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“Well, an angel’s wings are… sensitive. You of all people should know that.” Sweat trickled down his neck in anticipation, the small, humid room adding to the feeling of despair in his gut. Concrete bricks surrounded him, trapping him in a foolproof cage with the other.
“What dae ye mean, ‘me of all people’? Ye think I’ve interacted with an angel before?” This question prompted a chuckle from the other, eyeblack clouding his face as he leaned over. Hands reached up, scratching the back of his neck in anxiety. Sweat gathered under his fingernails.
Ghost, on the other hand, was calm. He eventually sat up straight again, leaned forward as if to catch Soap’s every breath. His strong, defined hands were neatly folded in his lap, the definition of cautious and formal. It was frightening.
“I wouldn’t suggest such a thing. You know the dangers of being acquainted with such a powerful being. What they could do.” It was said with a lilt of tease, like Ghost knew something Soap didn’t know he did. Like he knew something Soap didn’t want him to. “Or how they would tempt you?”
Soap cracked a small smile, holding eye contact. “What- what dae ye mean?” He gulped as the older got up, circled around his chair, and settled behind it. Waited. This was a mind game.
Faux gentle hands twirled brown locks around thick fingers. “You know, Soap ,” it was said quietly, almost like a secret only the two of them were supposed to know, “I’ve never met a man that insists on wearing a corset. It’s just been you.” Soap chuckled.
“Just- a fashion statement. Women cannae ‘ave all the curves, now can they?” Ghost hummed at this, moving the white tunic Soap had on to the side, inspecting the fabric of the corset. It hung on his shoulders, extra leather there made for comfort, but that wasn’t what the other was looking for. He was looking for the rashes that eventually formed because of prolonged use.
He found them, inevitably, slowly running the pads of delicate fingers across the horribly red and disturbed skin of Soap’s shoulders. It was a simple gesture, but it made the other’s blood run cold. An indescribable pit formed in his stomach. Vomit bubbled in his throat.
“Maybe you should take this off for a bit.” Soap swallowed.
“In- In front of ye? Come on, LT, there’s no need for-”
“I want to see.” His tone was stern, not cold, but stern, and Soap sat quietly for a moment. He considered his options: run, and give Ghost good reason to believe he was an angel, or disrobe, and catch the other off guard. Maybe if he could catch the other in a state of disbelief, he would have time to run.
His tunic went first. Down the slopes of his shoulders, a muscular back being revealed in the process, along with a heavy leather corset that bound his darkest secret. Tied in between his back and the garment were huge wings, tucked in as tightly as possible as to not disturb any of the humans he encountered. He had to look the part of a knight, after all; he couldn’t be counted as an angel, that was an unfair advantage.
Ghost had always been curious as to why Soap always insisted on caring for his own injuries, even though the older could do it just fine. Ghost assumed that Soap just loved modesty, the fact that his body remained a mystery to everyone.
As Ghost’s hands busied themselves with the threads of leather that tied the back together, Soap’s breathing quickened as much as it could under the binds of the garment. “Why are you so nervous, Soap? This is nothing to worry about. The King asked me to make sure your wound from last week had healed. The nobles- they were also a bit… skeptical about how you were winning so much. You know it’s standard protocol to check the top knights for wings? Advantages aren’t allowed, Sergeant, even for you.”
It was a speech he knew all too well, told to him countless times by his last squire, until he couldn’t take it anymore, and requested a new one. He couldn’t think of losing Ghost, but he couldn’t be discovered, so you could imagine his predicament.
“I know,” was all he replied, a small whisper. The topmost layer of the corset was removed, and then came the layer he invented himself. The layer that bound his wings. The feathers were tucked into small leather confines throughout the day, folded so that no one would notice them, and through the clothes he wore, they would simply look like muscle. That’s all they were, really. Feathered pieces of muscle.
Sap huffed at the extra layer, impatiently untying it all. It was a hurried process, and finally, Soap had to stop him. “LT- Ghost, I think- I think it’s fine, really. Ye dinnae ‘ave to check, I stitched it up real nice.” Soap turned away from the other, hands subconsciously wrapping around his torso.
“Soap, let me,” This tone was laced with mild annoyance, like telling a child to sit still for a shot.
“Fine,” Soap held up a hand to stop Ghost from advancing any further, and paused. “I’ll take the rest of it off.” Slowly, he unfolded the leather, and unzipped the containers, then unlaced the safety ties around snowy feathers. With a final tug to the corset, it fell to the floor, unleashing pure feathers and an otherworldly glow.
He couldn’t remember the last time he got a chance to stretch his wings. It was a long time, as they cracked and groaned with the promise of fresh air, and he almost forgot there was a human in the room with him. Soap’s eyes closed as he stretched them out, waiting for Ghost to scream, or call the guards, or something, but nothing came.
When he did open his eyes, Ghost was staring at him like a rabid animal. When he began to approach, Soap tripped over himself trying to get away as fast as possible. “Ghost, listen, I know how this looks, but-”
“How could you be so careless? ” The older asked, grabbing Soap’s shoulder and flipping him around. Half of Soap’s mind- the logical half- told him to run, run and never look back, because Ghost was going to cut off his wings and sell them to the highest bidder. The other half, though, told him to wait. He listened to the latter.
Gentle hands pet along his feathers. He couldn’t remember the last person that had touched them, let alone when he had last groomed them. This resulted in matted feathers, and although they were a pristine white, they were twisted and tangled with one another.
That wasn’t the only problem, though. Ghost was right in his saying Angel wings were sensitive. Ghost was always right.
Especially after they hadn’t been caressed in God knows how long.
Various items were knocked from the table Soap fell to. A couple of bottles of herbal medicine, an unlit lamp, a vase of water with baby’s breath floating in it. Muscular hands, worn with years of wielding a longsword and healed callouses, gripped mahogany in a strangled attempt at connection with the outside world. His vision swirled in black spots and crossed pupils. Vaguely, he could hear the hesitant steps of Ghost, backing away from a quaking being and trying to decide if he should help or draw his sword.
Pearly white shook and cracked under the strain of a stretching session, Soap groaning with exertion. The blonde behind him was still, aside from shaking breath, feet cemented to the stony floor. Lamplight illuminated the room just right, orange spilling from glass and painting tan skin in an existential yellowish tint.
“Ye canne just- do that, LT,” Soap gasped, head shaking, the edges of his hair sticking with sweat. “It- it’s-,” The right answer would be something along the lines of, ‘ It’s amazing. It’s unlike any other experience. Please, God, heaven above, touch my wings and make me shake, make me beg and plead, humble me until I can’t look at anyone without seeing your face and feeling your warmth.’, but what came out of his mouth wasn’t that. It couldn’t be that.
“It’s- painful,” He could feel Ghost hesitate behind him, silence coating the walls, the desk, covering their beings in a white sheet of quiet. There were no words spoken before a tentative hand reached in and splayed brown locks between lithe fingers.
“I’m sure, you bastard. They’ve been locked away for Christ knows how long.” Soap chuckled at that. Ghost hadn’t lost his sarcastic demeanor, at least. The most important part of their relationship was still intact- the constant banter.
“What was I supposed to dae? Ye know what they would- what they-,” The brunette’s breath hitched as fingertips, delicate and soft, traced shapes in the topmost feathers of his limbs. His wings moved of their own accord now, quaking with every fingertip laid against them, quivering from being able to bask in the bliss that was touch. Lava seemed to seep from his bones and infect every organ, every crack in his skin glowing after fleeting fingertips left his body.
“Hm, Johnny? What they would- what? You never finished.” His tone seeped with mockery. There was no way Ghost didn’t know the effect he had on the brunette, from the way Soap’s body shook with every texture to the way the younger’s uneven breath fanned into the air. “Come on, Johnny. Don’t start what you can’t end.” A strangled groan tore its way from Soap’s vocal chords as thick digits gripped feathers as though they would fly away of their own accord.
“Stop- stop, LT, please-,” The beg spilled from Soap’s pink lips without a care for how adorably pathetic he sounded. Ghost wouldn’t have it any other way, personally- the words felt like chilled water being spilled over his neck in boiling summer heat. Refreshing. Desperate.
“Turn around then, doll.” Ghost stepped away, leaving the younger debauched beneath his hands. The strong, white wings from before stretched to either side of the wall, tips touching stony bricks and flinching away from the chill of damp cement. Fire was blazing across his cheekbones and cascading down his shoulders, the red tint standing out against tan skin. He could feel himself getting hard against his pants, hoping his armor would obscure it for the time being.
He should’ve known better. Ghost was always observant.
“What’re you gonna do now, huh, LT? Gonna turn me in?” The other stayed quiet, eyes raking down Soap’s body in interest. Ghost looked almost predatory, eyes darkening with every inch of skin they took in, skating across thick, strong wings in admiration.
“No,” It was spoken softly, like a secret. It was, really. They were fixing each other’s problems.
Soap had liked Ghost from the start. He was intelligent, smart. Dark and brooding. Many squires were knights in training, those who would take up knightship when they were ready, but Ghost was far from ready- in every sparring match they had, Soap had been pinned within minutes. Never once had he seen Ghost break a sweat about it, either; he handled Soap perfectly in every way, training him with a stern hand and demanding attention whenever he walked into the room. Soap wasn’t complaining- he was beautiful in a stoic way, mysterious. Plus, with his help, Soap had become one of the best fighters in his division.
However much Soap liked him, though, Ghost was still a mystery. A wild card. Unexplored territory.
So, when he saw the 6 '2 mountain of a man approaching him like a lion to its prey, it would stand to reason that he tensed up just a little.
“You scared of me, sergeant?” Ghost asked, hands reaching out behind him, tugging the middle of Soap’s wings closer. The mass of muscle curled around Soap’s chest to accommodate Ghost’s hands, the rough treatment hurting in the best way. The older’s expert fingers worked on a knot across the topmost feathers, knocking the breath out of Soap’s chest. His vision swirled sweetly, black dots making themselves present. He could feel his knees give out underneath him, then Ghost’s hands catching him by the waist and setting him on the desk he was previously leaned up against.
Suddenly, Ghost was shoving his knees apart to make space for his waist in between them. Soap was loopy, delirious, eyes struggling to stay open with every tug and jab to his feathers. “Ghost,” He whispered, hands reaching up weakly to paw at Ghost’s forearms through his shirt.
“Hm,” Ghost massaged deeper, slower, deliberate with his movements. Soap spasmed lightly, choking on air that he was trying to get to his lungs. “You sure this hurts, Johnny?” Ghost punctuated his question with a motion that had Soap letting out sweet little sounds despite his best efforts. Soap could feel his every nerve buzzing, could feel his mind slipping from rational to a needy mess. He could feel drool forming on his tongue, soft huffs of heavy breath his only response. He was going boneless in Ghost’s hands, relaxing more into his chest.
“S’just- s’been a while, LT, since- since s’mbody touched ‘em,” A rough touch particularly close to the base of his wings had him jerking forward into Ghost’s chest, the bulge in his pants meeting Ghost’s waist. He let out a whine at that, eyelids closing tightly and trying to shift as far away from Ghost as he could.
His skin felt hot as one of Ghost’s hands left his wing to grip at his waist, pulling him closer. “So many knots in the muscle, Johnny. How long since you’ve let them breathe, huh? How long since you’ve flown, love?” The pet name had him squirming against the spot Ghost had him against his waist. Soap’s hands flew to grip at Ghost’s shoulders as his body spasmed helplessly with another rough jab. His eyebrows were knit in concentration, eyes closed as tight as he could. He couldn’t stand to look into Ghost’s chilled stare, now, couldn’t risk how those brown eyes would cut through his skin. “ How long?”
“Ghost,” Soap breathed, the touch turning more aggressive by the minute. “Year- years, please,” He whimpered softly. Ghost tsk ed through his mask.
“I’ll have to teach you to take better care of yourself, then, won’t I?” Ghost growled. It sent shivers down Soap’s spine, his movements desperate as he ground against Ghost’s core. “None of that.” The grip on Soap’s hip turned harsh, holding him in place. “You’ll take what I give you, that clear?”
“Yes sir,” Soap murmured. His vision was hazy with pleasure, bones feeling as though they were being caressed and lovingly worked over. Every bit of tension was melting from his being, skin beginning to glow slightly more than before, more than when knots and tangles littered the scape of his wings. He was basically drooling on Ghost’s shoulder now, mindless, limp in his hands, putty for him to mold into what he liked. Soap had half a thought to ask for kisses, but the best he could manage was to bare his neck more and whine prettily. Ghost got the idea fairly quickly, though, giving in to Soap’s every desire and laving his tongue across bare skin.
“I think you could cum from this alone, Johnny.” Soap could feel tears welling in his eyes from all of the stimulation, too much but not enough. He blinked frantically, fingers tightening in their place against Ghosts’ shoulders, attempting to rock against Ghosts’ hips but being held sternly in place by that strong grip on his waist. “No, no, love- I think you can. Especially if I just…” Soap could feel the shift of Ghost’s hand from the topmost part of his wing to the base of them, coaxing out a knot there sweetly, digging harshly into the feathered muscle.
He nearly convulsed, his twitching finally strong enough to break from Ghost’s grip, their waists meeting. Both of them groaned loudly, their foreheads landing against one anothers before Soap took Ghost’s mouth in a needy kiss, licking into his lips and silently begging for more. Ghost growled, turning the kiss violent, wedging an arm between them and slamming Soap back into the desk. He leaned close, digging into Soap’s wings more thoroughly.
“ Take what I give you, Johnny. Stop acting like a slut. Desperate little noises, you just want everyone to know how easy you are, don’t you? One hand on your wing and one bruising up your waist all pretty and you just fall apart, don’t you, love?” Soap nodded, earning him a low chuckle.
“Please, please sir- Gho- ah!” Teeth dug into his neck roughly.
“Try again, Johnny,”
Soap felt the heat coil in his gut at his name, at the way it was growled into his neck, at the way Ghost’s tongue was licking over the bite mark in an apology. The thin rope that was holding his pleasure tight in his gut was close to snapping, now, and he wouldn’t last long, not with the feeling of Ghost’s skilled fingers against his back, expertly tugging noises out of him.
“ Simon!” He came with a shout, white spurting in between their stomachs. His thighs trembled, trying to close, to get Ghost’s touch away from his most sensitive places, but nothing could drag Simon away from his prize. He snarled like a man starved, biting up Soap’s neck, sucking new marks along his collarbones, hand moving from it’s bruising grip on Soap’s waist to thumb at his nipple. The sensations sent Soap into orbit- he was shaking, breathing stuttering with every new sensation added to his brain, tears slipping down his cheeks in ecstasy. “Please, please, ple-please,”
Finally, Ghost’s touch relented, wiping Soap’s face of any tears and kissing him softly. “You solid?” Soap nodded, a little dizzy, bringing his head to rest on Ghost’s chest. His eyes slipped closed before he whined quietly, hand slipping off Ghost’s shoulder to feel him through his pants. Ghost plucked his wrist up in protest, pressing a soft kiss to the cuff. “Don’t worry about me, Johnny,” Soap could feel a smile against his veins, “How could I not get off during that little show you put on? Whimpering and whining like a slut. Came untouched, love.”
Soap shuddered at that, burying his face in Ghosts’ neck and licking at the skin there, suckling his own marks. Simon hummed appreciatively, slipping away to grab Soap’s corset. He held it softly, folding the leather before setting it down on the desk beside Soap.
“We’re going to do this after every fight until your wings have no more knots in them. That clear, MacTavish?” Soap’s brain was still muddled with pleasure. All he could do was nod and hope his words could be understood through the slurring.
“Dinnae kin how ye expect me to fight well, knowin’ I’ll ‘ave this to come back to.” Ghost smiled, dark and threatening.
“Simple. If you lose, you don’t get to cum. That should… motivate you, hm?” Soap frowned, brows knitting together in distaste.
“ Simon…”
“ Shh, love. Let’s get this back on. We’re going to be careful, too, make sure it isn’t too tight. These can pass as back muscle, you know.” Soap hummed in agreement, sliding off of the desk and catching himself on Ghost as his legs gave out.
“Shite. Guess I’m a little loose, huh big guy?”
“A little is an understatement, angel. You feel like jello.” Soap just laughed, beaming up at him.
“Thank you.”
Behind the mask, Soap could see Ghost smiling through his eyes. It was back down over his mouth again, a mystery to behold. Soap wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Of course.”