the inside of his thighs as the removal of his trousers revealed pale and scarred skin. His tongue traced along the rough, raised edges, and much to his delight found Ghost was incredibly sensitive. Every kiss, every flick of his tongue, caused the man to shudder beneath him.
Possibly to a fault, as even MacTavish’s thumb on the meat of his thigh had him white-knuckled against the upholstery of the armchair.
He wanted desperately to touch the captain. To run slender fingers through that clearly non-regulation haircut, to sense how his skin felt under his fingertips. Hot or cold. Smooth or calloused. But he didn’t dare move, in case he changed his mind, or if this was all just a trick, or –
His train of thought shuddered to a halt as the captain took his hand and interlocked their fingers. His hands were soft, barring the callouses which soldiers come to expect, and were slightly smaller than his own.
“You can touch me you know,” he joked with a smirk, as he reached up to the waistband of Ghost’s boxers, “we’re not at a strip club.”
That was all the permission Ghost needed.
He gently placed his hand on the top of the captain’s head and ran fingers through his hair in awe. Then to his face, to brush an errant lock which had fallen there, and down to his cheek, his jaw, his chin.
MacTavish allowed Ghost a moment to caress to his heart’s content. But only a moment, as the frustration of waiting was too much, and they both knew exactly what they wanted. He grabbed the fabric and yanked down with excitement.
Ghost’s cock sprung out, heavy and swollen with frustration.
The captain smiled. He spat into his hand, and stroked Ghost’s length with the slightly warm slick that webbed between his fingers. Slowly, at first, but even that caused Ghost to near shoot out of his seat. He squeezed hard at their interlocking hands, and the captain gave him a squeeze back in affirmation.
“Can I have you in my mouth, Ghostie?”
“Y- yes…”
MacTavish pressed his tongue flat against Ghost’s shaft and licked firmly from root to tip. He only laughed a little at the way the man whimpered, and the fact that he was well endowed didn’t phase him at all. The challenge spurred him on, in fact, as he took Ghost into his mouth and circled his tongue gently around his tip.
Ghost moaned and retracted his hand, instead clapping his palm tightly over his mouth. Through the mask, he pressed his canines deeply into the meat of his thumb. The pain which followed was a welcome distraction, as to not be consumed wholly by the man at his feet.
His discomfort was clearly amusing.
“Awww, c’mon Ghost. Let me hear you,” he spoke stuffily, mouth still latched around Ghost’s cock.
Ghost stood firm in his resolve. His teeth clamped down harder, then, as the captain took him into his throat with only a touch of difficulty. Full ego death. Everything Ghost had known, and everything he would know, would be defined by this point from now onward. The only thing he could do to resist the temptation to topple completely was to hold out for as long as possible and keep his voice unheard.
MacTavish saw this as a direct challenge, very much used to Ghost’s stubbornness in the field. He picked up pace until he was certain that Ghost was close to the edge, then removed his mouth with a pure wicked grin.
The masked man’s breaths turned frantic, and the hand which had rested in the captain’s hair clenched tightly and yanked downwards, begging for continuation. In return, a wild look gleamed in MacTavish’s eyes, which were only slightly tearing up at the pleasured pain of the tug of his scalp.
He leapt up from the floor so quickly that his prior inebriation seemed to have all but fizzled away and grabbed the seated man tightly by his shirt collar.
Fuck…
Ghost didn’t have much say as he was dragged across the room by MacTavish, who despite being shorter in height, was still plenty strong enough to push him around. He hit the mattress after a half-hearted shove, and found it was annoyingly comfortable in comparison to his bunkhouse bed.
Alarmingly, the captain then disappeared behind the door of his closet.
A voice from inside the wardrobe sounded out. “What’s your favourite colour?”
Ghost was confused. He also didn’t really have a favourite colour, so he just said the first thing that came to mind.
“Blue, I guess?”
“Aren’t you a romantic, Ghostie,” MacTavish teased. Of course, Ghost had only chosen that because of his eyes, and the man had seen right through him.
Tactical vests, boots, various bags and holsters were thrown out onto the floor. Finally, he exclaimed in victorious excitement, and emerged with a roll of thick, black tape.
“Sir… What are you doing?” Ghost asked, shaken.
He attempted to move further away but was stopped shortly after when the captain hopped onto the bed and pressed his shoulders down into the pillows. He straddled Ghost’s crotch teasingly, as he ripped the stuff with his teeth.
“Since you can’t be nice with your hands,” he rumbled, voice a low growl as it left his lips, “we’re gonna hafta keep ‘em tied up.”
Ghost’s cock throbbed against MacTavish’s thigh and exposed his arousal at the idea.
“But if it gets too much, or if you want out, repeat blue back to me. Do you understand?”
The masked man was torn. It wasn’t often he would submit completely, the captain being the one exception out on the field. Even then, he would make sure to get in a quip or a dig, before doing the man’s bidding with brutal efficiency.
This was different – he would have to give himself wholly and completely.
“Fine,” Ghost eventually agreed, “but I’m not moaning like a whore for you.”
He bound Ghost’s wrists together and looped the thick tape around the bedframe. Whilst he did, he admired the tattoo that snaked around the man’s arm and traced gently over the design with his thumb. When he was sure Ghost couldn’t move, he pressed down on his hips and ran his own hands up underneath the man’s shirt so that the fabric raised above his nipples. Ghost was lean, but all muscle. He knew how much time the man spent in the training room, and in the few occasions he had stepped up to spar with him one-on-one, he had won only once.
His hands caressed past the somewhat slender dip of his waist, the wide platitudes of his lats, and then paused to gauge a reaction.
Ghost bit down on his lip. Strong hands on his body; a masculine touch. He didn’t have to pretend now that soft squeezes of biceps and raked acrylic nails down his back brought him any pleasure. How long had it been, since he had been with a man?
The touch drove him insane.
Then, as he drifted into a fugue state, he felt the captain’s tongue flick against his nipple. He squirmed, unable to contain the shudder which ripped through his body. The sensation continued downwards, as MacTavish licked, kissed, and sucked marks into his body. Just above his hip, the man’s teeth clamped down into the meat of his muscle, hungry indentations planted into his side which would surely leave a bruise.
A whimper escaped his throat at the idea of being marked.
The sensation was unbearable. After being denied touch, and then denied release shortly after, his head was filled with only fog and anticipation. However much he was enjoying himself, part of him wanted to just tell the man to get on with it already. So, when MacTavish finally popped back up from his impromptu artwork, Ghost held his breath, as if breathing would delay the process further.
“Can I kiss you, Ghostie?” He cooed, unexpectedly.
God, his head was reeling now.
Drunk sex was one thing. Mistakes happen. They become something to laugh about or never mention again. But this wasn’t, and would never be, a mistake to Ghost. Not when he had wanted this for so damn long.
He didn’t want the first press of the captain’s lips against his own to be a morning regret.
“Ah…” Ghost started and searched the man’s eyes for some sign of a trick, or to make sure he was lucid enough to make that request in the first place. They were soft and kind, and there was no malice behind his patient gaze. “If you’re sure that’s what you want…”
The captain giggled. Giggled. He pinched the fabric of the balaclava and pulled it just high enough to reveal Ghost’s chapped lips, one of which was excessively red as he’d clamped down on it with his teeth.
MacTavish kissed it better, and Ghost tried to blink away the tears that brimmed in the corner of his eyes.
“You’re pretty, Ghostie,” he said warmly, as he worked his lips down his jawline.
He ached to pull MacTavish closer, to kiss him deeper. The bindings strained as he fought to get a hold of the man, but the tape did not budge an inch. Ghost very much imagined that he had done this before. He didn’t dare wonder whether more frequently to their high value targets, or to his lovers.
After MacTavish had indulged himself, he migrated south and planted kisses into the deeply sculpted V of Ghost’s abdomen. If he wanted, he could tip the man over the edge at any moment. But MacTavish was a generous partner, and he wanted him to have the best climax possible.
“Do you trust me?” He purred, as his tongue gently caressed Ghost’s tip.
Ghost nodded. He trusted the man with his life, but that didn’t stop the slight nerves from the unknown.
The captain took him in his left hand and began to stroke. His right hand raised to his mouth, where he licked two of his fingers obscenely. A saliva trail dripped from his fingers as he pulled them away, and the exposed flesh of Ghost’s neck and throat had become so red and heated that it gave away his otherwise calm disposition.
Then, a finger pad pressed against his hole.
MacTavish looked at him and waited for express permission. Ghost nodded, again, but the series of expletives he mumbled were perhaps more of a giveaway of his excitement.
One finger slipped inside, slick of the saliva just enough to not cause discomfort. The sensation was something he desperately missed, as the only time he was able to do so was the five-minute shower he took after the gym, as he prayed to anyone who would listen that another soldier wouldn’t walk through the door. He moaned softly, but then remembered his promise, and punctured his lip again.
With the second finger, he arched his back inadvertently, curve of his spine raised from the man’s striped bedsheets.
MacTavish took Ghost back into his mouth and tried not to rush. He could tell Ghost was already at the brink. His fingers stretched, and massaged, until they finally strayed into position and pressed tentatively against his prostate.
Seemingly unable to stop the guttural moan which ripped from his throat, Ghost relented. In return, and perhaps praise, the captain took most of his length and happily hummed.
He couldn’t hold back much longer. Even with his hands bound, he bucked his hips inadvertently, desperately, into the captain’s throat. The overstimulation of the fingers crooked inside of him, combined with the happy moans which vibrated against his cock, he had no other choice but to give in to that familiar, heated sensation.
“Sir – Sir, fuck,” Ghost panted.
MacTavish didn’t yield. He squeezed his thigh as permission, and with the final few bobs of his head, took the whole of Ghost in the back of his throat.
“Fuck!”
The orgasm that tore through him caused his body to quake, and deep gasps, moans and expletives rolled from his tongue without sanction. A mixture of tears and sweat had smudged his greasepaint, which rolled down his face from beneath the mask. MacTavish teased his prostate again, one final push to send him spiralling into overstimulation, before he finally withdrew with mercy.
If Ghost believed in such things, he could have sworn he was in heaven.
MacTavish released his mouth, and with a satisfied look swallowed the contents. Made a big show of that in fact, when he grinned and stuck out his tongue as proof. Neither man talked as the captain sliced Ghost’s bindings with the pocketknife he kept besides his bed.
Ghost watched the man’s routine. Observed as he tried to tame his hawk in the mirror, which after several hours of deviancy had gone a bit haywire. A glass of water was procured, chugged, and then a second glass filled. Various hums and observations as he walked, about the chaos and carnage the room had succumbed to.
Then, as he handed the glass to Ghost, flopped down besides him on the bed. He seemed loose, and carefree. It made a nice change to the captain he knew on the field.
“D’ya like cuddles after sex?” He teased.
Ghost scoffed. “What sort of a question is that Sir?”
He met Ghost’s eyes with his own, soft glance. “Really, it’s just me asking for permission.”
“For you, Sir, I think I could manage a cuddle…”
Instantly, he was swept up into a leg-tangled squeeze from the shorter man, whose head rested soundly against his shoulder. Ghost didn’t know what to do with his hands but settled with one down by his hip, and the other by his head, where he softly carded through the man’s wild hair.
“G’night, Ghostie.”
Ghost looked down at him, fully aware he hadn’t been able to clean up or shower. He’d give the man some time, though, afraid that if he moved the moment would be over.
When Ghost awoke the next morning, the captain was gone.
Panic welled in the pit of his stomach, as he hoped he hadn’t overstepped his mark. That was shortly followed by the intense nausea of a hangover. After an emergency trip to the bathroom, and a mooch around the room trying to find his clothes, he eventually saw the note on the nightstand.
Ghostie,
Thanks for a great night. When we next make base - coffee?
J.
The handwriting was quite frankly shocking, but Ghost just about made out the words. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, which only caused himself more embarrassment. The “i” was drawn with a little heart over the top, which in combination with the ridiculous nickname was sickening.
He loved it.
Roach beckoned him over to the table in the mess, shocked that he hadn’t made it home to the bunk that night. As Ghost threw his leg over the bench to join him, he winced, still sore from the bruises that had been bitten into the meat of his thigh.
“So?” The man whispered impatiently.
Ghost smiled. He wasn’t one to kiss and tell, but Roach deserved to know after putting up with his dreadful pining for so long. Plus, he could always threaten him with violence if he dared to repeat a word.
He said nothing, but pulled the note out of his pocket where he had kept it safely tucked away. As he placed it down on the table, Roach took a moment to decipher the hieroglyphics. Then, his eyes widened.
“You did not – Ghost, I -” He stuttered, trying to speak several sentences all at the same time.
Ghost snuck the note back into his pocket and grinned. The last few glasses of liquor might have left him with a crippling headache, but this was a drunken night he did not regret.