Work Text:
Kyle catches himself staring at Soap's mouth a lot these days: Taking note of how those perpetually chapped lips purse in thought or reveal a wicked row of teeth when he grins like a wolf, how his tongue darts out to catch a stray drop of Scotch as they're having some post mission drinks, mouthing at the rim of his glass afterwards without even realising he's doing it. Kyle keeps watching with quiet focus — studying all the little intricacies of Soap like someone's gonna sit Kyle down and test him on his knowledge.
John MacTavish, 101.
He'd ace that course just like he aced his test scores at SAS selection.
They're sat on the sofa in the rec room now, exhausted after a gym session which might have spiralled a tad out of control thanks to both of them being competitive fucks too stubborn to back down.
Kyle's thighs are aching something fierce already, a buzzing sensation lingering in his feet as if they're still hitting the treadmill with increasing amounts of vigour, Soap's slapping footfalls echoing his own.
From the looks of it, Soap isn't much better off. Kyle takes in the way he's chewing at the neckline of his damn shirt while his fingertips dig into his hamstrings, socked feet on the sofa and knees pulled up into his chest, all curled up like a cat trying to groom particularly hard to reach places.
His hair is still wet from the shower, mohawk grown out enough for thick strands to cling flat against Soap's head, flopping all the way down to his eyebrows in the front.
"You look like a wet poodle, mate," Kyle informs him, dodging the kick Soap aims at his side with a snort.
Soap drops the shirt from his mouth, neckline stretched out and a little wet with drool where it settles against his collarbones. He's a fucking disaster, and Kyle feels a substantial amount of fondness spread warm in his belly as Soap licks his lips, predictably, and says, "Haud yer wheesht, ye cunt."
Like clockwork, really.
Kyle just knocks his knee against Soap's ankle, having that particular Scottish grumble thrown at him so many times it's morphed into a mid-day greeting rather than an insult at this point.
"Budge up, will ya?" he says, nudging Soap harder.
"Make me," Soap replies, like a brat, corners of his mouth curling up until the silvery scar on his chin twists a little with the movement, drawing Kyle's eyes to it like a moth to a flame.
He's distracted for a second, thinking wildly about how much he'd like to trace that scar with his tongue until he gets to Soap's lips for a little taste, and of course Soap uses the momentary lapse in Kyle's defence to dig both feet against his thigh and push.
Because Kyle is very dignified, he very much doesn't yelp and almost slide off the furniture under the unexpected force. Instead, he tightens his strained muscles for balance and makes a grab for the hamstrings Soap was massaging earlier, loose grey shorts bunching under his fingers as he closes them like a vice and digs his thumbs in until Soap yelps and scrambles backwards.
"Fuckin' git," he wheezes around a laugh and pulls out of Kyle's reach, kicking at him again for good measure.
It's so easy with him, Kyle thinks, to let himself drop every layer of well-trained poise and tussle like a bunch of overgrown teenage boys.
It's easy, the way they stop and stare at each other, dark amber meeting gunmetal blue, eye contact as inevitable as a compass needle pointing North.
Soap shifts his weight, gets one leg under him and sits up a little, close enough for their thighs to brush now. His shirt has ridden up, a narrow strip of warm skin exposed above the low hem of his shorts, and Kyle spots the trail of dark hair leading down, zeroes in on it before dragging his gaze back up where it gets stuck on Soap's goddamn mouth once again.
Teeth are digging absently into his bottom lip, turning it white around the pressure, but it will bloom a darker pink than usual once Soap lets go and the blood rushes back in.
Kyle feels hungry with need, aching to taste those indents Soap left behind with his tongue and dig his own teeth in there, eager to find out what sounds Soap would make if he bit down a little too hard.
What he ends up saying is, "You ever thought to invest in some chapstick, Tav?"
The comment throws Soap for a loop before he gets a hold of himself and narrows his eyes at Kyle in a glare. "Fuck off, I havnae got any complaints!"
"Yeah, says who?" Kyle shoots back, draping an arm across the sofa, fingers stretching to tangle in the back of Soap's mohawk and noting the way he shivers under the touch with interest. "Been kissin' a lot of people aside from Ghost's ass lately?"
Soap makes a noise that's halfway between a growl and a whine. "I'll fuckin' show ye kissin' arse, Garrick," he snaps, barely even making sense but neither of them bothering to question it when he's already surging forward and getting an arm around Kyle's nape, pulling him to meet Soap halfway in a bruising kiss.
Yes, Kyle thinks, and moans at the nip of eager teeth in his bottom lip, a sharp sting that lingers as Soap's tongue pushes at his insistently, meeting Kyle's in a wet glide. He tastes faintly of berries, remnants of the flavoured electrolyte drink he had at the gym.
Having him close like this, and suddenly chewing at Kyle's lips now instead of his own, has heat curling in Kyle's groin. He feels himself throb in his pants. Has to resist the urge to touch himself in favour of sliding his hands under Soap's shirt to feel the hair low on his belly that Kyle caught a glimpse of earlier — which doesn't help slow down his growing arousal at all.
Soap is moving without breaking their kiss, pushing further into Kyle's space until he's straddling one of his thighs, hips immediately rocking against the hard outline of Kyle's cock with a hitched breath.
The pressure sends a spark of electricity through Kyle's nerves, burning him inside out.
All those lingering looks at Soap and his pretty mouth, only for every prior observation from across the room to pale in comparison to warm, physical touch. Now Kyle can taste Soap's lips for himself, mapping out shapes and sensations that have been purely theoretical so far.
It's easy.
Familiar because it's Soap and everything about him feels like home.
He takes over the kiss as he gets both hands around Soap's waist, sneaking curious fingers beneath the hem of his shorts to knead at his skin where he's warm and soft above the hips, malleable under Kyle's touch. Lost in the feeling of those warm hands on him, Soap opens his mouth in a gasp, panting against Kyle's lips who closes the distance again and bites.
Soap whines, faltering in the rhythm he's found rutting against Kyle's thigh.
"Fu-uck, Gaz," he gets out when Kyle lets go. He seems wrecked already, Kyle thinks wildly, taking in the hungry gleam in Soap's eyes and admiring the way his lips already look swollen, shiny with spit.
He is so still now even though he's usually a live wire, always moving and fidgeting and ready to burn excess energy, but suddenly motionless in Kyle's grasp, waiting for his next move.
"Guess you were right," Kyle says and lifts a hand to Soap's face, tracing the line of his jaw with his knuckles, reverent almost, then thumbing at his bottom lip until Soap's mouth drops open just slightly, tongue darting out to lick at Kyle's finger. "No complaints."
In the corner of his eye, gaze locked onto wide eyes that barely have any blue visible in them anymore, he sees Soap's Adam's apple bob as he swallows, heat emanating from his skin and blown-out black pupils alike.
He's looking at Kyle a little starstruck, a little feverish with want.
Kyle is so hard he feels nearly lightheaded with it.
"You want more?"
"Aye," Soap mumbles around the thumb still putting light pressure on his lip, sucks it into his mouth before pulling back with a wet sound. "Fuckin' bonnie, Gaz, ye bastard, lookit ye."
His gravelly voice curls around the words heavy and affectionate.
Kyle grins at him and can't help but give in to the urge to trace his tongue across the crooked scar on Soap's chin, groaning at the salty taste of his skin, stubble rough against the touch.
Soap jolts in surprise at first, then melts into the steadying hand Kyle is cupping around his cheek like it's the only thing holding him up. When Kyle licks up to his lips and draws him into an actual kiss again, Soap hums a pleased noise against Kyle's mouth.
"Not so bad yourself, Tavish," Kyle says as they eventually separate.
"Called me a wet dog twenty minutes ago."
Kyle laughs. "Eh. Both can be true."
"Fuck off."
Soap contradicts his statement by reaching between them and pulling Kyle's cock out of his sweatpants, squeezing at the base just hard enough to make Kyle groan.
It's like his world narrows to Soap's hand around him, the weight of him settled on Kyle's thigh, warm and solid. The way his exhales feel hot on Kyle's chest, the thin fabric of his shirt almost turning damp with it.
"Wanna taste ye," Soap says without lifting his gaze from between Kyle's legs. He moves his hand to stroke a thumb over Kyle's hip bone, tugging impatiently at the fabric that's obstructing his path to bare skin.
"Fuck, hold on."
Kyle shuffles to get his sweatpants down, lifting his hips and dislodging Soap in favour of slouching deeper onto the sofa, letting himself lean fully into it.
Not even complaining about being jostled, Soap settles on his stomach instead and drops his head onto Kyle's firm thigh with a muttered, "Damn tree trunks, ye weapon," which has a startled laugh bursting out of Kyle.
"You sucking me off or not?"
Soap glares up at him and doesn't even bother with a response before he leans in and fucking nuzzles his face against Kyle's balls, nudging the sensitive skin with his nose and lips and breathing in deeply like he's trying to fill his lungs exclusively with Kyle's scent — coconut body wash, a hint of sweat from getting worked up again so quickly. Something uniquely Gaz, too, fused to his skin and the bends of his muscles without a definition.
It's maddening, the way Soap settles a little heavier into Kyle's lap, grabs a hold of his cock and opens his pretty fucking mouth wide to take it slowly, inch by inch, until his tongue rests warm and wet against the thick vein on the underside.
A groan rips out from Kyle's throat through clenched teeth at the feeling, a hiss of "Tav, fuck," and his eyes snap to the ceiling for a moment to keep himself from coming at the sight of Soap alone.
When he glances back at him, he looks completely blissed out. Like all his strings have been cut and he's entered a different plane of existence entirely, body limp save for his hips rutting into the sofa with sloppy movements.
He doesn't even move to touch himself at all.
His eyes are closed, a bit of wetness clinging to his long lashes. Lazily, like he's got all the time in the world, he suckles at Kyle and takes him deeper, tip hitting the back of Soap's throat briefly and making his rhythm falter before he gets settled again, growing familiar with the weight of Kyle on his tongue.
One of his hands is curled around Kyle's side, loosely holding onto the back of his shirt, the other keeping a light hold of Kyle's shaft, still, where his lips can't quite reach.
He's gonna be the death of Kyle.
"Look at you," he says softly, pretty much coos it down at the sweet fucking puddle of broad heavy Scot sprawled in his lap, heart melting much like Soap's coherency already has, evidently. "Just needed somethin' in your mouth so bad, didn't you?"
"Hnngh," Soap moans around the dick in his mouth, barely even blinking an eye open. His hips move faster, then stutter and still abruptly, a shudder ripping through Soap's body as his breath catches on a long whine that vibrates all the way through Kyle's cock.
Fuck.
Kyle needs him to know just how well he's doing, how each gentle suckle is sending bursts of heat through his veins and making something primal and possessive rear its head deep within his ribcage.
He puts a hand on Soap's head, combing through the mess of his mohawk with deft fingers in soothing motions, carefully untangling some knots as he goes.
"So good for me, luv. Came in your pants just from that, such a slag."
Kyle might as well have called him sweetheart with how fondly the words tumble from his lips.
He gets no more than a muffled moan in response.
Time blurs a little after that, Kyle more than content to sit and relax his tired limbs. Their reckless treadmill race might come back to haunt both of them at least a little bit tomorrow, but that's a concern worth postponing when he's warm and comfortable and has his favourite person floaty and cock-drunk all up in his personal space.
As far as blowjobs go, Soap has missed the mark by a mile, his wet little sucking motions becoming fewer in frequency with every passing minute. But Kyle can't find it in himself to give a damn when Soap is warming him so well, lips stretched around Kyle's girth and drool leaking from the corners of his mouth, making every minuscule movement slick and messy.
He feels his own orgasm creeping up on him slow and steady, molten heat building in his gut, his cock twitching deep in Soap's mouth and making him whimper around it.
"'m gonna come, Tavvie," Kyle grunts quietly. Giving Soap's hair a sharp tug, he sneaks his other hand around to his throat, stroking the vulnerable arch of it with gentle fingers.
Soap leans into the touch, utterly trusting, his lashes fluttering. Seemingly unaware of how he is almost choking himself with the sudden change in angle, but still so eager.
Such a good boy.
For a moment, the duet of their ragged breaths is the only sound in the room. In the next, Kyle's vision frays at the edges. He closes his hand tighter around Soap's neck and squeezes, groans loudly as he comes in thick spurts directly into Soap's waiting throat.
The heady rush of feeling Soap swallow repeatedly within the constraints of Kyle's broad palm, squeezing down around his slowly softening cock for every drop it has to give, is something Kyle could easily get addicted to.
It takes every ounce of willpower not to keep Soap's head trapped right where it is — pressed so close his crooked nose is brushing Kyle's pubes — for long enough to see whether Soap will start fighting against the increasing lack of oxygen or simply let himself sink into the sensation until he passes out.
He might be gone to the point of actually doing the latter, still blindly sucking and swallowing around Kyle's length like it's become muscle memory already.
A few tears have spilled over, drawing salty tracks across his ruddy cheeks when they couldn't cling onto his lashes any longer.
Fucking hell, Soap.
"Took me so fuckin' well, luv, come on, that's enough," Kyle chokes out, trying hard to keep his tone even and soothing as he crosses the threshold into oversensitivity. With shaky thighs and his pulse hammering in his ears, Kyle finally releases his hold on Soap to gently guide his spent cock out of his mouth.
And Soap, beautiful, greedy Soap chases after him almost immediately, bitten lips pursed into a pout and nudging against the side of Kyle's soft length with all the coordination of a sleepy kitten.
"God, you're somethin' else," he comments idly and watches Soap's tongue dart out when it finds the head, lapping softly at Kyle's slit to see if there's any more come for him to taste.
It's getting unbearable to let him keep going, though, Kyle's hips jerking away from the overwhelming stimulation.
He gets his hands around Soap's biceps and drags him up against his own heaving chest, head lolling against Kyle's shoulder as Kyle quickly tucks himself back into his pants with a wince.
"Hmmm, Ky?" Soap whispers against his neck, teary eyes blinking open slowly, half of the name lost in the barely existing space between them.
"Lost you there for a sec, huh." Kyle adjusts them, noticing the large wet patch on the groin of Soap's grey shorts with a little smile. "You back with me? Talk to me, luv."
"'m so guid," Soap slurs, pressing a messy little kiss against the part of Kyle's jaw he's able to reach with minimal effort.
"I'm glad," Kyle chuckles, feeling so warm and sated it's hard to keep his wits about him. "Did so well for me."
Soap beams at the praise, nuzzling closer against him.
As much as Kyle could pass out just like this, drifting off with Soap's warm weight pressed to his chest, they really can't stay here.
Price tends to take some of his paperwork back to the rec room once he's had enough of his own office after a long day and didn't get everything done he wanted to, and Kyle really doesn't want to explain the state of their youngest to his Captain tonight.
Plus, he feels a surge of possessiveness at the thought of anyone else seeing Soap like this, all hazy and vulnerable still.
Kyle doesn't even know how late it is, but the idea of curling up in bed sounds heavenly right about now.
"C'mon, up," he tells Soap and forces his aching muscles to comply, ignoring Soap's barely coherent protests as he's moved and pulled off the sofa with one of his arms slung across Kyle's shoulders, wrist held in a safe grip, Kyle's other hand draped around his waist.
"Mmh, don'leave," he mutters as they start moving toward the hallway, and Kyle tilts his head to press his lips against Soap's temple, dragging him along on shaky legs.
"'m not leaving you, don't worry. We're just going to sleep, mate."
Soap hums, pleased.
Kyle takes them both to his room and deposits Soap safely in his bed, takes the soiled shorts off of him with gentle hands and cleans him up with a wet cloth, his soft cock twitching in interest at Kyle's touch.
Absolutely not tonight, though.
Soap is already half asleep when Kyle wrestles him into a pair of his own boxers, something warm tugging at his chest at the way they fit around Soap's hips, then makes him drink at least half a bottle of water and finishes the rest of it himself.
When Kyle finally climbs into bed and draws Soap into his arms, the other man is once again gnawing on his bottom lip, heavy lids lifting just enough to throw Kyle a soft, exhausted glance.
"Your fucking mouth, mate," Kyle sighs and reaches up to tug Soap's lip free from his teeth with a thumb.
"Ye love it," Soap replies solemnly, then promptly falls asleep.
Kyle lies in the darkness just a beat longer, listening to Soap's even breaths. "That I do," he murmurs into the soft hair at Soap's neck, can't resist pressing another kiss to the soft skin of his nape. "Fuckin' menace."