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Ghost has a thing for Soap’s hair. Well, technically speaking, he has a thing for the entirety of Soap but as of lately, that silly mohawk of his has become Ghost's secret obsession.
He doesn’t know exactly why but he suspects that it is simply the next position on the long list of things about the man, designed to drive him insane during the long nights he spends waiting in his sniping nests with fuck all to think about but the way it must feel to the touch, when Soap lets it grow out a bit and forgets to gel it into submission, the fluffy strands free to fall every which way.
Ghost knows it’s most likely not normal to obsess over another soldier's hair but then again, none of the things he thinks of his sergeant are in the army manual.
He tries to mask it, poking fun at Soap, acting overly tough sometimes but he cannot deny that his skin tingles every time he gets to share the tiniest touch with him. He cannot pretend he doesn’t actively seek it, a little shoulder bump here, a brush of hand on his hip... The one thing he cannot seem to achieve though, is to find a way to bury his fingers in Soap’s hair.
The idea of it, it becomes his Holy Grail. The second he doesn’t have to focus on the mission at hand, his thoughts wander off to bring on vivid visions of him finally getting to run his fingers along the shaven sides of Soap's head, to dig them deep between the longer strands on top, to pull and tug, to see what reaction he can get from the Scot.
He almost fears he is going insane.
It really only gets worse, when he gets to discreetly smell the shampoo Soap uses one day.
He first notices it, when he hovers over Soap’s shoulder in a briefing, the delicate fresh scent of cleanliness, something reminescent of the crisp wintery air with an unexpected, sweet undertone. He tries not to make a sound as he breathes it in deeper, letting it fill his nose through the mask. It makes his head spin a little.
He would never in a million years admit it but he heads to the common showers straight afterwards to find Soap’s shampoo just by the fragrance alone and spends a good minute with his eyes closed, memorizing it, absolutely not thinking about Soap in this very shower, washing his hair, white foam sliding along the curve of his back with the warm water.
After that, he picks up a habit of standing close behind Soap’s back anytime he can, only his strong will stopping him from acting on his impulsive thought to lean forward just a couple inches and bury his nose in the dark strands, all audience present be damned.
It feels like Soap is somehow none the wiser too, just accepting Ghost’s presence so close by as something perfectly natural, never flinching away from his touch but rather touching him back, here and there, laying a hand on his shoulder, pulling him by his arm, even leaning into his looming presence, their bodies almost touching front to back, air electric with something Ghost doesn't want to take a chance to name.
And yet, he still yearns specifically for Soap's silly hair.
It’s almost religious, the way Soap carries out the ritual of maintaining his mohawk at the appropriate length and Ghost genuinely hates it. Just when the strands on top get a little longer, starting to wave softly, something delightful about them falling to the sides when they are still wet from the shower, Soaps goes in and cuts them shorter, as if it is his personal vendetta against Ghost.
Of course, he doesn’t know how Ghost feels about it though, there is no way he would because Ghost does not have the balls to tell him; he just pretends he happens to have a business to attend to in the bathroom at exactly the time Soap takes care of his hair and he sneaks a couple of glances in as Soap trims it and shaves the sides. He watches him and yearns to stop his hand and ask him to leave it as it is, before raking through that mohawk with his fingers, finally finding out if it is as soft as it seems.
The familiar torment of the routine is the exact reason why his heart beats unnaturally fast, when he realizes Soap is unable to fix his hair this week because he pulled a tendon in his arm, tackling another terrorist on their last mission.
He mindlessly digs through his bag of bathroom supplies, paying the cosmetics no mind as he watches Soap out of the corner of his eye, swearing when he cannot bring his arm up to properly align the buzzing electric shaver. He watches like a hawk, when the man makes another attempt and fails.
He watches intently, caught up in the moment, openly staring, and then he hears his own voice say “Let me help you with that.”
It comes out of his mouth like a stray thought he forgets to reconsider and he freezes in horror at his own boldness, heart beating fast as Soap turns towards him slowly.
“Would you, Lt?” Soap’s face is genuinely hopeful, signs of frustration all gone in an instant and something terrible coils and knots in Ghost’s gut.
He approaches Soap like he is a predator stalking his prey but Soap doesn’t seem to pick up on the cues of danger. Instead he moves towards the bench by the wall, lets Ghost sit on it and then plops down on the floor in front of him, between his legs, throwing his arms over his thighs to prop himself up.
Ghost freezes for a second, the sudden warmth of Soap's body so close to his, seeping through his pants, almost too much to process. Soap glances up at him with something mischievous about his smile and Ghost’s brain reboots and zeroes in on the task.
His hand doesn’t shake but his breath does as he reaches to hold Soap’s head while he slowly starts shaving the sides, the small razor buzzing in his palm. He feels his heart beat in his throat as he finally gets to slide his fingers into the longer hair at the top to move it from the machines way and work on the edge, blending it out a little. It feels soft, exactly as he imagined, smooth and even thicker than he thought. He tries his best not to pull on it harder than necessary but it’s a challenge as Soap follows his gentle tugs eagerly, his head lolling to expose his neck, his eyes closed, expression one of pure bliss.
He is so painfully beautiful, Ghost wants to rip his own heart out and hand it to him as an offering.
It is devastating that Soap trusts him so much too; letting Ghost, of all people, handle sharp tools around his jugular that can bee seen all too well right beneath his pale skin. He can almost count Soap's heart rate just by looking at it and he yearns to dig his teeth into him and never let go.
It’s a miracle he completes the shave and when the time comes to trim the mohawk, Ghost stops, scissors in his right hand, the left one absently buried in Soap’s hair still, rubbing little circles into his scalp.
“Go on, cut the damn thing.” Soap encourages but it's too late as Ghost realizes what power he holds.
“I don’t think I will.” he says quietly.
“Why would you not? It needs to go.” Soap scoffs, shuffling impatiently.
“I can show you why, Johnny.” it’s a dangerous thing to say but it slips out of his mouth anyway.
“Go on then.” Soap shrugs but there is some tension in his shoulders now that wasn’t there before, a shift in energy, something sparking as he presses his arms down on Ghost’s thighs.
Ghost doesn’t allow himself the time to think of arguments against doing what he wants to do. He drops the scissors with a loud clatter, pulls his balaclava off and then buries his fingers deep into Soap’s hair to yank on it harder, forcing him to look up as he leans over him.
Soap yelps at the sudden tug, the small sound involuntary but delightful to Ghost’s ears. His eyes go big as he takes in Ghost’s face right above him, unmasked, with a smug grin dancing at the corners of his mouth. Ghost drinks the sight in, the way Soap’s lips part ever so slightly, his gaze flicking between Ghost’s eyes and Ghost’s mouth and he knows almost for sure now that there is at least lust, if not genuine love, in the way Soap looks at him.
He remains still for a moment longer, their breathing heavy in the air between them before he finally closes the gap, kissing Soap at the odd angle, thrilled as he immediately responds, pressing his tongue against Ghost’s lips to ask for entrance. Ghost grants it eagerly, a groan slipping past his teeth as Soap reaches up and tugs on his hair in a perfect vengeance, revealing he was playing up the extent of his injury all along, the sly bastard. Soap’s fingers dig between the strands of Ghost’s hair, his fingernails a sweet sting against his skin as their kiss deepens, Soap biting down on his lip gently before licking into his mouth again.
They both pant heavily, when they finally are forced to pull away, getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Ghost wants to make a cheeky remark, thrilled at the thought of Soap planning it all along but Soap grins at him widely, all triumphant, his eyes sparkling with pure joy as he speaks up.
“Took you long enough, Si.” he says, as if he couldn’t have made the first move himself, the absolute fool but Ghost forgives him because he is in love and he really can’t help it.
[Art by MizuShibaPL on twitter <3; have also the tumblr post link]