Archive of Our Own

“C’mon, Soap. Don’t have all day,” Ghost says wearily, knocking the edge of his boot into Soap’s own filthy pair, coated from the dirt and grime from the op they’d just returned from.

Ghost rests against the curve of his bathroom sink with hands curled around the counter, relishing the ceramic cooling down his sore fingers. He peeled off his kit, layers of hoodies, thermals, and wrestled off his now empty thigh holsters—left in just his hardshell mask, black tee, and blue jeans. The front has a spot of rusty red, where the fabric tore open, blood dried into the fibers.

Soap huffs from where he’s bent on his knees, rummaging under the cabinet next to his sink in search of his trimmer. “Would think you do with how long it took to wrangle you in here.”

Soap had tailed him to his quarters, blathering about bandages and ointment, insisting on taking care of the wound below his belt. Ghost had relented, to Soap’s delight, after readjusting his pants for the fiftieth time to get the dank fabric of the denim off the wound. 

Both of them know that there’s no way in fuck Ghost would be heading to medical for this.

He sustained a laceration on his groin from Christ knows what, just below where his untamed pubic hair swirls over his crotch, not registering biting the pain until they’d clambered into the helo, Soap at his side.

They’d first gotten together months prior after a week long mission, both littered with superficial injuries and layers of dirt, stinking with days old sweat. Ghost had been unable to tear his eyes off Soap’s profile.

Something raw and cruel had been festering underneath his fingernails when he’d noticed Soap was wearing the plain black hoodie Ghost had wrapped around his shivering shoulders when they’d been out to the bars a week prior.

Urges that felt like violence twisted its fingers out into his extremities. He itched to sink any part of his body into Soap, skin slicked with sweat under his combat layers with the desire to turn him out, have a look inside. Reshape him until he was only recognizable to Ghost. 

It felt like a switch had been flipped. They’d barely made it off the asphalt when Ghost had cornered Soap into a supply closet just inside the hangar. The rabid animal in him egged on further by Soap’s enthusiastic pleas, arching into his attention. Ghost had been possessed by desire that contorted into something perverse, all consuming—near delirious with the need to sink his hands in, to just do things to Soap’s tight body.

Ghost had pressed him into the metal door with a forearm on his throat and plucked his little cock until Soap was gasping, crying with his release. Soap had breathlessly questioned his deft fingers until Ghost had taken Soap’s hand and pressed it into his crotch, inwardly gloating when it’d pushed Soap over the edge a second time. Soap had fallen to his knees with an easy submission, laying his cheek into Ghost’s thigh with such adoring, dark eyes that Ghost didn’t know what to do with himself.

Ghost grits his teeth, grimacing as he unzips his jeans, surely reopening the scab that had fused to the blue denim.

His trimmer hasn’t touched a hair below his belt in ages, preferring to let the thicket of reddish-brown hair grow wild, curling over and obscuring his cock entirely. And truthfully, he couldn’t be arsed with the upkeep of it.

“Got the fucker,” Soap exclaims, grinning as he holds the trimmer up triumphantly, popping the blade guard onto the razor’s edge with a click. Soap shuffles over on his knees to where Ghost is peeling the last remnants of the bloodied scab off the wound, pulling his ruined jeans down off his hips. He’s pissed; He liked this pair.

The first time he’d allowed Soap to shave his head, he’d felt a twinge of unease, a certain vulnerability he didn’t know he was capable of. Valiantly suppressed the shiver that gripped his spine. The shivers still persist now for an entirely different reason, his skin sensitive and unacquainted to gentle fingers on his skin that don’t get his hackles raised.

Still, he takes in a heaving breath as he shoves his ruined jeans to rest on his knees, peering down at Soap posed prettily between his legs. Flitting his eyes to Ghost’s cunt with a flush dusting his high cheekbones, like he’s the scandalized one. The wound is entirely obscured by his thick pubic hair, matted and wet with sticky, coagulated blood in places where it sticks to his skin.

Soap has his full kit on; he had gotten the bulk of his vest off by dropping the ammunition off with their stop by the armory. His high cheekbones are smeared with dark blotches of face paint below his gorgeous eyes, blinking up guileless at Ghost—still waiting for his next order.

He sinks a hand into Soap’s mohawk and helplessly returns his smirk, soaking in the warmth of his flushed skin when he leans his cheek into Ghost’s palm.

“Gonna shave this bush for me, Johnny?” Ghost asks with an audible but light, playful slap to Soap’s cheek.

“Not too fuckin’ pleased about it now,” Soap says with an exaggerated huff, “Like what I see, Lt.,” eyes again glued to the dark curls of Ghost’s bush.

“You’ll live," Ghost says, tightening his grip and moves Soap’s head back and forth roughly by his mohawk, nodding his head for him. “That’s a good lad.”

Soap gives him a genuine, hearty laugh that he’d been waiting all day on the field to hear, raspy and from deep within his chest. Ghost slumps forward, sighing at the release of tension in his spine that he didn’t even realize was being carried.

Ghost had been stark naked around Soap at least once, the time they’d taken a wash in the river after a particularly muddy, hours long crawl through the mire on an op.

Lad had touted about how he didn’t know where Ghost got that fat fucking bush when Soap was the one covered from tail to nose with thick, dark mats of curly hair, a beast of a man. Reminded of how Soap looked at him then like he’d eat him whole and how Ghost allowed it. Blood buzzing hot with the knowledge that Soap was the first to see him like this, years into his transition.

So, Soap had seen him, his bush. Probably seen his cock.

Not quite in this context though.

With Soap on his knees, between Ghost’s bare thighs with the trimmer in hand. Filthy with dirt and grime and sweat from the mission, the sight admittedly has arousal stirring in his gut. He lets it wash over him, the dull throb of his cock joining the bone deep ache of his sore muscles, pushed to their limit on this last mission.

Soap bounces on his weight, wincing on his bad knee and Ghost stops himself before he starts to argue, knowing it’d be fruitless to try to wrestle him up from the floor.

“Ready, ye big bastard?” Soap asks expectantly, slapping the razor into his palm.

Ghost takes Soap’s jaw in his hand and squeezes and Soap starts the buzzer up, the sharp trill of its blades fill the bathroom.

His stare doesn’t break, seeking Ghost’s affirmation of approval as he carefully presses his palm into Ghost’s upper thigh and the guarded blade just above the thicket of his pubic hair. 

Ghost’s breath sticks in his throat at the sight of Soap’s fluttering lashes, the purse of his pouting, full lips.

It’d never really occurred to Ghost to put that loud mouth to use. He swallows, questioning madly if Soap would put as much feverish enthusiasm into getting his pretty lips around cock as much as he does with his perpetual chatter. 

It's all he can picture, this close. Close enough that he can feel Soap’s warm breath on his upper thigh, warm hands cautiously pressing into the pale, sensitive flesh of his groin. 

He tightens his fist around the cold ceramic sink and gives Soap a curt nod, “Affirm.”

The first touch makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he spreads his skin taut, allowing Soap to follow with the razor. He mourns the loss at the sight of the locks of reddish brown hair collecting on the bathroom floor. It’ll be a proper bitch to grow back, to get as full as he’d liked it. A constant that he’d never questioned to lose.

In the corner of his mind, Ghost had assumed he would recoil, grab Soap’s wrist when he’d gotten too close after all. He’d never crossed that line, let Soap see him, too. But every soft touch to his skin casts sparks on the gnarled wick at the base of his spine further, waiting for the rest of his body to catch up.

The scab had come off with the jeans after all. That or one never formed in the first place, unable to seal itself fully with the chaos of their exfil. Its lazily weeping pinkish blood, half as bad as he’d expected with the way it was raw and chafing against his zipper. He draws his skin taut to peer at the wound, get a look inside.

Soap shaves around it, getting closer to the wound with a word of encouragement from Ghost.

Ghost stands up a little straighter, squares his hips. Blood rushes to his crotch, cock chubbing up under the duress of Soap’s stupidly pretty face and mouth. He never stood a chance if he was being honest with himself. 

He wouldn’t even mind it if Soap had grazed the wound with the blade. Fuck, wouldn’t mind at all if he’d wanted to get his fingers in there, get a peek at his insides too.

“Might as well get it an all around even shave, eh, Ghostie?” Soap asks with faux sweetness, already moving the guarded blade lower.

Ghost hums in response. “First barber to butter me up.”

“Aye, I’d fucking hope so,” Soap says with an edge of gruffness on his voice that makes Ghost smirk.

It’s cute really, the way Soap sometimes takes on a predatory tone, tossing out possessive quips as if there was the possibility of another. Not fucking interested.

“All yours, Soap,” Ghost says as he cocks his hips forward, stoking the fire of Soap’s words, all too tempting knowing the outcome. He spreads his legs to give Soap enough space to get between his thighs.

Ghost can’t remember the last time he’d seen his cock in its full, bare glory. Probably back when he’d first joined the force, convinced that keeping the hair shorter would fare him better, dead fuckin’ wrong he was. It’s jarring almost, to see his cock standing proudly as Soap uncovers new inches of skin. The bulbous, pink head peeking out from under his foreskin, framed by his full cunt lips.

A hot flush crawls up the back of his neck, hot and cloying, mask sticking to his mouth with the humid intensity of his breaths.

Even while watching Soap press the washcloth to his groin to brush away stray hairs, he still feels a minor jolt, suppressing the instinct to get a hand around Soap’s wrist. He stares at the ceiling.

God, he’s probably fucking wet and leaking down his thighs at this point, visibly hard in response to Soap’s attention. He grinds his teeth and tries to think about anything else except the way Soap’s lips had looked wrapped around the end of his pen earlier.

Soap doesn't usually fluster easily. The mischief maker and provocateur one, things slipping perverse depravity from his mouth that has even the captain turning away to lower his hat over his burning cheeks at times. But here he is now, lip held between his teeth, more flustered than Ghost had seen him without getting his hands on him first, a flush blooming from from his hairline down into the hem of his shirt collar.

The usual safety of the mask morphs into something suffocating when Ghost’s cheeks heat up, fabric irritating his flushed skin. Silence falls on the room when Soap turns the razor off, interrupting Ghost’s increasingly deranged thoughts. He dares to look down at Soap again and his lidded eyes are glued to his cock.

“Simon,” Soap says. He plants a hand on Ghost’s upper thigh, gently petting a thumb across the newly shaved hair at the crease of his hip.

Shifting into the touch, Ghost suppresses a chuckle at how lost Soap is. Mouth open and panting like he was already getting fucked. Christ.

“Might need stitches,” Soap says with a faraway voice.

“Yeah,” Ghost replies, looming over Soap’s body, stare flicking up from his cock to meet Soap’s eyes and he’s fucking throbbing. “Might.”

“Please,” Soap urges, fingers clawing Ghost’s skin.

Ghost’s restraint liquefies into molten heat in his veins, beginning to melt away any frivolous attachment to self control and replacing it with furious want.  

His hand darts forward, twisting cruelly into his mohawk and Soap lurches forward with a broken moan, sinking his weight onto Ghost’s thighs. He holds Soap’s head just out of reach, tugging against his grip and making desperate little noises in his efforts to get his tongue on him, sucking in quick, gasping breaths of his scent. Fuck, Ghost’s cock throbs like a heartbeat. 

Ghost wrenches Soap’s head back to his shoulder and Soap makes a hurt noise at the loss of proximity, scowling up at Ghost with a pretty snarl on his lips.

Blood pounds in his ears and Ghost feels a little sick with it, swallowing down an unfamiliar tightness in his throat—unprepared for Soap’s unfettered, insatiable attention.

His pretty boy.

His prettiest boy.

Soap’s mouth moves, snapping him out of his reverie. “God, you’re fucking huge. Knew you’d be.” 

“Think about it often, yeah? About my cock?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Soap rushes out, “Use me, sir. I’ll be good. Promise you won’t regret it.”

A shudder crawls up his spine, and Soap’s smile widens. Perceptive little shit.

This isn’t about worthiness, but fuck if Soap doesn’t give him something to look at right now.

“Prove it. Give us a show, Johnny.”

He does. Soap drops his hips onto Ghost’s filthy boot and works a hand under his kit, shoving his shirt up to show off the vee of his hips. His splays his fingers over the crotch of his cargoes and bucks his hips, fucking himself onto Ghost’s boot and his own hand. 

“Thattaboy.” Soap moans openly at the praise and Ghost feels possessed, slotting two fingers around his cock to pull the thick folds of his foreskin back to show it off, rewarded with a gasp.

Ghost cocks his head, asking wryly, “Need it bad, sweetheart?” 

He flicks fingers on the underside of his cock to collect the wetness there, tipping Soap’s chin up with his other hand. His hand trembles, feeling weak at how Soap’s eyes widen, but he can’t be arsed to be embarrassed about the way his fingers are dripping.

He hums at Soap’s unbidden obedience, tongue lolling out to take anything Ghost would give him. It’s presumptuous, and fucking right.

Ghost hums at the pitched whimper sounding directly from Soap’s open mouth when he presses his slicked fingers into the wet heat of his mouth, lapping and slurping feverishly at the taste of Ghost, hips jerking forward wildly—lost in rapture.

Ghost’s nostrils flare, body coiled like a spring. All of that battle hardened focus lasered in on where he’s inside Soap now, fucking his thick fingers into his mouth until he feels the slimy texture of the back of his throat on his fingertips. Momentarily satiated by the audible gag that jerks from Soap's chest, unmoving from his position despite. 

His most devoted soldier.

Soap would never stop until something’s spent, every avenue explored in excruciating detail, whatever cost. He knows Soap aches to wring him out if given the chance, glut himself on his flesh, sink in the hooks of his bottomless desire.

Soap bobs his head on Ghost’s fingers with enthusiastic, lost little moans that make the beds of Ghost’s nails itch with the need to get violent. Saliva drools down the back of his hand, droplets mixing into the shaved hairs at his feet. Hips flicking against his boot, desperate for stimulation. As enthusiastic as he’d had imagined and it isn’t even Ghost’s cock.

Whatever semblance of self control was still clinging to his bones snaps when Soap bobs his head forward, tears clumping on his lashes while he gags himself on Ghost’s fingers. His fervid, strained breath fans across his skin, so close to where Ghost’s hot and throbbing, cock arched and straining against the thick rolls of his foreskin.

It’s too fucking much. Ghost yanks soap out of his stupor by his vest strap, already pushing him out of the bathroom door, stumbling before he can get his bearings.

“Kit off. All of it, Johnny,” Ghost orders, shoving him towards the edge of the bed.

“Fucking please, yes.” Soap rushes out, tripping over himself to get his pants open and tactical vest off before its unbuckled.

Ghost gets hands under his arms and hauls him up, tossing Soap onto the bed, bouncing and cursing as he goes, single mindedly determined to toe his boots off. Ghost wrestles them off, along with his cargoes and tee, stopping himself before getting hands on the hem Soap’s briefs. He evades Soap’s grasping hands by shoving him down into the mattress with a grunt.

“Christ, Simon,” Soap says breathlessly, dragging an animal noise out of Ghost in his fracturing restraint. He’s frozen on the spot at the end of the mattress, grabbing onto the sheets so tightly he’s mildly surprised its stitches keep.

Soap is gorgeous. So gorgeous that it’s stupid Ghost had found him here in the blood and dirt of it all rather than gliding under the moon in the middle of the woods, a mythical creature escaped from some other realm.

A small, knowing smirk plays on Soap’s mouth, lips shining and pinkened from his enthusiastic work on Ghost’s fingers. He runs spread hands over his flush mottled pecs, flexing his abdominals. His thick chest hair shines with a light sheen of sweat, his anticipation.

He tilts his head down, peering up at Ghost through his eyelashes as he slowly parts his muscular thighs, and Ghost is gone.

Every dip and curve of his fat cunt is barely obscured by his sopping underwear, clinging onto the proud, slight bulge of his cock. Ghost drags in a ragged breath when Soap lets his hand trail down his tight body, getting a hand over himself to spread the grey briefs taut against his cock.

“Johnny.” Ghost manages to choke out, sounding pathetically aroused to his own ears and he can’t find it in himself to care. Not when it’s got Soap arching into the sound of Ghost’s voice, writhing and begging for it in his bed.

A particular sense of victory thrums under his skin as he moves up the bed between Soap’s legs, willing to do anything to get more of those hot, wanting sounds. He presses masked kisses to the scar on the inside of Soap’s knee, nudging him with his nose to get his legs spread further. “Look good like this,” he mutters in between kisses, elated at Soap’s responding moan.

Its the first time he has Soap in his bed with the intent to fuck him, fill him up himself and its got a shake of unsteady anticipation settling heavily at the base of his spine, radiating out to his limbs.

The needle-like focus of a snipers hands doesn’t benefit him here, getting your cock out in from of your sergeant for the first time isn’t in the fucking training manual. Surprisingly.

He’d had enough looking.

Ghost lunges forward and gets a bruising grip around Soap’s hips, hitching them down to meet the insistent press of his cock into the wet spot on Soap’s underwear.

“Oh, fuck.” Soap cries out, realization of Ghost’s intentions clear on his blushing face, sheets bunching under his white knuckled hands.

Almost on instinct, he backs away from Soap’s body, motioning to rummage through his drawers for something to fuck him with, the way they’ve always done things.

“None of that,” Soap interrupts, before Ghost can begin. “Please Simon, let me have it. I'm a big lad, can handle it.” He bears his hips down as if to prove himself, pulling a groan out of Ghost. 

He bows forward in Soap’s touch, frustrated with his own weakness, the inability to just come out and say it. That he’d never really gotten to this part of the fucking with anyone else before, not like this.

“Just like this,” Soap pleads, and Ghost sinks further into Soap’s embrace.

Simple anticipation seeps in the longer he’s got the contact, soothing the voice telling him to get up and run. He raises Soap’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “Sure you can, sweetheart... Warm fucking cunt would take anything I’d give it,” Ghost says into his knuckles, pressing the pads of his fingers into Soap’s cunt over his sopping briefs.

Soap throws his head back into the pillows and grinds up into his touch, crying out, “Yes, give it to me.”

Ghost maneuvers himself over Soap’s middle, groaning when Soap sinks his hands into the plush of Ghost’s arsecheeks. The rugged texture of his calloused palms and fingers make Ghost jolt into the touch, sensitive to his typically hidden away skin.

“Holy fuck, sir, you have no idea how much I’ve needed this cock on me. Achin’ for it,” Ghost hooks a thumb into Soap’s lower jaw and scowls when he sinks his teeth in, smiling around the intrusion. All sharp canines and wicked, mischievous eyes, drooling on Ghost’s skin like he can't help it. And fuck, Ghost has never wanted for anything like he’s wanted this.

He wants to see Soap’s mouth take things. More specifically, his cock, heavy and throbbing between Ghost’s legs.

He brackets his thighs around Soap’s head, a few more inches forward and he’d have his mouth on him. Soap peers up at him, wide eyed and fragile, waiting for the order. Ghost stares openly for a moment, savoring Soap’s guileless expression, staring up at him like he’s something to wonder about. 

“Better put that loud mouth to good use,” Ghost says, bracing himself against the headboard, he lowers his cock onto Soap’s waiting tongue. A groan tears from his chest, heavy and drawn out like he’s being torn to pieces, and he involuntarily bucks his hips forward into the hot clutch of Soap’s greedy mouth.

Soap gorges himself, just as overeager as Ghost knew he would be. It’s obscene, he’s slurping and moaning on his cock, eyes shut in rapture as he bobs his head. The roughness of his stubble has Ghost grinding down harder, feeling very fucking grateful for his oral fixation. He’s latched on like Ghost’s cock is his new life source, a sliver of blue cracking open to meet Ghost’s hungry stare.

“Yeah boy, get it nice and wet for me to fuck you with,” Ghost grits out, getting his hands around Soap’s head to fuck his face properly.

Soap chokes around him and Ghost thinks for a moment that he’d come already with the way the bed creaks as he bucks his hips into nothing. Ghost knows he has to be turning the fabric of his underwear sopping wet with his arousal, face drawn in pleasure as he sloppily sucks him down, and Ghost’s got to get a taste. He reaches back to blindly wrestle off his underwear, until Soap’s hands join him in his urgency.

Bringing his underwear to his face, Ghost groans openly as the musky scent of his cunt floods his senses, rubbing it across the mask to saturate it so he’ll be smelling it hours later. He works his tongue against it in desperation, grinding his hips down in response to Soap’s muffled moans.

Ghost paws at Soap’s cunt, fingers slipping in easily with the way Soap bucks up into the touch. “Good at that, huh? Anyone ever tell you you got pretty, cocksucking lips, Johnny?”

Soap’s furrowed brow melts when Ghost gets fingers around Soap’s cock, pressing tight circles into the sensitive nub with cruel fingers and squeezing, with just the slight bite of fingernails. 

Soap scrawls a hand blindly down Ghost’s middle, searching for the wound, smearing the small rivulets of blood against his skin when he finds it. He ducks his hand to his occupied mouth, tongue darting out to feed on his bloodied fingers. Ghost’s blood, and fuck he’s hot all over.

The first lick of dangerous, hot white pleasure up his spine has Ghost still his hips, unwilling to come anywhere except inside his boy’s tight cunt. He motions to pry himself from Soap’s suckling mouth, his fingers clawing at the meat of his arse to keep him there. Soap licks a hot stripe over Ghost’s slit that has him gasping on the brink of orgasm. Chest heaving with his breaths, he swiftly wrenches Soap off his cunt by his mohawk, the man moaning openly at the painful tug of Ghost’s fist in his hair.

“Fuckin’ hell, Soap. Greedy little shit,” Ghost says, catching his breath, tossing Soap’s head into the pillow with a shove to his shoulder, prying his grabbing hands from Ghost’s stomach.

He slides down Soap's hips until he’s wedged between them, Soap’s thighs immediately grappling to wrap themselves around any part of Ghost he can get leverage on. “The fuckin’ mouth on you,” Ghost groans, slapping the back of Soap’s thigh hard enough to get a yelp out of him.

“You love it,” Soap says, smile audible in his words. He licks over his puffy, well-used lips when he knows he’s got Ghost’s eyes on him, beard shining where Ghost’s wetness and his saliva mix. So damn pretty it dislodges something in Ghost’s chest and he bows forward. 

“Too much,” Ghost says into the heat of Soap’s mouth, closing the distance between them to kiss him.

The humid pressure of his tongue frantically pushes against Ghost’s own when they meet through the mask.The sharp bite of Soap’s canines sink into his lips, snarling like an animal when he gets his teeth hooked into the mask and pulling away in his efforts to get under it, to get Ghost’s lips on his. He dives in to kiss him more aggressively, and it isn't enough.

Ghost gets enough space between them despite Soap’s clutching hands, just enough to tear the mask off, get his fucking mouth on him. He licks into Soap’s mouth, moaning in response to at the slightly bitter taste of himself on his tongue.

With the mask comes a certain level of security, one that Ghost doesn’t enjoy discarding even in the privacy of his own room, not without the complete checklist of a secured room. But here, he just can't find it within himself to care. Breaking another self-imposed rule, not wholly accepting that he does feel safe here. 

Anywhere, with Soap in his arms.

At first there’d been twinges of trepidation, unmoored by Soap’s intensity in every aspect of his life, the way he could so easily project and articulate his emotions and thoughts fascinated Ghost. Put a real, raw fear in him that he’d get singed by just being in his orbit, that his flesh would sear right off if he’d laid a hand on the bastard. Took his memory back to the time he and his brother had gotten their hands on sparklers for the first time, to how his fingers had stung with pain and he’d gone straight back for more, curiosity unsatisfied.

His heart rabbitted in his chest when the sparkler had singed his skin, he’d felt the same inevitability when he’d first laid a bare hand on Soap’s skin.

Ghost would welcome the burn with rapture if it meant he could keep the contact, until all that’s left was a cradle of flames engulfing his charred, still beating heart. He’d been a shambling corpse, cold and rotting until Soap had appeared and thawed him out in the warmth of his attention, feeling like he’d felt the sun on his face for the first time.

Ghost hands are gnarled with scars, jaded by the years, mottled by the permanent imprints of the wounds he’d picked up. None that could’ve stifle his curiosity for Soap. For Johnny, no matter the severity. There was only the time before he’d met Soap MacTavish, and after, now.

The fingers in his hair tug a shudder out of him and Soap arches into the touch when Ghost presses a palm to Soap’s ribs, prodding into his flesh to feel his heartbeat for assurance that he’s just as lost.

He can feel the smile on Soap’s lips against his own and kisses his laughing mouth. Ghost admires the sharp curve of Soap’s canines, how they’d always reminded Ghost of a wild animal, moreso now, knowing first hand the damage they can do.

Ghost pulls back and lines himself up into the vee of Soap’s thigh to get a look at him.

The first time he’d gotten a real look at his cock he’d had to stifle his surprise, knowing the bastard could read every emotion on his face despite the mask. Ghost had gone stupid at the sight, startled at how pretty it really was. The pink, perfect little cock peeking through the dark, wiry hair of his grown out bush, leading down to the glossy swell of his cunt lips. Glistening with every luxurious roll of his hips, proudly showing it off to Ghost.

Soap usually prefers to keep his bush neatly trimmed, he’d noticed. On more than one occasion, Ghost had wrestled Soap’s pants off to the sight of a perfectly groomed runway of hair trailing down to his cunt. He’d cocked his head up at Ghost with an arrogant smile on his lips, satisfied with Ghost’s stupefied expression. Arching prettily up into Ghost’s hand when he ran a thumb down the strip of dark hair to his dick, cursing when Ghost had pinched it.

His hair had grown out in the few days they’d been on mission and Ghost liked the view, liked it most when Soap would be too lazy to shave. Let it grow out and catch all the sweaty musk of his cunt, burying his face in it for hours until Soap would have to physically pry him off.

Ghost sinks a thumb into Soap’s cunt and spreads his lips open just to pull a gasp out of him, get him arching into the touch. Begging with his body, but Ghost is selfish. He wants to hear it.

Ghost swipes a thumb over Soaps cock. “Was thinkin’ about this all day, Johnny.” Soap whines out a curse, sounding fucked out already. “Thought about it when I’d watched you through the scope, putting a knife in that poor sods jugular.”

It had Ghost restless, adjusting his fatigues on the other end of the scope, watching Soap smile with glee at the victory of his violence, blood on his teeth. He rolls his hips forward testingly, slotting his cock against Soap’s again and again until he’s squirming and sucking in heaving breaths beneath him. “All that fuckin’ power, you givin’ it to me,” Ghost exhales a shaky breath at the the swell of his cock completely eclipsing Soap’s from view when he rolls his hips forward. “Beggin’ for it.” Soap sinks his nails into Ghost’s thighs like he’s gonna break skin, and Ghost hopes he fucking does. “Well? You gonna beg, Sergeant?”

“Please, sir. Need it in me,” Soap urges, pulling his head to the side to expose his neck submissively, peering up at Ghost through fluttering lashes. “Simon.”

Ghost makes an animal noise and it’s almost too good, reeling with the powertrip of all of what Soap is willingly under his thumb. He plucks his nipple with a mean twist of his fingers and Soap jerks into his cruelty, crying out for more. “ Good fuckin’ boy, Johnny,”

He notches his hips down, gripping Soap’s hips tight enough to bruise as he pushes his cock into the wet clutch of Soap’s cunt. He kisses the frantic little thank yous from Soap’s mouth as he sheathes himself inside, opening a part of Soap that was made just to fit the shape of his cock.

Soap tosses his head back into the pillow, clutching at Ghosts arms to get him closer, closer .

Ghost knows he can’t can’t kiss his cervix with the tip of his cock, but that doesn’t stop the way Soap writhes on him like its the fattest cock he’s taken. That has Ghost groaning openly, barely pulling out to grind himself inside, beckoned by Soap’s legs tightening around his lower back. He knows that this is the best feeling in the world and the only sensations that come close to secondary all have to do with Soap. 

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous like this,” Ghost says, holding Soap’s cheek in his palm. “Makes me stupid.”

Soap clamps his fingers across Ghost’s jaw with singular devotion, wide eyes searching his face like he’s confirming that it’s really him, maskless and sweaty—exposed and clutching and wanting like Soap is. Ghost feels like his wiring is frayed and exposed and it’s fucking good, sweet and agonizing.

The urge to obscure Soap’s fragile expression so that he can’t see Ghost’s own bubbles up in his chest and he stomps it out. He rocks his hips forward, lost on Soap’s gentle sigh.

“Makes me wanna do stupid things, Johnny…”

The tight, dangerous feeling constricting his throat has him clutching Soap in certain despair, unmoored by the intimacy and clarity of Soap’s red rimmed, fond gaze. He kisses him before Soap can work the words out of his gasping mouth.

He smears his lips across the corner of Soap’s mouth, inhaling the sharp stench of the gun oil Soap had shoved through his mohawk on their initial exfil, the scent of gunpowder and old antiperspirant still clinging to him that has Ghost’s mouth watering.

He sinks his teeth into the soft skin of Soap’s inner bicep, butting his nose into the cleft of his armpit. Biting harder when Soap only moans in response to the pain, not moving his arm up.

“Soap. Be good for me…” Ghost says and it must stir the soldier's obedience in him because he lifts his arm, enough for Ghost to get his tongue in there. Drinking him up where he’s filthy and masculine, get his scent all over him.

“Clarty bastard,” Soap gasps out, making soft little noises on every audible inhale Ghost takes in.

A low, threatening noise sounds from Ghost’s throat when Soap squirms under him, clutching him closer to keep his tongue where he wants it. The sound morphs into a moan when Ghost realizes Soap’s readjusting to give him full access.

“Yeah, you are good aren’t you,” Ghost says into the shell of Soap’s ear. “Real good, Johnny. Look at you, knew you could take it.” Soap gets a hand around the back of Ghost’s neck, pushing his mouth in deeper. “Had to have you.”

Soap’s body jolts when he pulls his earlobe between his teeth with a bestial growl, mouth open and lapping noisily, right up next to Soap’s ear.

“Mother of fuckin’ Mary,” Soap exclaims, voice high and tight, body going stiff under Ghost like a prey animal caught in his maw. Ghost grinds his hips forward, giving friction to his cocklet caught between their sweaty bodies. “Fuck, Ghost, gonna make me come like this,” he chokes out, hands scrambling to grab at any part of him.

“Yeah baby, clench down on me,” Ghost says, and he does, groaning at the warm flood of liquid splashing on Ghost’s cock, the pulsing, rhythmic clench of his cunt around him as he comes. 

“That’s it, c’mon milk my cock,” feeling godlike at Soap’s guttural moan, he rumbles sweet praise to Soap’s answering cries. Surely loud enough for any poor sod walking down the hallway to speed up their walk past Lieutenant Riley’s door and he should probably do something about it, but he just bears his hips down, noisily fucking Soap’s cum between their bodies.

“Yes, fuck me full,” Soap cries out, “Need your come, Simon,”

Ghost is stunned into silence, balking as his hips stutter to a stop, brain emptied of every thought except the staggering, single-minded desire to fuck Soap full, and make sure it sticks.

Sure, he’d had countless, fleeting thoughts in the deranged corners of his mind about knocking Soap up, pulling Soap off the danger of their line of work permanently. To dote on his warm body and round belly, tethered to him eternally. And to know Soap wants that too, fuck, he can’t catch his breath with the admission.

The knowledge that Ghost’s anatomy wouldn't allow it blurs in his mind, doing nothing to deter the raw need to fuck Soap pregnant, have him round and full and waiting, safe, in their home for Ghost to return to, body permanently altered to fit the shape of his cock.

The wound on his groin had reopened at some point, now oozing and bleeding between them again, stinging when the rough edges of the scab catch on Soap’s body hair. The pain only drives his hips forward harder, noisily pounding inside Soap’s sopping cunt.

“Don't stop,” Soap urges, slapping his hips up into Ghost’s. 

“Not fuckin’ gonna,” Ghost grunts out as he braces himself on his knees, bending Soap’s hips up and forward to get a deeper angle. “Not ever.”

He snags his teeth on Soap’s clavicle, “Gonna have you every day like this, fill you up and fuck you pregnant,” Ghost says, gloating in the new, broken noise Soap makes in response. “Come inside and make it stick.” Ghost hooks his arms underneath the backs of Soap’s thighs to push them up, exposing his hole more.

Soap’s making little, hurt noises against his lips and it only encourages Ghost to stretch him further, stuffing himself back inside as he rests Soap’s ankles on his shoulders.

Soap’s eyes go all wide like a deer in a clearing, like he didn't know he had the flexibility in him. Like even if he didn’t, he wouldn't stop him from opening him up like this, surrendering himself to whatever shape Ghost’s going to bend him into.

“Fuck, break me, break me,” Soap chants and the confirmation has Ghost shaking with the sick need to possess, mark him up and disfigure him in whichever way that would let any poor sod that sets their eyes on Soap know he’s accounted for– property of Simon Riley.

The words feel fucking good, scratching some neglected part of in his brain that was certain that he’d never have something like this. Ghost groans when he feels Soap spread himself open with his shaking hands, offering himself up to be bred.

“Gimmie that fuckin’ hole,” Ghost snarls, sore muscles straining with exertion, he props himself up for a moment to roll Soap’s hips forward more until the tops of his thighs are flat against his chest, body pliant and bent to take Ghost’s pleasure.

A pained noise falls from Soap’s mouth, eyes wide and vulnerable like Ghost had just turned the knife inside of him, made a perfect little home for itself in his ribcage.

He feels the wetness on Soap’s cheeks before he sees it and withdraws to search his red rimmed eyes, savor the sight of thin rivulets of tears shining down his temples. Soap blinks dopily, looking for Ghost.

Ghost doesn't think before he’s lapping up Soap’s salty tears, throbbing inside his cunt at the taste. He runs his tongue flat across his eyelashes, torn between soothing him but also not wanting Soap to stop crying on his cock.

“Just made for me, aren’t you,” Ghost croons, and he knows the words are sweet on Soap’s ears. He knows Johnny was made to be fucked raw and pregnant on his cock, devastatingly beautiful eyes on him while he begs for it.

The oral fixation must take hold of Soap’s motor functions because he gets his tongue working on Ghost’s skin, licking and catching his teeth with fervor, getting urgent when Ghost shudders, like if he gets his tongue on enough of Ghost’s skin it’ll make the tears stop.

Ghost doesn’t want that. He bears down and slaps his weight down into Soap’s hips, lapping up the new, fat tears that fall. “Gonna make you mine.” Ghost clutches Soap’s writhing body in his limbs.

The only things Soap can muster out are sweet, breathy yeah, yeah, yeah ’s and cries of Ghost’s name. Fucked the words right out of him and it makes the fuzzy edges around his sanity blur further, pleasure radiating through his entire body, knowing he’d been the one to do that. 

“Fuck, gonna take care of you, baby,” Ghost says, grinding forward in a way he knows will have Soap crying out. “Pump you so full, knock you up on my cock. Everyone’ll know, Johnny. Know you’re fuckin mine. All mine.”

The brutal grip Ghost has on the back of Soap’s thighs has them purpling with bruises already, the sight of it heightening his pleasure, a physical manifestation of his ownership. Soap must be able to tell Ghost is getting close because he squirms right up on his cock, grabs at any part of him he can get, properly whimpering as he presses his cunt desperately up into Ghost’s cock.

Soap’s hands scrabble against Ghost’s chest urgently, a shudder wracking Ghost’s body when Soap gets his mouth on Ghost’s earlobe and sinks his teeth in, hard enough to sting, gasping directly into his ear, “Inside.” Soap insists, near hysterical. “Come inside,”

The contractions of Soap’s cunt has Ghost’s sight blurring, his cum adding more to the wet mess between them as, coming around Ghost’s cock just at the thought of him fucking him pregnant.

“Take it.” Ghost manages to grit out and he’s coming, pleasure rocketing down his spine as his orgasm shocks through him. He bows forward, sheathing himself fully inside Soap, blindly latching his mouth to Soap’s chest. He sinks his teeth into Soap’s nipple, lapping feverishly as he holds Soap’s body still in a vice to breed his boy’s cunt properly.

He lets Soap’s hips fall back onto the bed, propping his arms against the bed to press a sloppy kiss to his mouth, gasping and rocking his hips with the contracting spasms of the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

“Yeah, fuck that load inside me,” Soap says into Ghost’s mouth, still canting his hips up to grind himself on Ghost’s cock.

“Bloody fuck– Johnny,” Ghost mutters wearily, hips bucking weakly in response despite the overstimulation, wrung out by Soap’s tight body. Ghost pulls out to grind their cocks together to keep the contact and Soap doesn’t squirm away despite the slight wince of his features, wanting the same as Ghost.

He’s almost vaguely alarmed that he didn’t feel alarmed for the brief period he was out of his mind with pleasure. Surrendering his tightly wound control for a few mere seconds, and it didn’t sting or linger like something rotten on his skin to be mulled over and over when the night is quiet and dark.

Sighing, Ghost splays his fingers over Soap’s throat and slumps forward to push the mop of Soap’s sweaty mohawk from his forehead. He gets a hand around Soap’s neck and pulls back to get a look, stuff his fingers into Soap’s puffy cunt to draw a cry out of him. He basks in the primal need to make it a mess further, get all kinds of things inside him alongside Ghost’s cock. Later.

They have all the time in the world, this space between them, Ghost would make sure. Protect it with his skin and bone, all he has to offer. Or so he thought really, before Soap had made himself a fixture. The way Soap looks at him makes him feel like he has all the wealth in the world, with the way Soap’s expression turns soft and sweet at the edges when he spots Ghost in a room.

Soap tugs Ghost down with him, plastering himself to his side and muttering about needles and the sewing kit that was abandoned somewhere in the mess of his hastily discarded kit.

Ghost gently wipes Soap’s skin of their shared fluids and tucks the blanket flush to his sides  and a smile tugs at his lips, inwardly gloating at the placid expression on Soap’s face, all the ferocity in him pacified to sleep.

He’ll clean the blood from underneath Soap’s fingernails in the AM, dig out the kit too before he gets up. He tucks Soap’s body into the weight of his bicep, watching his chest rise and fall with his steady breaths, ready to soothe any bad dreams lurking in the dark.