Chapter Text
"Stupid things fuckin' jammed," Ghost grumbled to himself. It had been unexpected enough that Soap had agreed to let him borrow his personal Glock 19 for target practice after Ghost had said he'd never fired one, but now his sorry ass had gone and fucked it up with crappy rounds; jesus, he was gonna tear the armory sergeant a new one -
Or...could be Soap's fault for not cleaning it properly last time he used it, he tried to tell himself, holding the weapon by the slide and jamming the heel of his palm against the butt while keeping it carefully pointed down range. His captain was not one to skimp on keeping his weapons in perfect working order, though, so the thought was more of a hope than a legitimate idea.
"Riley."
Shit.
Ghost turned slow as he dared to see his captain heading towards him, slow and confident in the otherwise empty firing range. "Sir," he returned the greeting.
Soap's eyes flicked up and down him once before settling on the firearm that Ghost was still holding by the top. "Likin' it okay?" He asked suspiciously. "Nice and light, tidy little thing, isn't it?"
Ghost nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. "Yes, sir," he agreed stiffly.
Soap looked between his covered face and the gun again and raised his eyebrows. "Then why the hell are you holdin' it like that?" Like he didn't fucking know.
Ghost looked down at the handgun. "I - I got rounds from the armory, they must have been no good - "
Soap silenced him with a tilt of his head. "You jammed my gun."
Ghost took a short breath and exhaled sharply. Sadistic fucker just wanted him to say it...
"Riley."
"Yes, sir," he said, struggling to tamp down the irritation in his voice. Irritated that he'd gotten bad rounds, irritated that he hadn't noticed while he was loading the magazine, irritated that Soap wanted him to admit to fucking something up. A jam like this wasn't even a big deal, Soap was just being an asshole about it; treating him like a boot... "I jammed your gun."
He stayed painfully still as Soap stared him down and took the weapon out of his hand, popping the magazine out and tossing it onto the small table next to Ghost. Not breaking eye contact, he gripped the slide tightly in his ungloved hand and Ghost fought a flinch as Soap slammed the heel of his palm as hard as he could into the butt of the gun, forcing the slide back and the bad round to pop out of the chamber and fall on the ground at Ghost's feet.
Ghost looked down at the crappy chunk of metal on the ground, and then back up at the small click of the slide stop.
Soap looked into the now empty chamber and delicately rotated the weapon side to side, inspecting the exposed barrel. "Should survive," he said, still keeping it pointed down range away from them. Jackass; its fucking fine. He looked back at Ghost, seeming to relish the way his lieutenant was fighting not to squirm; god he was being such a prick for no reason. "You really ought to clean it for me though."
Ghost had known that was coming. Whatever, pistols were easy enough to take apart and put back together. Gun like this would be what, 30-some pieces? "Yes, captain," he said, extending his hand for the firearm.
Soap looked at his gloved palm and gave his head a small shake. "No," he said. "Here."
Ghost blinked uncertainly. "Sir?"
Soap took a step closer to him. "Here," he repeated. "Now."
Ghost felt his heart rate spike. Soap was looking at him like a carnivore would leer at cornered prey; it was simultaneously scaring the shit out of him and turning him on so hard it hurt.
"Get on your knees, Riley."
Soap's light tone made it sound like a suggestion, but Ghost knew it wasn't; he felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest at the subtle command. He gaped at his captain who continued to just watch him, expression absolutely predatory as he waited for Ghost to comply.
Arrogant fuck, Ghost thought to himself.
With the side of the gun pressed into his own chest, Soap's cocky smirk widened. "You know I'm not fond of repeatin' myself, lieutenant," he said, tone still light with a hint of sweetness; the self-assuredness was making Ghost absolutely furious and unbelievably wet.
If it had been anyone else, Ghost would have told them to fuck all the way off; he'd have physically taken down anyone else who had the audacity to stand in front of him with a firearm in hand and demand he kneel in front of them. But Soap?
As much as he hated to admit why he was doing it, Ghost found himself slowly kneeling down until he was tilting his neck back to keep looking up at his captain, breathing heavily and forcing himself not to look at Soaps crotch which was now much too close to his eye level.
"Good soldier," Soap said, drawing out the vowels into long, honey-sweet, condescending syllables. He held the still-sideways firearm close to Ghost's face, letting him look right into the empty chamber, slide still firmly locked back, then slowly turned it to let him look up into the empty space where the magazine wasn't. He reached forward with his free hand and slowly slid Ghost's mask up to rest on the bridge of his nose, leaving his mouth exposed, and then he did the one thing all service members are relentlessly trained to never do:
Never point a firearm at something you don't intend to shoot.
And Ghost let him.
Ghost was no stranger to having weapons pointed at him, but kneeling on the hard, rocky dirt ground of the indoor firing range while his captain slowly turned the exposed barrel of his pistol until it was resting on Ghost's lower lip had him outside of his own body; he'd never been more painfully aroused and scared shitless.
"Clean my pistol for me, Simon," Soap said, voice low and quiet.
Ghost's breathing was shallow and ragged as he realized exactly what Soap was asking him to do. He tentatively opened his mouth a little, just barely parting his lips, and saw his captains eyes flicker dark and dangerous. Taking that as a cue to keep going, he let Soap push his lip down further with the tip of the barrel until his mouth was hanging all the way open.
Soap was staring down his nose at Ghost, the rapid rise and fall of his own chest betraying just how much he was enjoying this. "Go on then, love," he prodded. The condescension was driving Ghost insane; he hated that Soap knew he would do anything he asked, that he knew Ghost trusted him enough to do anything he asked.
Fuck, he cursed internally, hating himself for wanting it so badly. Fuck me -
He slowly pushed his tongue out and let the tip touch the cold metal of the barrel. He just barely heard Soap let out a broken gasp, like he couldn't believe Ghost was actually doing it. He let his eyes drop down onto the firearm for a moment as he dragged the end of his tongue up; the metal was cold and tasted like filth and gunpowder and submission and one look back up at his captain had him feeling completely intoxicated on it.
He pressed his tongue down harder, feeling Soap's grip tighten to keep the gun still and licked up the barrel in earnest to the front of the slide. He quickly pulled back and repeated the motion, coating his tongue in the disgusting taste of lubricant oil before moving past it up the left side of the weapon, shivering as he felt the scratch of the stop lever and lock, imagining the sound the unforgiving metal snap would make so close to his face if he released it, if either of the little switches caught on his -
"What on earth is that, Riley?"
Ghost let out a loud moan when Soap suddenly pressed the end of the gun down harshly in his mouth, forcing his jaw down.
"Look at me," he demanded.
Ghost slowly tilted his head back, allowing his captain to look right into his mouth and see the shiny steel ball of his tongue piercing.
"Good fuckin' lord, Riley," Soap said under his breath. "Better do a damn good job or I'm writin' you up for this shit. And don't you dare leave a scratch on it."
Ghost would have been more worried if his captain didn't let up just enough to allow him to taste the metal again; this time running his tongue up the top, the sharp edge of the sight at the end almost slicing him open. He savored the sting and how close he was to Soap's crotch when he got to the top, tempted to lick all the way up onto his superior's hand.
"That's it," Soap said, voice still low and quiet. "Just like that, sweetheart."
Instead, he carefully traced along the sharp edge of the frame to the chamber, just above were Soap's index finger was resting tensely against the side of the weapon.
He looked right up at Soap, who was clearly working at staying composed, and pushed his tongue as far out as he could to let the end of his piercing drag over the ridge of Soap's knuckle, the outside edge of his tongue sliding across the sharp edge of the open chamber. He paused there for a minute, almost massaging Soaps finger with the little ball, watching as Soap's jaw tightened, before licking over the open chamber and up into the webbing between his captains thumb and forefinger.
Before Soap could react, Ghost was back at the end of his finger, trailing up and dipping down to the trigger, letting his piercing catch ever so slightly on the trigger safety.
Soap's knuckles were white around the grip, looking absolutely animalistic at the amount of power Ghost was giving him. As soon as Ghost pulled off the trigger, Soap had the notched base of the frame fully in his mouth, flat against his tongue, pointed right down his throat.
"Jesus Christ, you'd fuckin' let me, wouldn't you?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
Ghost just stared up at him, knelt submissively, knowing that that was enough of an answer.
His captain slowly slid the weapon back up his tongue, eyes burning into him, and pushed it back down until the end gently knocked up against his piercing.
Ghost couldn't help it; he let out a small whine at the sensation, squeezing his thighs together.
Soap's eyebrows shot up. He silently looked between Ghost's crotch and gloved hand and then back up at his face.
The lieutenants fingers slipped slightly as he undid the top button of his pants, considering for a moment before deciding not to undo any more.
Ghost could feel saliva pooling at the front of his mouth, just starting to spill out over his lower lip down onto Soap's hand as he slid his gloved fingers down into his pants, shuddering at the rough feel of his work gloves through the soft fabric of his underwear.
It wasn't quite enough by itself, but Ghost slowly dragged his cock between his knuckles, and as soon as Soap saw his hand start to move, he pulled the Glock back up to the tip of Ghost's tongue and pushed it back in, watching as Ghost's hand started to move faster at the pressure against his piercing. He pulled out and pushed back in again, exhaling sharply when Ghost moaned again, eyes fluttering half-shut as he pushed his hand deeper into his pants, desperate for more friction.
Soap was gripping the pistol so tightly as he fucked it in and out of Ghost's mouth that if Ghost had been able to think at all he might have wondered if there would be fingerprint shaped indents on it after. He was clearly using everything he had to keep the movements as slow and controlled as possible, chest heaving as he watched Ghost touch himself with more and more desperation.
Ghost could feel himself getting close, feeling the edge every time Soap's saliva-slick knuckles pressed up against his tongue, until finally his captain pushed the gun just a bit harder and deeper until he gagged and Ghost was choking on it while he came, arching his back hard to stay upright against the urge to curl forward over the hand he was still relentlessly working himself with.
Soap looked like he was going to combust on the spot. "Holy fuckin' hell, Simon," he managed, tossing the harmless weapon on the ground carelessly and undoing his own pants as fast as he could.
Ghost shuffled forward on his knees so that once Soap's pants were undone, he could hook a finger into the waistband of his captain's boxer briefs and pull them down just enough to expose his dick, quickly taking it into his mouth to suck his captain off, heedless of how his knees were absolutely screaming at him to stand up off the rocky dirt floor.
Soap got a hand on the back of his head and gave him just enough of a push to make Ghost moan loud, and with that Soap was cumming, apparently just as if not more worked up as Ghost was.
He barely gave himself a second to recover before he was yanking Ghost up by the front of his shirt, licking harshly into his mouth, savoring the revolting bitterness of gun lubricant on his lieutenant's tongue.
Ghost gave himself up to it freely, throwing his arms around his captains neck, letting Soap take everything he had to give. He felt his breath hitch as Soap shoved a hand up under his mask on the back of his head, tightly grabbing a fistful of his hair and smashing their lips impossibly closer.
Once the taste of metal and gunpowder had faded, diluted by their exchanged saliva, Soap pulled back, breathing like he'd just run a marathon.
He studied Ghost's half covered face for a moment. "You really would, wouldn't you, Simon." It wasn't a question. Not really.
Ghost was still trying to catch his breath. "Anything you wanted, sir."
Soap pulled him back into another crushing kiss, and Ghost took the opportunity to rub the underside of his captains tongue with the end of the barbel in his.
It only lasted a second before Soap pulled back, looking like he was going to rip Ghost to shreds. "I want you in my house, in my bed, outta these fuckin' clothes," he breathed, buttoning his pants back up. "Yeah?"
Ghost couldn't nod fast enough. "Yes sir."
Soap considered him for a moment. "Come on then," he said, abruptly turning on his heel and striding towards the exit, "and bring my gun."
Ghost scrambled to pick the (now very dirty) abandoned weapon up off the ground before hurrying after him, yanking his mask back down as he approached the door and the cold evening air.