Chapter Text
The comedown after a mission was always brutal, but there was something comforting, Soap thought, about spending it in Price’s office.
Soap had been shot again. Not seriously, this time, just a graze across the meat of his thigh, hardly a hit at all. Even though he’d already been seen to by medical, Price - who’d been the one to patch him up in the field, shearing his jeans away, grip on his inner thigh strong and sure as Soap’s blood poured out over his gloves - had wanted him to stop in on his way back to his accommodation on base. “Just to check on you with my own eyes, lad,” he’d said. “Just wanna make sure we didn’t break you.”
Ghost came too, because that was a given.
And now, Price’s office was dim, sweet with cigar smoke and the sweat of three men who hadn’t really had a chance to clean up yet. Soap would die before he admitted how much he liked that smell, liked being around it, soaking it in. Something dirty and shameful about that, like how he always wanted to get his nose into Ghost before he hit the showers, licking up his sweat, breathing in the filthy, raw masculinity of him…
“Soap?”
He blinked up at Price, who was holding out a glass of whisky to him and looking a little amused. The office was dim and smokey and comfortable, and it had been a long fucking mission, but still.
“Oh aye, ta.” Soap yawned and took the glass, clinking it with Price’s and Ghost’s. “Captain, you’re a prince.”
Price looked doubtful.
“Should you actually be drinking that?” he asked, brows furrowing and hand hovering like he was about to snatch the glass back away. Soap held it protectively to his chest, and Ghost let out a huff of laughter.
“Docs don’t have him on the really good stuff, don’t worry,” he said. “Let him have a drink, one glass’ll knock him out and then I can have some fucking peace and quiet for a change.”
“Hey,” Soap muttered half-heartedly, but whatever, it was true. He was on his last legs, thigh throbbing hot under the bandages, dulled only a little by the pills they’d given him. Ghost knew this, because Ghost had lurked around the infirmary until they’d finished with him, snooping through his medical files and inspecting all the little bottles and salves they gave him for his wound like it was completely within his rights. It was endearing, in a way that made Soap want to scream a little. But it was Ghost, who was going to tell him no? Not fucking Soap, that was who.
“Leg not so bad then, eh?” Price asked, eying him up over his cigar. Soap shrugged. He’d had worse, but he wasn’t above playing for a little sympathy.
“Och, should be fine in a few days,” he said, pursing his lips. “Just hurtin’ like a fucking bastard right now.”
Ghost huffed again, and pushed his mask up and then off so he could have his drink. His eye-black had dripped and smeared down his face, cutting into the sharp line of his cheekbones, all the way down to the amused twist of his mouth. Soap shot him a small smile, and then fell silent again, sinking back into the not entirely unpleasant throb of pain and fatigue and drugs and drink and safety.
It was nice, to let the officers talk over him, around him. He sat and listened to Ghost and Price chat about the mission, the men, about Soap, a little bit, like he wasn’t there. He sipped his whisky and knew he wasn’t expected to contribute right now, but also knew his presence was wanted, welcomed even. It reminded him, embarrassingly, of sitting up late with his dad and his uncle, ignored but still folded into the warmth of their conversation. Of course, he was currently sucking one of these officer’s cocks, so it wasn’t entirely the same.
He looked at Ghost, the fucking beauty of him in the soft glow of the desk lamp, and thought that thought through again. Not currently sucking his cock, no. Not right that fucking second, though he let himself slowly drift into imagining it, what that would be like. Imagined dropping to his knees in front of Price’s desk while his commanding officers conducted their informal little mission debrief right over the top of him. Imagined slipping the fat head of Ghost’s cock between his wet lips while Price leaned over to pour him another measure of whisky, imagined, maybe, Price glancing down at him approvingly, maybe even ruffling his hair a little. Imagined Ghost’s hands strong on the back of his neck, voice faltering as he came, and Price chuckling about it before they resumed their conversation. Imagined…maybe…crawling over to Price, next, nuzzling the hot, close space between his thighs while Price petted at his head, rubbing his hard cock over Soap’s face…
“Soap, fuck’s sake, go to bed.”
For the second time that night Soap blinked himself back to reality, his cheeks flaming an immediate, blazing red as he caught two sets of eyes on him. Price was glaring at him with gruff, gentle concern on his handsome face, but Ghost, who was on his side of the desk and who could probably see the way his cock was starting to firm up in his joggers, was smirking knowingly, a curious look in his eye. Soap’s stomach lurched as he realised what he’d been thinking about doing, half drifting off in Captain Price’s fucking office.
“Aye,” he managed, voice a low, scratchy mess. He coughed and tried again. “Oh aye, I’m ruined. Time to get my beauty sleep.” He nodded, ran a hand over his face, and stayed exactly where he was though, Ghost grinning at him openly now, because his fucking cock was still hard.
“Away with you then, Sergeant,” Price said, still with that gruff concern. “I assume you’re taking a few days?”
Soap couldn’t look at Ghost, for obvious reasons, or Price, for mortifying reasons, so he fixed his gaze on the desk before him, hunching forward a little. He was a sniper. He had excellent control over his body, actually, he just had to pull himself together and stop picturing what it would be like to crawl under that damn desk.
“Few days, yeah,” he agreed tightly. He reached out for Ghost’s mask and finally stood, turning a little under the pretext of handing it to Ghost. He knew he was being awkward as fuck but well, he’d been shot, he was drugged up. He had excuses.
“Yeah, it’s nothing really, we’ll reassess when the swelling goes down, make sure there’s no infection. It’ll be fine.”
He snuck a glance at Price. The Captain was slouched back in his chair, cigar hanging lazily from the same fingers that were holding his whisky, absently swirling it around as he studied Soap with sharp blue eyes. The flush in Soap’s cheeks could be attributed to the drink, probably, nothing to do with the way his hard cock wanted to twitch at the sight of his Captain looking at him like that, at being caught under his heavy gaze.
“Good lad,” Price said softly, and Ghost laughed out loud, standing and pulling his mask from Soap’s unresisting hands to slip back on.
“I’ll get him back to his room, Captain,” Ghost said, that voice of his rich with suggestion. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” Price drawled, and took a long sip of his drink, eyes never leaving Soap’s. “Make sure you get some rest, soldiers.”
“Aye, Captain,” Soap stammered, and managed to pull himself the fuck together enough to turn and follow Ghost out the door without incident, even managed to make it all the way to his room without falling over his own feet or walking into a wall. His leg hurt. His brain was stuffed with cotton wool. And he was ruthlessly, inexplicably, turned on.
He and Ghost were a bit of an open secret. Open, because they were too fucking stupid to keep themselves very well hidden, and secret, because Ghost just went around threatening to disappear anyone who thought they had anything to say about it. Soap knew that Price knew, because he and Ghost had hashed it out one night over cigars and whisky - Ghost had come back to Soap’s room that night with a black eye and bloody knuckles and said it was all squared away; Price had shown up to training the next day with a split lip stretched in a grin around his cigar, and everything was fine, nothing had changed. Soap, though… Soap would have paid money to have been in that room with them, to have seen what went down, who threw the first punch, why. It kinda made him hot, when he thought about it too much, so he didn’t think about it, shut it all away and kept his mind on the job and on Ghost, and steamin’ Jesus, that was more than enough for him. Always had been, anything else was just fantasy. Fuck, he looked at Gaz too, sometimes, and that big bastard from KorTac. It didn’t mean anything.
Except with Price, sometimes. Sometimes it meant something with him.
“Alright there, Soap,” Ghost said casually, posting up against Soap’s closed door and watching as Soap hobbled around, painfully kicking off his shoes and getting undressed.
Oh here we fuckin’ go.
“Shut the fuck up,” Soap muttered, flinging his t-shirt into a corner. “Don’t start.”
“Got anything you wanna get off your chest, lad?” Ghost still had the mask on, but Soap didn’t need to see the shit-eating grin he was wearing to hear it.
“Not fuckin’ likely,” he said, and paused in the middle of the floor in nothing but his joggers as Ghost started sauntering towards him. “What.”
“Just looked like you were thinking some very fucking interesting thoughts in there,” Ghost said, voice low. He circled around to Soap’s back and ran light fingers up over his bare shoulder to make him shiver, leaning in to press his next words into Soap’s ear. “While you were staring directly at the Captain with your cock so hard I could see it.”
Soap closed his eyes. He was already unsteady, leaning heavily on his good leg, panting a little at Ghost’s proximity.
“Wasn’t like that,” he murmured, and Ghost hummed into his neck.
“Yeah? What was it like?”
Soap swallowed.
“Just driftin’. Thoughts got away from me a bit, is all.”
He heard the sound of material rustling, Ghost slipping off the mask and tossing it onto Soap’s bed, and then Ghost’s wet mouth was there, pressing kisses into the back of his neck and over his shoulders. “Tell me.”
Soap gave in before he even really registered there was a fight to be had.
“Was thinking about blowing you,” he mumbled, dropping his head forward. “Just gettin’ on my knees right there in Price’s office, in front of his desk.”
“Bit kinky,” Ghost said, amused, and dragged his teeth lightly over the bumps of Soap’s spine. “Right there in Price’s office, eh? And what was Price doing?”
“Watching.”
Soap felt like he was going to be incinerated in the heat of his combined embarrassment and arousal, squirming as Ghost snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him back hard against that big, solid body.
“Little whore,” Ghost breathed into his skin. He started walking Soap forward to his bed, slowly but inexorably moving him where he wanted him. “That’s what had you so hard? Had that fuck-drunk expression on your face? The thought of sucking my cock while the Captain watches?”
“Shut up,” Soap groaned, limping along with Ghost’s arm still strong around him, supporting him. “It was nothing, it didn’t mean anything.”
“Hot, though,” Ghost said with a grin. “Eh? Didn’t realise you were such an exhibitionist, Johnny.” He got them to the bed, and got a hand under the back of Soap’s sore thigh, encouraging him to rest his knee on the mattress and take some of the weight off it. The relief was immediate, and Soap sighed as he leaned back further into Ghost’s chest. It didn’t escape him that even in the middle of calling him a whore, Ghost was taking care of him. Fucking soft. He loved it.
“Not really an exhibitionist,” he slurred through his fatigue and arousal. “Just, you know…the idea of him, uh…”
“Oh, just Price? Don’t be shy, Johnny, you know I’ve seen the way you look at him. Seen the way you react when he calls you his good lad.” Soap turned his face to hide it in Ghost’s shoulder, mouth open and panting. Fucking Ghost knew how to work him, that voice, those big hands on his body, the way he could stand there so fucking solid and strong while he tore Soap to pieces with just a few words… Soap was leaking into his underwear, and Ghost hadn’t even gotten a hand near his cock yet.
“Yeah, he…while I’m sucking your dick, and he watches, maybe he’d call me a good boy,” Soap said breathlessly, burning up with shame, and Ghost rewarded him by curling his fingers around his dick, still through his pants, and giving it a long, firm squeeze from base to wet tip.
“Hmm. How’s your relationship with your father, Johnny?” Ghost asked with a smile, and Soap burst into helpless laughter, shaking against Ghost’s chest.
“Let’s leave my daddy issues out of this,” he said, and Ghost was laughing too as he quit teasing and slipped his hand into Soap’s pants to get a real grip on him, fingers smearing that splash of precome down his shaft.
“Oh, it’s daddy issues all the way down, with you,” Ghost assured him. “Don’t you think I haven’t noticed, boyo.”
“Away wi’ ye,” Soap muttered, and then fell into shaky silence as Ghost jerked him off, quick and efficient and fucking perfect. They’d done this enough that Ghost knew exactly how to touch him, but not enough yet that it’d lost the novelty, the fucking thrill. Soap didn’t think it ever would, if he was honest, even if they made it to fifty, sixty, and Ghost was still standing behind him and stroking him off like he owned his cock. Couldn’t picture ever getting bored with this.
And yet.
“So did he just watch?” Ghost asked, lips back to his ear. “Tell me.”
As if Soap had even a single thought left in his head.
He squirmed, pushing his hips into Ghost’s grip, even though the stretch irritated his sore thigh. Tried to remember how words worked, forgot again as Ghost rubbed a thumb under the dripping head of his cock and simultaneously sucked at the little patch of skin under his ear that made him see stars. Fuck, he was close, he just wanted to come.
“MacTavish.”
Soap jumped. “Nae, he, I, when I finished swallowing your load he ruffled my hair,” he stuttered, slurred and incoherent. “I crawled over to him, right under his desk and got between his legs, didn’t even get into his trousers, just rubbed my face against him, Simon, Simon, fuck-”
“Christ, you’re such a fucking slut,” Ghost purred approvingly. “One cock not enough for you sweetheart? Or do you need to be called a good boy so bad that you’re willing to get on your knees for anyone who asks?”
“Just you,” Soap moaned, and he was so close, he was right there, he could feel his orgasm fizzing through his fingertips and toes, ready to crash through him and wipe him the fuck out. “I swear.”
“Just me and Captain Price,” Ghost corrected. “It’s okay, Johnny. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, too. You want his cock? I bet he’d give it to you, if you asked nicely enough.”
fuckfuckfuck
“And if you asked me nicely enough, maybe I’d let you have it.”
Soap felt like he was dying when he came, all the air rushing out of him as he collapsed completely into Ghost’s hold, Ghost’s fingers around his cock, Ghost’s voice swirling through his body like smoke. He watched in a daze as he spilled all over Ghost’s tattooed hand and thought about Price, fell so deep into the fantasy they’d spun together that he could almost hear Price’s rough voice praising him, telling him he’d done well. Almost see the approving look in those blue eyes.
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ, Simon,” he gasped, collapsing forward in Ghost’s hold, hanging limply from strong arms. “What the fuck.”
Ghost leaned in, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to the back of his neck. “Good?”
Soap still couldn’t breathe. He blinked away the image of Price and centred himself back in this bed, in Ghost’s arms, surrounded by the familiarity of him. “Yeah,” he said. “Shit yeah, I just…”
“Thought so,” Ghost murmured, and kissed Soap again as he laid him down, the outrageous strength of him on display as he gently hoisted Soap’s unresisting body up the bed. “You’re not subtle, my boy.”
Soap blinked at Ghost, watching as he moved around the room, switching off the lamp, wiping off his hands and tossing Soap the towel, tidying up Soap’s things like they were his. “Hey,” he said. “You know it’s nothing. Just fantasy.”
“Mmm.” Ghost leaned against the bedside table, looking down with a fond expression. It made him look soft, in the moonlight sneaking in through the window, even with the sharp cheekbones, the remnants of all that eyeblack. Soap loved him so much it was a physical ache.
“Don’t worry, I like it too,” Ghost went on. “Knowing you’re thinking about the both of us. It’s fucking hot.” He knelt down next to the bed, running soft, chapped lips over Soap’s face. “‘Specially knowing that no matter what, you’re still mine.”
“Yeah,” Soap sighed. He leg was fucking killing him, he wanted to get up and brush his teeth, wash his face, he wanted Ghost to fuck him, wanted to stay there in that moment, with Ghost knelt next to him. Knew he wasn't gonna get any of that, not with sleep crawling up to him and tugging on every muscle in his body.
“Wanted to get fucked tonight,’ he said, and looked at Ghost’s smile. “Sorry.”
“Nah. When you pass out on my cock, it’s not gonna be because you got shot,” Ghost said, almost indignant. “Go to sleep, sunshine.”
“You staying?”
Ghost glanced at the door thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he said. “Got some shit to do. I’ll come back.”
He kissed Soap then, slow and deep and lingering, and by the time he pulled away, Soap was almost all the way out.
“He’d fucking love you like this,” Ghost whispered, smug, and Soap smiled at him with his eyes closed as he drifted away. It was a nice thought, that, and he held onto it all the way into his dreams.