Archive of Our Own

"Play nice," is the first thing Price says when he introduces Ghost and Soap to each other. It can be difficult getting hybrids to work together, too many instincts and pushes for dominance creating friction on a team. Regrettably, Soap doesn't have a great track record with things like that; a long list of offenses from growling at his fellow Sergeants to almost biting his CO's hand off when he'd tried to collar him.

He hasn't had that issue with Price, or Gaz - but they're human, and effortlessly accepting of his 'quirks', as Price had called them. Soap wants to do good, to behave and obey and trust that the orders he's given are good ones to follow. Price's effortless control of every room he's in settles Soap's instincts, and Gaz's friendly nature had gone a long way to bring him to heel.

Tension coils his spine like a snake when he meets Ghost's - Lieutenant Riley's - flat brown eyes. His mask hides his face, no doubt covering his sharp muzzle and huge fangs, his sensitive nose, but Soap can hear him take a sharp breath in, getting to his feet with an instinctive growl that has Soap tucking his tail and lowering his ears.

"Simon," Price warns, sharply. Ghost ignores him, just crowds closer. Soap knows he's not a hybrid, not like Soap is - he's a full-blooded wolf. Mean and territorial and aggressive, so the stories go. It's rare to find a complete shifter in the military, they usually get themselves killed or phased out, unable to integrate themselves into a mixed pack as easily as they would with their own kind.

Soap knows, absently, that he's little more than a chew toy in Ghost's eyes. The wolf is huge, hulking, towers over him even if he wasn't ducking his head and hunching in his shoulders. The urge to flatten to his back and show his belly and throat is powerful, makes him tremble as Ghost approaches him and shoves his muzzle into the soft, twitching base of Soap's ear.

"What are you?" he demands, his voice barely above a growl.

"Ch-chessie, Sir," Soap replies, keeping his eyes low.

Ghost huffs at him, his thick grey tail swishing back and forth in a single, lazy swipe. His ears are up and alert, gloved fingers undoubtedly tipped with mean, sharp claws flexing at his sides. One paw comes up, suddenly, scruffing Soap with a violent grip that has his knees buckling, falling to the floor at Ghost's feet before his brain can catch up.

"Simon," Price snaps again, yanking Ghost's hand away from Soap and shoving him back. Ghost goes, submissive enough to the man he has determined is worthy of being the Alpha among them, his blackened eyes never leaving Soap's flushed face. "Get a fucking hold of yourself."

Ghost snarls, bass and rumbly, deep in his chest. Soap swallows harshly, his ears low, his head tilted to one side to show his throat. He's not a wolf, doesn't even come close, and he's not bred for confrontation despite his stellar performance as an attack dog. When something big and deadly threatens his team, he's first in line to neutralize the enemy, but when it's himself and he's facing down a wolf, he's little better than a pup.

Ghost is set to be Soap's handler, Price had told him - since Soap will serve under him directly, and since they are both canines, it makes the most sense. Only when Price had told him that Ghost was a wolf had Soap felt the first coil of anxiety in his belly, and now he's on his fucking knees in the middle of the meeting room, quivering like a sapling, unable to even meet his new CO's eyes.

Ghost snaps his teeth together, rolls his shoulders, and nods his head, once. "Come on, Soap," he commands, brushing past him without a second glance. Soap scrambles to his feet, panting and ready to chase after him, no thought of disobeying in his head.

"Soap," Price says, taking his arm and making Soap whine, frantic at the thought of losing Ghost's trail. "If he says or does anything you're not comfortable with, you tell me, yeah?"

Soap nods. "Aye, Sir, Ah promise," he rasps. Price lets him go and Soap hurries after Ghost, barely able to catch up with the wolf's long strides, desperately trying to catch his breath as they fall into step together.

"You belong to me now," Ghost says, as certain as he'd comment on the sun rising in the East and setting in the West. And Soap nods, because that's how it works with dogs - the person you're given to is the person that owns you. Soap has never been outright given to someone before, but his instinct to please and serve is a powerful one, difficult to resist even when in the presence of such a commanding, aggressive wolf.

They emerge into the outside air, the clouds heavy and making the sun dull behind them. Still, Soap winces, blinking rapidly for his eyes to adjust. His ears perk up despite himself when he sees Gaz carrying on a training session, his voice clear and orders to move faster and keep together making Soap lift to his toes, wanting to join them.

Ghost snarls at him, drawing Soap's attention back. "I demand the best of every soldier beneath me, Sergeant," he says, his flat eyes giving nothing away. "And complete obedience. You do anything out of line, even put your bloody toe where I don't tell you, and I'll cut it off."

Soap doesn't even bristle at the threat, his eyes wide, shoulders low. "Aye, Lt.," he breathes. "Ah willnae let ye down."

"Be the last thing you ever do," Ghost promises darkly, and leads him on to show him his room.

Soap's never worked himself so ragged. Ghost is so aggressive and demanding, has Soap fetching his tea and reciting handbooks and pushing himself to exhaustion through every course and training exercise. He barely has time to think or breathe, let alone rest - Ghost's naturally nocturnal instincts keep him up well into the night, his human team members' schedule forcing Soap to rise bright and early each morning.

It's almost a relief when he gets word that Ghost is being sent on a mission - until Price tells him that Soap is going with him, too.

He hasn't told Price anything disparaging about Ghost - honestly, because Ghost hasn't laid a hand on him, forced him to do anything Soap didn't already want on some level. Soap naturally wants to please and impress, understands that Ghost is so hard on him because he's pushing him to be better, in his way. He's never had a CO who believes he can do better, be better - they've all seen him as some wayward little lap dog in need of a good kicking and recalibrating.

But Ghost is…wild. Unashamed. Mean and powerful, and Soap will follow him wherever he leads.

"You up for it, sunshine?" Price asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes sharp on Soap's face.

"Aye, Sir," Soap replies, nodding, his tail wagging once. "Ah'm ready."

"Good. Wheels up at 0600 hours. Get some rest, Soap - I've told Ghost to let you off the hook for the night."

Soap swallows, secretly relieved that he'll at least get one good night's sleep before they head out. He leaves Price's office and makes a quick stop in the mess hall, powers through a mountain of food until his stomach feels heavy and warm and tiredness is coming for him, purring along the nape of his neck.

He's almost at his room when he stiffens, his nostrils flaring. There's a dark trickle line at the base of his door, almost imperceptible, the smell sharp to his sensitive nose. Piss - wolf piss, he's certain, as there aren't any other canine hybrids on base that would feel the urge to mark his door like this. Soap swallows and does his best to ignore it, the ruffled fur that coats his spine standing on edge as he closes his door behind him, feeling like there are eyes on him the whole time.

His mind reels, caught between his self-imposed exhaustion and the audacity of his CO marking his fucking door. His sharp eyes search for any other signs that his space has been invaded and claimed, shoulders loosening when he can find none. Ghost didn't come inside, at least.

He strips down, shaking out his ears and tail when his clothes brush against his fur. He shivers in the cold, burrows down into his nest of blankets and pulls them tight around himself. His gut is heavy, solid when he lies on his belly, his tail brushing softly against the backs of his thighs.

He can smell Ghost, wafting through the door, his piss sharp and stinging. Soap's mouth goes dry, his fingers curling as he fights to ignore it, but it's as invasive as the man himself. Soap doesn't want to get up to clean it, already naked and settled into bed as he is, and he's - fuck, he's aching.

He bites his lower lip, closes his eyes as he works a hand beneath one of his pillows, shoves it down his belly until he can bury his cock against it, catching on the seam. He grinds his hips once, breathlessly, able to taste Ghost on his tongue. He can picture it so clearly - the big bad wolf with his cock out, leaning hard against Soap's door and pissing all over it. Did Soap do something wrong? Is Ghost angry with him? Upset that Soap was commanded away from him for the night?

Soap whines softly, ears pinned to his head as he grinds against his pillow, seeking friction, something warm and wet to sink into. His tail lifts as his hole slicks up, clenching around nothing and similarly desperate. Soap had all his toys confiscated by his last CO and hasn't had a chance to order more, and he feels the lack of them now; aches for his favorite teething toy and his fleshlight, the knotted dildo he likes to ride whenever he craves being fucked.

With Ghost's scent in his lungs, it's too easy to picture the wolf crowded over him, snarling under his breath. He clamps his own hand around his nape, uses his claws to mimic Ghost's severe teeth; spreads his legs as he humps the pillow with another series of desperate little whines. He reaches back and yanks at his tail, teases his fingers over his wet hole and pushes two inside him, yipping sharply at the stretch. Ghost wouldn't care, he knows - would probably make him take his cock dry, use him like a toy no matter how much Soap squealed or snapped at him.

He has no idea why that thought gets him so fucking hot.

He shoves his fingers deeper, grinding futilely onto his pillow, desperately fueled by this fantasy of his mean, aggressive CO pinning him down and making him take it like a bitch. His hole clenches and squeezes his fingers, his cock throbbing and dripping and making a mess all over himself, but it feels too good for him to stop.

He whines, baring his teeth, feels his orgasm prowling closer and closer, jaws parted to sink into him and rip him to shreds, when a sudden heavy pounding on his door makes him freeze. He yelps, whimpering and pulling his fingers free, scrambles to his feet when he hears a low, rough snarl.

"Sergeant," Ghost's gruff voice makes him tremble, his aching cock twitching and dripping another line or precum into his lap. "Come here."

Soap whines, ears laid flat, tail tucked. He hurries to pull on a pair of sweatpants even though it'll do nothing to hide his erection and his slick hole, but has no will or desire to deny his CO's direct command. He slinks to his door and cracks it open, knows Ghost can smell how slick and needy he is, see the shine of sweat and precum staining him.

Ghost's flat eyes stare down at him, the wolf looming and half-eaten by shadows. His eyes shine, golden in the light coming from Soap's room, allowing Soap to see that his pupils are huge, his breaths heavy as he looks Soap up and down.

Soap opens the door a little wider, swallowing hard enough his throat clicks. "Everythin' alright, Lt.?" he asks.

Ghost snarls, his eyes narrowing. "Come here," he demands again, and takes a step back. Soap tenses, his eyes darting down the hallway on either side of his room, but he doesn't see anyone. He steps out obediently, head low and tail stiff, curled up between his legs. He yelps when Ghost grabs him and spins him around, flattens his big paw on the nape of Soap's neck and forces him against the wall beside his open door.

"You see this?" Ghost demands, pressing up tight to his back and jerking Soap's head so that he can see the piss stain on his door, puddled around the floor. He presses his lips together, nods as best he can. "That means it's mine. Means everything inside is mine, too, or do I have to piss all over your nest for you to get the idea?"

Soap whines, not knowing what to say.

"No one touches what's mine," Ghost tells him, his breath hot through his mask, tickling Soap's soft ears. "Not even you, Soap."

"But -." Soap shifts his weight, wincing when his cock rubs against the wall; hasn't gone down even a little despite the tension and humiliation coating his spine like oil. "But, Sir, Ah was just -."

Ghost's fingers squeeze, claws sharp even through his gloves. "Just what?" he demands roughly. "Just humping your pillow like a stupid little puppy, yeah?" He shakes Soap, none too gently, shoves his forehead to the wall again. "Let me put this in a way you'll understand." His other hand curls, possessive, over Soap's bare hip. It makes him shiver violently, tail lifting entirely out of instinct even though he can't move it much with Ghost pressed so hard against him. "You eat when I tell you, shit when I tell you, and fuck when I tell you, Sergeant."

"Ghost, please, I'm sorry," Soap whines, baring his throat as best he can. "Didn't know the rules, Ah'm sorry - Ah didnae come, Sir, Ah promise, I -."

"I know." Ghost's snarling stops, then, his hand gentling just a hair on Soap's nape. Soap whimpers, quivering in place, his hands flat on the wall and his tail lifted high enough now to expose the damp seat of his sweatpants, feel his wet hole chafe when Ghost grinds, once, against him.

Ghost's head lowers, hot on his throat. A brief moment, a small shift, and then bare lips and teeth touch Soap's sweaty skin. He gasps, moaning softly, a powerful shot of adrenaline and arousal sliding down his spine at the brush of the wolf's huge, savage teeth. Christ alive, they feel gargantuan, no wonder Ghost talks like he's got a mouthful of flesh all the time. His fangs are sharp as a knife, drawing thin lines across Soap's throat, his jaw wide enough to threaten ripping out Soap's neck entirely.

He's soaking wet and so fucking hard, trembling and pinned and desperately hoping Ghost bites down.

He doesn't. A broad, wet tongue licks along the scratches he left, and then he's pulling his mask down and yanking Soap away from the wall, shoves him back through his door and watches Soap stumble, struggle to right himself.

"Be good on the mission tomorrow and I'll let you come," Ghost tells him, and then he's slamming the door and striding away, booted steps heavy even as they recede, leaving Soap panting and struck dumb, his mind whirling.

His fists clench, so much tension in his body he doesn't know what to do with it. His cock aches so badly, his hole fluttering around nothing, but he dares not touch himself, even to get undressed. He whines low in his throat, sinking to his knees, and curls up to sleep on the floor.

Ghost wears a helmet that lays his ears flat, the thick grey fur barely visible beneath the rim. Soap winces in sympathy, his own ears cramped at the base but free-standing, perked up on his head as he clambers into the transport and sits down next to Ghost.

Ghost doesn't look at him, barely acknowledges him as the doors close and they're lifted into the air. His thick, fluffy tail is similarly strapped down, held at his thigh in its own holster, shows no reaction when Soap's thigh brushes it.

Soap whines softly, still aching and sore and terrified that Ghost is mad at him. "Ah'm sorry, Sir," he breathes, finally earning Ghost's eyes. "Ah won't let ye down."

Ghost blinks at him, once, the action somehow more intimate than if he'd pulled Soap into a kiss. It floods his mouth with saliva, makes his tail and ears twitch, his hackles rippling down his spine as he meets the wolf's eyes.

The mission is straightforward, simple - they'll be dumped off a few klicks shy of an operations base, use their noses to infiltrate and eliminate their target. Ghost will be on overwatch, guiding Soap's movements, providing cover if Soap needs it.

Thinking about the wolf's deadly, focused gaze on him, his sniper aimed for Soap's heart if Soap disobeys or disappoints him, shouldn't get him as hot as it does - but then again, no one gets where they are without getting a few wires crossed. Soap's file paints him as aggressive, reactive - he imagines it's been a surprise for his Captain and fellow Sergeant to see him so easily brought to heel under Ghost's boot.

But he can't help himself - it's primal, pure instinct, that makes him want to follow Ghost wherever he leads. Having someone push him to be his best self, be firm and clear with his orders, make sure Soap knows his place and doesn't put a toe out of line.

He never knew how much he craved a strong, guiding hand, until it was attached to the wolf currently sitting at his side, staring at him.

Ghost tilts his head, shifts his weight and turns. He grabs Soap by the back of his neck, pulling him in until their muzzles almost touch. Soap's nostrils flare, able to smell Ghost's morning tea and the fresh kill on his breath - he must have hunted last night. The thought makes his insides molten, dizzy, wondering what Ghost looks like when he lets himself shed his human skin and run as the animal he is.

He licks over the lines on Ghost's mask that tell him where his mouth is, submissive and plaintive when Ghost paws at his nape. Ghost blinks at him again, pleased, and says, "Good boy."

Soap goes incandescent, pleasure flaring up his skull like a firework. He gasps, whining sweetly, licks over Ghost's mouth again to show his submission and gratitude. The primal urge to make Ghost happy fills his head with cotton, slackens his jaw and neck as Ghost shoves him away, his head rolling before he can correct himself.

"Eager little bitch," he mutters, but his voice is…almost fond.

Soap's cheeks flame, he bites down hard on his tongue and swallows his mouthful of saliva. Daring, a little brazen, he parts his thighs and slouches, draws Ghost's eyes with a flick of his tail and a single brush of his hand down his bared belly.

Ghost rumbles, fierce and violent, his mask twitching as he bares his fangs.

"Your bitch, Sir," Soap murmurs. "Claimed me, didn't ye?"

"Yes," Ghost says, stating a fact. "Be careful what you wish for, Sergeant."

"Doesnae matter what Ah want, Ghost," Soap rasps. "Does it?"

Ghost's eyes darken, flash briefly golden. His mask bulges out as he exhales, heavily, his scent curling hot and wild through Soap's nose. Soap sighs, lashes fluttering, his mind foggy under the scent of such a powerful wolf, drunk on the canine instinct that begs him present and earn his Alpha's favor.

"No," Ghost replies, stating another fact, though his voice is quieter, softer, as though only just realizing how openly and eagerly Soap is offering himself. "It doesn't."

Having Ghost watching him from a distance doesn't lessen the weight and heat of his stare at all. Soap prowls around the building, his nostrils flaring as he huffs in deep breaths, seeking any clear and recent scents that would tell him where it's safe to go. He manages to find the infiltration point; a low basement window. It'll take Ghost's eyes off him briefly but Soap can feel them anyway.

And if that wasn't enough, the wolf's voice is low in his ear, making Soap shiver every time.

"Get upstairs, Soap, the coast is clear," he purrs. Soap obeys him immediately, finding his way up a flight of stairs and into a corridor beyond. A red light flashes over his chest - Ghost's sight. He swallows, fights the urge to show his throat and invite Ghost's rifle muzzle to aim there instead.

Movement draws his attention, his ears perking up as he drops low and scurries around a corner, his tail tucked so it doesn't peak out. He can hear voices, humans chatting to each other as they walk - one male and one female, too softly for him to pick out any detail.

"There's a lad, onward now," Ghost tells him, his voice so low, so rough, making Soap's ear twitch. "Come on, sweet'eart, get a kill for me."

Soap's cheeks flush, his belly cramping with heat as he prowls onward, keeping low as he passes by a row of windows on the inner wall. He studied the plans of the building with Ghost and Price, satellite images telling him that his target is in an office in the next block over. He can hear Ghost moving, chasing him in parallel, his eyes heavy on Soap's movements as he calls Soap to halt, tells him to hide, commands him move forward in turn.

Soap's nostrils flare when he gets to the door, the office he's meant to break into and kill whoever is inside. A man named Grant, so the report goes - the leader of this whole operation, the snake whose head needs cutting off. Plans beyond that are above Soap's clearance level; he's sure Ghost knows, but won't tell him. It doesn't matter - he's here to do a job, and the wolf is watching him, and Soap vows to do it well.

"Nice and easy, Sergeant," Ghost rumbles to him. "His back is turned. Be slow, take your time with it."

Soap tests the handle, mildly surprised to find it's not locked. He eases the door open, wincing at the tiniest creak, but receives no warning growl from Ghost to tell him he's been made. The scents of cheap cologne and paper sting his nose, making him huff. He crawls in and carefully closes the door behind him, crowding the back half of the desk and out of sight.

"Look good on your knees," Ghost purrs, breathless. "Ahead of you, 'round the right." Soap prowls obediently forward, able to peak out and see trousers, shining leather shoes, the edge of the desk chair and a shelf behind where Grant is rifling through whatever papers he's looking over.

"Steady," Ghost snarls, his voice thick with anticipation, rumbled right into Soap's ear. His lashes flutter, his jaw slack, mouth flooding with saliva. His tail twitches, swishes softly in a single wag. "Now, Soap, attack."

Soap bares his teeth, snarls under his breath and leaps for Grant. He claps a hand over the man's mouth before he can yelp, gets his knees low to control the man's fall, makes it all quiet and sweet, and sinks his teeth right into Grant's throat, tearing it clean through. Grant struggles and shrieks against his palm, muffled and wet, his hands scrabbling uselessly at Soap's ears and tactical gear. Soap grunts as his ear is yanked on harshly, bares his bloody muzzle and bites down again until he feels Grant's spine snap between his teeth.

The man goes limp beneath him, dark eyes wide and staring up when Soap lifts his head, breathing hard. He carefully curls the man up on the far side of his desk, out of immediate sight, and sags weakly when Ghost fucking snarls at him, low and loud in his ear.

"Good fuckin' boy," he rasps, sounding more like a wolf than a man. "Christ alive, Johnny, that was fuckin' beautiful."

Soap presses his lips together to stifle his whimper, his hips twitching in reaction to the praise. "Just - just doin' as ye taught me, Sir," he rasps, which is true. Ghost is merciless in the training mats, and not shy about using his teeth and claws in the field. They're animals, he'd say, might as well kill like one.

"Good boy," Ghost says again. "Now come earn your treat."

Soap nods, shifts his weight to try to ease the ache in his cock and gathers himself. He slips out just as easily as he came in, the others in the encampment none the wiser as he disappears into the trees, follows his nose to Ghost's hiding spot. The wolf welcomes him close with a heavy paw on his nape, sniffs at Soap's muzzle until Soap licks his mouth with a soft, needy whine.

"Come on," Ghost commands, rising and slinging his rifle over his shoulder, pushes Soap into a dead man's march through the forest and towards their exfil point. He doesn't reach for his radio yet, doesn't call in the kill, but Soap blindly trusts him and follows at his heels; Ghost's obedient little hound.

Their march is swift and demanding, the trees close-knit and roots tangling around Soap's feet almost like they're trying to trip him on purpose. He's near-blind with desire, with the need to have Ghost reward him for his good work, whatever that entails. Ghost has never been particularly lavish with praise, barely touches Soap unless it's to secure his dominance or force Soap onward - he does it now, yanking Soap along like he's on a leash, barking at him to fucking keep up.

By the time they get to the rendezvous point, many kilometers out, Soap can't stop himself whining, his sweaty body burning up and shaking, his knees and feet hurting from the swift pace. Ghost snarls at him when he tries to sit, so Soap stands, flinches when Ghost sets his rifle down against a tree, tugs at Soap's chinstrap and tears his helmet off.

He goes still when Ghost presses close to him, his jaws parted so he can nip at Soap's ear, which still aches dully from where it was yanked. "Thought I made myself clear, Sergeant," he snarls. "No one touches what belongs to me."

Soap winces, wants to say he didn't mean it, didn't want it, but he forces himself to remain silent. Ghost, for all his brutal leadership and infallible control over Soap's head and heart, isn't the most reasonable wolf, he's found. He's territorial and a mean fucking bastard, doesn't give a fuck if something is Soap's fault or not, just knows that dogs need a firm hand, need their noses shoved in the messes they make so they learn not to do it again.

"Ah'm sorry, Sir," he breathes, his tail twitching, lifting instinctively when Ghost nuzzles into his ear, huffing hard. "Let me - let me make it up tae ye, Ghost, please -."

"How're you gonna do that?" Ghost growls, hand flexing around Soap's nape, squeezing hard. "What do you want to give me, mutt?"

Soap flinches at the derogatory term, kind of hates how it makes his belly just grow hotter. "Anythin'," he whispers. "Whatever you want, Sir."

Ghost snarls again, his pinned tail twitching at his thigh. Soap whines and rubs his hand along the fur, gasps when he feels how warm and coarse it is, so much thicker than his own. Ghost visibly shudders at the touch, his claws sharp and warning even through his gloves. He bites down on Soap's ear, hard, through his mask, making Soap yelp.

"Get your fucking hands off me, mutt," he snaps, and Soap withdraws his hand immediately.

"Ah'm sorry," Soap whines, shuddering, utterly still for fear of getting his ear ripped off.

Ghost releases his ear after another long moment, presses his muzzle to Soap's bloody one and breathes in deeply. "Can smell how wet you are, sweet'eart," he says, like a threat. "Presumptuous little slag."

"Please, Sir," Soap rasps weakly. "Just tell me what tae do. What you want."

Ghost shoves him away, making him stumble, almost falling to his knees. Ghost stalks after him, grabs him and kicks at the back of his knee, sending him hard onto the ground. He bares his teeth, growling softly in pain, snaps his jaws at Ghost before he can think better of it and flattens his ears to his head.

"Oh? Puppy finally grew his fangs, eh?" Ghost taunts, fingers gripping his 'hawk and shaking him hard. "Gonna try to bite, Soap?"

Soap swallows, tries to make sense of all the thoughts whirling around his head. He'd done good, he thought. Ghost had said he'd done a good job - he got in and out without anyone noticing, neutralized the target, ran right back to Ghost's side at his command. He's burning hot from the march back and every inch of him is sensitive and throbbing; he doesn't know if he wants to tuck his tail and run, or lift it and present.

All he knows is that Ghost is being so mean to him, which means he wants Soap to do better.

And…and maybe being better means not lying down and taking it. He's canine too, shouldn't be some cowering and whimpering little bitch even though Ghost's presence and predatory nature makes it feel impossible to be otherwise. He's a dog but he's not a fucking mutt, he's better than that.

So he snarls under his breath and braces himself, yanks on Ghost's arm and whirls around, bites down hard on his forearm when he shakes himself free. Ghost's thick gear prevents him from shedding blood, and Ghost's quick reflexes mean Soap barely gets a mouthful of cloth before he's shoved onto his back, Ghost prowling over him with a snarl.

Soap shows his teeth, ears flat on his head, and punches Ghost. Hard and sharp and furious, right on his jaw. Ghost's head snaps to one side, he shudders and goes still on top of Soap. It's impossible to read him with his ears and tail pinned, Ghost's hand heavy on Soap's sternum, hips bullied between Soap's thighs.

Soap sucks in a breath, wide-eyed when he feels Ghost twitch against him. A single, heavy roll of his hips, his erection hard and straining against Soap's. When their eyes meet, Ghost's are dark and golden, narrowed amid all the black. Soap's knuckles ache from the impact but he refuses to let it show on his face, just slowly reaches up, cups Ghost's warm jaw, leans up and licks along his mouth.

Ghost shivers, his wild scent thick with sudden, blooming arousal, threatening to choke Soap in place. He wrenches his mask up to his nose, showing Soap the darkening bruise on his jaw, his scarred mouth wide and fanged. He leans down like a lunge, cups the back of Soap's neck and kisses him with teeth, biting, demanding Soap open his mouth and take his tongue, and Soap lets him, whining, licks gently at Ghost's overlarge fangs and along his tongue as Ghost kisses him wet and messy.

Soap's lungs burn, his hips twitching up to rut against Ghost's cock, his tail wagging wildly beneath him, scuffing along the ground. He gasps when Ghost wrenches himself free, mouth slick and swollen and smeared with the blood on Soap's muzzle, fangs bared.

"Drive me fuckin' crazy, Johnny, you know that?" he rasps, his golden eyes so dark, so unbearably warm, saliva dripping from his jaws and onto Soap's face. He whines, lapping it up eagerly, trembling beneath Ghost's weight. "Sweet little puppy, lookin' at me like you want me to break you."

Soap has no answer to that; he knows it's true. Ghost rolls Soap onto his belly, tearing at his fatigues. Soap yelps, even as his tail lifts, his hips arching up as Ghost shreds his clothing down the center, baring his slick hole, pink and flushed.

"Ghost, wait," Soap whines, scrabbling at the dirt beneath his cheek as Ghost bows over him, wrenching his own clothing apart to get his cock free, shoves with no coordination between his thighs. He's huge, he's going to break Soap apart, he -. "We need tae radio in, need tae -."

Ghost laughs at him, bearing down hard on Soap's back, rutting until his cock catches and shoves into Soap all at once. Soap cries out, shuddering, his neglected cock and swelling knot still trapped in his clothes but leaking so much, he's so fucking wet, God -.

"Go on, then," Ghost taunts, and throws a radio by his face. "Radio in, sweet'eart."

He grabs Soap by his tac vest, hauling him back onto his cock until their thighs collide, making Soap whine and flutter around him. It hurts, a deep and tender ache, Ghost's cock fucking into him so ruthlessly that Soap can taste him. Ghost bares his teeth against Soap's nape, bites down at the base of his sore ear.

"Radio in, Johnny," he commands, and it is an order, this time.

Soap whines, but reaches for the radio. "O-overwatch," he says breathlessly as Ghost keeps fucking him, rough and hard and loud. "Bravo 7-1. Confirmed kill, r-requesting transport."

"Rog," Price's voice replies after a moment. Soap groans, clutching the radio, keeping the connection live as Ghost grabs his hips and forces his back into a severe arch, mounting him so fiercely Soap feels the strain all down his spine, through his shaking knees and trembling thighs, his toes curling when Ghost's cock ruts down hard along his prostate, making him squeal. "Soap, are you alright? Injured?"

"He's fine, Captain," Ghost snarls above Soap's head, leaning down, so fucking heavy Soap has no choice but to flatten to his belly, collapsing under the powerful weight of the wolf's body.

"Ghost." Price's voice has turned flat, dark. "What are you doing?"

"Claiming him," Ghost mutters, with no trace of shame. There's another click, another movement, Ghost's helmet toppling to the ground on the other side of Soap's head. He leans down to nuzzle Soap's cheek, flushed with humiliation at his Captain hearing him being mounted, his brain cells and breath fucked out of him with every merciless thrust of Ghost's cock. "Giving my little bitch what he deserves."

Soap's breath catches, his chest flaring with heat, his cock twitching in his clothes. What he deserves - what he deserves is the wolf's cock, his mouth, the hot drag of his tongue over Soap's smarting ear and dirty muzzle. Deserves Ghost fucking him like he wants to own him - like he does own him.

Fucking him like he's been good.

Ghost's fingers wrap around his tail, making him whimper again, hips twitching up and back to meet Ghost and take him as deep as he's able. "Ah'm - Ah'm alright, Sir," he gasps, not wanting Ghost to get in trouble, not wanting him to stop. He's sure the sound of Ghost fucking his wet, dripping hole is loud enough for the radio to pick up, knows Price can hear each of Soap's pitiful whines and Ghost's heavy, snarling breaths.

"You have ten minutes, Ghost," Price finally snaps. "Don't break him."

Ghost huffs a laugh, reaches out to take the radio from Soap's clenching fingers. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want," he growls back. "See you in debrief."

With that, he clicks the radio off and tosses it to the ground again, bows over Soap and lifts his knees so he can put all his weight behind his thrusts. Soap fingers curl desperately around Ghost's wrists on either side of his head, seeking just to hold on and not collapse entirely.

"Gonna squeal on me, Johnny?" Ghost taunts, nuzzling his muzzle to Soap's damp, limp ears. "Gonna tell them I raped you, puppy?"

"No," Soap replies, gasping. "No, Sir, yer not - yer not."

"Atta boy." The praise is warming, gentling like a hand on his nape. Soap can't stop himself tensing, fighting to maintain his position, offering his hole to his CO's brutality. Ghost's jaws part, fangs scraping along his bared throat, a low, pleased rumble shaking Soap down to his bones, concussive and fierce.

"Ever taken a wolf knot before, sweet'eart?" Ghost purrs, his fingers flexing.

Soap shakes his head as best he can with the wolf's fangs threatening his throat, whimpers when Ghost's teeth catch and draw the tiniest pinpricks of blood. "Not - not a real one," he confesses.

Ghost huffs, unimpressed, and sinks to his knees on the outside of Soap's thighs, uses his grip on Soap's throat to keep him upright and ready, one of his hands curling around the base of Soap's tail and giving it a cruel yank. "It'll hurt," he warns. "Gonna break this sweet little hole in, yeah? At least this part of you knows it's mine."

Soap's eyes clench tightly shut, tears forming when he feels Ghost's thrusts slow, pressure growing impossibly huge at his rim. Taking Ghost's knot feels like taking a fist, punches the air out of him and makes him yelp, squirming and stuck. Ghost just laughs at him, forcing his knot past Soap's rim to settle deep in his belly, grinding hard.

It does hurt, Christ does it hurt, but Soap took it. Like a good boy.

Ghost goes still, muzzle wrinkled in a snarl, and bites down. His fangs split Soap's muscles like butter, blood flooding his mouth as Soap whimpers, going stock still. He bites down until Soap is sure he's going to rip Soap's throat out, pain lancing down his spine and all through his skull, making his hackles rise, his ears and tail twitching and going limp.

It's a clean bite, all things considered; a deep in and out, sharp and claiming. Ghost holds onto him like that as he starts to come, hips jerking against Soap's, so fucking heavy Soap can hardly breathe. His blood drips like wine down his throat, onto the floor in a small puddle, his body limp and useless as Ghost grinds his way through his orgasm, dumping so much come inside him that Soap's stomach cramps, goes bloated and heavy.

"Sir," he whines thickly, hardly able to talk. He's still hard, he's still so hard, desperately grinding back onto Ghost's huge knot with a wince. "Please."

Ghost huffs, withdrawing his fangs. More blood gushes out of Soap's neck, a worrying amount until Ghost licks over the wound, draws his tongue around the huge, wide ring of teeth marks that will undoubtedly scar, and mar Soap's neck for the rest of his life. There's something in Ghost's saliva, or else Soap is managing to heal fast enough to stay conscious, his head heavy and limp, unable to be supported on shredded muscles, the cuts already clotting and stymieing blood flow.

Still, he's dizzy with it, caught between the need for rest, the burn of his own unmet need, the knowledge that Ghost is still knotted inside him and when he pulls out Soap is going to be a ruined, humiliated mess. Ghost rolls his hips, his huge knot bullying Soap's prostate with a vengeance, making him whimper and cry out, his throat ragged around all his little sounds.

He can hear the chop of helo blades approaching.

Ghost doesn't seem to notice or care, barely looks up as he keeps fucking his knot into Soap, only snarls when the doors open and the pilot peeks his head out. His eyes widen and he quickly ducks back inside, his cheeks flushed.

Soap clenches his jaw, incensed by the thought of someone watching him get so furiously dominated, turns his head and bites hard at Ghost's exposed jaw. "Make me come or let me up," he demands, feverish, too desperate to fear Ghost's savage teeth or the wolf's bristly, aggressive personality. "Useless fuckin' knothead, can't even mount a bitch properly, is that it?"

Ghost snarls in answer, and presses his radio and helmet into Soap's hands. Soap grabs them instinctively, then yelps as Ghost tries to stand. His knot is still thoroughly locked, there's no way to separate without breaking Soap in half. He scrambles to his feet, ears pinned, whining, one of Ghost's arms around his chest the only support as Ghost grabs the rifle and carries Soap effortlessly into the helo, sprawls them both back out on the ground.

"Go!" he barks at the pilot, prompting him to work the controls and get them in the air. Soap is still reeling from the fact that Ghost fucking carried him in on his knot, not quick enough to fight back when Ghost slams a hand down on the bruised, bitten nape of his neck and shakes him hard. He grabs Soap's cock through his clothes, squeezing hard at his impotent knot until Soap gasps, his eyes rolling back. "Oh, there we go," he purrs, his voice softening suddenly enough to feel like a slap, his knot rutting meanly through Soap's swollen, sensitive insides. Soap goes limp beneath him, barely knowing which way is up, only that he's got Ghost's mark on his neck and Ghost's voice is suddenly so soft, so warm. His hand isn't, but that's alright - the pressure on Soap's knot is making it swell back up, aching, close. "There's my sweet little lad, pretty boy, too fucked-out to brat at me now, aren'tcha?"

Soap's bloody muzzle twitches, showing his teeth, but there's no heat behind it.

"You're staying in my room from now on," Ghost commands him, squeezing his knot tighter, jerking his cock almost gently. "Such a good little bitch, Johnny, come on, show me good you are."

His orgasm is painful, powerful, has his swollen belly cramping and his raw throat tearing around his scream. He floods his underwear and fatigues, so much that he knows it's dripping through the hole Ghost made in his clothes, his slick insides tightening and clenching up around Ghost's knot so hard it feels like he's being ripped apart. Ghost growls above his head, lips parted and gasping, hips twitching deeper into Soap so he can feel all of it.

When Soap is done, Ghost takes his hand away, cups Soap's slack mouth and tilts his head up for another long, messy kiss. His knot is still swollen, impossibly hard, brimming a deep, pulsing ache that turns Soap's muscles liquid.

"Messy," Ghost chides fondly, his golden eyes glowing with pleasure when Soap blinks up at him, hazy and lost, instincts commanding he merely follow Ghost's lead. He lifts onto his elbows, tilts his head and licks under Ghost's jaw - wet and supplicative, making Ghost shiver against him. He draws his knees forward, practically sitting on Soap while they wait for his knot to go down, his lashes low and ears lax as Soap continues to groom his face, lick the bruise on his jaw, his tail wagging between their bodies.

After a moment, Ghost unclips his own tail from his gear with a sigh, lets it brush heavy and warm across the backs of Soap's thighs. He smiles, yipping happily, nuzzles his bloody mouth under Ghost's chin despite how it makes his throat ache sharply.

Ghost cups his neck, thumb brushing along the marks, seeming to settle when he finds them clotted and raised under his touch. "All mine, Johnny boy?"

"Aye, Sir," Soap rasps, fucked-out and raw. "Always have been."

"That's right," Ghost agrees, his cock twitching and pressing deep for a moment. He hums softly, ears perking up. "You fertile, Sergeant? Gonna grow a little pup for me?"

Soap shivers despite himself, bites his lower lip and rubs his cheek against Ghost's forearm. "If that's what ye want, Sir," he replies. Most hybrids are capable of carrying young, and Soap is no exception. He's on medications to stop himself going into heat but sees no issue with doing so, if that's what the wolf wants.

"Mm. Not yet," Ghost decides, but sounds remarkably pleased as he nuzzles against Soap's cheek, his ears warm and stiff against Soap's softer ones, perked up and attentive. "We'll save bearing my young for when I've trained you proper, when you've earned it."

Soap huffs, and dares to turn his head and bite Ghost's ear. It twitches, making the wolf grunt, his tail arcing in a slow, heavy wag across Soap's thighs. "Ah won't let ye down, Sir," he promises, quickly losing the fight with his sore, overstimulated body, letting Ghost press him flat to his belly.

"I know," Ghost growls, and rolls his hips again, his hand curling around the base of Soap's tail. His knot has barely gone down, but he's still stiff and hard, bullying Soap's insides apart like he owns them. It's Soap's job to take whatever his CO makes him, anyway - a push to be better, looser and wetter and more eager. He lifts his tail happily, sighs when Ghost grunts and leans over him to bite at his shoulder, just as fierce and mean as he always is.

Soap wouldn't have him any other way.